Poet’s Retirement Blues
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Nick’s Note: While I may write about my erotic interludes with a variety of women, I am not promiscuous. I do not ‘hunt’ women, visit brothels, or solicit streetwalkers. My stories cross a time line of thirty years or so, and my relationships with the ladies in these stories have lasted for any number of years; one in particular has continued off and on for the last twenty-five. I had the honor of being allowed to carry one of these true friends to her grave. All of these beautiful ladies know that all they have to do is call, and I will be there, as a friend. However, with that being said, if one calls wanting my body, I’m always early.
For more about Linda, see my story, ‘Poet Writes Again’ in the ‘Mature’ section.
I’d had enough. Enough of the bullshit that was constantly generated by the corporation, enough of the inability of our union to defend our rights, enough of the forced overtime in weather conditions that a right-minded person wouldn’t put their fuckin’ dog in and enough of all the hassles associated with going to and from work. I fucking well had enough.
I walked into my supervisor’s office, slid my retirement letter across his desk, told him the same things I’ve related so far, and told him to call me when I needed to sign something; and after twenty-six of the most miserable years of my life, I left that fucking place in my dust.
I instantly felt better. I felt so damn good I couldn’t believe it was me. I had a woody, and no bare breasted woman in sight. Well, I knew what to do about that situation.
I called Barb from the corner bar close to where I used to work…used to…damned if I didn’t like the sound of that…used to…fuckin’ A!
I got her voice mail at her office, so I tried her cell. I got a congratulations and a brush off; too busy right now, she’d call me in a couple of days.
Congratulations I didn’t want or need. I wanted and needed her to give me another sample of her expert, professional, efficient and oh so sensual, oral duct cleaning abilities in the safety and comfort of any damn place. Screw a bunch of congratulations.
I called Linda. Pretty much the same story, but with a twist. A magazine was taking pictures of her garden and the Bridge Club was meeting at her home tomorrow; she’d call when she could, but congratulations.
Congratulations I didn’t want or need. I wanted and needed her hot, tight, shallow pussy that makes me feel like
I’m huge, sliding up and down and squeezing my dick until it went numb.
I finished my beer and drove home, mumbling to myself, ‘Damn, it isn’t like I don’t give as good or better than I get. It isn’t like I ever hit or even got pissed at either one of them; it isn’t like I don’t drop whatever I’m doin’ to help them out. Well, no more. Fuckin’ women… Congratulations. Kiss my ass… Congratulations’.
I still had options. Well, to make it short, I found out through a series of phone calls that I didn’t. Married, engaged, drug rehab, religion. My ear and my ego started hurting so I just gave up. I had trouble believing that I was that far out of the loop not to know that these women actually had lives beyond me. I figured, ‘fuckit’, after all it was a two-way street.
I went to Pete’s. He’s older and uglier than me, but at least he was there and agreed with my new ‘fuckin’ women philosophy’, and he didn’t say congratulations when he gave me a free beer.
Joan stuck her head out of the kitchen saying, “Congratulations, Poet,” and then cut herself off when she saw the look I gave her. I finally came to my senses as far as Joan goes; she’s good people, never was anything but nice to me, so I walked back, gave her a hug and apologized.
I was sitting at the bar, working my way through the meatloaf special and minding my own pissed off business; when an argument started at the tables behind me. Some young kid giving his girlfriend hell about some damn thing. My only thought was, ‘way to be, don’t let that bitch get away with anything, cause if you do, you’re fucked in the long run, brother’.
And then the asshole had to go and hit her. Bad move.
I looked at Pete. He handed me the bat he keeps behind the bar. I walked over and tapped the ‘big man’ on top of his head with the bat.
When he got done pulling the button of his ball cap out of the top of his head, I pointed the bat at the door and said, “Leave. Now. If my meal gets cold, you…are…fucked.”
As he walked to the door he made sure that everyone in the place knew that the young lady was not morally upright, had a questionable upbringing, and was never going to sit on any throne in his castle.
I went back to my meatloaf. Joan and Pete helped the girl with ice and soothing words.
Pete came back to the bar and started laughing as he put away the bat.
Joan sat down next to me after awhile. I felt something coming, knew I wasn’t going to be able to avoid whatever the fuck it was, and looked at her.
“He hit her because she wouldn’t get an abortion. eryaman gerçek escort numaları She doesn’t have a ride home. Her name is Jill.”
