Post by Jack Dempsey on Jun 1, 2019 1:45:18 GMT -5
“Honestly, I wasn’t expecting the opportunity that was “Jack Dempsey” to fall into my lap that day. Really, I was more interested in the naked guy who got hit by the garbage truck, until I found out he was dead. Like, liquified shit dead. It wasn’t till I talked to the dead guy’s woman that I found out about Jack. Jack Dempsey, the soon to be “next big thing” in a wrestling promotion. Wow. Amazing. I was almost as excited about Jack as I was excited about all of the cool shit I would soon be able to afford. Who doesn't love cool shit, right?” - Lyle
Betty, what a sight she was. She had long jet black hair down to the dimples on her lower back. She was lovely to look at. Her tear drop breasts hung heavy and firm working in concert with her lovely curves. Her ass was outstanding and often times she would wear impossibly tight blue jeans that clung to it as if the jeans were made to order, or painted on. Her left eye was blue and her right eye was a kind of gray. She also had a scar running from the left corner of her mouth all the way up to her ear. The scar somehow made her that much sexier.
She pulled the door open halfway through my first knock. She was wearing a loose fitting t-shirt with no bra on underneath. The sheer fabric gave me a foggy preview of her already erect nipples standing proudly like two pencil erasers behind the fabric. Inspecting my way down her torso, I found she was wearing a skimpy pair of panties and nothing else.
Outstanding.
She pulled the now warm bottle of wine out of my hand and didn’t question why I was disheveled and sweaty. She turned around, gracing me with a bird’s eye view of her amazing ass, then grabbed my belt buckle with her free hand and dragged me through the doorway.
So many of our meetings played out this way. We never said much. What we shared was body language and a sense of “knowing” between the two of us. That sense of knowing was all we needed and I was fine with it. Plus, she could do things with her body that most women only imagine while putting pen to paper for the next big Harlequin paperback bored housewife smut.
Just the way I liked it.
I said last time that I loved Betty, but it wasn’t really love. Mostly lust. I knew she didn’t love me. Sure we fucked and it was as good as it was dirty, but I hoped that I wouldn’t actually fall in love with her. I knew love was primarily lust and the little bit that went beyond that was lunacy.
Betty and I sat on her couch and drank and she read me some of her shittier poetry, but I kept quiet. I didn’t want to spoil the mood and hoped she wouldn’t ask me my opinion on it. I was a bit of a writer too, thus my opinion was important to her. I just hated poetry that rhymed. Felt staged. She knew I hated it, but didn’t seem to care that night. Neither did I, really.
Soon there were several empty bottles on the floor and one nearly empty in my hand. Her hand was down my jeans and her head was resting on my shoulder.
That’s when she finally enquired, “Did you run over here?”
“Yeah. Needed to get a run in.”
She already had me hard; I was at her mercy. She prodded, “How about you tell me what really happened. There’s blood spatter on your jacket.”
“Nose bleed.”
She looked up, still stroking me, “Liar.”
I could have told her that I was still with Odette. I could have told her that I chased a neckless mystery lover into a garbage truck infused death. I could have told her about the anger inside which had boiled over and turned me into a willing participant in a murder. I could have lied. Somehow, I didn’t say any of those things.
“Come on baby, without mystery, you wouldn’t be tugging my cock.”
“True,” she whispered, as her head moved down to my lap.
Betty always took me to a new plane of consciousness with her mouth. I finished what was left in the bottle, let it fall beside me and leaned my head back on the couch. I was pretty drunk. So drunk that I drifted through stop motion scenes and darkness.
One moment Betty’s head was just out of sight and I was caressing her hair. Then black. Then she was straddling me and completely naked. “Gimme Some Lovin’” was playing and she was riding me. Then black. Then she was still on me. She was telling me to edge. She wanted me to last longer. I was pretty sure I was still hard. “Gimme Some Lovin’” was playing on a loop. Then black.
Then I woke up. She was standing on the table dancing. “Footloose” was playing. Not the movie. The song. She was completely naked and the way she moved was like water and mesmerizing.
There was a knock on the door. A loud one. One that said “turn that fucking music down”. I stood up to find new born deer legs beneath me. I pulled up my pants. She kept dancing. I pulled my shirt off and pitched it to her. She was full go-go.
I turned down the Kenny Loggins. Terrible, but catchy.
