Based on a true story...
I sat at work fidgeting, thinking of Kenneth. He was coming today. I had to concentrate on my work; hour after endless hour of runny noses and suture removal, co-payments and lab results, worried mothers and superior doctors to schedule, collate and mollify. It was exhausting when I wasn’t distracted and horny. And my fucking dipshit husband, Paul, has to be everyman to everyman, husband came home late three nights in a row and just fell into bed beside me without a single word or casual grope and commenced snoring like Papa Bear snuggled under a fresh blanket of snow. Let’s just say, Mama Bear needed some lovin’ to warm her oven.
Kenneth was coming, tho, and I intended to rape his ass. I’d love this guy from the minute he poked his head into (goodness) my (gracious) music room(mm hmm), where I was playing a clarinet sonata sans accompanist, and grinned at me, proffering the score in his hand. I think I shouted something happy sounding, ‘cause he was soon at the piano and tickling the ivories like a not so gay Liberace, and I breathed deeply to prepare for my entrance (that’s it). I played the shit out of that piece, too, and when it was over, he just turned and beamed at me. And he was beautiful. I was in love with him. Well, not like I loved my husband when we first met, or like I love the Seahawks, but more like a deep affinity. Like, I love this person’s soul and want to share his every thought and emotion, and I want his johnson inside me, filling me up with his essence, or whatever you wanna call it.
But I was at work.
“Nancy, what did you do with Mr. Plinchkin’s file?”
Kenneth had been visiting his uncle in Oregon, but was currently Greyhounding his ass to Seattle, and me.
“Nancy.”
And my fucking vajage was getting moist thinking about his square face, and teal eyes and, medium-sized cock, so he said-
“Hello! Earth to Nancy!” Heather was waving a hand in front of my face. “I need Mr. Plinchkin’s file. It’s not in the slot.”
I put it in the slot, right?
“You put it in the slot, right?”
“Well, of course, I did.” I got up and went to the slot where I should have put it. “It’s not here.”
“Really?” Heather squinted her eyes. “You had it last.” She referred to Sigrid, who was smiling blankly and tilting her head, like a retarded Barbie doll. Sigrid did not like me, but I could have cared less. Kenneth was coming. Heather put her hand on her hip. “Are you all right, today?”
I gave her a wide-eyed, I’ve-been-telling-you-about-this look and saw the light dawn in her eyes as I made my way back to my desk and started opening drawers and hunting for the missing file. Fuck, I was getting a headache. I abandoned the search and slid my purse out from under my desk to get some ibuprofen and bent back my nail as it jammed into a file folder. What the fuck? I sat back, nonplussed, sucking on my finger. Heather sidled up to me. I gave her a pleading look, reached into my purse, again, and pulled out the dreaded Plinchkin file. “I found it.” I didn’t even try sincerity, but just resigned to being stupid, and sighed.
Heather smiled knowingly and turned to go. “Someone’s somewhere else this morning.”
I was somewhere else. I was at my favorite bar with my favorite drink and my favorite fuck fantasy by my side… I got my purse off the floor and put it on my desk. Sigrid’s tiny head snapped up. She had noticed this, the trademark sign of my imminent departure, and dared to question. No one left early. But that twenty-year-old cunt could not fathom the depths to which I would stoop to get what I wanted. I was fucking leaving and this little bitch was not getting one iota of info out of me. I shared my secrets of success with a few choice friends and this uptight-
Kenneth was coming and I was going. I checked my purse for phone, text from Kenneth, must read, and keys and wallet, slipped 20 bucks out and tucked it into my Jet cd, and sent Sigrid an evil stare. I knew from my secret suck source that this petite and darkly sexy ingénue was making up lies about me. She’d noticed my lofty status as untouchable, a position I took pains to procure and maintain, and made it her mission to topple me from my “pedestal”, as she put it. I wasn’t worried a bit. Heather and I knew it wasn’t who you knew but who you blew and each of us had our “secret santas” who loved how naughty and nice we could be. I picked up my purse and shouldered it as I shot back a nonchalant “See you tomorrow,” and sauntered to the office to sign out.
