Tami was groaning in extasy, her huge legs wrapped around my back. I lay between her giant breasts, pumping hard, sweat drupping off our naked bodies. God but it had been so long! I was both in terrible pleasure and horribly ashamed, as Tami is married. But it had been so long I'd forgotten how good sex could be, even with a woman as grossly overweight as Tami. She panted and groaned in pleasure - and the phone rang.
Tami was on the other end of the line. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"I was asleep. What's up?"
"I just got back from the store and it's really nasty out there. I wanted to see if you got home all right."
I was dripping with sweat, even though it was cold in there; I'd turned the heat down. No sooner did I get back to sleep when Tami's son's father, Danny, called. "Hey, can you make me a copy of that Road Rash CD?"
The Music And Film Industry Association of America (MAFIAA) scoundrels who haunt slashdot whenever there's a thread about the dreaded "piracy" are having cows if they're reading this right now, as are the scoundrels from the BSA (not the boy scouts; the software scoundrels), even though Road Rash is twelve years old and long out of "print".
But back to the adultery - damn. I can't get laid and I'm still guilty of adultery. I ought to just fuck her. Ya think? The last time I saw her husband he gave me some really, REALLY dirty looks. He thinks I'm fucking his wife. Everybody thinks I'm fucking his wife.
I think Amy hasn't been around for a while, because her boyfriend thinks I was fucking her. "Larry" (not his real name) hates me because he thinks I'm fucking his girlfriend "Samantha", especially after they got in a fight and she moved in with me for a few weeks last Spring before she went to jail for a traffic ticket - well, I was fucking her so I guess he had a good reason. Except that "Sam" is a hooker and "Larry" knows it. I tried to tell the poor fool it was stupid to fall in love with a prostitute, but nobody ever listens to me.
The steady girlfriend I had before Robyn, named Chris - well, her live-in boyfriend hates my guts too - but I was fucking his woman. He walked into Gloria's once when I was in there making out with her, and he got himself barred for threatening to kill me.
I'm not used to having guys be jealous of me. Damn, I lived over half a century without having a single man jealous, now they all are.
Back to Sam, if you're wondering how someone can go to jail for a traffic ticket, it's easy - just don't have monsy to pay the fine, and when they sentence you to community service in lieu of a fine, only serve half of the service because your mom's dying of cancer. That's what happened to "Sam".
Sam's mom was a prostitute in the old days, too, according to Sam. By the time I met her she was in cancer's end stages, but her drivers' license picture spooked me. It looked like my last steady girlfriend, Robyn. I haven't seen Robyn in months; she still has belongings stored in my basement. Tami said she saw Robyn a few weeks ago, and thinks she's dying from cirrhosis. I don't doubt that a bit, she drank so much she made Amy look like a teetotaler. Come to think of it, so did Chris, the GF I had before Robyn.
Shit, the only women who want to get serious with me are alcoholocs, psychopaths, and alcoholic psychopaths. Like Chris, and probably Debbie too if I hadn't been scared off by her resemblance to my ex-wife, who was also an alcoholic psychopath.
Sucks to be me. Be glad you're you.
The night before last I got off of work, determined to get laid. I have a bad habit of making friends with the hookers I meet, and it makes my buying their services uncomfortable for them. Johns mostly don't know it, but these girls hold them in even more contempt than most people hold prostitutes. They consider taking the money an act of greed, and the men fools for giving it up. The anti-choice busybodies who want to increase the penalties for soliciting and prostitution say that the prostitutes are victims, but ask a hooker what she thinks about it and she'll tell you it's the customers who are the victims.
Treat a whore like a whore and she'll act like a whore. Treat a whore like a lady and she doesn't know how to act. I take it that men like me, who treat them with respect and give them the dignity that all humans deserve, are so few and far between that when they find one, they treasure them.
But what the whores don't realise is that most guys treat all women like whores. Which is my problem, I guess - if I treated women like whores, I wouldn't have to buy whores. Why in the hell do I have to be such a nice guy? Shit!
Linda, my favorite whore, is in jail. Like all women, she likes being treated like a lady but unlike most women doesn't mind having sex with me a bit. In fact, she once paid ME a five dollar bag of pot to give her some oral sex. Does that make me a Reefer Gigolo? She's the only hooker I know that I can trust to give the money to first; if they can get your money without fucking or sucking they consider it a win. Half the time Linda doesn't even charge me, letting me buy her dinner or drinks or something, like most non-prostitute whores. E.g., your wife. Speaking of your wife, Congressman, why is it legal for me to fuck your wife unless I pay her?
I don't pick these girls up of the street, that's just stupid. You're just asking to get busted for solicitation. And picking up strange women can be dangerous, as I found out about four years ago (the linked diary has a sequel). No, what usually happens is I wind up making friends with one whore and she introduces me to her whore friends. I'm pretty sure I know more prostitutes than the local District Attorney.
