The Face-Painter

I pulled Sally into my parking spot, opened the door to my condo and went straight to bed. After the incredible weekend with my gorgeous stacked mother, I slept the sleep of the blissfully fucked. It was late Sunday afternoon when I finally awoke, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and shaking the cobwebs out of my head.

"Yes, it really did happen," I thought to myself. I, Connor Young, had fucked my own mother. And not just some accidental occurrence when she'd been passed out drunk and I'd taken advantage of her. No—she'd wanted it just as much as I did—maybe more. And the thing that made me love her even more—when she said she knew I wasn't a one-woman man, and that she had no problem if I pursued other women, including her sister, my Aunt Julia. I smiled when I thought about that, how fucking cool it would be to have sex with both of those beautiful older women. And if Aunt Julia was anywhere close to being the sexual dynamo my mother had shown herself to be, there was no way I was going to be disappointed.

This whole weekend had been unbelievable. I thought back to the discussions I'd had with my best friend, Andy Adelson. Friday night we'd had dinner together and he told me some of the things that had happened with his mother. And then, yesterday, he'd come over for lunch and told me all the sordid details—including how he'd fucked his busty mother for the first time that very Friday night. And not just once—they'd fucked all night long. Imagine, both of us secretly lusting after our own mothers all these years, and then both of us having our fantasies come to life on the same weekend. I guess some people would think that was the epitome of friendship. Maybe you could call it 'keeping up with the Joneses' or 'keeping up with the Andys'—whatever it was, it was fucking incredible. I promised Andy we'd touch base and get together soon to fill each other in on the last 24 hours. I grabbed my cell and punched in his number.

"Hello?" A groggy voice came over the phone.

"Que pasa, amigo?"

"Connor? What's going on?"

"I just called to check in and see how things are going since you left here yesterday."

"Oh fuck, you wouldn't believe it. I am so exhausted—but I've never felt better in my life."

From the tone of his voice, I could almost picture him beaming on the other end of the line. "Do tell, you horny little bastard." I heard a distant female voice call out his name.

"No time right now. Mom's just waking up from a little nap, and I think she's hungry for more."

"Hungry for what?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow. How about lunch at Gabriel's at 12:30?"

"I'll be there. I've got some news for you too."

"Good or bad?" Andy asked, and I could hear the intense curiosity in his voice.

"If something is better than good, do you say 'gooder', or 'goodest', or what?"

I heard Andy chuckle on the other end. "I get the picture. See you tomorrow. Can't wait."

"See ya," I replied and ended the call.

Well, well... things seemed to be going just as good for Andy as they were for me. The way I was feeling, I wanted to keep on a roll. On my night table, I found the slip of paper my hairdresser, Deanna, had given me with her phone number on it. I looked at the number and thought back on what had happened yesterday morning while she'd been cutting my hair.

She was leading me from the waiting area of the high-end salon back towards her work station. She'd commented on how she thought some of the attractive female clientele in her shop looked at me. I tried to remember the exact words of that conversation:

"Oh c'mon, are you serious? You've never noticed all those rich bitches here checking you out?"

"Uh...no." I had to admit that I usually went in and out of there without paying much attention to anyone other than her.

"Oh yeah, I've seen them look at you as if you were the main course on the all-you-can-eat buffet. And I've heard them talk about you; and most of them would like to do more than make a meal out of you; although I'm sure you wouldn't object to that. Yeah buddy, you'd be pretty high-grade stud material if this was a horse ranch. If you were mine, I could rent you out and make a fortune off these women."

I remembered being totally intrigued. I had enjoyed my little escapade renting myself out as "The Face-Painter", but Andy had struck the fear of God into me by pointing out the obvious risks of putting myself out there to the public at large. Once he'd laid it all out for me, I knew he was right—there were a hell of a lot of sick fucks out there—both male and female.

Deanna had mentioned that after breaking up with her asshole of a boyfriend, Brad, she might have to take a second job in order not to lose her apartment. The more I thought about the idea of putting forward a little business proposition to her, the more I liked it. Deanna had said how the rich women who came to her salon thought about me, and now, who better to screen those women as potential clients than someone who knew all their intimate secrets. What was that old saying, "Only my hairdresser knows for sure." I had an undeniable love for all women, but busty MILFs had a special place in my heart. If Deanna could help set me up with a few, and there was the chance to make a few extra bucks on the side...well...