“Ah hell. What do you want?”
“That you give her a ride home. I promise all the chicken you can eat the next time it’s on the special.”
I looked at the girl in the bar mirror; she looked familiar but I couldn’t place her. I turned back to Joan, with a, “Deal.”
I made her shake on it. Joan makes the best chicken in the 48 contiguous states. Even though it was always ‘all you can eat’, I felt I was ahead on the deal. If it weren’t for Pete, I’d have married Joan. We’d be millionaires because of her chicken; national franchises and on the stock exchange; the Colonel left sucking hind tit.
If you are waiting for me to describe how I had my way with this young lady, don’t hold your breath. She was a good looking young thing, most likely not broke in all the way and still on the learning curve, but young girls didn’t float my boat forty some odd years ago, when they were supposed to. I have always like older women; their guileless beauty and charm always drawing me towards them; and while my advances were turned away many times, it was never with the venom that only a young girl can produce. My feelings haven’t changed as I’ve grown older, and now that I’m in my 50’s, I look around me and am continually astounded at the beauty of the women that were once the young girls I avoided.
Thirty miles one way thru rain and fog. I had enough. I couldn’t keep up with, much less understand Jill’s damn near non-stop crying, blubbering tale of woe interspersed with various invectives about her ex-boyfriend. I finally told her to shut up; pulled into a gas station and got her a soda and some paper towels and a beer for me. We sat in the lot and I told her the facts as I saw them. I listed her options for her, abortion pro and con, that all the crying and cursing in the world wasn’t going to make one damn bit of difference, and tried to impress upon her the fact that no one could make her get an abortion, but; if she made the decision to have the baby and then started blaming the kid for the way her life turned out then she would be a bigger piss poor excuse for a human being than her boyfriend. I told her to go look an abused child in the eyes; see if that’s what she wanted for her kid. I also told her that if her heart was already breaking at the thought of her kid’s first skinned knee, that she would probably be a great mom, and that I wished them luck.
I guess I got through to her. She quit crying and got what I took to be a thoughtful look on her face.
The sudden realization that I was no better than her hit me. I’d been thinking ‘woe is me’ all night, and even worse, I was preaching. Feeling sheepish, I told her that I was sure she had people she could go to for better advice than I could ever give her; and got back on the road.
As we pulled into her driveway, Jill, asked me if I would come in for moral support. Being the unsuspecting old fuck that I am, I agreed. Bad move. When I was younger and a situation arose, I would always think of an old saying, twist it a bit, and apply it. In this case, the carpenter’s motto; measure twice, cut once; would have been; think twice, get the hell out of Dodge while the getting is good.
She called for her mother as we went in the kitchen door. Linda; of hot, tight and shallow fame; came around the corner.
There is no way that anyone (maybe a playwright) could write the next few moments down in any intelligible way. All the expressions and emotions displayed were instantaneous; quotes were piled on top of each other. This story would have been submitted weeks ago if I could have figured it out, but then, if I could have figured it out, it never would have happened, and my old happy ass would be going into work tomorrow.
This is the best I can do: Don’t bother with feedback on how to write this, as I am going out of my way to make sure that this situation never happens again.
Jill: Swollen lip, lisps, “Mom, this is Nick.” Body shudders, arms reaching out and she steps towards Linda. A huge sob escapes her and tears begin to flow, she wails, “I’m pregnant!”
Linda: Jaw drops at the sight of me standing there, says, “Nick?” Sees Jill’s swollen lip and deep concern then a frown crosses her face as she holds her arms out towards Jill. Realization of Jill’s last words hit her, and a look of utter hate is upon her as she grabs a vase of flowers that she hurls at me with a, “You lousy no good son-of-a-bitch! My daughter!”
Me: My jaw dropped at the sight of Linda, and said, “Linda?” I cringed at what Jill said and cringed even more at what Linda said, yelling, “I didn’t do it!” I caught the vase but the water and flowers continued on their paths and soaked my face and chest. I stared at the two of them, slammed the vase to the floor and started chanting, “Fuckit, fuckit, fuckit!” as I walked out to my truck, pulling sincan escort flowers out of my hair.
I was laughing and plotting revenge by the time I got home.
I stripped off my wet clothes, got an ice-cold bottle of Bud, rolled a nice fat joint, and checked my messages. There were three of them, all from Linda.