The DA here is a bigger political whore than Hillary Clinton. And if that bitch ever tries to drag me to court to testify against these girls, well, this is fiction, ok? Fucking worthless politicians. When they start passing respectable laws, I'll start respecting the law. But the problems they say they're passing these victimless crime laws like prostitution and drug laws for are caused by the very laws they pass! Since they legalized alcohol you don't see gangsters shooting up Chicago with automatic weapons now, do you? Oh yeah, they do - but the gangsters are selling cocaine now. Different prohibition causing the same problems that alcohol prohibition caused.
But anyway, I went to Farley's, the hippie bar, where I'd met my last steady girlfriend, Robyn. I wasn't looking for a steady relationship, I just wanted to take some drunken, horney woman home for some no-strings sex. But there weren't many people in there, and only one woman, and she was with some grizzled old bastard who made me look young. Well hell, I do look young for my age, runs in the family. When my Grandmother was 97 she didn't look a day over 80.
There wasn't even anybody to talk to, so I drank a single beer (twelve ounce mug for a buck) and left, and went to Gloria's Kitchen (nine ounce glass for a buck). The more I moved around the more expensive the beer got. There weren't any woman in there at all, except the ugly old owner/bartender. So I drank that, drove home and walked to to JWs for a dollar twenty five draft, and the only women there were with men. So I went to the Track Shack. There were three women there, obviuosly together, and there wasn't any way I was going to pick one up.
So I gave up on getting laid and called Tami. She was out with her husband, and Amy answered the phone. She'd showed up at my house drunk that morning before I went to work. She was sick, she said, and was about to go to sleep. At 6:00 PM. I guess drinking all night and all day will do that to you.
So I walked down to the gas station and bought a forty ounce bottle and took it home, drank one glass and went to bed, lonely and depressed.
They say insanity is expecting different results from the same activity, so yesterday after work I went to Farley's again.
The place was packed, full of aging hippies and alcoholics and ugly women. There was a disk jockey setting up; it was Amy's ex-boyfriend Roger's birthday.
Roger hates me, too. When he and Amy were together, they'd fight and he'd throw her out and I'd let her stay at my house. Of course he thought I was fucking her. I don't know why all these guys think I'm fucking their wives and girlfrineds! Like I said before, one of them is going to shoot me some day.
I saddled in to the bar next to Roger, who turned and glared at me drunkenly. "Happy birthday!" I exclaimed, and shook his hand.
Ain't I a stinker? In Springfield we do our trolling offline.
I drank a beer, and thought that I'd found the right party. If I was going to get laid, this was the place! So I went to the bank to cash a check for beer money and came back.
The disk jockey had no disks, not even compact ones. He had an expensive Ampeg amp head connected to some fifteen inch professional speakers, which he had an iPod plugged into. My fucking car stereo sounded better. But what the hell, there were women there, and if I drank enough the women wouldn't be so ugly and the music wouldn't sound so bad.
I was only on my second beer of the night and an old hag that looked like she was older than my mother was hitting on me. I was going to have to be REAL drunk before... the phone rang. It was Amy, calling from Tami's. "Whatcha doin?"
"I'm at Farley's, they're having a birthday party for Roger."
"I saw him today," she said, "he flipped me the bird and told me 'fuck you' Me and Tami's drinking some Canadian Superior."
The old woman was leering at me evily. "I'll be right over!" I said. I finished my beer and got the hell out of there.
It was starting to snow while I was on my way to Tami's, so I didn't stay long, and went home, cooked a burger, drank a beer out of the bottle I'd gotten the night before, and went to bed.
After the sensual dream I kept waking up with the cold sweats, and woke up this morning feeling like shit. I called in today.
I'm not safe for work.
Farley's, the hippie bar, is mentioned in this journal, as in a couple of other of my journals.
Today's local paper has mention of an accidental drug bust. An arrest warrant was issued for DUI, and when the deputy knocked, some dopers opened the door.
The deputy called the warrant into dispatch, only to learn it was no longer valid. However, the deputy told Cantrall that based on what he had seen at the house, he was going to arrest him and the other two men -- Danny H. Farley Sr., 59, and Danny H. Farley Jr., 39, both of the 1800 block of Watch Avenue.
I'm wondering if these are the same folks who own the bar? I also wonder something else:
That glimpse led to the seizure of $12,000 to $15,000 worth of cocaine, nine pounds of marijuana valued at $2,500 to $4,000 a pound, $4,000 cash, a loaded
.22-caliber pistol, a marijuana-growing operation in the basement and a variety of drug paraphernalia, including a large, dog-shaped glass smoking device, and a trove of High Times magazines, according to Sacco.
Since when are
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