Welcome to a story of the Owenverse. Tales of the Owenverse are completely stand-alone stories, so don't worry. You need have done no homework to enjoy this tale. If you have read other Owen stories, be advised that they skip around chronologically. This one is from a couple of years after
Car Wash
, but again, that doesn't matter.
I do have fun connecting Owen to a whole bunch of my big series, and thus connecting them to each other, but his stand-alone stories are just that, overly elaborate strokers. If you expect anything more from an Owen story than porn plot made barely plausible, go check out almost any of my series! But even there, I do not seek deep truths or high drama in my writing, just a fun, plausibly ridiculous story! Cheers!
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Cheering Up a Friend
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"Yo, Owen," my neighbor Gretchen said when I answered my door. "How'd your trip go?" she added as she extended a package she had rescued from my porch while I was out of town, before the pirates could get to it.
Gretchen is the perfect kind of friend. She is not a work colleague. She is not even a scientist at all. She is a systems analyst.
No, shut up. Computer Science is not a real science. It is abstract engineering. Fight me.
But Gretchen was also kind, funny, and smart. And we liked the same sports teams.
Maybe not the perfect kind of friend, though. She was an openly ethusiastic lesbian, which meant I'd never get my hands on those perfect tits of hers. Or that tight little ass.
But otherwise, a really good friend and neighbor.
"It was a good trip, Gretch. But, um, I think it is more important to talk about you. How are you?"
The uncharacteristically stony expression she had worn when I opened my door instantly developed fissures, and there were tremors. "I'm all right. As Gloria Gaynor would say, I will survive."
Uh, oh. That was not the face of a comfortable survivor. A mutual neighbor of ours had texted me while I was out of town to tell me about Gretchen's rather spectacular breakup with her girlfriend after discovering that useless bitch in bed with another woman.
Gretchen was definitely better off without that wretched woman in her life, an opinion I had held even before the cheating came to light. But the breakup had clearly left a fucking big mark on my neighbor.
"Good to hear," I said heartily. "Want to come in, have a glass of wine, and talk about literally anything else other than her?"
Gretchen gave me a Look. "I could use a drink. But I want something a lot fucking harder than
wine
."
"I've got Tequila, Bourbon, Scotch..."
"Got any Cognac? I seem to remember..."
"I have a nice bottle of Hine VSOP."
"I would love a snort. As long as you understand that I need to finally vent, and if you are going to get me liquored up, I will talk about nothing whatsoever except the Whore of Babylon."
Excellent.
"If you insist, Gretchen. Come on in," I said, glad that my small house was still clean from the way I left it for my trip. Gretchen might be a lesbian, but she is still a woman. And women tend to get all judgey about pizza boxes and dirty underwear lying around out in the open, where it's convenient to leave them.
I have a set of very nice leaded crystal brandy snifters, and I poured us each a healthy couple of fingers.
I had not even gotten back to the couch to hand hers to Gretchen when she burst out, "It's not even
her
house! It's mine. And there she was, in
my
bedroom, in
my
house, on
my
Sealy, 69ing with some tatted up tramp! She was even using
my
lipstick, my favorite lipstick on that bitch's cunt!"
My brain warred between hearing the C-word on Gretchen's lips, and a total lack of understanding.
Confusion won out. "Huh? She was putting makeup on the girl's cooch?"
"Lipstick
vibrator
, Owen!"
Oh.
"Fuck. Sorry," I said. "Wait. Yours? Was she going to clean it?"
"This is what I'm saying. She's such a bitch!" Gretchen took a slug of good cognac so large it should have been illegal.
"I'd say you are lucky to be rid of her," I said supportively.
"I suppose you are going to tell me now that you always thought she was beneath me, and I was stupid to have ever gotten with her in the first place? Everyone else has!" Gretchen said bitterly.
Hmmm... How to handle this?
"Actually, yes, I am," I said firmly. She looked at me like I'd shot her. "Sorry, Gretch. You were a dumbass. But just because you were so stupid as to give a set of your house keys to a lying, cheating tramp, who you are lucky to have caught before she stole all your stuff on her way out the door under her own power, does not mean that this doesn't hurt. I'm really sorry," I finished, as blandly as I could.
She looked at me miserably, then smiled wryly. She held out her snifter toward me, and I clinked mine to it, reveling in the clear, bell-like ring of the crystal. We each took a more responsible sip. Then we each took another big old irresponsible one.