I pulled the door open expecting to see that old bitch from two doors down. The lady who looked like one big sagging wrinkle. I couldn’t remember her name. She was never out of a muumuu. She had called the police about the music a couple times. A couple times she called because Betty and I fought. Some other times she called them because I think she just needed the attention.
It wasn’t her. It was someone else. Someone who would change my life for good and ill. Mostly ill.
He danced. He sang, “Everybody cut footloose! Kevin Bacon is totally my jam.”
He saw Betty dancing buck naked and his eyes turned to saucers. I stepped through the door, grabbed him by the collar of his shitty sport coat and slammed him up against the wall just behind him.
I growled, “I just got done killing one guy who fucked one of my women. Am I making it two tonight?”
“Wow! Strong grip!”
I drove a knee into his ribs.
His expression twisted into one of shock and betrayal, “Oh my god I’m dying! You’ve killed me!”
He fell like a house of cards in a gust of wind. I think he cried. I stood over him, ready to do him in. Over my shoulder, Betty was still dancing. Her tits bounced so rhythmically that it almost made me forget about the soon to be dead man at my feet. I finally inhaled and beyond the smell of liquor and pussy, I detected marijuana. Betty loved to dance when she was stoned.
Back to the guy.
“Wait! Please don’t kill me!” he whined, “I’m here to help you!”
“Help me how?”
He wiped a tear from his eye, “Remember me? I helped you out of those parking tickets? I’m a lawyer. You remember me! Parking tickets!”
“I don’t own a car.”
“Then something else. On the job injury? Mesothelioma? Something, anything! You know me! You’ve seen my adds on TV! I’m the guy who rides the horse with the cowboy hat on? Not the horse, the horse doesn’t wear the cowboy hat, I do. I’m quick on the draw with the law! That’s my catchphrase!” he bellowed.
“The more you talk, the more I want to throw you down the stairs.”
“If you leave” started playing in Betty’s apartment and I knew she wanted to fuck. She came out, wrapped in my shirt and threw herself against my back and started sucking on one of my earlobes.
“Do you know this guy?”
Betty’s breath was hot against my neck. She reached around and slid a hand down my pants. She murmured, “He’s the guy from the commercials. Scumbag ambulance chaser.”
He smiled, “Yes! Scumbag ambulance chaser! It’s practically printed on my business card!”
Betty spoke over him, “Come inside Jack. Let’s screw.”
I shrugged her away, “Are you fucking this… this fucking loser?”
I touch you once, I touch you twice.
Betty didn’t even say a word. She just grit her teeth and took her amazing tits, that unbelievable ass, and a good-to-go wet cunt and walked into her apartment and slammed the door behind her. I knew I was doomed when the deadbolt slid into place. My heart vomited right there.
The scumbag stood up and I took him by the throat.
“Now you really fucked up. You have ten words to convince me not to kill you.”
“You kind of did that to yourself,” he admitted.
He was absolutely right, but it only pissed me off that much more. I squeezed my hands around his throat, “Now you have three.”
His eyes grew wider than they did when he saw Betty. Didn’t think such a feat was possible.
“Me make money?” he choked.
Money was something I needed and never seemed to have. I was staring at a new beginning and as much as I wanted to take my shit twist of fate with Betty out on him, I decided to listen.
I released him and he coughed and choked, more than he should have. Very dramatic, this fucking pencil-dick.
“How?”
“I’ll represent you. I saw how you had some hobo speak for you at Blitz. Let me be your hobo. I can spread the word of Jack Dempsey.” he motioned like he was playing charades and describing a comet flying through space, “I’ll get you over in Valor Pro. And, of course, I’ll make money off of your name. I’ll negotiate everything so that you maximize your earnings.”
I heard INXS playing “Good Times” in Betty’s apartment and knew she was still ready to fuck and just expected me to earn it.
“And as a show of good faith, I’m ready to defend your actions earlier when you chased that fat guy to his...death.”
“Defend?”
“Yeah, the cops, well, they’re on their way. They’re like, well,” he looked past me, “Coming up the stairs right now.”
I turned to see the police coming up the stairs. Fuck.
The scumbag ambulance chaser stepped between me and Atlanta’s finest.
“Hello officers! Lyle Vitalis, Attorney. I can assure you that my client, Jack Dempsey here,” he looked at me, giving me a good eyeballing, “You are my client, right?”
I breathed out hard and nodded.
