CHAPTER 1
It was summer and the city sweltered. Pete had arrived the previous afternoon and after a good night's sleep felt horny. A couple of maids with dark eyes and cocoa skin came in, giggling, to do his room. They were from a Third World country and were probably used to being asked for it.
"Good morning ladies," he leered.
They took two paces back and looked at him fearfully.
"Do you speak English?"
The taller one nodded and said a little.
"I want a woman... in bed."
"We are married. We don't mess around. I get a bellboy. They sell phone numbers of sluts."
"Um, I wasn't interested in sluts. I want a woman who makes beds."
"You must not talk like this to us. We are good women; married women. Please leave us to do our work."
"Certainly ma'am. Your work is important to help feed your husband eh?
She bowed at him and spoke to her companion in a foreign language and the younger woman visibly relaxed.
Pete put four bottles of beer, a towel and swimsuit in a carry bag and gathered his floppy sunhat and shades. "I'm off to the rooftop pool," he said grandly.
"No sluts up there," the taller one said pointedly.
"I'm really a very nice guy."
The woman's expression indicated she knew a liar when she saw one.
There were a dozen people poolside, mostly in pairs. A woman alone with dark shades stared at him, or at least in his direction.
He took the sun loafer beside her and said, "Hello, I'm Pete" and was ignored. Either that or she was profoundly deaf.
Pete had accepted voluntary redundancy from the car assembly plant as a supervisor, one of the affects of downsizing. The oafs at head office had ignored market trends and left the plant spewing out gas-hungry pickups that fewer people wanted. Because he'd work there for eight years he'd received a fat severance check and had come to New York to spend some of it on women and booze. The broads weren't lining up for him but the supply of booze was endless.
He opened a bottle of beer, ignoring the signs that stated no glass containers, and heard the tight-ass next to him mutter, for his benefit, "Good god, beer and it's only 9:15."
Well ma'am, Pete felt like saying, it may only be 9:15 but already its fucking hot and beer goes down well under these sticky conditions. Unless you drink the heat will suck the moisture out of you and your tits will flop on you like a hag's. Grrrr, he thought and grinned. If he said that it would get her motor running!
Pete looked at her... about his age in her early forties. The face appeared to be well-kept, fancy nails, not much of a belly, thighs were a little heavy but she looked as if she could grind back at a guy for a good hour at least.
She got up out of her loafer and he sucked in breath. Her tits were good 'uns, very shapely. The temptation to touch his dick was resisted.
She struggled with the sun umbrella but nothing happened.
"Sir, would you please assist me?"
Pete jumped to his feet and said, "Yeah, what part of you needs assistance?"
The fading blonde looked at him sharply until she caught the grin.
"Oh funny boy. I would like the umbrella to shade me completely."
"There's quite a lot of you to shade," Pete said, staring at her tits so she didn't think he was alleging she was fat. You can call a woman a fat cunt and perhaps get away with it but simply call her fat and you risk decapitation.
A quick check and Pete declared, "This mechanism is seized."
"Darn, I'll have to shift."
"No, stay here... I'm enjoying your company."
She looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
Pete seized the two bent bars bedded into the concrete base for handles and frog-marched the umbrella up against the wall behind them. He then carried the umbrella from the vacant sun loafer on the other side of her and placed where the other umbrella had been.
"You're strong."
"I work out quite a bit. I wish to retain my youth as long as possible."
"Me too."
"Is there a bra built into that swimsuit?"
"No."
Pete grinned and said she was doing a pretty decent job at keeping a girlish figure. She positively beamed at him.
Guys on the assembly line who fancied themselves as great with the ladies talked about situations like this. If you get the woman a little left of center fake an apology.
"Look that remark was far too personal. Slap me, I won't mind."
"Oh don't be silly. That comment has made my day, truly. I suppose you think my thighs are too heavy."
"Yeah, but if you wear your dress length down to six inches above your knee whoever would know about your thighs? You probably do that anyway. From what I can see of the back of your lower legs if you were in heels I'd find it compulsory to take a second look."
"Are you flirting with me?"
Pete frowned and pushed her right of center. "I thought we were having a serious discussion."
"Oh I apologize. So we were. It's just that I wasn't confident you were."
"Now we have cleared that up jump onto your bed and I'll adjust the umbrella to fully protect you from the sun."
She eyed him at work and then said, "Oh that's perfect."
