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Second Place “Humor Month” Competition.


A confirmed bachelor finds that casual sex can be hard work.
“Well, it’s over.” Roger Jones tossed his keys on the table near the door. “She doesn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore.”

Roger slouched his way into the living room, hands in the pockets of his chinos. His roommate sat on the couch wearing a grey sweatshirt and a pair of plaid boxer shorts.

“Sheila? Now there’s a shocker,” said Dennis between slurps of breakfast cereal.

“Ohhhhh… Roger, honey, I’m sorry,” called Ellen from the kitchen. “What happened, sweetie?”

“She was quite cruel, actually. I really didn’t know she was that kind of person,” he replied loudly, sniffing the air and wondering what she was cooking in there.

“My God, what did she say?”

“She said I was, 'emotionally unavailable and had no discernible interest in having an adult relationship',” recited Roger, curling two pair of fingers in air-quotes. “She also said she was tired of watching me play Call of Duty and that the only time we go anywhere or do anything worthwhile is when she pays for it.”

“At least she let you down easy,” said Dennis.

The three roommates had been friends since their college days. They shared an overpriced, under-ventilated, two bedroom walkup apartment over an all-night pharmacy in TriBeCa. Roger taught Latin at a private prep school for boys, having majored in Classical Languages and cannabis. Happily, he was also the beneficiary of a modest trust, courtesy of his maternal grandfather. The old gentleman had been a Captain of Industry, according to Roger’s mother. Exactly what industry or what he had done to earn the rank of captain, Roger never had the slighted inclination to find out.

“Dennis, what are you doing?”


“That,” said Roger, pointing at his roommate’s lower half. “Your ass. You’ve been, like, squeezing your cheeks together since I walked in.”

“Kegel exercises,” answered Dennis, smiling and nodding his head knowingly.

“Oh, so you’re going to have a baby. Congratulations.”

“Dennis is doing Kegels to have a better erection,” offered Ellen walking into the common room. She carried a plate of scrambled eggs and a cup of coffee in her hands and a newspaper folded under her arm. “He’s strengthening his pelvic floor.”

“What’s wrong with his erection?”

“He doesn’t like the…” she looked at Dennis. “What did you call it? The angle of… ? He wants his boner to stick up higher.”

Roger looked at Dennis and tilted his head. “I’m pretty sure you’re doing it wrong. I don’t think you’re supposed to clench your butt like that.”

“I’ve been telling him the same thing all morning,” said Ellen through a mouthful of eggs. “But he won’t listen to me. You see, I don’t know what I’m talking about because I don’t get erections.”

Ellen and Dennis had once allowed Roger to use their spare bedroom to entertain a girl he had met at an East Village club. The young lady was never heard from again; Roger never left. He wasn’t technically a third wheel, since Roger was rarely without female companionship of his own. He was more like an adopted stray dog.

The couple had hooked up at a keg party after a collegiate crew meet and, despite several determined attempts to separate they remained by and large hooked eight years after graduation. Roger met the two of them one night at the campus security office, having been turned in by the local constabulary for public drunkenness. The lovebirds, he learned, had been discovered screwing in the Dean of Students office. "What’re you in for?" Roger had asked. "Desk fornication," Ellen answered solemnly.

“Wait,” said Roger. “We’re supposed to be discussing my problem. I’m very upset.”

“Roger, you don’t have a problem. You have a pathology,” replied Dennis, moving rhythmically up and down as he sat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How long were you and Sheila together?”

“Well, let’s see, I had just gotten the oil changed on my bike when we met, so… about three, three and a half months.” I’m due for another oil change, Roger thought.

“Isn’t that about the shelf life of your relationships?”

“What are you saying?”

“Face it, Rog,” said Ellen swallowing a mouthful of coffee. “You do seem to find a way to terminate relationships before there’s any danger of getting close to someone. Sheila was really nice. I thought you liked her.”

