by Troy Storm
“Can’t complain. So long as you kind ladies keep my mechanics on their toes and you keep gassing up at my pumps...uh.”
Everyone in the room tittered. He blushed at the inadvertent image of the ladies lined up waiting for him to dispense. A clumsy tongue was not the image he wanted to present to the meddlesome Dorothy at all.
“I’m sure Clarissa wouldn’t mind allowing dear Dot to take a minute or two for a quick tête-à-tête, would you dear?” Brunnie peered from under her mascaraed lashes. “And if you two want to take a bit longer, I see Amelia is right at the point where Nella needs to sit for a while to let Amelia’s color magic work so that Amelia could finish Clarissa for Dorothy, if need be. Would that be all right, ladies?” Her sweet suggestion to the women involved dared no countering.
“No, ma'am.”
“That’d be fine.”
“Sure.”
Matt strode purposely forward, gluing a charming grin onto his impassive face. He would barrel this through come hell or high-inducing beauty parlor fumes. “Out back. In the parking lot, Dot? Thanks.” At the back door, he turned. “And thank you ladies. You all look great.” He descended the back stairs to a chorus of light giggles and murmurings of how sweets.
Where could he give that damn woman the talking to of her life? Old man Mosleys' giant-assed vans were parked in the corner next to each other on an angle. Plenty of private room behind them. Even if he had to drag her by her well-tended, still dark hair.
Dorothy’s tentative descent down the stairs caused her hips to move evocatively inside her loose, but still form fitting slacks. Not the distraction he needed.
“What’s your problem?” Her voice was sharp edged. Good. He needed to have something to fight back against. “You could have called me. We could have talked later. Tracking me down in the middle of the morning at work? That’s a little dramatic for you, Matt. Drama never was your big thing. You still blush too pretty for it.”
She had her footing back, he had to give her that. Firm and solid. She knew where she stood, even if he didn’t. Excellent, he hated wishy-washy deaths. That was why he was here though. To kill whatever the hell was going on. He had lived way too long with times in his life when he didn't know where Dorothy stood. He was not going there again.
Matt's work boots slammed into the asphalt as he started across the lot.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
“We need a little privacy,” he threw grim-jawed over his shoulder.
“I’m not about to go behind those goddamned things with you. Not in your mood. You got something to say, say it out where people can see us.” She folded her arms over her chest, her feet planted.
That surprised him. She could still read his moods. But then the sudden awareness of his tensed jaw and pinched scowl meant anybody a block and a half away could read his attitude.
He forced his face to relax as he spun back to confront her.
“Sure. No problem. I don’t mind the whole town knowing my so-called ‘friend for life’ has suddenly decided she’s going to run my life for me. Decide who I should or should not date. Too chicken to ask me for a date herself. But not chicken enough to stab me in the fucking back.”
“What are you—”
“I couldn’t figure what the hell was going on with Christy. We were fucking our heads off, happy as two fucking clams, if clams fuck.” He began to pace in front of her.
Cars cruising for a parking space slowly inched by them keeping a wary eye on the obviously heated discussion in the middle of the sun-lit space.
“Then she suddenly starts yapping about darling little Lucy, sweet little Lucy and how much I must be enjoying teaching our beloved little Lucy how to be a woman. All the while doing everything she could to blast me with her womanly charms as opposed to Lucy's girlish ones. Which, by the way, are considerable.
“It took me threatening never to fuck her in the ass again,” he shoved his face angrily into Dorothy’s. “Did you know she loves getting it crammed up her butt? Do you even like getting it crammed…anywhere?” he brutally hissed at her before swerving off to pace again.
“Matt!” She whipped her head around at the newly arriving cars, then stormed by him toward the privacy of the SUV’s.
“She told me,” he followed, his voice louder and more lethal. “Dorothy said… Dorothy thinks… Dorothy heard… Dorothy says sweet little Lucy has her eye on Matt and doesn’t plan to let go, so if Christy wants to win the competition and keep her resurrected boyfriend she’d better get her ass in gear and take out little miss lovelorn. I feel like some kind of hick prize on some goddamned fake reality show.”
