In the beginning...
It's 8:30 at night. What date it is beyond me. If it mattered and I cared, I would know, but it doesn't and I don't. All of the days are the same to me. I know it's 2010 and it's May, and it's Friday night because that matters to me.
I'm in bed in the studio apartment I call home, or prison depending on my mood, and I'm waiting - hoping - praying for the knock on the door. She comes every Friday night - has for almost a year, except for that one night when her youngest was sick.
Her name is Nancy. She's almost 40 and has three kids, 17, 11 and 8. She used to have a husband too, but doesn't anymore. She says that she doesn't miss him, and while I believe her after hearing the things he did to her, I suspect that she wishes she had his company every once in a while just the same.
She's lonely. I know the feeling, and we're kindred spirits in that way. Even when we smile there's something missing, like a movie set where you look behind the fake building front and there's nothing there. Just a shell. Nancy is a shell and so am I.
At least there's hope for Nancy, where there's no hope for me. Five years ago I was a football star in high school with the whole world in front of me. 6'4" and 200 pounds of muscle, with rugged good looks and the good fortune of being hung like a horse, I had my pick of the girls and I did a lot of picking.
That was then though, and this is now. I bombed out of college, and wasn't good enough in football to overcome my lack of interest in attending classes. My fault. I was smart enough to sail through with little effort and chose to not even put that much in. Instead, I concentrated on girls, beer and weed.
That was how I ended up in the Army and went to play cop in the Middle East. Thanks to the jeep I was riding in finding a mine, my service time was a lot more brief than was planned, and when they shipped home what was left of me, let's just say that I was not anything close to 6'4" any longer. To those who wish that they had a cock that touched the floor, be careful what you wish for.
Long story short, after rehab and extended hospital stays, I ended up in this housing project, filled with losers. I fit right in. I met Nancy back when I was taken around by a nurse who stops by regularly and takes care of the things I can't. I get by pretty well, all things considered, so the thought of being cooped up in a hospital or having somebody hovering over me all the time would drive me crazier than I am.
Nancy was friendly enough, and when I discovered she was a neighbor I would invite her over during the day while the kids were at school. It was nice to have somebody to talk to, and she probably felt the same way.
I told her about how much I missed the company of women, and how I knew that no woman would want to be stuck with something like me. Why say that? Looking for pity? Frankly, I was hoping for her to tell me that I was wrong, and wanted to screw me.
That wasn't the case. Nancy was rather bitter at the way the world, and men in particular, had treated her over the years, but she had needs as well, even if we danced around the obvious. One day, as she sat next to the bed and played cards with me after the nurse had left, our conversation topic changed.
"Don't you usually work today?" I asked, referring to the job she had a Dunkin' Donuts down the street, where she took a lot of crap while pouring coffee and hoping for something more than nickel tips.
"They're cutting back. Business stinks," Nancy explained.
I knew that Nancy was poor, and while I was short on many fronts, I had some money and was wealthy in comparison with her. I reached over into my night table and pulled out a few bills. Nothing major, maybe twenty bucks or so.
"I can't take that," Nancy protested, but she was already holding it and I clenched my hand over hers.
"It'll get you through until payday," I said.
"Can I do something for you here?" Nancy offered. "Dishes or..."
"The aide did it. That's what she gets paid for," I said.
"Maybe now I can get something for dinner at the store besides macaroni," Nancy said after we wrapped up our game. "Can I get anything for you?"
"No, I'm good."
"Okay then. Thanks Rob," Nancy said as she stood in the doorway. "You sure there's nothing I can do for you?"
"Next time we play cards, we can play strip poker," I suggested.
"Ha! That wouldn't do much for you," Nancy told me. "Some things are better left hidden."
"You look damn fine to me," I said. "You know how good looking you are. At least if you had your clothes off I wouldn't have to spend all my time trying to look down your blouse."
Nancy blushed like she always did when I said stuff like that, but she was gorgeous in my eyes, despite all of the evidence to the contrary.
To be honest, I would have run the other way if I had seen this woman a few years back. The weathered complexion which reflected her age, the dark circles around her eyes and her skinny frame were not the stuff that dreams were made of, except for the fact that I was no longer a dreamer.
"If we played strip poker," Nancy said, closing the door she had just opened and taking a step toward me. "I would probably lose anyway. Not very good at poker."
I was going to agree, because she was no card player, but my words caught in my throat when I saw Nancy's hands go up to the row of buttons on her blouse. One by one she freed the buttons, and I was open-mouthed by the time the blouse got pulled open and off her skinny shoulders.
The bra she was wearing was old and worn, and while the cups had probably been filled with her flesh back when the bra was new and Nancy weighed more than she did now, it was obvious that there wasn't much under the fabric.
My observation proved to me correct when she undid the hooks on the bra and shrugged it off of her shoulders, exposing breasts that were rather small and had begun to sag. The aureoles were dark crimson and large, as were the fat pegs of her nipples.
Nancy stood there nervously, the pained expression on her face adding to my shame as I slid my hand down between my legs to grab my cock, which had become as hard as a rock from looking at Nancy.
I tried to hide what I was doing at first, but gave up when I saw that no matter how subtle I tried to be the moving of the sheet left no doubt as to what I was up to under there. My only hope was that Nancy wouldn't run out the door when she noticed.
Nancy's eyes did go to the movement of the sheet, and although she did react when she saw that I was jerking off under the covers, she didn't run. Maybe she was so shocked she couldn't move, but I didn't care because I was cumming, and as my cock erupted in my hand I cried out.
After my orgasm faded away, I felt the tears running down my cheeks. I was crying, for Pete's sake. Sobbing like a baby, which was something I hadn't done much of during the ordeal of the last couple of years, but then again I never felt as pathetic as I did right then after masturbating like a lunatic while staring at a middle aged woman's drooping breasts.
