"Was that O.K., honey?" she asked solicitously.
Hank looked down at her. The climax was over and he was in a post climax depression. Suddenly the shame of having to pay this broad to do a job on him rushed over him. His penis lay shriveled and flaccid between his legs. He felt disgusted.
"Go clean up!" he growled sharply.
"But… but… but you really came good, honey. Didn't you like it?" the bewildered girl asked again.
"No!" came the sharp reply.
"But you must have," the girl wailed. She was getting scared that he might not want to pay her. "You must have shot off at least a pint!"
Hank realized she was afraid he might be trying to rip her off for the fee, and it made him even more angry.
"Shut up, go clean up, and get out of here!" he ordered nastily.
"But… but… "
"I told you to shut up!" Hank barked again. "And don't worry," he added sarcastically, "you'll get your pay, you dirty little whore. Every cent of it!"
The girl wasn't too sure. She hadn't been whoring long and this nasty turn of events was a first for her. She couldn't understand it. She had worked him over really good, and he had responded. She had nearly choked on his meat once it had begun growing.
And when he had shot off, she'd thought the hot liquid would never stop squirting out of the fat pipe. She had had to swallow as quickly as she could just to keep up with it.
But she didn't say anything. She just hopped up, took a quick turn in the john, and put on her clothes. How could she know the shame and disgust. Hank felt having to pay a girl to mouth his juicy meat? Having to pay for sex?
She couldn't know the degradation he felt. Hank Fisher, the hottest thing on campus, the hottest thing in the office. The guy girls fell over themselves to get into bed with. Now, at age thirty-eight, he had to pay for his sex.
By the time the girl returned from the bathroom, Hank was up and had his jockey shorts on. She looked at him questioningly. He didn't say a word, just jerked his thumb in the direction of the dresser. Christ! he thought. There's no way I'm going to hand it over to her. Give her the money for the blow job out of my own hand?!
The girl's gaze followed the general direction of Hank's motioning thumb. She saw the bills on the dresser, walked over to them, picked them up and counted. It was all there. Five ten dollar bills.
She stuffed the money into her pocket book and turned back to him to say something. But the look of disgust on Hank's face made her close her mouth. She just shook her head, puzzled. And still wondering what had gone wrong, she headed for the door.
At the door she stopped and turned again. "Uhhhh," she began, thinking she had to say something even if it was only goodnight.
"Get out!" Hank yelled. And she did, with out wasting any more time.
When she had gone, Hank slammed his fist into the mattress. He felt violent, angry, bewildered and helpless all at the same time. Rising from the bed he walked over to the window. With his right hand he depressed the slats enough so that he could look out. The garish neon sign blinked into his eyes. "God is Love!" it blinked on and off, "God is Love!"
"Shit!" Hank spat out. "That's all I needed!" He let go of the slats and almost before they had snapped back into place he had ripped the drapes shut.
He stood for a moment before the closed drapes, then sighed dejectedly and headed for the john. In the john he turned on the faucets of the stall shower, slipped his shorts off and stepped under the strong, hot stream of water.
Slowly he lathered his body and then let the rushing water rinse the foam away. He turned and let the prickling hot stream massage his back. Little by little he began to relax.
Back in bed he stretched out on his back and cushioned his head with both hands. His mind wandered back again to college, to the days when he was a real stud. Wanted and admired. When did it all end? he wondered. What happened? How does it happen that a guy who had everything going for him ends up with nothing, having to pay for pussy? Chapter 2
He remembered the day he met his wife. It had been at the height of his college football career, in his senior year. He had made the final touchdown just as the whistle blew at the end of the last quarter. It had been a tight game, the score had see-sawed back and forth.
The score was 14 all. There was a tight formation on the opponent's fifteen-yard line. Would they try to kick it? "No," Hank told them in the huddle. "I want to run it. I want to ram that ball fucking well down their throats!"
He was strong and powerful A fast and tricky runner. The other team had suffered a couple of losses and their right end was weak at this point. It was agreed. Hank would try the impossible possible.
They grouped on the line of scrimmage in punt formation. The hulking line facing them regrouped to rush the kicker. Before they knew what was happening there was the fade, the pass, and Hank was wide to the right, churning turf.
