Author’s note: This is the fifth part of the “Have Some Class” series…and finally a bit more about the teacher…well, and his pet. Henceforth, this series will be exclusively written for Wicked Wednesday.
“Elmer Fudd called and he wants his speech impediment back.”
Graham stumbled away from the bar for just a second and nearly lost his balance staring at the idiot addressing him from two bar stools down. “You fuck the shut up!”
The surrounding group laughed.
“Mr. Stone? A refill?” the buxom blonde bartender asked over her breasts.
At least that is all Graham could see. “Absolutely, Marcy. Assuming that Ernie doesn’t object.”
Her blue eyes searched his face. “Ernie?”
Again nearly falling over as he tried to motion to the man beside him that was currently face down in the bowl of chips on the bar. “My agent.” Grabbing the passed out man by his short and curly blonde hair, Graham lifted the sleeping head. “Ernie, meet Marcy. Marcy…Ernie.”
“Charmed.” She poured the aforementioned refill.
The bar was typically full on Saturday nights. The unclean, unwashed and self-proclaimed über cool would come together to share ale, compare war stories, share poetry, and go home with someone they would not recognize the next morning.
Graham, as a published writer was never quite sure which if the groups he belonged to. “Fifteen books!” he once told Marcy the tender-bar…”A I still need a fucking job. Goddam ex-wives. I’m proud of what I’ve done, but they take advantage of every penny I get from my work.”
Most in attendance knew him as an author of smut and in general they thought that was cool. A few were also aware that he taught the subject at Yorkton, and that seemed cool as well.
Before he chose the evening’s partner, he would have at least three or for offers for the position of research assistant. Tonight would not last much longer as his inebriation level was high. His libido also wanted to take one on each arm back to his apartment. It would not be the first time, but if he drank more he would disappoint one…never mind two partners.
“Mr. Stone?” a female voice asked from behind him.
Slowly, without losing balance this time, he turned to see the young face. His eyes first saw her breasts and shifted up. “Well, if it isn’t Miss…um…”
“Weston,” she said with a giggle. Her short skirt was red leather and offered a hint of flesh just above the tops of her stockings. Her stilettos added an unnecessary additional four inches to her height as well.
He failed his attempt to snap his fingers in an appearance to look cool. “Mindy Wesson.”
Her green eyes and smile widened beneath the brunette curls. “You remembered?” She lightly smoothed her hands over the belly of her black sweater.
A shrug seemed the obvious answer, and with the alcohol holding off his internal filter, he expanded, “It isn’t every day a middle-aged hack gets propositioned by a twenty year old Amazon.”
“But you didn’t call.” She moved in just close enough so her beasts brushed against him and so no one else could see her hand as it grasped and caressed his crotch. Now in whispering distance, she commanded, “I want this…” She squeezed his cock lightly. “…now.”
Not really in a mental position of strength to say no, moments later Graham found himself sitting in a stall in the women’s restroom as Miss Weston dropped to her knees and unzipped him. With these new style toilets, he leaned back against the wall as she service him from her knees.
Young mouths were always eager, but inexperienced. Mindy, however, was surprisingly skilled as her tongue dipsy doodled through all the crannies and nooks she found around his cock.
Not that Graham was feeling much of her work…this time. His memories of the night would fade in and out but did include her lifting her black skirt to straddle him…her buying him another drink…making out with Mindy and a transvestite named Vanna on the cab ride home…then waking up the next afternoon to find Mindy had left, but Vanna was still there.
Vanna shared a few painkillers and some eggs before s/he called a cab to go home.
Graham sat on his spent black leather couch in nothing but baggy white briefs, with a bottle of beer perched on his left knee, the remote for the TV in his right hand, and the bottle of painkillers within reach. “Fifteen fucking books,” he said to the squawking television. “Damned right I’m proud.” As he began to drift off and spilled beer on the rug as his hand tip, one thought occurred to him…he could not share this story with the class.
A car honked screamed in the window.
“Memory gaps,” he whispered. “I’ll claim memory gaps.” His lips turned into a smile on finding football on the screen as he leaned back to create further memory gaps. Putting the remote down on the table, he began to absently scratch at his crotch…and soon found himself rubbing it…and stroking…while football players smashed into each other on the screen in front of him. Hearing the click of a key in the front door lock made him jump.
The faux wood door creaked open and there she was, again…still in the red leather skirt, and with a case of beer against her hip.
“Mindy, you shouldn’t be here…” he said, but could not refuse the smile.
“Fuck the shut up,” she mocked. “I need to get laid.” Dropping the beer on the couch beside him, she straddled quickly…luckily, with no underwear on her, it was rather easy to get his cock into her.
Graham sat back and felt the young woman begin to lower onto him.
Mindy moaned and collapsed in for a deep kiss of dancing tongues while she pinched each of his nipples.
As more drinks took hold, the mind again played tricks on him with only certain memories of her pierce clitoris and pierced tongue…of feeling her swallowing one of his orgasms…of him licking more of his cum from between her legs while conveniently ignoring the nagging thought that he should have worn a condom…slowly pushing his half-limp penis into her tight ass from behind…and then sharing a hot shower as they cleaned each other off.
As he woke on the morning of Christmas Eve, Mindy was lightly snoring on his shoulder and his head was pounding. “Fuck,” he whispered…but it was enough to wake her.
“What is the problem?” A smile and kiss of his shoulder.
“I still can’t tell this story in class.”
“Silly, just change the names.”
His eyes found hers. “You’re a smart pussy, you know that?”
Her eyebrows raised. “Damned straight…now fuck this pussy, would ya?”
“Of course,” he grasped her athletic hips as she mounted him. “Wait a minute…”
Her eyes showed she sensed his concern on something.
“Where the fuck did Ernie go?”