One: “Nick, I’m sorry. Please call.”
Two: “Nick, please don’t be mad. I’m so sorry. Please call me, please.”
Three: “Thanks for helping Jill. She told me the whole story. Please call me. I’m really sorry.”
I kicked back and waited for number four. I didn’t have to wait long…about a half beer and a slight buzz.
“Nope. He’s not in. Don’t worry about it Linda. Everything’s cool. Take care of your daughter. I’ll catch you later, I’m bushed.” And I hung up laughing to myself.
I had a pretty good feeling that I was the only swinging dick that Linda was getting, and I was definitely the only source of smoke she had. ‘Dr. Nick’ was her way of suggesting that we get together, on her terms, for some slap and tickle, and my saying he wasn’t in was putting her off and letting her know that maybe I was still pissed, as I had never refused her before. She always felt ok with putting me off due to her busy social schedule. She never wanted me to meet her family or friends as I am, always trying to get me to change first. But I was ok to pull her daughter’s ashes out of the fire, and for Linda to think the worst of me for doing it. She’d forgotten that I had told her that I had a vasectomy and that I didn’t get off on young girls. I felt it in my heart that she didn’t tell Jill that we were fuck buddies, and had probably used the fact that she knew my sister as her excuse for knowing me. I wasn’t mad, but I sure as hell had enough.
Yeah, I know, what a bastard. Adding to the poor woman’s worries. Well fuck her worries. I figured to show her what real worry was all about.
I got up early the next morning, took care of a few things around the house, and El and I headed into town to pick up a few things.
Like I figured, when we got back there was a message on the machine…Linda, saying she would be by tonight after the Bridge Club left. Check.
I took my time getting things together, listening to some tunes, getting a little buzzed, and just fucking enjoying myself. Yeah, this is what retirement is all about.
I heard Linda pull up to the house and I positioned myself at the door. When she knocked, I looked back into the house and yelled, “It’s open. Come on in,” trying to make it sound as if I wasn’t at the door.
As Linda got the door open, I threw a half-bucket of ice cold water on her and she froze in place.
I grabbed her shirt, pulling it out of her jeans, and in a move that any hockey player would be proud of, pulled it up over her head, leaving her blind and unable to use her arms. I held her arms over her head, wrists together, and using my other hand, used a plastic zip-tie to secure her wrists together.
Linda started to struggle and yell out my name. I yanked her body hard up against me and whispered, “Shut up.”
I pulled her over to the ottoman, pushed her down so that she was kneeling on the floor with her chest and head resting on the ottoman, her arms still stretched out above her head. Using my weight to hold her down, I used more zip-ties to secure her wrists to the wooden foot of the couch.
Linda started to call my name again, and I slapped her ass hard with another, “Shut up.”
I lit a cigarette and stood back to survey my work, my canvas, so to speak.
I’d never done this before. Be cruel. I act tough, but when it comes to women I normally have a big weak spot that won’t allow this type of treatment, even if they ask.
This time was different.
I knelt next to Linda’s head, tilted my head down where her ears should be, and whispered, “Linda, if you talk without being asked a question, you will be punished. If you do it again, you will be gagged. If you understand, wiggle your butt.” She didn’t move a muscle. I smacked her ass hard, and she wiggled her butt like there was no tomorrow. I whispered, “Good girl.”
I moved around her, grabbed the back of her jeans and lifted her while kicking a couch cushion under her knees, and then I just dropped her.
I reached for the scissors, unhooked her bra, cut the straps, and pulled it out from under her. She gasped, probably from the catches and the cloth raking across her nipples.
“Spread your legs, Linda.”
Stepping between her legs, I reached under her unsnapping and unzipping her jeans and then pulled them off her hips and down to her knees.
Using the scissors again, I cut both sides of her panties and roughly yanked them from her making her gasp again.
“Raise your feet.”
I pulled her shoes and then her jeans from her legs.
I could smell her, but I reached down and touched to be sure. She was already open batıkent escort and slick.
“Did you come here to apologize, Linda?”
“Yes, what, Linda?”
“Yes, Dr. Nick.”
“What else did you want, Linda?”
“For you to fuck me, Dr. Nick.”
I slid my finger along her pussy, and circled her clit.
“Nick! Fuck me, Nick! Now, baby, now!” she screamed.
