just…can’t… help it… About ten jerks did the trick, and out it came, his forth orgasm of the day and another piece of vermicelli relegated to the toilet. They just kept getting better, thinking about her, and that’s what he didn’t get. Straker had long since dismissed his sex drive as fairly dead once he’d reached thirty. He didn’t give a shit anymore, and that was fine—he had better things to occupy his mind than sex. Additionally, he saw attractive women all the time, and didn’t flinch…
But Melinda Pierce was quite a bit more than merely attractive.
She was the woman of his dreams. She was sex incarnate. She was a vision equal to that which launched a thousand ships in the Trojan War. Straker sighed, rubbing the last drop of semen with his index finger against the cringing glans. The sensation drove him to his tiptoes, and when he imagined Melinda Pierce doing the same, only with her tongue, and he was half hard again even before he got it back into his pants.
He rushed back out, collecting himself. She’d rented a cheap motel room off Route 154, with Observer funds no doubt. “Here are the tickets,” she said when he emerged and nearly hit the floor. She’d kicked her shoes off, extending her long legs across the couch, and she’d removed her blouse to reveal the exorbitant breasts satcheled perfectly in a tan-lace bra.
“What’s the matter? You’ve never seen a woman in a bra before?”
“I—” And that was all Straker could manage. Her hand reached out, holding tickets. Straker’s cock thumped to something close to full hardness again when he took them. Idly, and nearly dizzy, he read:
SALLEE COUNTY CIVIC CENTER,
7:00 P.M., OPEN SEATING
DEEP SOUTH WRESTLING CONFERENCE
REGIONAL SUMMER RUMBLE
“Great,” Straker said dully. “I can’t wait.”
“Goon’s on the card, grappling against Slick Dare.”
“Great.” I would pay anything, he thought. I would sell my soul just to rub my dick against one of those tits for one second. Then I could die, and I’d be fulfilled. The image of those bra’d breasts socked him in the eyes. The sleek lounging legs stretched out to the arm of the couch. Age-old high school cliche’s came to mind: I’d gargle with her piss…and ask for more. I’d eat a mile of her shit just to see where it came from. If she was fucking dead, I’d dig her up and marry her…
“Are you all right?”
Straker’s eyes snapped open. He’d been musing again, about her. “Yeah, uh, sure. I’m fine.”
“You were standing there kind of fidgeting your hips.”
That’s because my dick’s hard again, and it got stuck in the trapdoor of my shorts. “Just a…cold chill.”
She inclined up, then rose and grabbed a bag off the motel desk. “Put these on, you need to look the part.”
Straker peered into the bag: jeans, sneakers, a black t-shirt with the Armageddon Riders logo. “The part for what?”
“Tonight we’re going to this card. I’m going as a ringrat, and you’re going as a fan. You can’t expect to gain any credibility going to a wrestling match dressed in a suit that makes you look like Jack Webb.”
Straker recoiled. “There’s nothing wrong with this suit. It cost two hundred bucks.”
“Wow. Big spender. I’ll bet Ward’s loves you. Listen, Captain, you can’t walk into a wrestling match wearing a suit. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb. So why don’t you get dressed now, and I’ll go take a quick shower before I get into my ringrat gear.”
“Yeah, sure.”
She sashayed off into the bathroom, pushed the door shut behind her. Then he heard the hiss of the shower crank on and almost lost it. It was the image…
Her.
In there.
Taking her clothes off and stepping into the shower, all shiny and perfect and nude.
Straker couldn’t help it. He whipped it out and began masturbating over the plastic, bag-lined wastebasket.
Aw, fuck, aw, fuck— His climax spasmed; he nearly fell down. If Collier could see me
But Melinda Pierce was quite a bit more than merely attractive.
She was the woman of his dreams. She was sex incarnate. She was a vision equal to that which launched a thousand ships in the Trojan War. Straker sighed, rubbing the last drop of semen with his index finger against the cringing glans. The sensation drove him to his tiptoes, and when he imagined Melinda Pierce doing the same, only with her tongue, and he was half hard again even before he got it back into his pants.
He rushed back out, collecting himself. She’d rented a cheap motel room off Route 154, with Observer funds no doubt. “Here are the tickets,” she said when he emerged and nearly hit the floor. She’d kicked her shoes off, extending her long legs across the couch, and she’d removed her blouse to reveal the exorbitant breasts satcheled perfectly in a tan-lace bra.
“What’s the matter? You’ve never seen a woman in a bra before?”
“I—” And that was all Straker could manage. Her hand reached out, holding tickets. Straker’s cock thumped to something close to full hardness again when he took them. Idly, and nearly dizzy, he read:
SALLEE COUNTY CIVIC CENTER,
7:00 P.M., OPEN SEATING
DEEP SOUTH WRESTLING CONFERENCE
REGIONAL SUMMER RUMBLE
“Great,” Straker said dully. “I can’t wait.”
“Goon’s on the card, grappling against Slick Dare.”
“Great.” I would pay anything, he thought. I would sell my soul just to rub my dick against one of those tits for one second. Then I could die, and I’d be fulfilled. The image of those bra’d breasts socked him in the eyes. The sleek lounging legs stretched out to the arm of the couch. Age-old high school cliche’s came to mind: I’d gargle with her piss…and ask for more. I’d eat a mile of her shit just to see where it came from. If she was fucking dead, I’d dig her up and marry her…
“Are you all right?”
Straker’s eyes snapped open. He’d been musing again, about her. “Yeah, uh, sure. I’m fine.”
“You were standing there kind of fidgeting your hips.”
That’s because my dick’s hard again, and it got stuck in the trapdoor of my shorts. “Just a…cold chill.”
She inclined up, then rose and grabbed a bag off the motel desk. “Put these on, you need to look the part.”
Straker peered into the bag: jeans, sneakers, a black t-shirt with the Armageddon Riders logo. “The part for what?”
“Tonight we’re going to this card. I’m going as a ringrat, and you’re going as a fan. You can’t expect to gain any credibility going to a wrestling match dressed in a suit that makes you look like Jack Webb.”
Straker recoiled. “There’s nothing wrong with this suit. It cost two hundred bucks.”
“Wow. Big spender. I’ll bet Ward’s loves you. Listen, Captain, you can’t walk into a wrestling match wearing a suit. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb. So why don’t you get dressed now, and I’ll go take a quick shower before I get into my ringrat gear.”
“Yeah, sure.”
She sashayed off into the bathroom, pushed the door shut behind her. Then he heard the hiss of the shower crank on and almost lost it. It was the image…
Her.
In there.
Taking her clothes off and stepping into the shower, all shiny and perfect and nude.
Straker couldn’t help it. He whipped it out and began masturbating over the plastic, bag-lined wastebasket.
Aw, fuck, aw, fuck— His climax spasmed; he nearly fell down. If Collier could see me
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