I was in the shower stroking my cock, thinking about Mrs. Henderson, my very demanding boss, when the doorbell rang.
I cursed, there was something about the fall: charities, religious nuts, environmentalists, rug salesmen, they all came out to fucking ring my door bell just as I was getting in the mood. This was the second time today.
I didn't stop to get dressed. I grabbed a towel and stomped to the front door. I didn't care if it was the god-dammed Girl Guides.
I wanted to put up a sign like: IF I DON'T KNOW YOU, DON'T EVEN FUCKING RING THE BELL!!! But my girlfriend wouldn't let me. We have to open to the world, she says. She's so open she's never here. But I always do what she tells me: I guess I like it when she tells me to do stuff.
I jerked open the door and growled: "Yeah?"
There looking up at me from the stairs was the most frightened little thing I've ever seen. She was a little younger than me, in her late twenties with her long black hair in pig-tales. Large black rimmed glasses perched on her little snub nose and a large shapeless blouse didn't quite hide her large breasts. The gray wool skirt that ended just below her knees matched the blouse and the glasses but the fish net stocking with a black line down the back seemed out of place. Her footwear was funky: the chunkiest black boots with five inch heels which made her look even more off balance than she already was, looking up at me.
I realized the towel I grabbed was pretty small and it was only just doing its job. I held it closer and brushed some soap bubbles off my wash- board stomach with my other hand.
"Oh, sorry." I ducked a little behind the door. "Can I help you?"
"I was wondering, sir..." Her voice was a faint whisper that trailed off.
"Yes?"
"I was wondering sir..." She looked at my shoulders, glistening and wet, then at her feet. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in some of Badalon's fine products." She waved her hand at the steamer trunk sitting on its side beside her. There were no wheels. The poor kid probably had to drag it down the street. I saw sweat trickling down the side of her face. I never let salespeople into my house. I mean, it's not only a rule, it's a creed. But all of a sudden all that was overturned. And to be honest it probably wasn't out of kindness.
"Sure," I say, opening the door, but trying to keep the racier parts of me behind it. I couldn't believe I was letting her in, but she was just so pathetic.
Her face lit up and she dragged the trunk up the stairs and to the door. She turned around and pulled the case over the door jam, her prominent ass almost in my lap, when I realized I better get something on.
"You can get set up in the living room," I said over my shoulder, pointing in the general direction as I headed down the hall to the bathroom to get my robe.
She stood in the door way with a big grin on her face watching me go. In the bathroom I realized she had probably been checking out my bare ass.
With my robe on and the belt safely cinching down my eager-like- a-dog-bone boner, I walked into the living room and realized what I'd forgotten: the magazines.
They'd been left on the coffee table in front of the couch where I'd been using them last. Opened to my favorite girls. Large breasts. Kneeling. Being done by two guys. Spanking a guy. Being felt up by multiple hands in a phone booth. Orgasmic. Sticky.
My girlfriend doesn't like them much, but that's okay, they're only needed when she away and I try not to succumb to the phone sex ads.
The girl, whose name I realized I didn't even know, put the steamer trunk down in the middle of the room. She was standing right over the magazines, hands on her hips, looking at them and frowning.
"Sorry!" I slipped around her and gathered up the glossy pages. I imagine there was still the smell of cum in the air.
"Those are yours?" She sounded like she was going to faint.
"Ah...well...yes," I said, reddening.
"Do you have a wife?" She had this wide eyed look like a married man wouldn't still have all the lusts of a single man. She was twirling one of her pigtails in her hand. Did this girl get out much?
"I live with my girlfriend. Look I'm sorry. I forgot they were-"
"And you still need these?" She reached out and pulled the magazines from my hands, loosening my robe as she did. She started flipping through them, gasping at a woman tied naked to a tree, being whipped by a birch bough.
"Well... I don't know if I need-"
She flipped open the Hooters magazine to a woman being sprayed with the cum of four men. The woman had her arms over her head and was laughing, like she was in a rainstorm.
"Does that make you hard?" She rolled her 'r' on hard. She looked angry. "I know you men," she spat. "You want to see as much tits and pussy as you can."
She rolled up the magazine and struck me across the chest.
"In fact, I bet you invited me in because you were hoping to cheat on your poor girlfriend and fuck some poor helpless sales-girl!"