"Oh fuck it!" I said to myself as I punched her number into my phone.

"Hello?"

"Deanna," I said, recognizing her voice right away. "It's Connor."

"Connor. What's up? Don't tell me you want your money back on the haircut I gave you yesterday?" she asked good-naturedly.

"No. Actually, my date with my mother went great. And she said I looked very handsome—including my haircut."

"Glad to hear it." She paused and I knew she was waiting to hear why I called.

"Anyways, remember yesterday when I mentioned about a business opportunity I was thinking about?"

"This isn't one of those stupid Ponzi scheme things, is it? Because after dealing with Brad, I've had enough of dealing with get-rich-quick assholes." I remembered her saying how her boyfriend—the so-called professional poker player—had pilfered her bank account to use as his gambling bankroll. Thus the sharp end of her boot up his ass as she shoved him out the door.

"No, it's nothing like that—I promise. Listen, how about I take you out for a bite to eat and run this idea by you? If you're not interested, that's fine. Just let me know. And hey, even if it's not for you, at least we can have a nice meal together."

"So this isn't like a date, right? Because Connor, I know you're a sweet guy and everything, but I'll tell you right now, I could never date someone like you."

"No, it's not a date—just two friends getting together to talk." I was somewhat taken aback by what she'd said, and I wondered exactly what she meant. I figured I'd bring it up when we got together, and I'd be able to see her facial expression when I asked her.

"Okay, that's fine. I'm going over my budget right now and...it's pretty depressing, to be honest. Going out for a few minutes would actually be nice."

"Great. How about BuzzBees at about 6:00PM?"

"Sounds good. I'll meet you there."

I ended the call and languished in bed for a minute, wondering why she'd said she couldn't 'date someone like me'. What the fuck was that all about? I was a nice guy, pretty good-looking, decent job. Well, semi-decent anyways. Had my own place, big cock. Hmmm, and she didn't even know about that. Maybe she thought I had a small cock? No, that couldn't be it. As much as I tried, I couldn't figure it out. Once again, the words "Fuck it," came out of my mouth as I climbed out of bed and hit the showers.

I still had about an hour until I had to meet Deanna, so I took my time in the shower, lathering up my cock and thinking about my mother's hands and mouth on me. Fuck, she had been fantastic—so wantonly desirable, sinfully talented and deliciously insatiable. "Down boy," I said to my good friend, Dick, who started to stand up and salute as I slid my lathered hands back and forth. Rather than turn the shower to cold—which I think nobody really does—I just released the old Oscar Meyer and thought about my taxes. Sure enough, the torpedo lost its will to surface.

I turned on some music as I got ready. It seemed like a good day to listen to some China Crisis. Yeah, that would hit the spot perfectly. As the pulsing strains of 'Working with Fire and Steel' filled the room, I felt rejuvenated by the thumping beat. I swear I was born in the wrong decade. The more I listened to music from the 80's, the more I was convinced of that. Combine the music of that decade with Sally, my old Mustang, and life couldn't get much better. Maybe a nice blonde MILF with a tremendous rack sucking my cock would help, but you can't have everything—or maybe you could. I hoped that, with Deanna's help, I just might get a few busty middle-aged MILFs to help make life just perfect.

I picked out a pink casual shirt and a pair of jeans to wear. I had no problem wearing a pink shirt, and it was unbelievable how many women complimented me on it, most of them with a mischievous little twinkle in their eye. And this shirt was just a soft pink—almost to the point of being white—it wasn't some ridiculous bubble-gum Fire Island pink. A complimentary brown belt and pair of my favorite desert books rounded out the look. Perfect for BuzzBees.

I hopped into Sally and headed for the restaurant, loving the feel of the warm Las Vegas air flowing through my damp hair as I took the expressway. I knew the area where Deanna lived and had suggested BuzzBees, knowing it was close to her place. If she felt uncomfortable at all about my business suggestion, I didn't want it to be awkward if we were someplace where I'd have to give her a lift home. Here, if she wanted to tell me to shove it up my ass, she could just do it and walk away—no questions asked.

