Tanya Fox giving the Doc a little workout.
Monday, 11 December 2017
Someone once said:
"It is not the moment itself that matters. What matters is you understand the reason why that moment matters in the first place.."
The silver 747 hung silently in the early morning Winter sky before turning slowly in a graceful arc as it connected to its ILS and headed towards a snowbound JFK as I made my way along the Coney Island Boardwalk towards Atlantic Avenue and home.
The long walk had done me good. Cleared the head. Concentrated the mind. Put a few things into perspective. I stopped and turned to look out to sea as the cold North wind blew gusts of fallen snow all around me. It was Saturday. The day after the night before when life had been simpler and I knew my place in the grand scheme of things.
I raised my hand and shielded my gaze from the low sun as the events of the previous evening continued to overshadow everything. Those simpler days of meaningless sex and worthless relationships were over.
Sunday, 3 December 2017
Monday, 27 November 2017
The room quietly echoed to the sounds of city life as I lay there staring up into the fading dark as the world turned and night slipped into the beginnings of the new day.
Sleep had been fitful. The constant turning of my mind as random thoughts flared, flickered and faded keeping me awake until the early hours. Night visions dancing in the darkness always bringing me back to the way she looked at me and the dawning realization that nothing would be the same again.
I got up and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. I closed my eyes and hung my head as my body began to wake from its slumbers as I stretched and ran both hands through my thick dark hair. I got to my feet and walked naked to the window of my fifth-floor apartment and watched as the first signs of a red dawn began to appear from behind the concrete horizon.
Another day. Another Monday. I stared out into the far distance as the world began to paint herself with cloud strokes of deep copper and burnt umber. But it wasn't another day. Or another Monday.
A blind girl called Heather McCallister had made everything different.
Friday, 24 November 2017
Saturday, 18 November 2017
I looked across to her at the end of another deep thrust between the sweet thighs of the mewling fuck beneath me as I pounded her well-stretched snatch into the mattress. Instinctively, the younger woman clasped me tighter to her as her long black stockinged legs wrapped themselves around my splayed thighs and pounding buttocks. I was on auto-pilot. Doing the same old same on another Friday night with two hot bitches from the typing pool eager to discover if the rumors were true.
I stopped for a moment buried deep in hot wet clasping female sex as I frowned in the low light bathing the room in a pale yellowish glow. Who was I fucking and who was asking to be fucked? I gave my head a shake. Their names. What were their names again? Christ, dude, are you that far gone?
The girl wanting to be fucked slipped closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulders as she pressed her lips against the side of my face and licked my left ear.
"Save some for me, lover," she breathed as she ran her right hand through my thick brown hair, "You've already sent Suzie around the moon twice."
Ah. Suzie. Eager little sexpot Suzie. And she was Diane. Diane of the huge balloons, insatiable asshole, and awkward hemorrhoid. Now we were on the same page. A page that had begun with a few suggested drinks after work and a means to an end to cross numbers 18 and 19 off my fuck bucket list. Twenty-two in the pool so only another three to go. Those three were the hardcore. Those women who knew the type of man I was and who knew how to play my game. The absolutely un-fuckables as Jimmy had called them. Still, this had been a good run. Nearly six solid months of sweet talking all 19 out of their panties each Friday night to satisfy the vanity within me. As the saying goes: have big cock will fuck any time in any place in any hole.
Suzie gave a hiss of disappointment as I suddenly exited her sopping slot and rolled over and onto the black haired temptress that was Diane and her impressive melons. She gasped a wide-eyed, "Oh, you big son of a bitch," as I fed her my pride and joy as we set off Apollo-like on a round trip around the cosmos. The fuck was as familiar as a comfortable sweater and just as hot as I fell into the cut and thrust of maintaining my reputation as an expert cocksman and smiled as the glazed eyes of number 18 rolled back into her head as she cried out her first orgasm of several before I made them both kneel at my feet and let them both taste the fruits of our labors.
It was just a damned shame that neither of them meant anything.
Anything at all.