I pulled my finger from her and using the palm of my hand I spanked her hard across the cheeks of her ass, making her scream and jump with each loud smack. My hand began to sting, so I stopped, reached for the lotion, and began to smooth it into her. I moved to the other side, and Linda quieted as I continued to smooth the lotion in. When she had settled, I started in on her ass again using my other hand, with the same results. I stopped again when this hand began to sting, and I again massaged lotion into her cheeks.
I could hear Linda sobbing and gasping.
“I didn’t ask you a question, Linda. That’s one. Do you want me to gag you, Linda?’
“Nnnnooo, Dr. Nick! No!”
I slid my finger back to her clit, circling it slowly. Linda was flowing. I used some of her fluid to lubricate the index finger on my other hand and gently rimmed her asshole.
Linda didn’t say a word, unless you count ohs, ahs, unghs, and such. I cut her some slack, gave her those freebies, and let her cum.
I stepped away from her and let her calm down.
I went to the kitchen, and got some ice water with a straw.
She was laying silently when I got back to her. I sat down at her head and slid her shirt back so that her face was exposed, held the straw to her lips and let her drink. She sighed when she finished.
I lit a joint and held it to her lips. She took a big drag and held it in until I though she would burst, and then exhaled with a whoosh.
“You can talk now, Linda, but don’t ask when I will let you loose. When I pull the shirt back up, don’t talk unless I ask a question.”
“Ok, Nick. God that was intense. How come we never did this before?”
“Want another hit?”
“Yeah. And then some more water.”
We talked for a few more minutes, and I gave her a kiss on the cheek as I pulled the shirt back over her head.
I sat on a small stool next to her, and pulled on a set of latex gloves; watching Linda jump with each snap as they settled to my wrists.
“What’s your favorite color, Linda?”
“Red. Uh, Dr. Nick.”
“Hmm. Red. That’s a nice warm color. It’s the color of your ass cheeks right now. It’s the color of your hot little pussy when I fuck it. It’s the color your asshole will be if I fuck it.”
Linda jumped at the mention of me fucking her ass.
“Are you sure red is you favorite color, Linda?”
“Yyyesss. Dr. Nick.”
“Are you my society slut, Linda?”
“Yes, Dr. Nick.”
“Ok Linda. Hold still for me now.”
I sprayed soap just above her ass cheeks and shaved the fine hairs she had there, and then cleaned her up and placed a stencil.
Linda had no idea that I was about to give her a tattoo. Yep, a regulation butt cap that stated the proud owner was ‘Dr. Nick’s Society Slut’. I thought it looked pretty damn good. I drew it up in a font called, ‘Aerosol’ that I had downloaded from the net. Linda sure figured out she was getting a tattoo when I hit the foot switch and I barely touched her with the tube.
“No! Nick! No! Please, no!”
I put down the machine, stripped off my gloves, grabbed the small paddle I bought at the novelty store, and tore into her ass, making her scream and swing her hips around franticly.
When I stopped, she was crying hysterically. I went around, pulled up the shirt, waited for her to quiet, gagged her, and pulled the shirt back up.
“Linda, can you hear me?”
“If you move, the skin will tear, you’ll be scarred for life. Do you understand?”
“Will you behave if I remove the gag?”
I untied the gag, got new gloves on, and pretty much breezed through the tattoo. Linda didn’t know that I wasn’t using ink, and I only used enough needle so that when she looked at it would be legible. It would heal and disappear, but I wasn’t going to tell her that; at least not right now.
“I’m finished. Do you want to see it, Linda?”
“Yes, Dr. Nick.”
“I only did the outline today. If you come back I will color it in.”
I pulled off my gloves, unzipped my jeans, pulled out my cock, rubbed it up and down her pussy to get it wet, and pretty much slammed it to her and rimmed her asshole again with my finger.
Linda didn’t object. In fact she hunched herself back at me and yelled “Oh, oh, oh, oh” until she finally screamed a “Yes”, as her pussy gripped me and I shot into her.
Linda didn’t have much to say after she cleaned herself up (and probably looked at her pseudo tattoo), and got dressed, sans bra and briefs. I walked her out to her car and as she tenderly attempted to get in, I grabbed her, pulled her to me and kissed her hard.
“Call me. I only work by appointment.”
As she turned again, I smacked her on the ass, and walked back to the house.
The next morning, I was drinking coffee, looking through some brochures on kit bikes, when the phone rang.
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