dontravis.com blog post #514
Image Courtesy of Clipart Library
Image Courtesy of Clipart Library
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?”
“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?”
His eyebrows went up. “Will Parson from Oklahoma?”
“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.
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:
My personal links:
See you next Thursday.
New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.