The Rough Stuff

by Briella Bigbum

  "I fucked Chrissy last night."

  The door closest to the kitchen opens gently. My ex-girlfriend Chrissy emerges from Curtis's room wearing a pit stained Spider-Man tee that came down to her thighs, and nothing else.

  She tiptoes toward the bathroom pretending to go unnoticed.

  "But you're cool with it, right bro?"

  Curtis jabs his fist hard against my shoulder. The truth is I hadn't slept. The rhythmic banging of a headboard against the thin wall that separated our rooms had me up baking early.

  Baking always helped calm the nerves.

  The slapping sounds of skin against skin, the moaning and grunting from that room, it all became like a symphonic accompaniment to my morning routine.

  "Huh, I never even heard you guys," I shrug. The walls in our apartment were so thin I could’ve heard the friction of jeans if they’d been dry humping.

  “We’ll hit up the old folks home today, make another batch after.” Fuck you Curtis. And I would have said it to his face if he wasn’t the one with the truck. A source of transportation was all he was good for.

  We would be taking the cookie batches down to the retirement home’s bake sale that happened on Sundays. The ones from packaged dough always sold best, so long as we told people they were a home recipe.

  Then all we had to do was pretend the money was going to some charity for impoverished children, or something. One package would sell for over fifty times what we paid, and old people love their fucking cookies.

  Curtis keeps turning the knob to set the gas stove, but it doesn’t ignite.

  "Fuck this, I’m just gonna grab something at Mickey’s.” He glances at the red light coming from the oven, then over to Chrissy who is scurrying back into his room.

  “After I hit up that ass again first!” he says with the kind of grin I just want to smack off his face. He follows in after, slapping her on the ass while simultaneously kicking the door shut. There is a scream followed by laughter.

  I start on a batch of oatmeal raisin.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The three of us were sitting outside at a Mickey’s plastic picnic table with uncomfortable seats, not really saying much.

  A red and yellow striped umbrella above the center of the table is giving shade to Curtis and Chrissy while they share a quesadilla, and I can feel the heat from the sun on my back making me irritable.

  I’m just siting here staring while they make out, waiting for them to finish their fucking quesadilla.

  “You can finish that, I think we’re done.”

  I got up to take a piss instead.

  They had to put out two portable restroom stalls on the other side of the Mickey’s building because teenagers were always flooding the indoor bathrooms.

  I get inside one of them and try to avoid breathing the stench. I see that door lock is broken, but I probably wouldn’t have bothered anyway. I unzip my pants and start to take a leak. The swinging door behind me is flung open as I am still midstream.

  I feel a splash of urine on my hands as I swing my torso around, startled.

  “Fuck off, I’m in he—” I freeze when I see Chrissy.

  “Are you sure you want me to fuck off?” She giggles a little. “Or maybe you just want me to… fuck?” Turning around the rest of the way, I am still holding my junk. “I’m glad you started already, because you’ll have to be quick,” she says.

  “What about Curtis? I thought you two were…” I don’t really give a shit about Curtis, but it would feel strange not to mention it first. Some piss is dripping between the fingers cupping my balls.

  Chrissy gets down on her bare knees. The plastic floor is wet with dark pools of piss and crud. The stench is absolutely foul, but Chrissy seems unfazed.

  She grabs the hands around my balls and guides them gently until my palms are clutching the back of her long, bleach blond ponytail.

  She pulls down the front of her tight, red and white polka dot shirt and begins rubbing my cock between her gorgeously rounded breasts. She was the only girlfriend I’d had with D cup tits, and I suddenly remember how much I loved fucking them.

  I am already hard before her lips are around the tip of my cock. Looking up at me, she smiles and licks around the head. I close my eyes and feel her tongue wrap around the head and work its way down to the shaft.

  She makes a sucking sound and slides back up the shaft with her lips. I can hear here take in a deep breath, and then…

  “Push,” she says, pressing her hands against the back of mine until they are firmly grasping the back of her head.

  So I push, hard.

  Her throat slips down along my cock until I can feel her tongue lapping against my ball sack. Her nose is pressing against my abdomen.

  Thick saliva is dripping from my balls as she gags. I don’t think she can possibly go any deeper.

  “Ungh,” I moan. I am ready to explode in her mouth. I feel myself gripping her head tighter and pushing harder the more she gags.

  I push as far as she can go. She grabs the back of my ass with her hands and pulls me in closer. I had never been this deep in her. I am going to cum faster than I ever had with her.

  But she lets go of my ass and pulls back with her neck, slipping her throat back up the shaft until her mouth is off of me. A long, thick string of saliva is still connecting her lips and the base of my cock.

  She flashes a devious smile as the string of spit dribbles between her breasts. She licks all around her lips and begins sucking on an index finger manicured with glittery red polish.

  She moans a little, then makes a pouty frown like a puppy dog.