Behind the big vehicles, hidden between them and the parking lot fence, Matt was even more encouraged to continue raving. “Dorothy! What the hell? You don’t even give a shit about me and now you’re trying to bust up the two relationships I’ve finally worked up the guts to try and make it work after God knows how much time. Are you still so angry, so petty, so totally unforgiving that you won’t allow me to have even a little hope of finally living a normal life, again?”
“You’re fucking them like crazy. Like crazy clams, I believe was your tender assessment. Isn’t that enough?” she snapped.
He looked at her as if she had morphed into a person he had never known instead of a steadfast friend whom he had counted on forever.
“No,” he stated angrily. “No, it’s not enough. I’m grateful to get my dick back into action again, but I have hopes that these women might mean something to me and that I might mean something other than a hot lay to them.” He shook his head. “And you don’t want to even allow me that? I thought when Alice died…”
Her hard eyes welled. “You’re dangerous, Matt. Some people need to be protected from you.”
“Dangerous? How?”
“You’re everything some people think they want. That’s dangerous. To have that much power over another human being.”
“Yeah? Or are you maybe just trying to bust up some beautiful friendships to give yourself a better shot at me…if you ever get the guts to try.”
Dorothy stared at his imperious glare with an open mouth.
“I’d laugh if that weren’t so pitiful. Why should I try for you? What would it get me? What did it ever get me? And thank you very much, but I got over waiting for you to call me a long time ago. And now you're waiting for me to call you? Welcome to the fucking waiting party!”
He went blank for a moment, then grabbed her to press her up against the side of the nearest van. “You really want to know why you should try for me? Are you finally ready to be reminded?”
She gasped. His hand was rough on her breast, fierce at her crotch.
“If you don’t like it…show me you don’t like it,” Matt growled, his look boring into her. “Christy let’s me come on any way I want. And you must have said plenty because she won’t keep her hands off me now. She keeps me so busy bustin’ past her panties, Lucy can hardly work in the time to fix me a plate of spaghetti.”
“Take your hands off me,” Dorothy hissed. “You’re grubby. And if this is the way you show how much you care…” She grabbed the sinewy wrist of the hand cupping the crotch of her slacks and tightened her grip.
But she didn’t pull the hand away.
“We’re not talking about ‘caring’ here, Dotty baby,” he growled into her ear as he caught her hesitation, his breath hot against her face, his body moving inexorably into her space. “We’re talking sex. Doing the deed. Again. Downright rutting and screwing. Finally. After all these years.” He pushed himself against her. Intending to taunt, to tease, his crotch pressed firmly against hers. “If we can’t talk. We can at least do it. Don’t need a lot of words to—”
His assault backfired.
His body fused into hers. His muscles instantly strained to blend with the memory of her fullness, her soft receptiveness. His entire being fought to dissolve the fabric between them, to annihilate whatever barriers there might be, to
tear down years of pain and hurt and to put in its place his affection, his caring, all he could offer at her disposal.
In an instant Matt knew he would keep going. Not to threaten. Not to dare and try to intimidate. Not to be angry at her, at himself, discombobulated, shaken to his roots. He needed to show how he truly cared. Right now. And if it took taking Dot in the parking lot, behind the SUVs, right then and there before she had a chance to think, before he had a chance to think past the moment, past the immediate instant where they would become lovers again… Then so be it. The play-acting, the circling, the sniping—all stopped. Just say, this was it. This was how we were now.
His body told her the past was over and gone. Not dead, but gone. Past. We could bill and coo later, we could be romantic later, we could even giggle and laugh and play stupid boy/girl games later. He wanted her now. He wanted her to know where he stood.
Now.
He felt her heat, her breasts, her hips, their hands trapped between their aching bodies.
