Hot Ride Home
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Obviously someone anticipated the date — July 7, 2007, which in digital translation came out to 07/07/07. I don’t know if there was supposed to be anything magical or occult about the numbers, but it made a good excuse for a party.
Word spread by grapevine, as it often does. There were no direct invitations, nothing in print, just oh yeah, there’s a party out at so-and-so’s on Saturday, and there’s going to be etc. etc. Annie told me about it — she usually had a better ear for social crap than I did, as I was working in construction. So that Saturday morning, we caught a ride with Charlie and Sally to a farm way out north, out in the bushes.
Turned out that one of the local bands, comprising fellows we knew, or at least knew of, would entertain more or less. There’d be kegs of beer, a free bar, and a barbecue, with Bill G. and his gang minding the smoke pits. It sounded like a good day.
Annie was my squeeze at the time. She worked as bartender in one of the cool restaurants downtown and was tuned to the local rock scene — as i say, she had a better hand on the local pulse than I did. She was from Queens, typical Italian, all loudmouth and up-front. And up-front is where she really made the first impression, with a pair of large, perfect tits that she squeezed daily into a black leotard — the restaurant uniform; all the girls there had to wear them. Along with a sheer black skirt and black tights.
She was tall and had long legs and wore her hair long with a native curly frizz. I got a boner the first time I saw her, and the boner lasted until the day she and I split up a year later. For another year or two afterward, in fact.
Oh god, she was red-hot. All I ever had to do was to hint at wanting it and she was ready, willing and eager. Too eager sometimes. She and I had more than one smash-up concerning “other people” — she with the usual would-be rock stars and me with occasional strays, of the baby dolls who’d fuck a guy, then fuck a couple of his buddies for fair measure.
I still have steamy memories of Annie. That time on the bus back from a club in Manhattan, full bus in the 3 a.m. dark, and on the back seat we couldn’t keep our drunken hands off each other, finishing just in time to zip up and get off at the stop in Jersey. Or the two of us naked with a few other naked people on a hot afternoon. We were in a community pool, and I fucked her up against the tiled side of the pool as her naked friend Nancy cheered and coached us from poolside. Or out in the river by a highway bridge, me, Annie and Nancy naked and howling at cars Kilis Escort on the bridge from midstream. We ended up on the muddy river bank and I fucked them both, believe it or not, in a mud-slimed mini-orgy. Annie stayed pissed off at Nancy for a month afterward, and for no reason; it was partly her fault, right?
Anyway . . .
We drove, we rode, we stayed sober until we got to the farm. Charlie and Annie had been long-time companions before I met her, and Sally, a thin, drawn-looking blond, was his current flame. We unloaded early afternoon and started drinking. The day was a lot of fun. Various people, with various degrees of ability, sat in with the band, which was good-natured about the misuse of their time and equipment. Annie tried singing, and I tried out on drums. A lot of people we knew were there.
The food was terrific and the day was abnormal hot, probably 95 or 100 degrees, with direct sun from a clear sky. By 6 o’clock or so — we really had no idea of the time and didn’t care, the food, drink and heat had done us in, and when Bartoni and another guy decided to load up the truck and head back to town, we decided to ride along. We couldn’t find Charlie and Sally anyway.
Annie and I already were starting to melt together, and we climbed in the back of the Silverado. In the back of the truck was one lawn chair. Debbie, a friend of Annie’s from the restaurant, also decided to take a ride, and Debbie was about out as well. We helped her up in the back of the truck, and she sat in the deck chair, back to the cab. Annie and I lay and snuggled on the bed floor, and off we went toward the Turnpike.
Now, Debbie — this girl was on my list of pieces of fine imported china. She was a small girl, well shaped, with small breasts made prominent by her petite frame. She had long, soft-blonde hair, she came from money — Virginia money — her movements were cultured and her personality properly reserved. She had a serious boyfriend, or maybe a fiance, somewhere, although she turned up occasionally on the “item” registry. To me, having Debbie would be like having the winner’s cup from a regatta, or a derby meet, but I’d never really pushed it. She was from a different kind of club.
So we got to the Turnpike and headed south. Debbie sat serene and regal in the nylon-web chair, all but nodding from the alcohol, and Annie and I were getting decidedly, drunkenly affectionate, groping and rubbing and kissing. She had on a black t-shirt and black jeans. I’d taken my shirt off and wore just jeans. The rush of air and the hum of Kırıkkale Escort the rear wheels were relaxing.
