Author's note:
This is the story of a man's journey into discovering his true self. It is not so much an erotic tale, it's a story of transformation, from shallow to deep, or deeper at least. It is somewhat perverse and the topic of sex is frequent. It is comical yet also philosophical and emotional. I would love any and all feedback as I am planning to continue writing this as an entire book. Thank you for checking it out...
Regards and cheers,
Shaglus
Bob
Bob was tuckered and a bit swizzled after a long week at work. He thought the weekend would never come, yet, somehow, here it was. After leaving the Fiat County Credit Union where he was an employee, a teller, he weighed his options. His first instinct was to head to his favorite bar and just belly up to it, literally, and start drinking. It was tempting. All day he had worked next to Claudette, another teller and his favorite co-worker. Claudette didn't like Bob. She was actually repulsed by him. Bob, on the other hand, loved Claudette, well the way she looked at least, even though she was somewhat cruel to him and would hardly give him the time of day.
Claudette was a recent hire but had been shining brightly in her new position. Bob knew it wouldn't be long before she got promoted. The women always got promoted, at least according to Bob. This didn't mean she would leave the office but she would most likely get her own cubicle which meant that Bob wouldn't be able to work next to her like he did today. He knew she didn't like working next to him but he didn't give a shit. He just wanted to be near her, he could smell her. He swore he could smell her sex. In the car, on the way out of the credit union's parking lot, Bob called his friend Charlie.
"What's up, Bob??" Charlie answered. "Weekend time bra! You headed to the bar? Or are you still dreaming of Claudette?"
"I swear, Charlie," Bob replied, "I can smell when she's ovulating! She's that kind of woman!"
Charlie was Bob's best friend and worked at an architecture firm not far from the credit union. Charlie rolled his eyes when he heard Bob's statement. Bob made these kind of remarks often. Charlie rolled his eyes often.
"Bro!" Charlie said, "You can't smell her ovulation! Your senses are fucked, you're a suburbanite bank teller not a god damned Apache! You're probably smelling your mustache with all those Trader Joe's tuna wraps you eat!"
Charlie then let out a long belly laugh as he often did. Bob initially had a strong urge to get defensive with Charlie and tell him to fuck off but he broke down quickly and soon they were both rolling in laughter. Once they started laughing there was no stopping it. They could snort and bellow for hours. They had done this since they were kids. Bob had known Charlie since he was five years old. Almost nothing had changed in all of that time save for puberty.
"It's not my mustache dude!! Claudette is so beautiful, bro!" Bob told him. "She's perfect. It's like she's machine made. Her ass is so round and sturdy. Her breasts are like Ruby Red grapefruits. She smells like jasmine flowers on a warm moonlit night! Her lips, they're like freshly sliced Roma tomatoes, juicy and ripe! Her coiffed Cleopatra hairdo is unmovable! It's like it's plastered in place! It's like she's a fucking toy doll, man! All she wears are those wispy yellow sun dresses with assorted flowers scattered on them, kinda' like insects on a windshield. The dresses barely make it halfway down to the back of her sultry, tanning booth browned thighs. I'm sure she shaves everything! I bet she waxes her anus, bro! What I wouldn't give to rub my Slavic nose right in her corn hole!!"
Bob's nose was remarkable, but not for smelling. He was oddly deficient in that sense. His nose was remarkable to witness. It wasn't ugly, in fact some women found it appealing. It sat on his face like an angry crow. It was somewhat delicate but retained a touch of manliness. His nostrils were flared like a screaming donkey's might be. He had a trimmed dark mustache beneath his nose. His eyebrows weren't fully joined but close. In the past Bob had been athletic but a few years working as a bank teller had rounded him out. His chest and back had a thin coating of lazy fur as did his legs. His pelvic region and backside were very hairy, hirsute in fact. He had a strange curly mop on his head that he kept somewhat short, almost like an afro.
As far as fashion went Bob was fond of lively, cheap, reject hipster type suits that he could find at the local Marshall's or TJ Max. He had three that were almost identical. They fit him tight. The jackets were always yellow and the pants were a shady, light blue, powder blue. He liked to wear tight Fruit of the Loom white t-shirts beneath his jacket, v-neck style to show off the "pube" like hairs on his chest. He wore yachting shoes with no socks, which could get stinky though he never noticed (I told you about his nose.) He did have a nice ass, or so some of the women he had been with had said. It was bubbly and stuck out prominently. He had strong thighs. His shoulders weren't incredibly wide but they weren't weak either. You could still tell he had enjoyed some athletic moments in his life though the dullness and inactivity of modern life was catching up with him. His eyes were narrow and often looked like slit blood oranges, like he was stoned. And sometimes he was, yet always preferring gummies to ripping bowls of actual marijuana. He liked the watermelon gummies that looked like toxic fish in a nice, rounded tin. They felt sophisticated to him.
"So we gonna' meet at the Tiki Bar, bro?" Charlie queried.
"Give me an hour or so, Charlie." Bob responded. "I was gonna' go there immediately but I'm trying to do my gym thing. I got a membership at the athletic club. It's dope. You and me are getting fat. You should check it out sometime. They got a jacuzzi, two of them actually, they got a sauna, tennis courts, pickle ball, volleyball, weights, pilates classes, yoga! You should see the chicks in yoga dude. There's some sexy fucking babes in there, fra. I'm gonna' go real quick and shake a bit of sweat out and then get in the tub. I feel like I'm pudgy, bro. Oh ya, I already said that. I'll meet you at the Slippery Lotus at 7. Is that cool? Your wife won't mind it being a little later will she?"
"Nah." Charlie replied. "We ain't doing so well. We're doing so bad that she don't give a fuck what I do as long as I ain't home much. But, whatever! Seven sounds good. You'll have to tell me more about Claudette and the Yoga chicks. I haven't gotten laid in over a year. I've got a weird callous forming on my right hand. Is that bad?"
"Whoa, man. That sucks! Ya, that's bad." Bob said thoughtfully. "We'll catch up at the Lotus in just a few. I'm excited to hit the club and get my sweat on. Later."
Bob hung up before Charlie responded not realizing his rudeness. It wasn't really his fault. His primitive mind immediately had drifted back to Claudette and what he supposed was her hairless anus. He could see it in his mind's eye all puckered and pink, no hairs, no blemishes, just a tight little turnip waiting for his wily proboscis to dig into it. He breathed in deeply, vividly imagining the scent of her dirty backside flower. His loins began to stir.
The drive to the club wasn't very far, about seven minutes in light traffic from the Fiat County Credit Union, FCCU for short, or fuck you as Bob liked to say. His now full erection became painful as he traveled.
The club itself was beautiful. There were lots of palm trees and ferns outside. The parking lot and grounds were immaculate, laced with gourmet gravel. Bob had splurged to get the membership. He thought his position in society could be lifted by joining. He knew some of the town's real movers and shakers were members. Now he was too. He pulled his newly acquired BMW electric I3 into the parking lot feeling pretty good about himself.
Now the reader may be wondering how Bob acquired this fancy electric car seeing that he was only a county credit union teller. The car is not cheap. Let the author first make a note that he thinks, and yes he does identify as "he," electric cars are way overrated and may even be far worse than that, in many ways. It gets conspiratorial but let's not digress. He won't expound on those theories at this time though readers may feel free to email him if they are interested in hearing such nonsense.
Bob came to own this car by sheer luck, or fate if you are so inclined, and a bit of primordial courage. An acquaintance at the Slippery Lotus had made a stupid and somewhat impulsive, seemingly nonsensical, offer to him one night whilst the two were imbibing a rather large amount of alcohol.
