Many Lives and Loves of Richard 03

Author's Notes: This story has been posted to Literotica.Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.

Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

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"March Madness sucks," Richard O'Shea grumbled as he struggled to find the key for the exterior door of the apartment building.

During the chaos of the Cosgrove's Department Store's March Madness sale, Richard had come close to losing his job, come close to being arrested. Some mother decided it would be all right to let her daughter slam two pot lids together repeatedly like cymbals. Richard had marched over and grabbed the pot lids out of the four or five year old girl's hands, which, of course caused the girl to shriek and kick Richard in his shin. Then the mother got involved.

At six feet, five inches in height and weighing in at one hundred and seventy three pounds, Richard towered over the belligerent woman and her squalling brat. One good punch would have shut the mother up and a well-aimed kick to the little snot's posterior would have sent the kid into the Toy Department at the other end of the store. Thankfully, Bobbi, the second floor manager had witnessed everything; she'd been marching over to take the pot lids away from the snotty kid.

"But, rent's due tomorrow so just had suck it up," Richard sighed.

He ground his teeth when he discovered that someone had left the exterior door unlocked. The fumbling about for his keys had been unnecessary.

Entering the small lobby, Richard stood just inside of the door. A small girl was fumbling with her mailbox so Richard politely waited for her to finish before stepping up to check his own mailbox.

"Oh! Oh, you waiting get to your box?" the cute red head asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Take your time," Richard smiled pleasantly.

This girl was not responsible for his foul mood, and in truth, there was no pressing issues waiting for him in Apartment 3C. It would cost him nothing to wait for her to finish her task.

"Stupid key keeps sticking," the girl explained her struggles, returning her attention to the mailbox.

"May I?" Richard asked, stepping closer.

"Yeah, be my guest," the girl said, stepping aside.

"Okay, you need to twist it all the way up," Richard explained, twisting the key then pulling it free with ease.

"I did," the girl insisted. "Stupid key just sticks."

"Uh huh," Richard said.

"It does," the girl demanded, stomping her small foot in irritation.

Richard's smile did nothing to quell her annoyance. And, face to face, Richard could see that she was a young woman, not a small girl. Andup close, she was very pretty, even as she scowled up at him.

"Well, I've got some graphite; we can give your hole a little squirt if you'd like; see if that makes it any easier," Richard offered, sighing as his own mailbox was empty.

"Where are you from?" the young woman asked, a grin making her entire face scrunch up into an adorable smile.

"Texas. Itty bitty place; bet you ain't never heard of it," Richard smiled. "Oakleaf, Texas. Home of the Connelly Cougars; give me a mighty roar!"

"That football?" she asked, stepping toward the stairs. "Other than the Patriots, I don't know nothing 'bout football."

"Its college," Richard agreed, following her small frame up the stairs.

"Well, this is me," she said, stopping at the second floor landing.

"I'm in three C," Richard said as she pushed the door of the second landing open.

"Oh! So YOU'RE the one with them heavy boots all the time," she accused.

"Yeah, probably," Richard agreed. "Why? You're in two C?"

"Uh huh. Right underneath you. Sounds like a herd of elephants up there, I swear!" she declared.

"By the way, I'm Richard. Richard O'Shea," he said, holding out a long fingered paw.

"Huh? Oh! Hi Richard, Richard O'Shea," she teased as she pumped his hand very vigorously. "I'm Vickie."

Vickie did not offer a last name. Richard shook his head as the door of the second landing clicked shut behind her then proceeded up the next flight of stairs.

Entering Apartment 3C, Richard made sure to stomp with extra force as he walked from door to bedroom. With a chuckle, he pulled his long brown hair from his hairband and let his dark brown hair fan out. He then stripped out of that day's suit and tie, pulling on his old Connelly College gym shorts. The head of his flaccid cock threatened to peer out from the leg opening as he lightly stepped from bedroom to kitchen.

He'd made a crockpot roast and the smells were heavenly. He started a pot of rice, stirring in a tablespoon of bacon grease and a generous dash of cayenne pepper. Finding some green onions, he quickly chopped a good sized stalk; that would go into the pot when the timer went off.

He looked up in surprise when a knock sounded at his door. He'd been living in the apartment since January fourth and had never had anyone knock on his door in those three months. Looking through the peephole, he saw no one in the hall.

"Maybe they left a package," Richard thought as he opened the door.

"Hi; do you smoke?" Vickie asked when he opened the door.

"What?" Richard asked, looking down to see the cute little munchkin from Apartment 2C in front of his door.