Heather was lingering by the office manager’s door pretending to not be able to fit this file into the slot. I quickened my pace a bit. Kenneth was less than an hour away. Thank Allah for cell phones, or whoever. I handed her the cd. “Here’s that band I was telling you about.”
She mumbled something vague and slipped it into her pocket. “We still meetin’ at Padre Pete’s?”
“Of course.” This was our code for meeting at our actual secret drug deal spot, Angelo’s, a seedy little dive downtown. We exchanged anything from pot to pamprin there. Tonight, Heather was supplying me with Cialis® for my evening with Kenneth. I could get it if I wanted, but people would notice and talk. Heather could get it unnoticed anytime, the bitch, I hated her. Jk, but seriously, she had it all. Looks, a sweet little family and a favorite doctor to spoil her rotten. Well, I guess I didn’t look bad for a middle-ager, and I had my darling hubby and my sweet little puppies and my favorite doctors, I just wanted it all. And Kenneth, too.
Kenneth’s plane was about to arrive, and I was at the liquor store, getting some more ingredients for my love potion, when I got the text saying he’d landed. I left that fucking cart and hit the streets. In twenty minutes, I’d be planting a juicy, wet one on his lips that was thirty years coming. And in a couple hours I’d be (oh, yeah) bumpin’ uglies with my unsuspecting, newest boyfriend.
To be continued…
Friday, December 24, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Rich, Dax and Kenneth have a Threesome?
Based on a true story...
I was at my usual spot, where other little sluts, like me, go to get their dick sucked or to find a tight ass to fuck, (Nice, I know) and this tall, burly, part-Asain god walked by me and onced me over. I didn't want to seem too desperate, so I let him go past me without a word. Seconds later, he came back around and our eyes met again, and soon we were making out like teenagers. It was a good twenty minutes later before we drew breath and I was hooked! We exchanged names and numbers and parted. Dax promised to call me. O. M. G. Twitterpation.
The next day he began a texting barrage which included such radically original phrases as, “I never met anyone like you,” and “I have to see you again.” Of course, since I am so incredibly insecure as to be compared to a stupor-hero, I ate it up like so much fresh fodder and texted back other witty sayings like, “I bet you tell that to all the boys” and “ditto”. I know, too much wit, but he was hot and into me, two things which in the past had seemed mutually exclusive, so forgive my intense eagerness (read: desperation).
We were soon planning a second encounter, but Dax seemed to be avoiding the ultimate proof of his profoundly provocative utterances. Needless to say, I pushed for a rendezvous time, but whenever I did, he stopped texting me. Bummer. I pushed harder, he avoided. I backed off, and , go figure, he started texting again. But it was still only a tease and we hadn’t met again, yet.
Finally, I was fed up with his game and told him so. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I asked when he actually called me.
“Not over the phone,” he whined. Well, now we were getting somewhere. I was like, he’s either married or has HIV or something, cuz this guy is not being straight, wait, forward with me, but at least now we were going to meet and talk and see what’s really up, besides my cialis-infused schwantzstupper.
We met at a local haunt for karaoke. I tried to get close for more kissing and groping and he pushed me away and acted irritatingly coy, like he hadn’t had his hand down my pants ever in his short, flaccid life, but never attempted to clarify what his problem had been with meeting me in general.
Then I heard someone ask him, “Where’s Rich?” Oh. Married. Bummer. So we talked a little about this Rich bitch and I was like, “So, do you want to get caught so he’ll break up with you, or what?” Avoidance and politicalese followed, but no "forward" answers. I decided to cool it.
He called the next Friday to go out again, so I went, and his Rich was there with friends, so I got to be introduced as Dax’s new friend, Kenny, and all seemed only slightly strained. Rich left to dance with his muchachos and Dax and I sucked down our cocktails and avoided talking about Rich and Dax and Dax and Kenneth and sang Unforgettable together.