Ellen didn’t have it quite right. She’d known Roger for nearly ten years; known him about as well as she knew Dennis, owing in large part to countless stoned, soul-baring sessions on the fire escape. However, the problem wasn’t that Roger had been unconsciously sabotaging his relationships due to fear of intimacy. No, Roger was basically oblivious to the fact that he was in a relationship at all or, more accurately, in a relationship more meaningful than, say, his relationship with the doorman who never made him pay the cover charge at Webster Hall.

Ellen couldn’t see this because, as a female, she had about a million years of actual logic embedded in her DNA and that affected her thinking. How could a guy see a woman nearly every day for weeks and months, get naked and share bodily fluids regularly, and not understand that there is something meaningful going on? Not possible, by Ellen’s way of thinking. But Roger didn’t have the kind of mind that grasped fuzzy, sentimental concepts like relationships. He had the prototypical male mind that is precise, analytical, and good at solving problems, like determining whether Jason Statham or Daniel Craig would be better suited for time travel.

“I don’t think that’s fair or accurate, Ellen,” replied Roger, picking a piece of toast off her plate. “I happen to like Sheila. At least until this morning that is, and I will miss her very much. She broke up with me, remember?”

“You’ve torpedoed every relationship you’ve ever had.”

“Have not.”



“What about Liz Treanor?”

Roger groaned. Elizabeth Treanor was a systems analyst Roger had dated two years earlier. He had been seeing Liz close to three months when her parents and seventeen year old brother came to town for a visit. They invited Roger and Liz to dinner and drinks at an expensive restaurant. Roger would later admit to being a little intimidated by Liz’s dad, a former Marine, and to perhaps having had one too many Earl Grey martinis. Hoping to use his knowledge of classical history to impress Col. Treanor, he launched into a long disquisition on Hannibal’s use of cavalry to counter Roman phalanx formations.

Roger was on a roll. He began to feel comfortable, the gin warming his face and belly. He went on and on about tactics, supply lines, and flanking maneuvers. Roger reached into the breast pocket of his blazer for his reading glasses. Gesturing with a smart looking prop would add gravitas to the discourse.

He thought it was strange and a little off-putting that Liz’s brother stared bug-eyed at him with a gaping, maniacal grin on his face. Liz’s mother looked silently down at her lap. The Colonel glared murderously at Roger with a quivering upper lip. Wow, this family takes the Punic Wars pretty seriously, thought Roger. Liz cleared her throat and touched his arm just as he noticed a flash of bright purple out of the corner of his eye. Horrified, Roger held his glasses in front of his face. A strip of three square condom packages dangled from the hinge momentarily before dropping onto the table. Textured for Her Pleasure. Roger swallowed hard. “Of course, the Trojans were another story altogether.”


Just how Roger came to be hiding in his roommates’ closet was a matter of record. To Roger, the really important thing was that it was all Dennis’s fault. If he had only been reasonable, Roger never would have been there.

“You’re not borrowing my suit,” insisted Dennis, slipping into his leather jacket. “No way; not after last time.”

“C’mon, Den, it’s a family wedding and I can’t get out of it,” pleaded Roger, following him around the room. “It’s bad enough I don’t have Sheila to go with me now. I can’t show up without something decent to wear.”

“You need to buy your own suit. You have plenty of money.”

“Christ, the wedding’s this weekend. The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night!”

“Dude, no.”


“Forget it.”

“Jesus! Why?”

“Why? Because the last time I lent you a suit you brought it back completely balled up, with massive white stains all over the pants,” hissed Dennis. “The cleaner said there was dried semen in the cuffs. Semen. In the cuffs. What the fuck, Roger?”

“I still say that couldn’t all have been mine.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” said Dennis, headed out the door. “I can’t help you. I’m meeting Ells at her office and I’m late. ”

Less than an hour later, Roger was rifling through Dennis’s wardrobe. Look at all the suits in here, he thought. Dennis wouldn’t miss just one for a couple of days. Roger was holding up a three button, charcoal grey, pinstripe Hickey Freeman when he heard the apartment door shut. Shit! They were home early. Muffled voices grew louder as they approached the bedroom. He heard Ellen’s giggles as he slipped into the closet and eased the door shut as quietly as possible.