I figured the place would be perfect for our discussion. BuzzBees was one of those typical roadhouse places. You know the kind, lots of memorabilia shit on the walls, old license plates, original signs for Dr Pepper, giant bottles of Tabasco sauce stacked on shelves, brown paper tablecloths slapped and taped down for each new patron, TVs hung all over the place making the joint seem lively and vibrant. Just like the young service staff, which was usually about two-thirds female with just enough guys thrown in there so the place couldn't be sued for sexist hiring policies. The service staff all wore black t-shirts with various snappy sayings on them, stupid shit like "A Day Without BuzzBees is Like a Day Without Fun". Blow me...please. The one thing about these places is that the female waitresses are generally pretty cute. They usually look like ones you'd love to take home and jerk off on their pretty faces all night long. You get the picture.

I pulled Sally into a parking spot and entered the restaurant. For a Sunday night, the place was pretty busy. Noisy as usual, with most of the seats filled. A sweet young blonde thing with dimples and a sizable set of tits beneath a t-shirt that said, 'Hot Stuff' stepped from behind the hostess' lectern and greeted me.

"A friend will be joining me soon. Do you think we could get a booth?"

"Absolutely," Hot Stuff replied, a big smile spreading over her face as I ogled her jiggly tits. She swayed slightly back and forth, subtly showing off her best attribute—and making sure I got a good look. "What name can I put that under?"

I was sorely tempted to give some smartass answer and say something like Peter North, but I figured it would be lost on someone so young as Hot Stuff here. Besides, I figured little jiggly tits was going to seat me while I waited, and Deanna would ask for me by name. "Connor," I replied, and little cutie-pie wrote it on her list.

"Connor, what a nice name," she replied, giving me flirtatious little smile. "Right this way." She grabbed a couple of menus and led me deeper into the restaurant. As I followed her I got the meaning of her t-shirt. The 'Hot Stuff' on the front tied in with the 'Try BuzzBees Killer Wings' written on the back. Gee, and I thought it had been referring to the temperature inside that steaming little cunt of hers. Silly me.

Some kid had just finished taping down the brown paper table cloth as Hottie ushered me into a booth. She placed the menus down, grabbed a crayon from the plastic cup filled with the waxy little things and scribbled the time on the corner of the table.

"Is your friend that's joining you male or female?"

"Female."

She looked a little disappointed when I said that. "I'll bring her right over when she arrives."

"She's already here," I heard Deanna say as she appeared next to Hottie and casually slipped into the other side of the booth.

"Oh good—that makes things easy," Hottie replied, seeming a little flustered by Deanna's confident entrance, not to mention her attractive appearance. I think Hot Stuff was probably used to getting a lot of attention from male patrons. As usual, Deanna looked fantastic. Something about hairdressers—they sure know how to look good when they go out in public. I don't think the youngster knew what to do next as she looked Deanna up and down enviously. "Uh, Matthew will be your waiter tonight. He'll be here shortly." She turned and looked directly at me as she spoke again. I gave her a typical Connor Young smile and nodded. "If there's anything at all you need, just let me know," she said, the mischievous look in her eye told me that she was offering more than just being able to fill my water glass.

"You made it," I said, turning to Deanna as Hottie trotted off back to her station.

"A free meal with a handsome young man—of course I made it," Deanna replied, a grin on her face.

"You look great." She certainly did. Her curly light brown hair fell in cascading waves about her shoulders. I had noticed when she slid into the booth that she wore a nice pair of slim-fitting jeans, the warm denim deliciously caressing her full thighs and curvy bum. She had on a cherry-red blouse which hugged her generous C-cup tits nicely, a couple of buttons open at the neck providing teasing glimpses of the upper swells of her breasts. I looked at her smiling face. Her makeup was beautifully done, making her look sensually glamorous without looking too over the top. It worked wonderfully with her casual attire which was bang-on appropriate for BuzzBees. Damn, she was cute as a button.

"Thanks," she said, shifting slightly on her seat and putting her elbows on the table. "You don't look too bad yourself. I love that shirt." See, what did I tell you about the pink shirt?