When the other team realized what was happening, the two right blockers moved to stop Hank. But he had a head of steam up. He sidestepped the first blocker, leaving him to eat dirt. The second lunged for him at the eighteen-yard line. Hank leaped high in his stride and deflected the block with a smart rap to the guy's neck. The man went down.
Hank churned on. The kids in the grand stands went wild. The louder they screamed, the faster he ran and the stronger he felt! He would swear to this day that he had been doing 80 miles an hour when he penetrated the goal posts, skidded to a halt, plowing turf all the way, and gently touched the ball to the earth.
Pandemonium broke out! The tie was broken. He had made the winning touchdown with the most dramatic run of the season in the toughest game of the season.
They carried Hank off the field on their shoulders. He was a real football hero. The cheerleaders were tugging at his pant legs. A swarm of girls most attacked him in the passageway to the showers.
Sweaty, hot and dirty in his grass and dirt stained uniform, he stood signing autographs. The excitement of the game and its aftermath had excited him. His dong buzzed under the pressure of his jock strap.
He wanted pussy. Not just any pussy, but something special. Then he saw her. She was a sloe-eyed bitch with a hank of burnished black hair, and she was leaning against the wall of the passageway, looking at him with a look of detached amusement on her face.
There was a bevy of girls surrounding Hank, pushing programs and pencils at him. Whispering to him that they were free that evening, making lewd suggestions of what they were capable of doing, or wanted to do to him.
He signed his name time and time again until it became just a scrawl. And he ignored the whispered invitations and promises. Every few seconds he looked at the girl leaning against the passageway wall, checking to see that she was still there, making eye contact.
"That's enough," he told the girls still crowded around him, and he handed the program he had just signed and the pencil back to some outstretched hand.
"Aaawwwhhh," they moaned with disappointment, reluctant to move. But he pushed his way past them and approached the sloe-eyed girl. As he approached her, the look of total detached amusement never wavered on her face.
Hank stood directly in front of her and looked down into her upturned face. Their eyes met. Electricity passed between them. Her lips parted at the shock. They bathed in the sparks. "I'll be out in fifteen minutes," was all Hank said.
The evening was a mind-blower. Her name was Cathy Cummings. Right after graduation he changed it to Cathy Fisher.
The marriage was a good one. In those early years most of their time was spent in bed, fucking, just plain fucking. They were good years, fun years. And they were in love.
Everything went smoothly, as scheduled. They had two children and only two, as prearranged and mutually agreed upon. He began working in a small firm as a computer programmer and progressed rapidly. By the time the second child, a girl, joined the family group of him, his wife and their son, Hank was already comptroller of the company.
They moved to the suburbs into an expensive home with a two-car garage that housed two expensive automobiles. There was a portfolio of stocks, money in the bank… and a girlfriend on the side.
Hank had everything anybody could wish for. He even had a summer home at the shore and a small cruiser. His wife was beautiful and loving. His children were well behaved and handsome. But he still slept around.
Maybe it was because the children took so much of Cathy's time, maybe because he was jealous of the love she showered on them, and the special closeness the children seemed to have with their mother. Maybe it was just because he was weak. God knows the women threw themselves at him mercilessly. He had gone straight after meeting Cathy, and he was true to her for years, turning deaf ears and eyes to the women around him.
But Cathy had a rough time carrying the second child, and the doctor forbade regular intercourse from the fourth month onward. At first they compensated with other means, but Cathy began to get moody and disagreeable. Finally she denied him any means of sexual satisfaction. Partly due to the lack of proper sex, partly due to the difficulties of and the medication taken for the pregnancy, Cathy turned from a loving wife into a frigid, nagging bitch.
Hank's dong began to itch. He found him self more and more vulnerable to the bold looks and insinuating glances at the office.
It all came to a head one day when everything was going wrong'. He had fought with Cathy before leaving for the office. A rare occurrence, but she was becoming so unreasonable, so petulant! Then things went wrong at work, and he was called on the carpet over a contract that went sour. He had to work late that night to straighten the mess out and get out a new proposal. When he called Cathy to explain the situation, she almost slammed the receiver in his ear! Fuck her! Hank thought angrily, as he slammed down the receiver after she had hung up.
He looked up from the phone and saw Laurie Greyson, the office sexpot, leaning lazily against the doorway to his office. Her miniskirt showed off her long shapely legs to their fullest. A mass of wavy brown hair fell loosely around her sexy face, and almost touched the tips of her enormous, jutting boobs.