  “Sorry, you can’t cum in my mouth. That wouldn’t be fair to Curtis.” Then she giggles a bit and I know she isn’t being entirely sincere.

  She is probably right though, but who gives a fuck about Curtis. I am so damn close. My cock is dripping, I can’t take it.

  “You’ll have to cum in my ass.”

  She turns toward the door, pulling down on cut off denim shorts to expose her tight, bare ass.

  She spreads her legs apart as far as her shorts could stretch at her thighs, pushing against the two sidewalls of the stall for stability and turning her head back toward me.

  She smiles and winks, and I have to stop myself from cumming right then. The noxious odor of the stall is dizzying, and I stumble as I step forward.

  “Oh fuck, Curtis is coming!” Chrissy is peering through the small air slits along top of the wall. “The lock is broken, he could open the stall and see us!” She pulls up her shorts, fixes her tits, and bolts out the door.

  “Hey baby!” I can hear her saying to Curtis just outside. That was it, it was over. The fumes in the stall are overpowering, more than I can handle. I have to hold my breath and prop myself up against the wall with one shoulder to keep from passing out.

  I hear Curtis asking her what had taken so long and I just want to get the hell out of here. Chrissy is saying they should go wait by the truck for me. I couldn’t stand that cheating whore when we were together, but she does have her moments.

  The thought of getting up into Chrissy’s perfect ass just one more time distracts me enough from the urge to breathe — and then they’re gone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  We were standing under a big white canopy atop perfectly trimmed grass in front of the Estate of Affairs retirement home. Something about a well maintained lawn has a calming effect on me.

  I was feeling a little better now. We had our batches of mostly snickerdoodles laid out on long folding tables, all of which I had baked myself.

  We used to sell a bunch of variety from different packaged brands but, after doing this for awhile, found that Bonnie Proper was always the highest demand.

  Other sellers are still setting up tables, putting out crap I knew couldn’t compete. A couple of guys are standing in front of some frosted sugar cookies with sprinkles, putting up a sign to show that, “All proceeds of this sale will be donated to The Institute for Cancer Resea
rch.”

  Fucking amateurs. Representing a youth charity is how you get the sales.

  It doesn’t matter if it’s leukemia, multiple sclerosis, or type 2 diabetes - you’ve got to have something with “children” in the name of your charity if you want to sell big at the retirement homes.

  I was standing on a stool and hanging our sign for, “The Foundation for the Rescue and Nurturing of Underprivileged Children” when I noticed Chrissy behind me.

  She was looking up at me as my gaze naturally descended upon her cleavage, which was even bustier with the bra she wore for increasing sales. Her breasts triggered a flashback of what had happened in the portable stall behind Mickey’s.

  It almost didn’t feel real.

  “Hey asshole, quit staring at my tits and get the cash box ready.”

  I don’t get it. She was begging for my cock in her ass not more than an hour ago, and now I’m getting the bitch treatment. I turn and see that people are already lining up at our booth.

  I look around for Curtis who is smoking over by his truck. Curtis never helped with god damn anything.

  Chrissy was our front person, and I had to admit that she really knew how to sell those tits. She could get these geezers to buy more cookies than they could eat in a month. More than was remotely healthy anyway, I’m sure.

  But every Sunday they were lining up for more.

  Without her there selling those sweet goods, cookies and tits alike, Curtis and me would never be dominating the local bake sales like we were.

  “I think y’all are doing excellent work. God’s work. Y’know my grandson Brian, he used to work at The Center for…” I start tuning out whatever this old hag is saying. I just smile and nod, waiting for her to give me the damn money.

  “Out of twenty? Okay, and here is five as your change. Have a wonderful day, and be sure to come back for more next week!” I pride myself in always being so polite with people.

  Three more cookies for fifteen dollars and we are killing it. The booths around us were lucky to see two or three sales.

  “You just have to share your oatmeal raisin recipe with me, deary. I promise I’ll keep it our little secret, m’kay?” Was this bitch still talking?

  “Sorry Mrs. Heartfield, you know I can’t!” I say with a bright smile. It’s called Bonnie Fucking Proper, but you’ll never know that.

  “You look like a smart young man…” she starts again. Yeah, smart enough to know when to shut up. “I could pay you and your friends quite generously if you would just show me how.”

  She starts to play with her pearl necklace, obviously eager to get a response. I notice her rings, nearly one for each finger and most of them embedded with some kind of flashy jewel or diamond.

  They looked real enough. Mrs. Heartfield was always going on about her dead husband, how he used to be the owner of some burger chain. She must have been loaded.

  “My unit is at 3-B. Please do stop by if you change your mind, sweetie.” She walks off looking slightly disappointed. I wince when Chrissy jabs an elbow hard against my ribcage.

  “You fucking idiot. We need that money.” I suddenly recall why I had broken it off with her — she was a bitch, and a slut. Curtis is laughing behind us. She seems to treat him a lot less violently.

