"I can't stay long," she said.
"It won't take long," I replied, and handed her my cell phone," Call your old man and tell him you'll be home by ten."
I undressed while she made the call, and she acted like she wanted what she saw. Large biceps and arms, heavily tattooed and muscled. Strong hands. A solid six pack of abs. Strong leg muscles and thighs. A firm ass. My hairy chest didn't harm my appeal, either.
"Hi," she said, in the doorway again, now wearing only bra and panties. She was no beauty. But she was a cut or two better than plain, and nowhere near ugly. Now, after seven or maybe eight years of traumatic experiences— assorted abortions, fucking scores of married men— she was getting the kind of lines in her young face that polite people say show character. I saw the lines as too much age for too few years, giving her an air of having been taken advantage of emotionally, used once and thrown away like Kleenex.
"Ready?" She nodded, undoing the scarf that tied her blonde hair behind her head, letting the shoulder-length mane fall free.
"I'm ready, all right," she said, " I mean, the old mind really gets a workout waiting tables all night. It's a goddamn challenge."
As she spoke, I watched bitter lines deepen in her face and then lowered his eyes to her breasts as she released them from her bra. The breasts were small and quite attractive. Her nipples were like rose-hued sand dollars. I went over to the bed and lay down. She came and stood by the bed and leaned over me, her breasts looked like swelling fruit.
I touched her. She rubbed her hand over my chest, twining her fingers in its hair. She made an effort and got a wry smile going, then latched her thumbs in her panties and tugged them off.
Bobbi was a crazy girl who fucked everyone and belonged to an older married man who pimped her.
"No hickeys!" She warned me. So I licked her neck, breathed in her ear, pawed her crotch till she responded with heavy breathing and moisture, and moved her hand to my cock. She knew my cock would relieve the tension in her girl parts, and she jacked me till I pushed it inside her. She wanted it inside her first, then she'd suck it and clean me up. I helped her climb atop me, and helped her guide it in. She was wet and tight as she started fucking me. "I can't believe I'm so wet!" We made love, slow, grinding love, and it was good. I wasn't inside Bobbi five minutes before she felt her orgasm coming, "Baby I can't wait, I'm gonna cum. I'm sorry!"
When she stopped floating she got off me, kneeled, and told me to dump my load in her mouth. It didn't take long, and my cum was flowing out her mouth, like warm syrup on hotcakes, over her lips, down her chin, and spilling onto her chest and belly and thighs. She swallowed as much as she could, cleaned her mouth with her tongue, swallowed a little more, licked her lips of goo, swallowed again, and licked semen off her fingers after she wiped the cum from her belly and tits. Semen was everywhere. I cleaned her with the bedspread. She looked like she got drowned by a super-soaker water gun.
Then she climbed out of bed, slipped on her bra and panties, and got into the simple shift she wore.
"You like cock as much as your mom," I said. Bobbi was 24 karat white trash. Prolly from Ohio or Michigan.
I drove her back to the store. "Do you wanna see me again?" She asked.
I gave her my business card. "Gimme a call if you want more of me."
Sandy was asleep and snoring when Bobbi came home. Bobbi took a shower and covered herself with a thin robe before she went out to the kitchen to make a sandwich and get ready for her honey.
I went to Duncan Donuts for coffee and a toasted coconut treat. The car I was looking for was there. Couldn't miss it. It was one of those 70s Chevy Impalas niggers love. Painted up like a Dreancicle, and larded with expensive wheels and other jewjaws every self-respecting jungle bunny gotta have on his wheels. Prolly run like shit. I waited for them in the parking lot. In a while they came out accompanied by two skanks. They all piled in the Chevy and left. I followed.
We went here and there and to a parking area behind an old abandoned warehouse near the city limits. The guys got outta the car and walked toward me for a confrontation. I was ready for them. I shot both of them, backed up, and left before the skanks got a look at me. I returned to the donut shop. It's how I do things.
I went home, showered, and went to bed. The doorbell rang about the time I was asleep. WTF? I went to the door and cracked it open.
It was my friend Janet Douglas. She looked drunk. "I hope you don't mind," she said, and kinda pushed me outta the way to come in. I wondered how she got my address.
"I got your address from a nice policeman."
Question answered.
"Scott, my son, got outta jail and came home. He got drunk and we got into a fight. I called 911, and here we are," she said. "Can I spend the night?" She didn't wait for an answer. She found my bedroom, found my bathroom, and returned dressed in the top of a baby doll nightie and a cigarette stuck in her lips. I don't smoke but don't object to cigarette smoke.
In a nutsack Janet was around ten years older than me. I was thirty-five. She looked like what she was. A school principal, matron, alcoholic wife who sold pussy on the side. Medium height, plump ass, average tits that hung like fruit, long brown hair, hazel eyes. She was never Miss America or Miss Anything. She married a teacher twink who became a pedo-twink. Their spawn was a feral asshole.
She finished her smoke and got in bed with me. "Don't eat me," she warned. "I was busy earlier tonight." That sort of thing rarely deters me from eating at the 'Y' but I don't play the cleanup position, either. But you never really know who's been on the play ground before you. Her missing nightie bottom was a nice touch. "Fuck me," she said, then "fuck me hard." I did.
I took her home early, before the Sun came up. Scott Jr. was still in jail. I gave Janet a hundred.
"You trying to get on my good side?" She asked.
"I been on both of them," I replied.
