Judy awoke thirsty, like always. She sat up on the sofa and looked out over the front yard of Butch's house, "The Flophouse" as they called it. She'd been sleeping on the screened porch since summer started.
She found her water bottle and walked through the dewy grass to the spigot. After filling the bottle, she felt a need to empty her bladder. Lifting her dress, she squatted behind the holly bushes and relieved herself. Taking a drink of water, she said out loud to the morning, "Drinking and pissing at the same time -- I can multi-task with the best of them," and giggled to herself.
She went back to the sofa and covered up. She felt fortunate not to wake up with a hangover. It didn't happen often. The book she'd been reading was open on the little table, and she drank her water and read while the earth woke up. Bird noises got louder as the daylight grew brighter. The newspaper arrived late again, the delivery guy leering through the passenger side window at her like he had done every morning for the past three months. A flushing toilet inside the house indicated Butch was awake. He appeared naked at the screen door.
"Good morning, J." he said cordially, "Can you come in and pay the rent?"
"Sure," she said, rolling her eyes as she put the book down and followed him inside.
She went to the kitchen and opened the fridge and poured herself a cup of wine from a box on the shelf. Going into his bedroom, she saw he'd flopped down on his back, his erect penis extending almost to his belly button.
She started to get in bed beside him, but he said, "Take your dress off, honey. I like you naked."
She obliged, and took her bra off, too. She never wore panties.
She eased into the bed beside him, then rolled over on top of him, her breasts rubbing across his chest, and down toward his erection. He moaned, and she pressed harder. Taking the tip of his penis in her mouth, she began to pay the rent -- sucking off the morning hard-on. It had been that way since she'd "moved in" with Butch. They kept a weird space between themselves -- he was a rich pre-law major from the suburbs and she was a former student turned alcoholic and prostitute. Hence the sleeping arrangements. But in exchange for at least one blowjob (or something sexual) a day, she got to sleep on the sofa on the porch and use the bathroom, computer and phone. For three months this had been how she started her day. She'd drink a half litre of water -- "rehydrating," she called it -- and not start on wine until it was time for a chaser to rinse the cum out of her mouth. And could Butch cum -- a lot and often -- though probably not more than the average spoiled rich kid at 19.
At first, she'd done these rental payment blowjobs right -- sucking on the balls, light teeth on the head, etc. -- but soon she realized he just wanted to cum and it wasn't going to take long no matter what she did. So this morning, like most, she concentrated on taking the shaft as far into her mouth as she could and letting the head hit her throat. She put her hand in front of her lips and made an "O" around his shaft and squeezed up and down. That was all that was required, and he'd come and be happy. Sometimes he asked her to catch it in her mouth and show it to him before she swallowed it.
He began to push and breathe more excitedly. She squeezed tighter with her hand and continued sucking up and down. Suddenly he thrust high into her mouth and she felt his cock pump and the first string of cum squirt into her mouth. He jerked again and squirted another string and another, five in all. She swallowed it, and with an "Aaaaah," opened her mouth to show him she'd done so. She felt salty strings in her teeth and reached for the wine. The blush wine (Chateua de Cardboard, she called it) cut those strings and made her mouth feel clean again. She hated cum, really. Not so much the taste, as it tasted sort of like the mushroom soup her mother used to make. But the consistency was awful. It felt like it left a trail of sticky slime everywhere it went.
"Thanks, J," he said as he wiped his cock off with the sheet. "Will you make some coffee?"
He showered and got ready for school while she checked her phone messages. Her friend Rita had called, asking if she wanted to work a fraternity party. The frat was offering $600 for girls, and they wanted at least four young, pretty ones. She'd make $150 if she took the job.
She poured another glass of wine and called Rita back, agreeing to work the frat party. "How many dicks and how long?" she asked.
"Two hours -- from ten 'til midnight. Probably 40 altogether. Some will be two-timers, some drunk," Rita said.
They made further arrangements and Judy felt good, knowing she would have money for the next few days. When she had money, she didn't just drink wine from a cardboard box. She went to some of the nicest bars in town, at least the ones that would still let her in. As soon as Butch left, she poured another glass of wine to take to the shower. Cold wine in the warm shower was one of the pleasures of her day. Sometimes she brought a bottle with her and laid back and read while the shower slowly filled the tub, only getting out when the hot water or wine ran out.
Today would probably follow the course of most of her days. She'd drink, including several glasses of wine with lunch, then take a nap. Later she'd wake up and go earn some money. She'd come to this little university town as a student, her parents hoping she'd calm down. After she lost her job, vomited at her brother's wedding, wrecked two cars and failed out of college, her parents wanted to put her in a treatment center. Instead, she'd moved in with Butch, an ex-classmate whose wealthy family had bought him a little house near campus.
For lunch she went to the generic Tex-Mex place and had a pitcher of Sangria while reading her book. Sangria wasn't her favorite, as margaritas hit quicker, but today, she decided to try something different. Stuffed with lunch, she ordered a margarita to go (they put them in plastic cups for customers to carry out) and sipped it on the way back to Butch's house. She fell into his bed and into a boozy sleep.
Butch came home from the law library and roused her at 6. Sometimes he seemed angry she was in his bed. One time, she'd been asleep on her side and he'd stretched on a condom and not woken her up until he was bumping the head of his cock against her labia, trying to find her opening. God, she'd hated that, but she lifted her leg and opened her pussy for him anyway.
Today he just shook her hip and said, "Wake up, honey." Butch seemed to really like Judy, once telling her that "if things were different," he might want to be in a real relationship with her. "If things were different ... " She thought about that phrase every day. It meant the same thing no matter who said it -- she'd have to stop drinking.
She rinsed her mouth with water and poured a glass of wine to sip while she got ready for the frat party. She really didn't like frat boys at all anymore. Any one of them alone could be a decent guy -- someone you could talk to in class about things that mattered. Two of them together lowered each one's IQ tremendously. And the more frat boys to gather in one place, the louder their voices and lower their IQs got. Forty of them mixing booze and drugs and sex ... tonight would be worrisome, but probably safe. Most of them had sisters, and usually there were other women there. One good thing about them was that it took longer for them to get in and out of their clothes than it did for her to make them cum.
She poured some wine into a pair of plastic drink bottles -- a half-litre for the walk and a litre for the frathouse -- and put them in her big purse. Checking to make sure the 36 condoms, cell phone, book, and bottle of lube were in the purse also, she set off to meet Rita, sipping the wine from the bottle. The casual observer -- and the cops, who loved busting people for open containers -- would think she was drinking lemonade.
Rita was waiting at the corner of University and Ballard streets. Judy finished the smaller bottle of wine right before Rita saw her and tossed the bottle into the church lot. They'd meet the other two girls at the frathouse.
They found them on a street corner near the Sigma Chi Delta house and walked on. The other two girls were pretty, and young. One was black and tall with big earrings, the other a short white girl with a slight overbite. Both had clear skin, which was Judy's measure for girls "in the business," as they referred to prostitution. She took good care of her skin so she wouldn't look like just another homeless tramp, too, even though she reckoned she was just another homeless tramp if you got right down to it.
They were greeted at the door by a frat brother with a drink in each hand. Behind him, music thumped loudly, girls laughed. Lights flashed and guys yelled.
"Come in," he said with a big bow, offering one of the drinks to them. "Have some of our Crunchpunch," he said, as Judy took the cup from him. She smelled it and it brought back a memory. While still a student, once she'd drank a good bit of this grain alcohol and cheap sugary punch mix at a frat party and woken up in bed with two guys she didn't remember meeting. She later fainted while running to class to take a Calculus exam and some security guard had insisted she go to the infirmary.