  But then, they’ve only been together for about fifteen hours.

  The crowd is thinning out so I start counting our take. We are sold out on almost everything. A tall bald man is squinting through thick glasses, obviously having difficulty reading our sign. “Y’know, I’ve never heard of The Foundation for the Rescue and Nurturing of Underpriv-,”

  “It’s new,” Curtis interjects. “In fact, we started it ourselves.”

  “Well isn’t that just wonderful. I say, you three are doing God’s work.” What is it with old people’s obsession about God and his work? Is God really so lazy that he needs other people to do all the work for him?

  “Here you go, free of charge,” Curtis says. He hands the man a plastic bag stuffed full of our remaining stock. Typical Curtis never lifting a god damn finger — unless he’s giving away my shit for free.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  We are back at Mickey’s, this time for lunch inside. We had made enough money to make rent, at least. But I was still a long way off from affording my own transportation.

  The sooner I could free myself of any reliance on Curtis, the better.

  I look over at Chrissy and I’m trying to read her. What was her angle here? Was hooking up with Curtis her way of getting back at me? I feel myself desperately missing her tits.

  I just want to bang that ass one more time. If I went to the restroom, would she follow me in again?

  I decide to try and get her attention without Curtis noticing. I make a stealthy move under the table with my leg while I maintain focus on my food. I tap down on her the foot with my sneaker and realize she’s wearing flip-flops.

  “Ow! What the fuck?” she yells. Her reactive jerk knocks over a cup of soda. It was almost empty though, so only a couple cubes of melted ice dribble out onto the marble painted table.

  I want to answer with a suggestive eyebrow but now Curtis has got his attention on me, too.

  Mission failed.

  “Hey, uh, could you spot me some gas money?” Curtis is saying to me. The nerve of this asshole. I take a giant bite of my Angus beef burger, medium rare. I’m chewing so I can’t answer.

  Chrissy looks pissy when she grabs a bunch of napkins to clean up the mess she made. I guess she was expecting me to clean up after her.

  There are some teenagers being loud and sprinting from the restrooms and out the back door. I can hear the sound of running water, soon to be overflowing out of all the urinals.

  Those little bastards.

  “Since I drove you to that thing and all?” he tries again. A thick blob of barbecue sauce goes splat on the hamburger wrapper I had laid out on the table as a plate.

  I am suddenly fascinated by the repeating ‘Mickey’s’ trademark that is printed all over the wrapper in tiny font, avoiding eye contact.

  The sauce is partly covering the main logo, but underneath I see something I hadn’t noticed before.

  “In memory Mickey Heartfield…” I read aloud.

  “Wait. Couldn’t that be Mrs. Heartfield’s husband?” asks Chrissy. “I knew she was loaded! Give her that fucking recipe, you dumbass!”

  “You don’t get it,” I’m explaining. “All the dough we use is prepackaged. I don’t even know what the fuck goes in any of it.”

  “Dude, it can’t be that difficult,” Curtis is saying like he has a clue. “A bunch of oatmeal and some raisins. Hell, I’ll show her how to make ‘em.”

  “You can do it, baby!” Chrissy leans over and they start making out again. I hear a Mickey’s employee cursing from inside the restrooms. Water is flooding out from under the swinging doors.

  Was Curtis actually taking some initiative? The thought of this disaster falling on his head amused me greatly. I stuff a handful of sweet potato fries, which are always delicious and fresh at Mickey’s. I wonder if Mrs. Heartfield knows her husband’s recipe.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I’m so glad y’all changed your minds!” Mrs. Heartfield is saying as we enter unit 3-B. The first breath I take inside is an almost suffocating air of perfume.

  A cursory look around tells me that perfume isn’t the only thing excessive in this place. The walls are littered with perfectly polished silverware.

  Their reflection of the sunset light coming from the kitchen is brilliant and blinding. The whole place glistens.

  “My husband was something of a collector, you see.” She chuckles a bit. “To tell you the truth, it’s so nice to finally have some company over. Without my Mickey around anymore, I’ve not much else to do but keep his old things looking nice, just like he would have wanted…” She pauses. “Oh — and bake, of course!” She chuckles again.

  A short moment of silence passes. “Well, I’m sure you kid
s are eager to get down to the brass tax, haha! So, which one of you wants to assist me in the kitchen?”

  “Yeah, about that…” I start to say. I am thinking I had probably taken enough advantage of the elderly, for one day at least.

  “I would love to!” Curtis interrupts.

  She grabs a flabby piece of bicep on Curtis, “Aren’t you just the strapping young lad!” Then she turns to address me and Chrissy. “Why don’t you two take a look around the place in the meantime.

  My husband was a collector of so many neat things.” I think all this damn light was making her blind, because all I can see is a bunch of silverware. “I’m sure you both could find something interesting.”