Through the louvers, Roger saw Ellen fall backward onto the sheets, dragging Dennis with her. Oh sweet Jesus no, thought Roger. His position was just a few feet from the foot of the bed. The couple was locked in a long kiss while Roger took stock of the situation. Okay, I should just walk through the door right now and excuse myself. I’ll take some shit for this but that will be the end of it. What the hell, I’ve seen these two kiss before, millions of times.

Hand on the doorknob, Roger took a deep breath and glanced again between the narrow slats. Dennis was now kneeling over Ellen, who had been relieved of her blouse. She frantically unsnapped his jeans and began yanking them down over his butt. She was making funny, nasal, grunting sounds and gyrating her hips. Alright, this was bad, but not unsalvageable. This was the stuff of red faces, a few uncomfortable moments and… many, many, many years from now… some side-splitting stories about the good old days. That is, if Roger acted quickly.

What is that proverb about hesitation? In the time it took Roger to gather the courage to reveal his presence, Dennis had gotten to his feet and peeled off all his clothes. Roger’s jaw dropped at the sight of his friend’s erection. It was easily twice as thick as his own. The head was deep red and extremely angry looking. The sturdy shaft was thickly veined. And, come to think of it, he could use a little more elevation on that thing. Ellen’s bra had disappeared and her skirt was hiked up to her hips. A delicate hand was stuffed inside her panty hose with fingers working madly.

“Are you gonna fuck me real hard, baby?” she panted. “Are you gonna stick that fat, dirty thing inside my little pussy?”

A decent man, a gentleman, would have retired to the deepest corner of the closet, placed his head between his knees, and waited for the proceedings to run their course. These were his closest friends. Dennis was loyal and understanding. Ellen was someone Roger loved like a sister and fiercely admired. They had opened their home to him when he was adrift. To actually watch them copulate, that most intimate of human experiences, would be unthinkable, an invasion and betrayal of the highest magnitude.

A decent man, a gentleman, would not have been looting the closet to start with. Roger crouched low and peered at the couple on the bed from his darkened vantage point. Ellen had natural, wholesome good looks which made watching her indulge her wanton, lustful cravings all the more intense. She crawled to the side of the bed, gripped Dennis’s monster with both hands, spat on it, and forced her lips over the bulbous head. Oh, naughty girl, thought Roger. The room filled with wet, slurping sounds as she washed her lips and tongue over his pulsing tool. Dennis rocked his hips as she serviced him and told Ellen exactly what unspeakable things he was about to do to her.

Roger lost his balance trying to extract his own dick from his pants. Metal hangers clinked and clanged. Roger tried desperately to keep from falling through the door and rolling into the room. He grabbed at some hanging clothes, pulling them to the floor, and crushed a cardboard shoebox with his hand. To him, the commotion sounded as loud as a car horn. He held his breath but the couple appeared to be too engaged in the moment to notice.

Ellen was completely unclothed by the time Roger’s attention returned to the unfolding scene. Dennis was on his back and she straddled him on her knees, waving her ass in front of his face. She faced the closet door, seemingly looking through it into Roger’s eyes. Holding the phallus firmly, she lifted her hips and slowly sank onto its enormous head. Roger stroked himself, wondering how she would be able to accommodate the impossibly wide load. Ellen’s eyes fluttered and mouth opened as the purple flesh squeezed into her sopping, hair covered slit.

Roger’s erection jumped as she carefully lowered herself onto Dennis. She let out a soft moan as her lips stretched around her lover’s column. She leaned back to face the ceiling, exposing her beautiful, cock-filled pussy. Ellen set her feet on the bed and her hands on Dennis’s chest as she straightened her arms and pumped her hips. The stiff maul glistened with her secretions.

“Oooooo… I’m gonna come all over you, baby.”

Ellen’s head fell back and she groaned loudly as Dennis drove upward and squeezed her nipples. He bent his legs, raising her higher off the bed. Roger saw the walls of her vagina cling to the massive cock with each withdrawal. Soon, they were both grunting and swearing and dripping with sweat. Ellen announced her orgasm loudly (this Roger had often heard from the adjoining room).