Well, Annie began rubbing my dick through my jeans, and drunk or not, that brought results. I tried lifting her shirt to get at those glorious tits, but Annie kept twisting away from that move, allowing me only to massage them through the cotton — but she too was getting seriously aroused. Debbie seemed to be paying no attention to anything as we went by traffic — truckers, tourists and commuters.
I felt Annie clawing at my zipper, which she finally got open, and after much tugging and fumbling managed to unroll my cock from my pants. I didn’t raise a hand to stop her, and just kept on with the kissing and squeezing and cheap drunken romance. Without a word, she clumsily twisted out of my grip, slid downward, and put her mouth on my dick. Uh, OK.
Of course, after the initial surprise, that felt pretty damn good, and in a minute I yielded to the pleasure and rolled, reptile-like, onto my back so she could really go to work. The sight drew the first truck horn of recognition as we went by a semi on the right.
Meanwhile, my head now was between the aluminum frame of the lawn chair, looking direcly up at Debbie’s ass. From my angle, she had on only loose cut-off jean shorts. From there down, her fair legs and her feet were bare and a little sunburned. It all looked delightful.
Annie continued to suck my dick on and off, occasionally stopping as if falling asleep, then again waking to the job. It was all fine with me. I was hard as a rock, and she held my cock on point with her hand as she bobbed her head up and down. If you can follow my drunken sense here, it felt great but I didn’t feel a thing.
So I slowly raised my arm, running my hand through the web of the lawn chair, right between the high end of Debbie’s thighs. She didn’t seem to mind, or even to notice, so I somehow twisted my fingers up into her shorts, to where I could get my fingertips on her nice, warm pussy. Desire admits no obstacle, and with some dexterity, I soon had a finger, then two, up into her warm wet cunt. Mmmmm.
Annie sucking me and me fingering Debbie, all of us deeply, delightfully drunk on a hot July evening in the back of a fast-moving truck on the Turnpike. Truck horns blared, and sometimes the trucks would speed up to get in pace with us for the show; once one of the truckers leaned out the window to shout encouragement.
You know, I still do not know whether Debbie knew anything had happened. She certainly never Kırklareli Escort mentioned it to me. She never objected the whole time I was caressing her sex parts, and she gave no indications of pleasure that I could detect. When we finally got back to our block in town, and zipped up and thanked Bartoni for the ride, Debbie still sat serene on the chair, smiling and barely conscious, as they drove away to take her home..
Annie wasn’t done, although she was on the verge of pass-out collapse, right there on the street. We were living in a near-suburb, in an old three-story brick apartment building with six flats and a center stairway. I knew Annie wouldn’t make it up the stairs to the second floor, so I picked her up and flung her over my shoulder, and there on the curb, in late-day full sun and with neighbors out on balconies and Saturday sidewalks, she began to howl:
“Frank, you got to fuck me, you got to FUCK me.”
I looked side-to-side and told her to shut up, and she lowered the volume a bit but continued with the theme, all the way into the building. Up the steps to the first landing, I managed to find the keys and get them in the locks and get the door open. From there, I carried her murmuring corpse to the bedroom and dropped her on the bed, then went to the kitchen for a cold beer. I returned, turned on the box fans (the old building had no a/c), and commenced pulling off her clothes as she continued to mutter and beg.
I got my own clothes off and lay down next to her, my cock rising and soon fully hard. I didn’t bother much with preliminaries — after the extended (and unfinished) blow job on the Turnpike, and the feel of Debbie’s out-of-this-world pussy, I just wanted to unload my nuts and pass out. I pushed Annie’s legs apart, mounted up, and buried my member a foot deep.
There was no art or affection in this one, this one was strictly for me. Annie grunted and growled like a dog with each long hard stroke, then became quieter — I swear she passed out in the middle of it. Meanwhile, it seemed to take me forever to bust it. I went at her cunt hard for 15 or 20 minutes, then finally, finally, felt it building, and my nuts tightening, and POW, there it was. I flooded her insides with cum. I don’t even remember rolling off.
When I woke, it was dark and just a fraction cooler. I found my bearings and reached to click on the lamp. The clock said 9:35. Annie was still out cold.
I sat on the edge of the bed, gathering my wits. I tried to decide if I wanted to eat, whether to try to wake Annie, what I wanted to do that night. I finished the warm beer by the bed, then walked naked to the kitchen to get a cold one. I sat down in the living room, got fully awake with the cold beer and some music, and tried to think.
The best idea, it struck me, was to wake Annie and get to work on round two.
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