If this was all he could get for the moment, he could live with that. His body was electrified and filled with urgency, but his soul was calm, serene. She would come to her senses and shove him away, but he’d had his moment. His reassurance that they were meant to know each other again, to be buddies, to be friends with exceptional benefits.
Except she wasn’t shoving him away.
Dot moaned plaintively under his pressure. She was allowing him to press up against her, to warm her and moisten her and reawaken her for a Matt he knew she had longed for and then given up freely. But now he was back. His mission had been fulfilled. His commitment completed. It was okay to take up where they had so bitterly broken off so many years ago. They both had done their duty. They were both older and wiser now. Now they could comfort and instruct each other.
Her breath was ragged. Her ripe body filled and receptive to his, returning his urgency.
“Matt…We can’t…not here…not now…not like this.”
A wave of apprehension swept through him. If not now, when? Maybe later? Maybe at another different time in their lives when they were in full control of their faculties? They had had that time. How many years could a man mourn? How many years could it take for a woman to bind a shattered heart?
They had all loved each other. They all had choices to make and had made honorable ones and they had all been happy. Matt was sure of it. Dorothy had never breathed a word against Beau. She was proud and happy in his arms. Just as Matt had been with Alice.
But after there was no more Beau and there was no more Alice, why did they not try to salve each other's hurt? Why did they remain distant, apart, allowing the pain of their not having anyone to fester and harden their hearts to the warmth and love they had all felt for each other.
She was not tearing away from him. She was not pushing him away. She was underneath, heated by him, ready.
It had to be now.
His hand fumbled for her zipper, clutched for the buttons of her blouse. If she showed the slightest hesitancy, made the slightest...
But she was as frantic to rip down the wall between them as he was.
“Insane,” she breathed. “We can’t do this.” Her hands tore at his clothes.
He almost laughed aloud he felt so light-headed and yet so heavy with preparation. His elation filled his dick to near bursting with his offering, to overflowing. His pecs emboldened themselves, his abs rippled. Her madly digging fingers found him and his meat was out of his pants, slinging his liquid love against her radiant, wondrous skin, down onto the cracked asphalt.
He would seed this earth with a forest of love trees. For all to see. For all to know she had forgiven him.
He felt her wondrous body, the heat of her loins, the rasp of her protective pubic hair, melding with his.
He pushed the tiny mouth in the raucous head of his driving manhood against her giant cry for finality. He didn’t know when last she had been entered. He would grease her, he would butter her up and before he could even articulate the thought, he was slipping through and sliding into paradise. The yell of joy from his burbling slit reverberated through them both as the massive head of his euphoric dick roared into her, plunging through her perfect gulping lips, to plant a loving kiss on the urgent nub of her clit and then sail past to dive into more plumy, more perfect places and tunnel deep inside her heated loins.
She squealed like a deliriously thrilled stuck pig as he thrust past the tight entrance and proudly pried his way home, zippers entangling, denim grinding against gabardine.
He was in her. Deep. Forever. His balls still trapped inside his pants with his dick buried up to the root in her tight warmth, her hot wet center, her clutch, her hold. Her pleased pussy held on to him for dear life. With supreme effort he eased back as she mewed plaintively, but allowed his retreat, knowing what was to come.
His hands flattened against the van on each side of her. He wanted to feel her breasts against his body. To meld their middles. To entangle their thighs.
Next time. Next time!
He filled her again. And again. And again. Driving deeper. Diving deeper.
He fucked her quick and solid. In the parking lot. Behind the vans. Her flattened breasts entrapped in her silky blouse molding against his newly re-hardening pecs inside his shirt. Her hips moved a counterpoint to his elliptically grinding butt, his jeans hanging low, her slacks slackened. They were a perfect pair. Beauty and the beast.
Christy’s cunt was great. He loved fucking the white-blond cougar, loved the battle, loved the animal duels they set up and wallowed through. He loved the sweetness of Lucy, the newness, the fresh rapture. But this…Dorothy... this was home… this was hearth. There was no place like this Dot, Dot, Dot.
The banked heat in each of them roared into full inferno.