Whether it was Dennis or Roger who came next would be anyone’s guess. He really hadn’t set out to mark their private sanctuary with his seed; he merely wanted to borrow a suit. However, Roger felt a buildup of pressure in his groin that would not be denied. Abandoning all manner of self control, he squeezed and tugged at his hard dick, splashing long strings of ejaculate against the louvered door. He fell backward, once again causing a riotous clamor. Roger moved to his hands and knees as quietly as possible. He removed his tee shirt and did his best to mop up the sticky substance in the darkened closet, congratulating himself for the noble gesture.

By this time, the pair was cuddled in each other’s arms and whispering sweet nothings. Roger knew he was in for a long evening. Over the course of the next two hours, he was treated to the first fifty pages of the Kama Sutra brought to life. Roger found himself even more impressed with Dennis’s endurance than his prodigious girth. Ellen, it turned out, was the girl-next-door slut of every boy’s dreams.

Eventually, the bedside lamp had been turned out and all was quiet. Roger waited until he could hear Dennis snoring lightly. Finally! The door creaked as he gently pushed it open and crawled silently across the floor with the grey suit draped over his shoulder and his tee shirt between his teeth. Just a few more feet and he would be free.

“Gooood night, Roger,” sang Ellen softly. “Enjoy the wedding, honey.”


Roger checked his reflection in the hotel lobby mirror and adjusted his cufflinks ala James Bond. Yes, he thought, the charcoal pinstripe was definitely the right choice. He had endured an interminable church ceremony which was punctuated with scripture readings from every brat in the family. Could someone explain, Roger wondered, this need to subject perfectly innocent onlookers to one’s spoiled, noisy progeny?

Roger accepted the fact that procreation was required for the good of the species. It was just that he found the over-indulged little urchins so monumentally uninteresting. What’s worse, they made their parents uninteresting, too. The number of friends he could call to check out the latest after-hours bar or to catch a new band, had dwindled alarmingly. They had begun to pair off like Canada geese and pop out hatchlings. On the rare occasions they did venture from the nest, all they wanted to talk about were growth percentiles, food allergies, and pre-schools. It was all so depressing.

His cousin Rita, owner of three squirming, red-headed demons, had accosted him on the church steps as the newlyweds desperately tried to avoid having handfuls of rice flung into their eyes.

“Roger! It’s great to see you! We weren’t sure you would make it,” she squealed.

Ughhh, crap. “Hi, Rita. How’s Don and, um… the kids?”

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful,” she chirped, before adopting a note of studied sadness. “We noticed that you’re here alone, Roger.”

Thanks, bitch. “Ah, yes… well, you see my girlfriend and I recently broke it off.”

“Well you’re, what, thirty-two now, right? Better get serious,” she warned, in a mock threatening tone. “Don’t you want to start a family of your own some day?” Her four year old ran headlong into Roger’s knee.

I’d rather throw myself off a cliff, Rita, and have my broken body washed out to sea. “Truthfully, I’m not sure I’m ready for the responsibility.”

“Oh, come on, I know there’s a lot more depth and character hiding beneath that devil-may-care surface.”

“No, actually, this is pretty much it.”


Roger filed into the ballroom, two gimlets in hand, and took a seat at his assigned table for the reception. To his right was Sheila’s vacant spot and to his left was Mrs. Buonafortuna. The elderly woman lived in the old neighborhood where he and his brother, mostly his brother, had mowed her lawn and shoveled snow from her sidewalk when they were kids. She was one of those old school Italian widows who wore black in mourning for her departed husband, each and every day. Roger was frankly startled to see her; he had no idea she was still alive.

While the band played everything from Mambo Number 5 to Drops of Jupiter, Roger ignored his dinner, poured gin down his gullet, and managed to convince Mrs. Buonafortuna that he was his brother Regis, the good Jones boy. As plates were cleared and guests began to mingle and take to the dance floor, Roger made his rounds. He played the broken hearted, jilted lover more than adequately, telling his sad story while slow dancing with bridesmaids and squeezing their asses.


