No One Calls Me Ma Barer

I'M OLDER BUT NO ONE CALLS ME MA BARKER.

She weighs 210 pounds but she's no empty suit.

All characters are adults.

Tyrone stared into the flashlight beam. Jackie Bajavez lifted her blonde head off the pillow to look, too.

"Hey nigger? Ever hear of 'the man'?" Jackie recognized the familiar voice.

"Uh huh," the black man replied and stared at the light.

"Go away! Jack!" Jackie demanded.

"Well, I'm 'the man'," Jack Bajavez replied as he shot the man in the chest. The woman in the bed, Jack's wife, screamed.

The black man was in bed with Jack's wife at a cheapo motel. I was in the room next door and heard the whole confrontation. Jack then said, "I can't stop you from fucking niggers, but I can stop niggers from fucking you when you do it under my nose."

The wife's name was Jackie. She usta work as a cashier at my store. She and Jack got married right before I fired both of them. I had no idea Jack was a killer. I always thought Jackie was a whore.

Bajavez is Spanish and literally translates as 'low time.' But it means you're outta time.

This is the tale of how an older wife like me went from retail store manager to gangster empty-suit and became the whore of a killer half her age. Me, Leslie Duncan.

Three years ago I ruled Jack, my life was sweet with plenty of prosperity, influence, and friends. But now I work for Jack, keep his belly full, and his balls empty. It can't last, but I got a lesbian daughter who might help me keep him around ifr he can ever sleep with her.

Three years ago Jack and I worked for Trans Pacific Partners, a globalized empire that devoured commerce and industry everywhere, and even controlled many governments. My husband and I were store managers here, and Jack was a thirty-something flunky-monkey in the sports department of my store before I fired him to trim costs, then they fired me for the same reason. We lost everything, lived on our savings, and my husband got sick. At my age, 60, comparable positions and pay don't exist.

My life became half of a small duplex and a used mini-van, and then I got a letter from a headhunter asking me to call for a consult. I made an appointment and kept it.

The location was a dump, in a room at a motel used by crack addict whores of the ghetto. My contact was an old woman who weighed probably three hundred pounds and chain smoked. I almost left before getting out of my car. Her name was Audrey.

"You're Leslie Duncan, right?" She asked.

The cigarette smoke was annoying. "Can you put out the cigarette?" I complained.

"No. You won't be here long," she replied as she exhaled a cloud of blue smoke from her mouth and nose. Then she cut to the chase. "I want someone free to travel across the street or across the country on short notice. All the travel will be by car, and you'll be the driver."

I nodded.

"We furnish the car and gas."

I nodded.

"There isn't really a job title. So you can call yourself whatever you want. But your job is to drive a car or truck from point A to point B, on time, and make hotel bookings. Can you do that?"

I nodded. "What's the nature of the company?"

"None of your business," she replied. She then scribbled a large number onto scratch paper, handed it to me and added, "Plus thirty days of paid time off and health insurance for two. Any questions?"

"Any retirement benefits?" I wondered.

"No, but you could earn bonuses. Want the job?"

I looked at the pay offer. It was more than I made at China Mart. A lot more. "Yes," I replied.

She handed me a form for direct pay deposit, then said, "We'll mail your insurance cards to you."

"When do I start?" I wondered.

"Now, but don't call us, we'll call you. I'd keep a bag packed. One more thing, your expenses are covered from the time we call you. Put casual clothes and a suit in the bag."

I filled out more forms and left for KFC and the pharmacy before going home.

At home, Jake, my husband, acted underwhelmed and crabbed about me not getting a company car. A few days later we got our insurance cards in the mail, and I got paid soon afterwards though I had done nothing so far.

Jack and I collided after I got a call for a job. The caller alerted me to expect a visitor and follow directions exactly. A few hours later I got a knock at the door from a kid who handed me an envelope and the keys to a ten year old Chevy Cavalier. The kid then walked away, got inside a waiting taxi, and left.

In the envelope I found three, fifty dollar bills and typed instructions.

In a nutshell they wanted me to get a room at the Flamingo Motel at the corner of Grand Central Avenue and Jeffords Street. Then wait inside the room till six o'clock the next morning, and go home. I ate supper at the Golden Corral before checking in, and brought along bottled water.

Nothing much happened till after sunset. Around nine o'clock I heard a car pull up outside, then a car door open and close. There was a knock on the door, next room over, and I heard the door shut. A while later I heard noises that I thought was a headboard tapping against a wall. Later loud talking, screaming, and gun fire.

I looked through the front window and saw Jack Bajavez walking away. Soon Jackie came out, got in her car, and left. She was wearing tight white pants and a green sequined halter top and spike-heeled silver sandals. Her hair stuck out at odd angles and her nails were bright blue and she wore too much makeup the way whores do when they think it's sexy. She wasn't a pretty woman.

