this story is based on a true incident in my life, successfully dealt with in therapy. Everything after they leave the gigolo's apartment is fantasy, and is not something I would condone. I don't condone what happens before that either, but it happened. Jb7
He sat there, puzzled, disoriented. Even with his eyes closed, the smell of the place, something was foreign, not his room, not his bed. Dimly, as through a thick fog, he heard voices murmuring. A male voice was moaning, humming with pleasure, accompanied by a woman's mews of delight.
As the fog of sleep lifted, the sounds became clearer, more easily identified, comprehended. "Hey, take it easy. I've already got a circus tent pole in my pants." It was the male voice, slightly familiar.
A low sensuous chuckle was the response. "I can take care of that for you."
His mother's voice. The evening, the day came rushing back to him.
#####
The call had come into the mechanical lab where he worked calibrating meters and gauges for the testing firm which employed him. It was just after nine thirty that morning. "Greg McKenzie. Good morning."
"Good morning to you, too. What's got you all full of piss and vinegar this morning?" It was his mother's voice, bright and chipper, something of a rarity recently, especially this time of day.
"Hey, Mom. You sound like somebody hit you with a happy stick, too. What's up?"
"You weren't thinking about coming down tonight, were you?"
"Unnnh, not really. Joanne and I had made plans to go to dinner and then..."
"Oh." She paused for a long ten seconds. "I hate to impose, but could you come down? I'm sort of in a bind down here."
"What's going on? Your boss giving you problems?"
"No, nothing like that. You've met Joe, haven't you? Well," she drew it out, like she was debating with herself how much to confess. "Last night he wanted to...sleep over. When I said no, he got upset and raised his hand like he was going to hit me. He must have seen my expression, 'cause I was ready to hit him back, and you know he wouldn't have got back up this week. When he left, I heard a sound like two cars hitting, and when I went out this morning, the grille and fender on the passenger side of my car were all smashed in. I can't prove it was him, but I'm certain it was.
"I'm working alone tonight, and don't have a ride home. I was hoping you could come down and give me a lift."
*****
You, dear reader need some background. Our foggy hero's mother and stepfather were currently separated, not yet even contemplating divorce. Since they were legally separated, both enjoyed the freedom to 'date' anyone they wanted, without the need to explain why things couldn't go any further. Thus both could sleep around as much as their reputations would stand without the possibility of their partners wanting to get entangled in matrimony, of which both claimed they had had enough.
Greg's stepfather had been a farm hand on the mother's family farm when she caught her second illegitimate baby (our protagonist). She played on the stepfather's sympathetic and greedy nature, convincing him to say he was the baby's father.
What they had not foreseen was her father's reaction to the second pregnancy without a wedding. As soon as the baby was old enough to travel (three months at that time), they were not so politely asked to get their asses off his farm, even though by this time they were married.
She had grown up on that farm. Although she wasn't very big at five seven and a hundred and fifteen pounds, she was strong, and had the hands of a farm worker. Greg had memories of her hitting him upside the head when he was a teenager, for giving her sass. His head rang for a day and a half.
When her father said leave, she said it near broke her heart, then that steel rod she used for a backbone set in, like it always did when she had to do something unpleasant. She didn't say a word, just turned, went to her room, packed their bags and walked out without a by your leave. She never returned to the farm to spend the night.
The couple were together for just about twenty-one years, when she walked out, six weeks after Greg's birthday. At first, she had moved into an apartment in her brother's house, across the street from her husband, to be close to her children. That lasted about a year. When the separation became legal, she moved and started dating.
Her employer opened a branch of his retail grocery business in a town about thirty-five miles north, and convinced her to move, to be the book keeper and assistant manager. That was about three years after she left her husband.
Greg was living and working in a medium sized city called Milburn, about a forty five minute drive from the village of Elk Hill, where his mom's store was located. It was an easy drive, and more than a few of the people who worked in the factories surrounding Milburn made it twice a day, so, while it was inconvenient at the time, it wasn't a huge imposition.
*****
"You could bring Joanne, we could have dinner here together."
"Okay, I'll ask her," Greg said, seeing his plans to explore the next step in his relationship with Joanne go out the window for this weekend.
He was right. When he got to talk to her, she just laughed and politely declined. "Knowing your mom, call me when you get back Sunday. Maybe we can get together for a bit then."
Realizing she was probably right, he simply nodded and drove to his apartment to pack an overnight bag. With his mother's eating and drinking habits in mind, he stopped at a truck stop and had a garbage plate (cheeseburger, fries, slaw, mac salad and beans) for dinner. Tomorrow, he would not be nice to be around, but he should last most of tonight drinking anything but zombies.
He got to his mother's store just a few minutes after eight o'clock, in time to see her lock the front door and turn off the show room lights. He drove around to the back parking lot and knocked on the employee entrance.
When Cindy, his mother, saw that Joanne was not with him, she told him that she hoped she hadn't spoiled or interrupted any important plans. "Nothing that won't wait a year or two," he replied, with a wry grin.
"Oh," she said knowingly, "you two getting serious?"
"We're thinking about getting serious." He glanced through the window to the back parking lot. "Where's your car?"
"I called Charlie's Body Shop. They came and got it right after lunch. The insurance is already taken care of, and Joe can either pay the deductible, or spend weekends in the county jail for the next year for leaving the scene of an accident. He has matching damage, and paint scrapings from both cars match the other.
"The smug son of a bitch. If the car takes more than a week to fix, he'll have to pay the rental from Monday on. My insurance will pay for the first week."
Greg shook his head, silently wishing he were back in Milburn, his head buried between Joanne's thighs. That's where the night had been programmed to start. He looked at Cindy. "Well. Where can we eat?"
A bar just around the corner put out a salad bar every Friday, featuring fresh fruits and vegetables from Cindy's employer, their original raison d'etre. After eating there, and finishing a bottle of wine, Cindy had asked Greg if they could hit a couple of other bars in town. It soon became apparent to Greg that Cindy was well known in the places she chose to visit with him.
By the time they reached their last stop, he was just about out of it. It was one thirty in the morning; he had been up since five o'clock the morning before.
In addition to the half bottle of wine he had with dinner, there had been a highball or cocktail or two (Cindy insisted) at each of the four stops before this. He was twice Cindy's size; how did she hold up so well?
He was vaguely aware of the bartender. A youngish, gigolo-looking, slightly built toady, as Greg called him to himself. The only virtue he had, that Greg could see, was that he seemed to like Cindy. Somehow, Greg remembered, he had been helped up the steps to Carlos' apartment.
#####
"Hey, take it easy. I've already got a circus tent pole in my pants."
"I can take care of that for you."
"What about him?"
"He's asleep. When he's been drinking like tonight, when he goes to sleep, he can sleep through a hurricane." He heard the unmistakable rasp of a zipper.
Even though his eyes were still closed, with the sudden surge of anger, he saw red. Without moving from the easy chair he was in, he yawned and stretched, knocking over his drink and the lamp on the table next to the chair.
"Shit!" That was Cindy. It was followed by the sound of running feet. Greg stood and turned just in time to see her half naked form run out the apartment door into the hallway.
He glanced about the room and saw Carlos looking at him over the back of the sofa separating the two living areas, his eyes wide and frightened. Greg looked like the football player he had once been. Carlos looked like he was still fifteen.
Greg walked around the sofa, picking up Cindy's panties and bra. He stood there, looking down at Carlos, his prick flaccid, laying on his slacks. Greg reached down, inside the other man's pants, and grabbed his testes, squeezing them a bit more than gently.
"I'm not going to hear a word about this, am I, from anyone?"