Now, let me say at this time that the whole while we were hanging out, Dax was very possessive of me and hated it whenever I’d talk to another guy, especially if Dax thought him “not hot”. He would get in my face and say, “No, Kenneth. Look in the mirror. You’re haute couture, so why do you keep shopping off the rack?” Sweet and mean at the same time, that’s Dax. God, and I loved his kisses. Maybe we’d get to do it again, someday. But I just told him I liked making ugly guys feel better about themselves. Did he assume I meant him, and get offended? Der. Even after I was all like, “but not you!” I mean I like all kinds of guys, tall , thin, cut, a bit chunky, as long as they can kiss and like their salad tossed and lollipop licked and like to reciprocate. And some guys I feel like I’m the one being adored (no problem, so far) and sometimes I’m the one worshipping on my knees. Uh-hem. What’s funny is, apparently, Dax was both, cuz he was almost as insecure as me and kept asking me if he sang well, (like a god-damned really loud angel!) and was gorgeous and hunkish as well, so I was getting the best of both worlds!
One night, we went to a new spot so we could touch one another without any of Rich’s friends seeing us, and who is there, but Rich’s best friend, Alan. Oh, the greeting lasted for a half-hour and I was ignored and told, sotto voce, to go smoke a cigarette so Alan wouldn’t suspect.
Well, out on the patio, I met Randy, and we hit it off very well. Randy was an apt moniker. He had his hand on my magic wand before I could rub it on his knee and, then, shoop, in flies Dax, like a freakin’ patriot missile, and the party was over. I belonged to Dax, and Randy, not being 6’4” and 225, left. Now, I was mad.
I went back in with Daximus Rex and started talking to his boyfriend’s best friend’s friend, Tony, who was mediumly hot, but not hideous and soon we (tony and this guy) were making out. Let’s just say Dax was not happy, but tough titty, miss kitty. Kenny needs more than just promises of love, he needs a tongue down his throat, and a dick in his…etc, etc, etc. Now, I probably didn’t have to walk Tony to my car and have him ride my cock for too many minutes to be considered a “walk to the car”, but I did, and Dax didn’t say a word on the drive home. Nor for two weeks. I forgot about him.
Meanwhile, back at the original hot spot, I held up the wall as John and Paul tried to get my attention. I ignored them. But there was this cute, chunky, a little insecure guy who had been cruising me, so I decided to give him a shot. He was a great kisser and a great slurper and soon I was shooting in his mouth. Blessed release!
Then came the awkward moment where one of us may or may not ask for the other’s number. I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask for his, cuz he really wasn’t my type, a bit too chunky and not really that good-looking, but nice enough.
“What’s your name?” He asked with hopeful brow and puppy eyes.
“Kenneth,” I said, “or Kenny. You?”
“Rich” Sweet smile.
That’s why he looked so familiar.
Epilogue: Well, Dax called me again, eventually and we have become best karaoke friends forever! And when he called last week and was like, Rich is here, but he’ll be leaving soon; come now, I did. And the three of us played “hangman” on the computer and kicked ass, my friend. 2nd place on the score board. I kid you not. We rocked the house that night. I do wonder if those guys talk about me. Of course, I never told either of them about the other, cuz I’m so discreet.
I was at my usual spot, where other little sluts, like me, go to get their dick sucked or to find a tight ass to fuck, (Nice, I know) and this tall, burly, part-Asain god walked by me and onced me over. I didn't want to seem too desperate, so I let him go past me without a word. Seconds later, he came back around and our eyes met again, and soon we were making out like teenagers. It was a good twenty minutes later before we drew breath and I was hooked! We exchanged names and numbers and parted. Dax promised to call me. O. M. G. Twitterpation.
The next day he began a texting barrage which included such radically original phrases as, “I never met anyone like you,” and “I have to see you again.” Of course, since I am so incredibly insecure as to be compared to a stupor-hero, I ate it up like so much fresh fodder and texted back other witty sayings like, “I bet you tell that to all the boys” and “ditto”. I know, too much wit, but he was hot and into me, two things which in the past had seemed mutually exclusive, so forgive my intense eagerness (read: desperation).
We were soon planning a second encounter, but Dax seemed to be avoiding the ultimate proof of his profoundly provocative utterances. Needless to say, I pushed for a rendezvous time, but whenever I did, he stopped texting me. Bummer. I pushed harder, he avoided. I backed off, and , go figure, he started texting again. But it was still only a tease and we hadn’t met again, yet.
Finally, I was fed up with his game and told him so. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I asked when he actually called me.