"How are we tonight, folks?" a young kid fresh out of a toothpaste commercial said, reaching across our table and grabbing a crayon out of the plastic cup. I always wondered why they invariably said "How are WE tonight?", as if I was going to invite him to join us. I used to get pissed off about it, but as I got older, I remembered the sage advice of my friend, Andy, "Just let it go, Connor...just let it go."

"My name's Matthew." He started to write his name upside down on the paper tablecloth, finished with a flourish, and then popped the crayon back into the cup. "Can I start you folks off with something to drink tonight?"

"That's pretty impressive," I said, looking at his name scrawled before me.

"What's that?" he asked, his toothpaste smile shining in my eyes.

"The way your can write your name upside down like that." Both he and Deanna looked down at the crayon scribbling. "Of course, with your name, Matthew, it's basically the same upside down as it is right-side up." I guess it was the writer in me coming out, but seeing the combination of letters printed out had caught my eye.

"Hey, I guess you're right," he said, looking back and forth along the line of letters and seeing how you could just write the letters in reverse and it would look basically the same from the other side. "Wow, that's pretty cool."

"I'll have a beer," I said, wanting to get on with things. "What about you, Deanna? What would you like?"

"Two beers," she said, holding up two fingers to the kid.

"Uh, you want two beers yourself?" the kid asked, totally perplexed. I smiled at the confused look on his face.

"No, just two beers total, Sport," Deanna said as young Matthew nodded and stepped away.

"I think you impressed him with that name business," she said, flipping open her menu.

"His name is basically an ambigram that looks the same from either side. I'm surprised he never noticed that before." I opened my menu and quickly scanned the myriad middle-of-the road offerings, typical for a place like this. "What are you gonna have?"

"I feel like a big salad."

"Sounds good. I think that's just what I need too. How about we split an order of wings?"

"If you want to get some, I'll have one or two. I'm trying to watch my figure."

"I'm trying to watch your figure too," I said playfully, an exaggerated lecherous grin on my face.

Deanna laughed and flipped her menu closed. "See, that's exactly why I could never go out with you."

"I'm curious. After you said that on the phone, I was wondering exactly what you meant. I'm not a bad guy, you know." I smiled and held my hands up to show my angelic innocence. "What is it?"

"You're a great guy, and I know there are many women who would fall for you like a ton of bricks. I just don't want to be one of those women."

"I know this isn't a date or anything, don't worry about that. But I still don't really get it."

"That little hostess for example."

"What?"

"Don't tell me you didn't notice how she was flirting with you?"

"Well...uh..."

"That's it exactly. Women like that—and not just young girls like her—are gonna flirt with you all the time, and at the point I'm at in my life, I don't want to be competing with that all the time."

I nodded, finally understanding.

"Don't get me wrong, Connor," she said, holding her hands out apologetically, "I know you love it. You love the flirting, the attention you get from women, and I know you love to give women just as much attention as they give you. Basically, you love all women, don't you?"

"I...I..." I stammered, holding up my hands in resignation, letting her know there was no way I could deny what she was saying.

"And that's fine." Deanna gave me a big beaming smile. Like my mother, she seemed to know me better than I knew myself. "That's just you, Connor, and that's the man who I consider a good friend. But would I like to date you? No fucking way."

We both laughed at her expletive, and it really took the edge off this topic of conversation. I reached forward and offered my hand. "Friends?"

She reached forward and shook. "Friends."

Matthew arrived with a couple of frosty mugs of beer and took our order: a big house salad for Deanna, a Caesar salad for me and a plate of Buffalo wings.

"So what is this big business venture?" Deanna asked after we each took a slug of our beers.

This was it—the moment of truth. I either told her the truth right now, or weaseled out of it with some lame-ass lie and called the whole thing off. I took a deep breath and made my decision. "Well, it's not really a BIG venture. More like a one-man show, actually."

"And does this 'one-man show' involve you?"

"Uh...yeah. I guess you could say that." I pulled out my phone and scrolled through until I found something I'd downloaded. It was the ad I had first put online to advertise myself as "The Face-Painter".

FACE-PAINTER, Well-hung white male willing to provide face-painting services. 6'-3", 215 lbs. Clean and safe. Over 10" of thick cut cock. If you are interested in having 12-20 shots of cum covering your face, respond to the e-mail address below. Serious replies only. Discretion expected and ensured. PRICE: $200/load.