"You're right," Gretchen muttered. "Everyone is right, though most not so fucking bluntly as you!" She opened her mouth to say more, but stopped herself.
"What?" I asked. When she looked at me mulishly, I asked her again, "Come on. What were you going to say?"
"I was going to say," she blurted. "I was going to say, 'but she has such a hot little body!'"
Perhaps Gretchen had had a glass of wine before she even came over. She was by no means drunk, but the Cognac could not be working this fast.
"I will grudgingly agree to that assertion. Those are some nice tits on her," I said. "But you deserve a girl with a much better ass than that fat old thing."
"I like a fat ass," Gretchen almost sobbed.
I guess it takes all kinds...
Still, I was discerning some genuine... pain(?) here. Maybe not pain, though. Whatever, her feelings were suddenly intense.
More accurately, she was letting them out. That was probably a good thing.
"Okay," I placated her dishonestly. "A fat ass can be fun to grab sometimes," I pretended to admit. Fat asses are not that great to grab. A generous, round, firm one? Sure, from time to time. But not fat. "Listen, Gretchen, don't backslide! You know you are better off without the lying bitch." I then went back to my earlier gambit, because that was the only gambit I had ready. "And for the record, you totally win in the ass arena anyway."
"Fuck you," she said, idly flipping me off in spark of good nature. "My ass is far too tiny. But you don't get it, Owen." She practically trembled in angry frustration. "It had been two fucking weeks since she and I had last... you know. I was heading home with a serious head of steam for her when I walked in and caught her getting her needs taken care of by Tattoo Bitch. That makes it almost three weeks for me now since I last so much as got off."
While I do pretty well, sexually, and honestly do so more often than I deserve, I have never had much success with relationships. Regular, on-going sex had never been a thing for me in thirty-two years, so three weeks did not seem like much of a dry spell to me.
But if this was what had her so upset, then I could safely go back to reassuringly busting her chops.
"So you are hard up," I shrugged dismissively. "In my experience, one can take care of that issue oneself when the need arises."
Gretchen glared at me. "Iamneverusingthatvibeeveragain, you dipshit!" she hissed rapidfire.
I laughed. "Sound plan!" I held up my hand and let the extended fingers move about a little. "But I am pretty sure that God's design lab included masturbation as one of its primary requirements when coming up with these."
Gretchen grimaced at me with gritted teeth. She seemed to be examining me to determine how best to disassemble me for maintenance.
How did I get to be the bad guy here?
"You are such a man," she spat. "I swear you are all born with a PhD in, and a predilection for, choking the chicken. Well, jilling off is just not satisfying to me, especially with just my fingers."
"Duh," I shrugged. "I'm not happy with it either, but it does take the edge off."
"I do not want the edge taken off," she hissed again. "I want the whole fucking cliff face to collapse into the sea! Even with my now never to be used again lipstick, that shit just doesn't happen when I'm alone."
Damn. Had the bitch been that good?
"So if you want a good seeing to, you need someone else to deliver it?" I mused, hatching an evil plan. I grinned inwardly. If she was so fucking pent up, maybe beating the shit out of me would give her some releif. Metaphorically. I hoped.
"Yes! Don't give me any more shit about how anyone's own fingers can ever do the job as well as someone else!" she grumped.
"Well then, fuck. I'll help you out with the situation then," I shrugged, taking a sip of my Cognac. I hoped having a leaded crystal class at my lips would keep her from reflexively punching me in the mouth.
"Yeah, sure," she scoffed. "I am not interested in dick, Owen!"
"I don't need my dick to help you out," I laughed, not being serious. "And regardless of your misguided opinion about dick, I'm pretty sure you are into tongue!"
"Of course I am! But you, a guy, are just going to go down on me, try to get me off, then not try to immediately stick your big ole' dick in me at one end or the other?"
"Since you wouldn't be into that second part, no, I wouldn't."
"Sure. You would have me naked and spread-eagled, and you wouldn't want to fuck me?"
"How would that be different from any other time?"
"Well, I'd be naked and spread. Allegedly, I'd be panting with erotic energy or some shit. The idea would enter your mind, and don't try to tell me otherwise."
"I think about fucking you everytime I see you," I said, warming to the bit, and taking the opportunity to use truth to fuck with my buddy's mind.
"What?"
"Sure. You know what kind of inner mental monologue guys have. A gorgeous woman like you? You are a regular feature in my spank bank."
