dontravis.com blog post #514
Goodly number of hits on “The Old Man Across the Street,” but not many comments. Ah well, you read the story, hope you enjoyed it.
Today,
we’ll try another short story, a little different in nature. Let me know how
you like this one.
****
JEAN
OR GENE
Jean sashayed across the hotel
lobby on the way to the powder room, confident she’d caught a number of eyes.
There was a sales convention of some sort going on, so a lot of those eyes
would be out of towners. Ideal for what she had in mind. Once finished in the
private stall, she stood before the vanity mirrors and checked her makeup.
Perfect. Her hairdo? Good. She knew a lot of men preferred blondes, but she liked
her natural color. Raven’s wing black. Picked up highlights better than any
peroxide job she’d ever seen.
As she left the powder room,
she caught the eye of one man who’d been at the reception desk when she passed
earlier. Confident he’d waited for her return, she altered her steps and took a
seat in one of the overstuffed chairs in the corner of the big room. He took
his time about it, but he found ways to draw nearer and nearer. Big hat, boots.
Cowboy type. What kind of convention was it, anyway? No matter. She liked
cowboys. The ones she’d known had had a wild, abandoned way about them.
Although courteous to a fault, they took what they wanted, and they wanted what
she had to give.
Eventually, Romeo was close
enough to bashfully ask if he could join her. She watched him as he took the
adjoining chair. Young. Good-looking. Insecurity partially hidden by bravado.
Slim-hipped, full basket. Great. This one would take some maneuvering, but she
thought he was landable.
“Buy you a drink, Miss?” he
asked in a pleasant baritone. “Funny, seems like I oughta be asking that in a
bar.”
“And I imagine that’s where
you usually use that line,” she purred.
He blushed. “Yeah, I guess.
Anyway, I’d be pleased to do it.”
“Thanks, but I’m not in the
mood right now. I’d rather sit and hear a little bit about you.”
He was pleased to accommodate.
Will Parson from Bolton, Oklahoma. Twenty-three. Feed salesman in his daddy’s
store. A Fort-F150 man. Single, but looking hard. And lonely.
When he ran down, she smiled
at him. “When you’re finished with the convention for the day, maybe I’ll let
you buy me that drink.”
“Shoot, ma’am, I am finished
for the day. Let’s go to that bar across the way.”
Jean arched a brow at him. “Is
a drink really what you want?”
His brown eyes twitched a bit,
but he held her gaze. “No, ma’am. Not really.”
“You have a room here?”
He was on his feet in a
second. “You bet. And no roommate to get in the way.” He frowned. “Uh, how…
well, how much?”
She stood and noticed she was
as tall as he was, at least in heels. “Do you really want to talk about money?”
‘Uh, no ma’am, but I don’t
wanna get in over my head.”
She turned and walked toward
the elevators. “That won’t be a problem.”
Will tried to be suave about
it, but he was more like an eager kid. She laughed on the inside. Hadn’t been
long since she was as skittish as he was.
He reached for her the moment
the door to his room closed behind him. She turned so that all he managed to
fondle was her butt. Apparently, he decided that was okay because he pulled her
to him. His hands felt good against her buttocks. This guy was ready to go. She
sort of dog-walked until they were at the end of the bed, and then, still
pressed against him, she tackled the buttons on his shirt. They gave way, one
by one. She pulled it off his shoulders and rubbed her hand across his torso.
“Nice,” she said in a throaty
voice.
“Thank you, ma’am. Now—”
As he reached for her blouse,
she pushed him over on the bed. He landed flat of his back. Before he said
anything, she had his belt loose and his zipper down. He lay there and let her
pull is trousers down around his ankles. He was still mute when she went down
on him, but before it was over, he was groaning and moaning. He came with a
whoopie!
She stood and smiled down at
him. “Was it as good as you thought?”
He sat up on the end of the
bed. “Sooper-dooper. Best blow job I’ve ever had.”
She arched an eyebrow. “And
you’ve had lots of them?”
He grinned. “My share.”
Before she knew what he was
about, Will reached for her groin. His hands closed over her, and his eyes went
wide. “What’s that? Hell, you ain’t a woman. You’re a guy!”
Gene spoke in his own voice.
“What does it matter if it was so good.”
Will’s eyes went mean. “What
does it matter? What does it matter! I’ll tell you what matters. I ain’t no
queer. And you pulled one over on me. I oughta bust you up. Hell, I will. I’m
gonna punch your lights out.”
Will rose, but apparently forgot
his pants were down around his ankles. He tripped as he reached out. Gene backed
away and pulled a long hat pin from his hair, lashing out with it.
“Ow!” Will cried, trying to
regain his balance and nurse a stabbed hand. Gene took advantage of the other
man’s situation and quickly evacuated the room, rushing down the hall to the
elevator bank before Will came after him.
He turned the corner and
almost collided with another guy who was working the lock to a room.
“Whoa,” the man said. “What’s
the hurry.”
Jean adjusted her voice.
“Trying to get away from a big ape of a cowboy.”
The man laughed. “Well, just
scoot on into my room, and you can wait him out.”
She smiled at the man. “Thank
you kind, sir.”
“My name’s Matt. What’s
yours?”
“Jean.”
“Well, Miss Jean, was that
cowboy attending the convention?”
“I gather so.”
“And what was the basis of
your disagreement?” Matt met her eyes squarely. “Money?”
“You might say that. He got
the service but objected afterward.”
“And what was this bozo’s
name?”
“Will something-or-the-other.”
His eyebrows went up. “Will
Parson from Oklahoma?”
She nodded.
“Hell, seemed like a decent
guy to me.”
“Me too… until….”
He laid a hand on each
shoulder. “Well, Jean. I’m a little more worldly. I got no trouble paying if
you do right by me.”
Then for the second time, Jean
was taken by surprise. As Matt pulled her in for a kiss, his hand went south of
the border. She felt his whole body stiffen before he leaned back and held her
at arm’s length.
Uh-oh.
****
Have
you ever been in a bar—or anywhere for that matter—and seen an attractive woman
and felt something wasn’t quite right? I have. Many years ago, a friend and I
were having drinks in a bar and got into an argument over whether the blonde
sitting at the bar talking to another woman was, in fact, a real woman or a man
in drag. He thought she was a guy; I had no reason to think so. The face and figure
were right, so what if the voice was a contralto. My friend, being the bold,
aggressive type, approached the blonde and asked her point blank if she was a
man or a woman. I’ll never forget her response. “Honey, it’ll cost you a
hundred bucks to get a definitive answer to that question.”
Tell me what you think.
Stay safe and stay strong.
Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!
A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:
https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0
My personal links:
Email: don.travis@aol.com.
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter:
@dontravis3
See you next Thursday.
Don
New
Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.
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