Damn, he snickered to himself, feeling the inexorable build, the inevitable blowout. Just like a kid, like a desperate stud with no control. Pre-mature. That was okay, he told the rushing sensation, next time he’d take his time. Next time he’d do it the way it should be done.
Next time.
From now on there would be plenty of next times.
But for now, for this everlasting moment, Dot was his woman and he gave her his all. Emptied himself. His entire load of seed. Pump after bone-rattling ejection. He planted his ownership stake. Kissed the land and made it his. And loaded her up again. And again.
Slowly he finished circling overhead, circling and not giving a damn at the shamelessness of their public spectacle from the buzzard’s viewpoint. Slowly, carried on great gasps of breath he evolved back into his own exhausted skin.
Damn, his dick was almost done in. It must have been the denim chokehold that shot him into space. He had almost passed out from joy. Thank God, he was man enough to have made it all the way up to buzzardland and back again…but had she?
“Two or three times, you asshole,” she chuckled rudely against his cheek before tonguing his ear and dragging her teeth across his neck. “We’ve got some catching up to do, Matt, if you need to ask. I imagine you don’t have to ask Christy if she's made it or not. She probably produces her Christy Cunt GPS to direct you to exactly where she wants you to go and what she wants you to do. And Lucy, bless her, won’t shut up about how wuuuuunderful you are, which makes me wuuuuuunder if she's even aware of exactly what is it you're doing to make her feel so wuuuuuunderful.”
She was back to being smug and secure and sharp-tongued as ever. His ears tingled. His strained neck ached. And happy. She was happy. Happily, he himself felt a handsome surge of having given a fine performance. Improvisatory and ad libbed as it might have been. Up against the metal, ma’am. But fine. We will work on the detailing, he thought, but the basic design held up.
He could and would do even better once he had his lines learned and was off script.
She gently pushed him off her and adjusted her underwear—had she been wearing any? He didn’t remember feeling any—and zipped her slacks up. He was sti
ll hanging out. She dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth to clean him up. She licked him and sucked him and groomed him catlike content as if his meat had been her territory for years.
Matt was so happy groggy stunned he could barely get his instantly re-hardened dick back in his jeans. He had no idea what his fancy underpants were doing. Knotted around his drained balls, most likely, he surmised. He would have to do some major adjusting once he had a bit of privacy.
“Thank you, sir.” She rose and kissed him quickly on the mouth, not concerned with where her mouth had just been. “Now all three of us have had a taste of your manly charms. That will hold me nicely until the next time. Which will be goddamned soon!” She tucked in her blouse, threw her shoulders back—which did magnificent knee-weakening things to her chest— smoothed her hair back into place, and strutted from behind the SUV across the parking lot, up the stairs, and into the back entrance of the beauty parlor.
Didn’t even look back.
“Hot damn!” Matt pulled a biceps-popping fist down and did a little strutting himself as he emerged from behind the vans and headed to his truck.
“Hot double damn!”
No, now that he thought about it…
…three fantastic ladies deserved a...
“Hot triple damn!”
Chapter Seven
Dorothy knew Christy had gathered her and Lucy together like lambs to the slaughter, but at least she did it with class.
“This is lovely,” Lucy, dear little lamb, said, looking around at the candle-lit space. “I’ve never been to a wine bar before.”
A drunken lamb to the slaughter, at that. Good thinking, Christy. Dorothy took a sip of her wine. Good stuff. Might as well go having a good time.
“It is, Christy. Really nice,” she said. “I’ve read about what they did with this place and always meant to come, but just never got around to it. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure, ladies. It’s some old government building or church or meeting hall or something in the middle of nowhere the town couldn’t decide what to do with. But they knew it had some kind of historical value so they wouldn’t let anybody tear it down. Then the guy who fixed it up found it. I think there’s a plaque somewhere. Frankly, I come here for the hot wine guys.” She smiled wickedly, looking around at the very fit and extremely good-looking young men in their snug black pants and white shirts circulating among the guests.