The cops eventually came, questioned me, but I told them nothing. I didn't want the problem. Much later I fell asleep, awoke about six o'clock, and left, then stopped for breakfast at a Denny/s.

During breakfast I obsessed about Jackie's black lover, and I fantasized about the men around me.

Jake, the man I married 10 years ago, has no interest in sex. We never had much sex. Even when we met he was a once-a-week kind of guy. I've always been a twice-a-day kind of girl. But our work kept us apart a lot, we made money but the sex was never as often as I liked, but I held out hope for better times that never came.

As a rule I got laid once every two or three months and only after I begged for it, but we got along great and had lotsa money. Jake's my 3rd marriage and I'm his first. Sex seems like a silly thing to complain about when everything else in your relationship is good. Still I thought about sex all the time, and after China Mart let us go Jake got too sick for sex.

I imagined sex with Jake, sex with the guy in front of me in line, sex with the guy beside me in traffic, maybe the meter reader. "Got time for coffee, tea, and me?" Thank you Jesus for sex toys.

At sixty years old I'm no hot tamale, like long ago. Blonde hair cut in a bob style, 210 pounds, 5'-3" tall, size 16. But nobody called me 'Ma Barker' after I joined Murder Inc. Or McGruff. My rank is empty-suit (how ironic for a BBW) but I pull my weight.

When Jake went in the hospital tests exposed a serious testosterone problem, along with all the rest of his medical issues. That was seven months ago. We finally know what's up but ain't nobody getting laid.

Every time I thought we're near the end of the tunnel, we hit another road block and it's always something. Like the insurance company. They denied Jake's expensive prescriptions. Viagra aint cheap, but his problem is no enthusiasm, We appealed, but it takes forever. I can't do it all. I hadda look for work. Manana is the story of our existence. Thank God I got the job offer.

All of this was in my mind when Dean came over to my booth. Dean was the gorgeous cop I spoke to at the motel. Like me he was at Denny's for breakfast.

"Remember me?" He asked.

I'm a plump woman in her late fifties, okay, sixty. I have blonde hair and sharp blue eyes and a toothy smile. I tried to look like I wasn't too eager though I was. I said, "Hello, Officer Cole, it's nice to see you again. Yes, please join me." I remembered him. He was gorgeous, alright. Young, tall, fit and muscular.

"That's right." He looked me over.

"Any luck with the investigation?" I asked.

The dicks have it, now," he replied.

Dicks are detectives. I nodded gravely, and tried to look concerned as I let my eyes drift down the line of his body and linger where it mattered. I shifted in my seat. "Please join me!" I kept saying.

Dean glanced at his watch. Gotta get home to the wife, I imagined.

"I can't stay long," he said.

"That's a shame," I said. "But I understand if you can't stay." I touched his arm. The tip of my tongue peeked out and wet the left corner of my mouth.

"Well," he said, "maybe if we hurry."

"Quickies are good," I said it devilishly and winked at him. "Is it possible for you to keep me posted about the investigation?"

"I'd need your phone or email," he suggested.

"No problem," I said as I wrote both down on a napkin then handed them to him. The short visit included a lot of laughing at unfunny things and staring into each other's eyes. He sat there till I finished eating.

As Dean got ready to leave I came around the booth, put my hand on his back, and gave him a quickie rub, feeling his shoulders and arm, with some hot breathing. Officer Cole didn't require as much charming as I thought. He walked me to the car after I paid my bill. I smiled at him, thanked him for his company, as I took his hand and held it a long time, he apologized twice for not having more time for me. I offered to be available whenever he might have more questions or news about the killing. I wanted some of him. I drove home and parked the car in the drive.

At home, as I showered to remove the grunge, I thought about Dean. Boy oh boy I got worked up. Reaching up and taking the shower head from the cradle, I pressed one hand against the wall, and the nozzle against my pussy, and let the pulse of the water take care of things. It only took 2 minutes.

Done, I retreated to my bedroom to dress, though my legs trembled. The rest of the day my thoughts drifted to Dean. Each time, I'd think about his eyes on me and on my backside, and catch my hands on my pussy. Oh my God, it was sweet torment.

I can't describe how horny I got thinking about Dean leering at me. I needed another orgasm. I stood there "willing" myself into another. God, I wanted to scream, but quietly moan was what I did.

I took care of my need. I needed to take care of business. I stripped down, ran to the bedroom, hopped on the bed, and manipulated another orgasm. This one came easy, giving me time to get composed and prepare dinner. As dinner cooked, I surfed the internet. Yes, you guessed it, interracial porn. White women with black men. I wanted to see first hand my sickness captured on film. It made it worse. My meek little self was losing all self-control along with my inhibitions.