“Yes! My client Jack Dempsey is completely innocent and does not have to say a word. You’ll be talking to ME!”
The interesting part stopped right there. The police were there because of the loud music. The muumuu woman called them. The police had no fucking clue about the garbage truck no neck.
Betty never opened the door.
Lyle never stopped talking.
My night had turned to complete shit.
Betty, what a sight she was. She had long jet black hair down to the dimples on her lower back. She was lovely to look at. Her tear drop breasts hung heavy and firm working in concert with her lovely curves. Her ass was outstanding and often times she would wear impossibly tight blue jeans that clung to it as if the jeans were made to order, or painted on. Her left eye was blue and her right eye was a kind of gray. She also had a scar running from the left corner of her mouth all the way up to her ear. The scar somehow made her that much sexier.
She pulled the door open halfway through my first knock. She was wearing a loose fitting t-shirt with no bra on underneath. The sheer fabric gave me a foggy preview of her already erect nipples standing proudly like two pencil erasers behind the fabric. Inspecting my way down her torso, I found she was wearing a skimpy pair of panties and nothing else.
Outstanding.
She pulled the now warm bottle of wine out of my hand and didn’t question why I was disheveled and sweaty. She turned around, gracing me with a bird’s eye view of her amazing ass, then grabbed my belt buckle with her free hand and dragged me through the doorway.
So many of our meetings played out this way. We never said much. What we shared was body language and a sense of “knowing” between the two of us. That sense of knowing was all we needed and I was fine with it. Plus, she could do things with her body that most women only imagine while putting pen to paper for the next big Harlequin paperback bored housewife smut.
Just the way I liked it.
I said last time that I loved Betty, but it wasn’t really love. Mostly lust. I knew she didn’t love me. Sure we fucked and it was as good as it was dirty, but I hoped that I wouldn’t actually fall in love with her. I knew love was primarily lust and the little bit that went beyond that was lunacy.
Betty and I sat on her couch and drank and she read me some of her shittier poetry, but I kept quiet. I didn’t want to spoil the mood and hoped she wouldn’t ask me my opinion on it. I was a bit of a writer too, thus my opinion was important to her. I just hated poetry that rhymed. Felt staged. She knew I hated it, but didn’t seem to care that night. Neither did I, really.
Soon there were several empty bottles on the floor and one nearly empty in my hand. Her hand was down my jeans and her head was resting on my shoulder.
That’s when she finally enquired, “Did you run over here?”
“Yeah. Needed to get a run in.”
She already had me hard; I was at her mercy. She prodded, “How about you tell me what really happened. There’s blood spatter on your jacket.”
“Nose bleed.”
She looked up, still stroking me, “Liar.”
I could have told her that I was still with Odette. I could have told her that I chased a neckless mystery lover into a garbage truck infused death. I could have told her about the anger inside which had boiled over and turned me into a willing participant in a murder. I could have lied. Somehow, I didn’t say any of those things.
“Come on baby, without mystery, you wouldn’t be tugging my cock.”
“True,” she whispered, as her head moved down to my lap.
Betty always took me to a new plane of consciousness with her mouth. I finished what was left in the bottle, let it fall beside me and leaned my head back on the couch. I was pretty drunk. So drunk that I drifted through stop motion scenes and darkness.
One moment Betty’s head was just out of sight and I was caressing her hair. Then black. Then she was straddling me and completely naked. “Gimme Some Lovin’” was playing and she was riding me. Then black. Then she was still on me. She was telling me to edge. She wanted me to last longer. I was pretty sure I was still hard. “Gimme Some Lovin’” was playing on a loop. Then black.
Then I woke up. She was standing on the table dancing. “Footloose” was playing. Not the movie. The song. She was completely naked and the way she moved was like water and mesmerizing.
There was a knock on the door. A loud one. One that said “turn that fucking music down”. I stood up to find new born deer legs beneath me. I pulled up my pants. She kept dancing. I pulled my shirt off and pitched it to her. She was full go-go.
I turned down the Kenny Loggins. Terrible, but catchy.
I pulled the door open expecting to see that old bitch from two doors down. The lady who looked like one big sagging wrinkle. I couldn’t remember her name. She was never out of a muumuu. She had called the police about the music a couple times. A couple times she called because Betty and I fought. Some other times she called them because I think she just needed the attention.
It wasn’t her. It was someone else. Someone who would change my life for good and ill. Mostly ill.
