He lived in a small condo downtown somewhere. When we walked in the door I asked to use the bathroom as quickly as possible. This was a habit of mine that I never quite figured out. I looked in the mirror and adjusted a few strands of hair. I turned the water on and wet my hands. I put a cool hand on the back of my neck to slow my pulse. I washed my hands and exited to the find my "date" waiting in the kitchen. I took a seat at a barstool near the kitchen island, fully aware that my skirt is more flattering when I'm perched. I lean in slightly, watching him taking me in. His place is much brighter than the diner, and he can fully appreciate my low cut tank top made nearly entirely out of lace. It's a teal blue color that sets off my skin and hair. He offers me a beer and I happily accept. I work better under the influence. He gets me a drink and hovers over the counter. I can tell he wants to hear more about this wild life that I lead, and I am ready to talk.
I tell him of my escapades, making sure to maintain my sweet demeanor. I am the perfect mix of down to earth and out of this world. He seems to be intrigued by drug usage. He asks me about pot and I tell him that I smoke. He asks if it makes sex better... I tell him it makes everything better. He erupts in a capricious smile and tells me he has something for me. He goes into the bedroom closet and produces a Tupperware container. It's filled with pot, coke, pills and things I can't identify. He tells me that he picked these things up for a bachelor party and has some left over. I try to keep my eyes from giving away my shock as I try to figure out if he is just telling me this so that I don't think he keeps this much on hand.
"So, how far would you go?" For a moment I don't know what he means. Staring at the tub of drugs his hand lingers on I quickly understand. I try to look composed. I tell him there isn't much I haven't done and nothing I wouldn't try once. His eyes sparkle with approval. He packs up a glass pipe and hands me a lighter. I thank him sweetly and take a hit. I should be preparing for what lies in the depths of the coffer, but all I can do is wonder if the Tupperware was purchased new or if he had to throw away some old potato salad to store his "leftovers". Fantastic weed. I hand the bowl back to him and he points a flat palm in my direction. He tells me that he's on call. He places a pager on the table as if to prove that he could be called away at any moment. He just wants to watch me get high. I try to sit up straight on my barstool, but I'm beginning to get dizzy. This pot is fucking amazing. I down a little more beer and pretend to lose the inhibitions I never had to begin with. I relax my gaze and tell him that he's spoiling me. He's so happy to hear this he's nearly drooling all over his maid-polished counter tops. I look down at the bowl and I'm happy to see that it is almost cashed. I take a breath, ready to inhale the last of it and get to business when I notice him take the bag of coke out of his treasure chest and cut it into lines.
Rolling up a bill he asks me to tell him the craziest thing I've done. I snort a fat line of cocaine that makes my face nearly instantly numb. I tell him about that summer, in that little southern town, back home, when I screwed that Baptist preacher in the baptism pool. I tell him about how after that day, I would stop by the church some Sunday mornings to sit in the front row. I tell him about how I licked my lips and made sure to sit where Preacher Dulin could see my cleavage glistening in the heat of the small church. I told him how the Holy man would rub himself, ever so slightly, against the podium as he watched me sing in praise of a god I'd never believe in. As he stared at me in silent awe and disbelief I snorted the rest of the cocaine and quickly asked him to show me to the bedroom before he could offer me any more drugs.
His bed was covered in black silk sheets. I try not to stumble as I take off my ridiculous work shoes. Black strappy nightmares with a 5" heal... not something to try to walk in when you are fucked up. I lay down in his bed and he gets in beside me. He tells me that he can't believe how amazing I am. He tells me how he has been looking for a woman like me all his life. He loves my humor and intelligence, and more so, he tells me, he loves how surreal I seem. I kiss him hard to make him stop talking. He rubs my nipples with stubby hands as I climb on top of him, never stopping the dance our tongues are performing between our mouths. I kiss his mouth softly before sitting up to take off my bra and shirt. He moans in expectation at the sight of my bare breasts. I stand above him for a moment and slip my skirt passed my ankles and throw it on the floor at the foot of the bed. I let him admire me for only a moment, I am surprisingly self conscious when I am naked, a trait I know he will find slightly endearing. Lying forward on top of him I kiss his chest as I fumble past the round rubber ball that is his torso searching for his cock, careful to make my motions smooth. What I find is more than disappointing and I let out a sigh that I quickly turn into a moan of anticipation. At this point I'm coked up, high and slightly drunk. I am ready to get fucked. I quickly realize this is going to take some of the best acting of the night. Best to dive in head first. I suckle the head while trying to get a feel for how he likes it. His penis is short and folded over with excess fat. This was the first time I saw fat rolls on a cock. I curve my tongue around it and listen for cues. He prefers licking to hard sucking. He nearly squeals when I cup his balls and press with just the right amount of pressure.
Grabbing me hard by the shoulders he pulls me upward towards his face when I stop for a breath. Before I can react he has flipped me over and is on top of me. His body is much bigger than mine, and for a moment I think I might pass out from the pressure, but he shifts his weight and plunges two fingers into my dripping pussy. His hands move too quickly and his eagerness makes him a sloppy lover. He squeezes a breast with his unoccupied hand and begins to lick and suck my nipples. He pinches them hard and whispers in my ear "can you tell I have surgeon's hands?" I nod and gaze at him, eyes slightly closed, mouth slightly open. He shifts his mass and enters me with his stubby cock, a fact that I know from his facial expression only. I grab a handful of silk sheets and think about being 14 and masturbating with a Champaign cork. I remember learning about Kegel exercises and attempting to "pop the cork". I give him a squeeze and I tell him he feels amazing inside of me. The second my words were comprehended he lunged forward and began pounding faster than I ever would have thought he could move. He asks me if I like his drugs, and I smile the first honest smile of the night.