That night, I read, thinking about how I could make this fantasy a reality.

Yes indeed, I had become obsessed being the object of affection to a young black cop. I wondered if I had the fortitude to go through with it? So I put a plan of action together. But in the meantime I waited for a call or text or email from him.

Days later I got a jolt. My phone let me know of a text with a solitary question, "Leslie?"

I replied, "yeah who is this"?

Several minutes passed, the reply came through. " It's Dean"

So through the rest of the night, I texted my new found lover. Anytime Jake asked who it was, I lied and said it was a coworker. I became a certified cheating black cock slut. And I embraced my sickness. We traded dirty texts. Sharing the details of our desires. Then the message I'll never forget. He begged for a nude shot of my old, fat body. I musta replied "NO! countless times..

The final one demanded, "Do it you dirty white bitch. I wanna see those titties"!

Oh damn! Those words were just what I needed to push me over the edge. I was a dirty white bitch. I was now his bitch.

Things went well. Fat girls have big appetites for food and lots more, and I stayed full in lotsa ways. And my inhibitions were history. I owned the right lingerie and plenty of it. But it was simple stuff. "Vanilla." I wanted risqué and bold. I wanted to be like the girls on film. So I picked up more outfits. Secret things for Dean alone.

A new Leslie was in town with the help of a stylist, new hair and makeup. New "slutfits." Feels pretty damn good.

Tuesday evening, I pulled into my drive. The rain fell hard as I sat in the car struggling with my keys, purse, and bag of groceries. Then I heard Dean's voice. He darted over to me, to help get me collected and out of the rain.

Upon entering the house, I heard the shower running. I called out to Jake that I'm home. Dean carried my groceries to the kitchen. I followed checking out his form. As I was putting things away, I thanked him for the help. Seductive and swaying, like I was giving him a private dance. Opening the refrigerator door, I bent down to put the lettuce in the crisper, that's when he came up behind me and pressed himself into by backside. There it was, it's finally going to happen. We're at the precipice and there's no going back. I wriggled my ass against his swelling cock. Knowing full well my husband was in the shower, and we could be caught. But I turned, righted myself and looked up at his gorgeous brown eyes. Dean was 6'-3" and fulla muscles. His beautiful cock felt more than a mouthful but I had plenty of places I knew it would fit fine. I told him that as I unleashed it from his pants.

I tilted my head up and moved in for a kiss. He held me and our mouths met and our tongues danced. Aware that Jake might emerge from the shower, I whispered in Dean's ear, "We have to stop." His hands groped my body, mine explored his. I bit my lip as he pawed at my breasts. I had wanted this for too long. And there I am on my knees with his black cock in my mouth, not wanting to let go, and yet I knew I had to for now. I broke away, suggesting we find a place and time where we could meet. The rain had become a light drizzle, not too bad to go out in it for a minute.

As he sat in his police car, I pressed against its door and soon felt his hand find my pussy. My panties are soaked and stuck against me, but the uncomfortable feeling, is replaced by the thrill his hand created rubbing me. I spread my stance to give him better access. Then the phone rings. A job.

We bid good bye and I went in the house, praying the neighbors missed my indiscretion. Part of me didn't care, though.

Within an hour a gofer brought a car, a Sebring, to me and handed me an envelope. Time to go to work.

The envelope contained one, fifty dollar bill, and instructions sending me to a China Mart near my home. The instructions told me where to park, and to unlock the trunk. Plus, "leave when directed."

I went to China Mart, parked as directed, and unlocked the trunk. Then waited. It was ten thirty. I looked around me and saw a police car like Dean's parked across from me. "Shoplifter," I imagined. At a quarter to eleven I heard the trunk open, and shut moments later. Whomever it was ran to the police car, but pulled open the rear passenger door of the car next to it. When the car door opened I saw the occupants get out. One was Dean, the other was a heavy blonde female out of her blouse and bra. Dean's pants were open. Almost immediately a large car pulled up, Dean got shoved into the back seat, the guy with the gun got in with him, and they left. The blonde stood bawling.

Oh my God! I was stunned. It wasn't yet eleven but I retrieved the trunk key and left. I stopped by the first bar I came to. I had my first clue I wasn't in Kansas no more, and I needed to get drunk. After two stiff shots of whisky Jack came in the bar and found me.

"Want some company?" He asked.

Jack Bajavez was the last person I wanted to see, then, but I nodded, and he sat beside me through a few rounds. Honest to God I don't recall much of what happened later, but I awoke at home in bed with two hundred cash stuffed in my pants pocket. Jake said he was asleep when I got home. Dean's kidnapping was on the news. No mention of the fat blonde.

TO BE CONTINUED