"Good, ready for a beer? Beer is only fortified water that is fermented. It should be compulsory drinking in humid weather like this."
"I understood only nonalcoholic drinks should be consumed when it' excessively hot; it's expected to reach 93 degrees today and be steamy."
"Ma'am, coffee is bad for us but we drink it. I say from experience beer is okay but I sure wouldn't guzzle a half dozen stiff martinis when the weather is boiling."
Apparently that topic hit a dead end because she was on to another. "My name is Cassandra Phelps. I'm here to celebrate my divorce."
"Oh, technically I had one of these two years ago. My wife became pregnant to one of our neighbors and ran off with him and our two kids."
"Oh, how dreadful."
"Yeah, for the kids. They liked me better than her. I did nothing to chase after Sharon and the kids and don't know where they are. I'm Peter Somers, but am called Pete. I've come here to have a bit of a fling after becoming redundant as an assembly line supervisor. That's why I came over here when I saw you, guessed you were about my age and looking lovely. "
"Are you talking about having sex with me?"
"Yeah. So now do you run or stay and call security?"
"If you don't mind I'm happy to stay here talking with you. I find you a little rough at the edges, but really quite interesting."
"Interesting enough to have sex with me?"
"Well Mr Somers, we'll have to wait and see, won't we? So keep talking but not about that."
Pete asked what had her husband done to earn a divorce.
"Cheated on me and acted like a louse."
"Which was worse?"
"Excuse me?"
"Was it more difficult to accept being treated like a louse or him fucking other women?"
"Mr Somers, you need smoother edges. The F-word should be reserved for the bedroom."
"I thought I wasn't permitted to discuss sex with you in the meantime, whatever the meantime is?"
"It's probably the time after nightfall. He was stealing my father and brothers and me blind; the ranch is in a family trust. He was selling off steers five at a time privately and here was I reporting rustlers had hit us. I suspect he was the rustler but could never catch him at it. While keeping close taps on him I found out about these other women I'd see with their legs up in the air wriggling and he firmly between those legs, connected if you get what I mean? Then he began accusing me of being bitchy and calling him coarse and being at him for being too lazy to shave and farting in my presence."
Pete said he had the picture. The guy obviously had downgraded himself and so the time had come to jettison him.
"You are so understanding."
"Don't you believe it; if I'm to get into your pants I'm obliged to act couth and grab anything I can take, sexually I mean."
"Goodbye Mr Somers," she said, picking up her book and pulling her sunhat down low.
Pete sighed. He was always doing this to women. Over the years he'd missed out on fucks for the taking because he's spoken honestly to women, knowing it was not the thing to do but it wasn't his fault. His mom had brought him up emphasizing he must never lie to women. She hadn't cared about how he treated men.
Pete changed into his swimsuit and swum four lengths of the pool strongly, noting Cassandra couldn't keep her eyes off him. Buoyed, he kept his pace steady instead of attempting to replicate an Olympian in a final. There was something Mrs Big Tits wanted from him.
He stood facing her as he dried, hoping his bulge looked great. Each time he pulled the towel off his hair and down below his eyes she looked away. He turned to finish drying to give her a look at his clean back and strong thighs to allow her to imagine him holding her high for a stand-up fuck. Well, if she thought that way.
He packed up, picking up her empty beer bottle as well, and looked at her, hat down and buried to her nose in her book. How she could read that close he had no idea. Women find it necessary to act the victim.
"I'm off Cassandra. You may join me for dinner. Meet me in the bar at 7:00."
"Seven-thirty."
He walked off grinning. Pete didn't turn but was willing to bet big money she'd be idly stroking her left breast.
Singing in the shower Pete thought he ought to hit Cassandra between the thighs by buying her a present. Something small like... like... um. Flowers would die in this heat and she probably had a large crate of dildos like most women do. He thought of an adult DVD but all the covers these days featured ass fucking. Perhaps that might no be acceptable on a first date.
Later Pete entered a la-de-dah women's store. He stood midstore looking uncertain, knowing it always worked. Two assistants rushed to eliminate his dilemma. The older one got to him first, knocking the filly off stride with a hip jolt.
"Are you enjoying the coolness of our store sir?"
"Huh?"
"Oh, never mind. We have a new line of very attractive French underwear."
"It's a first date."
"Oh, then perhaps one of these scarves?"
"I was thinking of an athletic thong."
"Oh, you have something in mind? Good boy. What size."