He danced. He sang, “Everybody cut footloose! Kevin Bacon is totally my jam.”
He saw Betty dancing buck naked and his eyes turned to saucers. I stepped through the door, grabbed him by the collar of his shitty sport coat and slammed him up against the wall just behind him.
I growled, “I just got done killing one guy who fucked one of my women. Am I making it two tonight?”
“Wow! Strong grip!”
I drove a knee into his ribs.
His expression twisted into one of shock and betrayal, “Oh my god I’m dying! You’ve killed me!”
He fell like a house of cards in a gust of wind. I think he cried. I stood over him, ready to do him in. Over my shoulder, Betty was still dancing. Her tits bounced so rhythmically that it almost made me forget about the soon to be dead man at my feet. I finally inhaled and beyond the smell of liquor and pussy, I detected marijuana. Betty loved to dance when she was stoned.
Back to the guy.
“Wait! Please don’t kill me!” he whined, “I’m here to help you!”
“Help me how?”
He wiped a tear from his eye, “Remember me? I helped you out of those parking tickets? I’m a lawyer. You remember me! Parking tickets!”
“I don’t own a car.”
“Then something else. On the job injury? Mesothelioma? Something, anything! You know me! You’ve seen my adds on TV! I’m the guy who rides the horse with the cowboy hat on? Not the horse, the horse doesn’t wear the cowboy hat, I do. I’m quick on the draw with the law! That’s my catchphrase!” he bellowed.
“The more you talk, the more I want to throw you down the stairs.”
“If you leave” started playing in Betty’s apartment and I knew she wanted to fuck. She came out, wrapped in my shirt and threw herself against my back and started sucking on one of my earlobes.
“Do you know this guy?”
Betty’s breath was hot against my neck. She reached around and slid a hand down my pants. She murmured, “He’s the guy from the commercials. Scumbag ambulance chaser.”
He smiled, “Yes! Scumbag ambulance chaser! It’s practically printed on my business card!”
Betty spoke over him, “Come inside Jack. Let’s screw.”
I shrugged her away, “Are you fucking this… this fucking loser?”
I touch you once, I touch you twice.
Betty didn’t even say a word. She just grit her teeth and took her amazing tits, that unbelievable ass, and a good-to-go wet cunt and walked into her apartment and slammed the door behind her. I knew I was doomed when the deadbolt slid into place. My heart vomited right there.
The scumbag stood up and I took him by the throat.
“Now you really fucked up. You have ten words to convince me not to kill you.”
“You kind of did that to yourself,” he admitted.
He was absolutely right, but it only pissed me off that much more. I squeezed my hands around his throat, “Now you have three.”
His eyes grew wider than they did when he saw Betty. Didn’t think such a feat was possible.
“Me make money?” he choked.
Money was something I needed and never seemed to have. I was staring at a new beginning and as much as I wanted to take my shit twist of fate with Betty out on him, I decided to listen.
I released him and he coughed and choked, more than he should have. Very dramatic, this fucking pencil-dick.
“How?”
“I’ll represent you. I saw how you had some hobo speak for you at Blitz. Let me be your hobo. I can spread the word of Jack Dempsey.” he motioned like he was playing charades and describing a comet flying through space, “I’ll get you over in Valor Pro. And, of course, I’ll make money off of your name. I’ll negotiate everything so that you maximize your earnings.”
I heard INXS playing “Good Times” in Betty’s apartment and knew she was still ready to fuck and just expected me to earn it.
“And as a show of good faith, I’m ready to defend your actions earlier when you chased that fat guy to his...death.”
“Defend?”
“Yeah, the cops, well, they’re on their way. They’re like, well,” he looked past me, “Coming up the stairs right now.”
I turned to see the police coming up the stairs. Fuck.
The scumbag ambulance chaser stepped between me and Atlanta’s finest.
“Hello officers! Lyle Vitalis, Attorney. I can assure you that my client, Jack Dempsey here,” he looked at me, giving me a good eyeballing, “You are my client, right?”
I breathed out hard and nodded.
“Yes! My client Jack Dempsey is completely innocent and does not have to say a word. You’ll be talking to ME!”
The interesting part stopped right there. The police were there because of the loud music. The muumuu woman called them. The police had no fucking clue about the garbage truck no neck.
Betty never opened the door.
Lyle never stopped talking.
My night had turned to complete shit.