“Not over the phone,” he whined. Well, now we were getting somewhere. I was like, he’s either married or has HIV or something, cuz this guy is not being straight, wait, forward with me, but at least now we were going to meet and talk and see what’s really up, besides my cialis-infused schwantzstupper.
We met at a local haunt for karaoke. I tried to get close for more kissing and groping and he pushed me away and acted irritatingly coy, like he hadn’t had his hand down my pants ever in his short, flaccid life, but never attempted to clarify what his problem had been with meeting me in general.
Then I heard someone ask him, “Where’s Rich?” Oh. Married. Bummer. So we talked a little about this Rich bitch and I was like, “So, do you want to get caught so he’ll break up with you, or what?” Avoidance and politicalese followed, but no "forward" answers. I decided to cool it.
He called the next Friday to go out again, so I went, and his Rich was there with friends, so I got to be introduced as Dax’s new friend, Kenny, and all seemed only slightly strained. Rich left to dance with his muchachos and Dax and I sucked down our cocktails and avoided talking about Rich and Dax and Dax and Kenneth and sang Unforgettable together.
Now, let me say at this time that the whole while we were hanging out, Dax was very possessive of me and hated it whenever I’d talk to another guy, especially if Dax thought him “not hot”. He would get in my face and say, “No, Kenneth. Look in the mirror. You’re haute couture, so why do you keep shopping off the rack?” Sweet and mean at the same time, that’s Dax. God, and I loved his kisses. Maybe we’d get to do it again, someday. But I just told him I liked making ugly guys feel better about themselves. Did he assume I meant him, and get offended? Der. Even after I was all like, “but not you!” I mean I like all kinds of guys, tall , thin, cut, a bit chunky, as long as they can kiss and like their salad tossed and lollipop licked and like to reciprocate. And some guys I feel like I’m the one being adored (no problem, so far) and sometimes I’m the one worshipping on my knees. Uh-hem. What’s funny is, apparently, Dax was both, cuz he was almost as insecure as me and kept asking me if he sang well, (like a god-damned really loud angel!) and was gorgeous and hunkish as well, so I was getting the best of both worlds!
One night, we went to a new spot so we could touch one another without any of Rich’s friends seeing us, and who is there, but Rich’s best friend, Alan. Oh, the greeting lasted for a half-hour and I was ignored and told, sotto voce, to go smoke a cigarette so Alan wouldn’t suspect.
Well, out on the patio, I met Randy, and we hit it off very well. Randy was an apt moniker. He had his hand on my magic wand before I could rub it on his knee and, then, shoop, in flies Dax, like a freakin’ patriot missile, and the party was over. I belonged to Dax, and Randy, not being 6’4” and 225, left. Now, I was mad.
I went back in with Daximus Rex and started talking to his boyfriend’s best friend’s friend, Tony, who was mediumly hot, but not hideous and soon we (tony and this guy) were making out. Let’s just say Dax was not happy, but tough titty, miss kitty. Kenny needs more than just promises of love, he needs a tongue down his throat, and a dick in his…etc, etc, etc. Now, I probably didn’t have to walk Tony to my car and have him ride my cock for too many minutes to be considered a “walk to the car”, but I did, and Dax didn’t say a word on the drive home. Nor for two weeks. I forgot about him.
Meanwhile, back at the original hot spot, I held up the wall as John and Paul tried to get my attention. I ignored them. But there was this cute, chunky, a little insecure guy who had been cruising me, so I decided to give him a shot. He was a great kisser and a great slurper and soon I was shooting in his mouth. Blessed release!
Then came the awkward moment where one of us may or may not ask for the other’s number. I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask for his, cuz he really wasn’t my type, a bit too chunky and not really that good-looking, but nice enough.
“What’s your name?” He asked with hopeful brow and puppy eyes.
“Kenneth,” I said, “or Kenny. You?”
“Rich” Sweet smile.
That’s why he looked so familiar.
Epilogue: Well, Dax called me again, eventually and we have become best karaoke friends forever! And when he called last week and was like, Rich is here, but he’ll be leaving soon; come now, I did. And the three of us played “hangman” on the computer and kicked ass, my friend. 2nd place on the score board. I kid you not. We rocked the house that night. I do wonder if those guys talk about me. Of course, I never told either of them about the other, cuz I’m so discreet.
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