Kate Upton, her ass all rosy from the thorough spanking I had just administered while she yelped with joy, is bent over a training table back in the deep recesses of the Atlanta Braves' locker room begging me to fuck her brains out, when my fucking cell phone goes off jerking me awake. I come to lying on my sofa, having dozed off after a couple of beers, a chicken salad sandwich, and a boring Braves' game. "Hello," I mumble, fuzzy voiced.
"Let me speak to Connie, Jim." It's Sheila, my wife's forty-three year old, narcissistic, binge drinking, forty-carat bitch of a friend who lives a few streets over. She's always pissy with me on the phone, something I don't fully understand because in person she's so sweet that honey wouldn't melt in her hot, pouty little mouth that looks like it could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch, even to the point of being a bit of a tease and a flirt. Of course, in person we're always with Connie so I don't know how she'd act if we were alone and since we aren't ever gonna be alone, I pretty much don't give a shit. I usually just reply to her with smart-assed comments which, I suspect, drives her bat-shit.
She and Connie became friends through the neighborhood bridge club and Connie genuinely likes her even though Sheila is about fifteen years older and they don't have shit in common. Connie is a push over when it comes to helping friends and Sheila constantly takes advantage. It pisses me off, but Connie doesn't mind so I let it be.
"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number," I deadpan.
"Cut out the bullshit and put Connie on the phone, Jim."
"She's not here, Sheila. She ran off with some guy from Hollywood who likes her tits. He's gonna make her a body double which is gonna be awesome—I mean, she has a great body as it is and if he doubles it, she's gonna be outta this world, don't cha think?"
"Quit fucking around and put her on the phone, Jim. I need to talk to her."
"She honestly isn't here, Sheila. She went to the beach with some old sorority sisters. They left this morning and won't be back for a week." She can tell by my tone that it's the truth.
"Shit. I needed her to go to the liquor store for me. I've had a few drinks and I ran out of liquor. I thought I had another bottle, but I don't. I really need a drink."
So you want me to be your delivery boy, is that it?
"Can't Harold go?"
"No, the bastard's gone to Tallahassee to visit his daughter and her brats. It would suit the hell out of me if he'd stay down there."
"What about a neighbor? Can't you run next door and borrow a cup of bourbon?"
"They're not home and I don't...look Jim, there's not anyone around here I can ask."
"I guess you're shit out of luck, then, aren't you?"
Squirm, bitch.
The tone of her voice changes. She can be very charming when she wants something. "Is there any chance you'd go for me? I'm afraid to drive and I really need a drink, Jim."
"I don't know, there's a helluva Braves game on. I'm really into it and I hate to miss it."
"It won't take you long. I don't have anyone else I can ask, Jim."
"Beg me."
"Oh, Jim," she says, annoyed, not believing that I mean it, but I don't reply and there's an uncomfortable silence. She lowers her voice and gives me that soft, sweet, sexy sound, with a southern accent that only true southern women can manage without it sounding affected, that resonance that'll make both your dick and your tongue hard. "Jim, will you please go to the liquor store for me, please, darling. Pretty please with sugar on it?"
Damn! She sounds hotter than Kate Upton.
"You can be down right sexy. You know that, Sheila?" I say, smiling, building her ego a little, then I give her a shot to tear her back down. "I never noticed that about you." I almost laugh imagining the look on her face. "What do you want me to get?"
"A couple of bottles of Old Charter, please. Fifths. Half-gallons are too big and heavy."
"Okay, Sheila, but you owe me. See you in a little while."
Now even though she's a bitch most of the time, she's a good looking woman all the time and my money says she could fuck the horns off of Satan. She's a bit overweight, true, but she's put together pretty well—decent tits, nice ass, dresses to the nines, keeps herself immaculately groomed, carries herself like a queen and projects an aura of hard-to-get sexiness. You know the type.
She gives off this wanton vibe and is probably neglected. Harold is in his sixties and doesn't seem to have much interest in sex—hell, she's probably bitched at him so much that she lost her appeal. I've always thought she could be had—hard-to-get and all—if you ever got her alone and got a few drinks into her, but I never pursued her. First off, I don't much like her and second it would be a risky hassle trying to get her alone and third I'd be running the risk of her bitchy ass rejecting me and then telling Connie. It just never seemed worth it. But now, here she is home all by her lonesome, begging my horny ass to bring her some liquor. Ain't it funny how fast your attitude can change when pussy enters the equation.
Get ready, Shelia baby. Jim's coming to see your sexy ass.
At the liquor store, I just go ahead and buy the limit, five fifths of Old Charter. I figure a gallon will last her a while although she can really go through the stuff when she's on a toot.
When I get to her house, she doesn't answer the bell on the first ring, so I ring it again, knowing that she knows it's me and is just making me wait—that's Sheila. She just has to do little things to exert control. I chuckle thinking about exerting a little control over her.
"Who is it?" she calls out, like the fuck she doesn't know.
"The big bad wolf," I say, "Open up before I blow your house down."
And fuck your piggly wiggly ass.
"Don't do that. I might melt in this heat, I'm so sweet," she laughs opening the door and reaches out for the liquor, but I don't hand her the sack.
"What? You not gonna invite me in for a drink after I went and got it for you?"
Invite me in or no drink, baby.
"Of course, I, uh, just thought you wanted to get back to your ball game or whatever." She sounds a little flustered, like maybe I've surprised her by wanting to come in.
"No, I was looking forward to having a drink, too—you got me in the mood. Besides, it's not every day I get to have a drink with the prettiest woman in the neighborhood." She loves compliments, especially on her looks and age. Compliments that would insult most women, Sheila eats up—no amount of flattery is too much.
She laughs, opening the door wider, "Well come on in, then, before I let all the cool air out. I don't want to air condition the outdoors, now do I. Just don't pay any attention to how I look. I'm a mess."
She's wearing a pair of shorty pajamas with no bra. The loose fitting button up top virtually hangs from her nipples while the bottoms are a blousy panty style that gathers in the creases where her legs meet her body making a vee that ends at her crotch—sexy as hell. I wonder if she is dressed like this to tease me or if I really did catch her by surprise when I wanted to come in?
Damn she looks good. Is the bitch setting me up? Does she want me to make a pass so she can reject me, then tell.
Fuck it, I don't care, she looks too good not to give her a try.
"You're not a mess, you look good. You've got this whole 'movie star lounging around on the weekend' thing going—it suits you."
"What bullshit," she replies trying to sound modest as she closes the door. I give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her braless tits press against my chest and I'm tempted, for just a split second, to slide my hands up to them.
Keep your cool, now. Don't rush.
"I got you a gallon."
"Oh, you sweetheart," she exclaims. "Come on, I need a drink." She turns and walks toward the kitchen, her slightly chubby ass swaying and bouncing beneath those pajama bottoms. She doesn't appear to be wearing panties.
Damn that ass looks good.
At the kitchen sink, she pours herself a really big drink, about three fingers in a juice glass, swipes it under the running water, tosses it down and chases it with a couple more swallows of water. I do the same. She likes to sink drink and so do I, it's quick and effective.
"Whew, that's good," I say.
"I know. I needed that."