"Do. You. Smoke?" Vickie said slowly. "I got some insane blunts from my brother; he's such a butt head, but he does know where to get the best shit."

"I uh, yeah, yeah I smoke; not like I can really afford it, but..." Richard agreed, stepping aside so Vickie could enter the apartment.

"Damn! What smells so good?" Vickie asked.

"Doing a pot roast; just put the rice on," Richard said, pulling a tee shirt on. "Got plenty; want some?"

"Yeah!" Vickie enthused, scampering on her stubby little legs to his kitchen.

Over dinner, Richard discovered that Vickie was four feet tall. Her mother and father were also little people; Deborah Walsh was four feet, four inches and her father was four feet seven inches. Her brother, the butt head that managed to score some insane blunts for his baby sister was the oddity in their family; he was five feet five inches in height.

"How tall are you?" Vickie asked as she chomped her way through the meal.

"Six five," Richard said. "Yes; played basketball in high school and college."

He cleaned the kitchen; he made Vickie smile when he confessed he was too OCD to leave any food out, any dirty dishes out. She screwed up her pretty face when he spoke of the huge cockroaches in Texas but agreed with him; they didn't need to encourage any roaches to come to Massachusetts.

Everything put in its place, they went to the living room and Vickie lighted a joint. Richard located the heavy glass ashtray; it had actually been a candy dish but his mother had broken the heavy lid when she'd hurled the dish at her boyfriend for one slight or another.

Richard and Vickie's shared their first kiss after she'd stubbed out the tiny remnants of the joint. The couch was not a great place for a six foot five inch man and a four foot girl to kiss; he had to fold himself into an odd angle to bring his lips down to her level.

With a slightly stoned giggle, Vickie raised up onto her knees. This did make their kiss more comfortable, more rewarding for the two young adults. Vickie opened her mouth and Richard thrust his tongue into her mouth. He then gently sucked her tongue from her mouth.

"You know, bedroom would probably be a lot more comfortable," she suggested, blowing warm air into his ear.

"Yes, yes it would," he groaned and she giggled.

She led the way to his bedroom. She nodded with approval at the sight of his neatly made bed. Richard twisted the knob for his three-way lamp, twisting it twice to turn the light on. The lamp had not had a three way bulb in it since the first bulb had burned out. Smaller light now on, he turned off the harsh overhead light before crawling onto his bed. As he crawled, he stripped off his shirt.

Vickie wiggled out of blouse and bra. She'd kicked her shoes off while they smoked the joint in the living roo and lay back on his bed w wearing only her skirt and panties.

Again they kissed; Richard toying with her small breasts. Her tiny hand rubbed up and down his scrawny chest, playfully tweaking a nipple.

Bending, Richard suckled on her breasts. She gasped and cooed, clutching his head to her small chest. He was able to stuff her entire left breast into his mouth and used his tongue to bat at her nipple.

"I, oh, oh yes," she grunted as Richard's fingers found the crotch of her wet panties.

Thrusting a finger into the panties, Richard managed to diddle Vickie to climax. After her grunts and gasps ceased, Richard eased her panties down her stubby legs. Her pussy was capped by a few brown tendrils that did not fully cover her small slit. Richard wiggled down and clued his mouth to her wet, fragrant slit. Vickie cooed, grunted and squealed in pleasure as he tongued her pussy for a few moments. Then, when she was bucking, hunching her pussy against his mouth, he wiggled forward and placed the head of his cock against her slick lips.

"Augh, I oh, oh God!" she shrieked.

The neighbor in Apartment 3D, the apartment to the left of Richard's apartment hammered on the wall. Even this unwanted noise did not hamper Richard's enjoyment, though. His cock was fully imbedded in a liquid furnace. He could feel Vickie's vaginal walls squeezing, milking his cock as he hammered in and out of her squelching depths.

Only after he had blown his load did Richard notice the blood. She mutely nodded her head when Richard asked if she'd been a virgin.

Lying in bed, the two nude people quietly passed another joint back and forth. Vickie was quite subdued, knees against her small chest as they smoked. In an effort to lighten the mood, reconnect somehow with his neighbor, Richard told her about his writing, his hopes of becoming published.

"Oh yeah?" Vickie asked, looking somewhat interested. "I uh, I write poetry."

Richard scoffed at her statement; all women, it seemed, thought they could write poetry. He let her read one of his short stories, 'The Stain of Shame.' He watched her as she studied the screen of his laptop. The only sound was the occasional 'tap' as she arrowed down the screen to the next paragraph or two. Finally, she sat back and lighted a third joint.

"Well?" he demanded, even as he sucked greedily on the offered joint.

"It's good," she shrugged. "But really? It doesn't make me hungry to read the next one. You use a lot of big words, almost like you trying impress everyone with how smart you are."

"Fuck you," he snapped, angered.

"Uh yeah, already did," she smirked, pointing to the splotch of blood on his sheets, her sticky pubic hair.

Her attempt at humor did not quell his antagonism. After she dressed and left, Richard again read through the short story. He yelled to the empty apartment that the story was good; hell, it was great.

"Fucking poetry? Who the fuck reads poetry anyway," he snapped.

In his anger he did not reflect that he had finally lost his virginity. He had finally managed to have sex, very, very satisfying sex with an adorable munchkin. As proof of the evening's activities, the bed was still sticky from the wet spot. The air still had the scent of their pleasure lingering just underneath the stench of marijuana.

The following day, after another grueling day of work, Richard did take the time to reflect on his momentous evening. After dinner, Richard sat at the cramped desk in his bedroom and typed out the events of the evening with Vickie. He blinked; somehow he had managed to encapsulate the unforgettable evening in just six paragraphs. Stoically, he took the time to flesh the tale out, following the formula of 'Who, What, Where, When, Why and How.' He used spell-check and then sent it to Dee Frankel for her magic editing skills.

"Richard, Richard, Richard," Dee Frankel sighed when Richard called her a few days later, checking on her progress. "I mean, God! Honestly, this reads like some bullshit a twelve year old would come up with. No one wants to read this kind of fantasy crap."

Just before he hung up, Dee did thank him for recommending her to Ms. Flanders. Richard mumbled something then sat and stared dejectedly at the wall of his apartment.

"Fantasy? Fuck, it wasn't fantasy; shit. It happened," Richard protested.

Althea, his agent did ask him if he had anything new, anything she might be able to show prospective publishers. Glumly, he told her the same old story he told her every time she asked; he was working on some things.

"Oh, but, hey, thanks so much for sending Ms. Flanders my way; Surefleet picked her up right away," Althea gushed. "And for sending her to me? I'm sending you a hundred dollars; you're welcome."

A few weeks after his disheartening talk with editor and agent, Richard entered the lobby and smiled at the chubby but cute neighbor in Apartment 3D. For once, the blonde woman returned his smile as she took that day's mail out of her box.

"You hear?" the woman asked as Richard checked his own mailbox.

"Hear what?" Richard asked, sighing as his box was empty.

"That girl? That real little kid, oh damn, lives, lives, oh! Lives on the second floor?" the woman gushed.

"Second floor?" Richard asked, turning to head up the stairs.

"Yeah, real cute girl," the neighbor continued, following right behind Richard. "Hell, first time I saw her, I thought she was a kid."

"Lives in two C?" Richard guessed.

"I suppose so," the neighbor agreed. "Second floor; I know that. Anyway, she had a book of poetry published; they say it's heading for the New York Times bestseller list. Called it the stain of shame, all about losing her virginity."

She huffed in impatience when Richard suddenly stopped walking up the stairs. He turned to stare at the neighbor.

"Her, uh, her name? Wouldn't happen to be Vickie Flanders, huh?" Richard asked.

"That's it!" the neighbor agreed. "Victoria Flanders."

"I'm going kill that little bitch," Richard snarled, nearly knocking the neighbor over as he turned to march down to the second floor.

"Hey! Jesus, huh?" his neighbor protested, grabbing the hand rail.

"Vickie! Vickie, open this fucking door," Richard thundered, hammering on the door of Apartment 2C.

"Shit! Ain't there. Girl done moved out," the neighbor in Apartment 2D snapped, opening her door.

"Oh that bitch! That little fucking bitch," Richard snarled, kicking the door of Apartment 2C.

Althea and Dee were unmoved by Richard's bitter complaints. As Dee reminded Richard, Victoria had simply written a very good book of poetry. Her success was in no way, shape or form preventing him from writing his own excellent book of poetry, short stories, or even novels.

"Grow up, Richard. Grow up and write like a grown up," Dee advised, ending their call.

Time did march on. Richard did not. He continued to labor as a sales associate at Cosgrove's Department Store, continued to write pedestrian sexual fantasies, continued to suffer the indignities of rejection. Soon, Althea dropped him from her roster. His biggest success was on-line, posting his absolute hatred of Victoria Flanders and her poetry. Some agreed with him; most did not.

The End

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**Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. I thank you for reading my stories. Likewise, I thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad. I also thank those that take the time to rate my works, those that 'Favorite' my words.

Have a swell day. And some of you, have a swollen day.