Roger spotted her while he was congratulating the bride and groom. Across the room was a stunning woman, the kind that made his heart skip a beat. She was tall with long, dark hair and an aristocratic carriage. She wore a shimmering black, strapless cocktail dress that accentuated her broad shoulders and long, graceful limbs. A single strand of pearls hung from her delicate neck.

He had seen this woman once before; that very morning, in fact. Pulling into town on his motorcycle, Roger parked in front of a stationery store to pick up a card for the happy couple. A striking woman in tight jeans was tapping on the door, trying to gain entry as he approached. A sales clerk pointed to her watch and shook her head.

“Great,” said the woman in exasperation. “They don’t open until ten. I’m running late already. Unbelievable.”

It was hours before the wedding and Roger had absolutely nothing to do except check into his hotel and look for porn on the pay per view channels.

“DAMN!” he spat, shaking his head and laughing bitterly. “Can you believe these people? Like we have nothing better to do than wait? God!” He thought he might have taken the head shaking and bitter laughter a little too far but preferred to err on the side of solidarity.

The woman looked at Roger curiously but smiled. “Well, I suppose I can find something to do with myself for fifteen minutes until the store opens.”

Roger sensed an opportunity. “I just had the same thought. Perhaps a stroll down Main Street would be nice. I promised my niece I’d buy her a stuffed monkey while I was here.” Experience had taught Roger that women trusted men who were kind to their young, non-existent nieces.

The woman was about to say something to Roger when her cell phone rang. She listened intently for a moment, glanced at Roger, and gestured in a way that indicated that she had to take the call. Roger gave her a look of friendly understanding as he backed away and headed down Main Street in feigned search of a stuffed monkey establishment. He was disappointed, upon his return a quarter hour later, that his new friend was nowhere to be found.

Now here she was in the flesh, more devastatingly beautiful than he recalled. He had no idea that she would be among the wedding guests. She was talking animatedly to a serious looking gentleman at the bar, sipping a glass of white wine. Roger made several nonchalant sorties past them, looking for an opening. When the gentleman took his leave to deliver a glass of champagne to his wife, Roger swooped in.

He leaned on the bar and dipped his face near hers. “I got the stuffed monkey,” he stated with a knowing, conspiratorial smile.

The woman smiled tightly, raised her eyebrows, and looked around the room without moving her head. Oh good God, he thought, she doesn’t remember me. This is disastrous. She has to be wondering what kind of lunatic walks up to a strange woman and starts talking about a stuffed monkey. What if she carries pepper spray?

“This morning?” he smiled winningly. “The stationery store… it was closed?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, standing down from red alert. “Of course, yes, I’m sorry! I was so distracted today. I didn’t know you were…”

Within seconds, Roger had fallen into an infatuation-induced stupor. He felt like he was floating. Her full lips, intoxicating green eyes, and the discreet swell of her bosom sent his head spinning. Her legs, the sultry voice… wait! She’s still talking, he thought. He knitted his brow and nodded slowly, thoughtfully at her last remark, whatever it was.

“So you do have a collection of stuffed monkeys?” she asked, a trace of concern in her voice.

“Yes. NO! No, of course not, hah-hah,” he chuckled gamely. “That would be eccentric and… creepy. No, I purchased the, um, monkey for my young niece who trusts me.”

The woman gave him a sideways look, smiled cautiously, and extended her hand. “I’m Karen Fletcher.”

“Jones. Roger Jones,” he announced, adjusting his cufflinks before taking her hand.

Roger thought the introduction could have gone better. There had been a rough patch or two. Nevertheless, he took it as a hopeful sign that she hadn’t sprinted for the doors, screaming for help. Perhaps she was attracted to slim, youthful types with longish hair and rakish good looks. He glanced at her hand. No ring. He said a silent prayer of thanks for the grey pinstripe Hickey Freeman suit.

Karen Fletcher was a good deal older than the women Roger usually dated, which is to say she was about his own age. Inexplicably, she accepted Roger’s invitation to dance. Whatever his shortcomings, Roger was in his element on a dance floor, having spent the better part of eight years in downtown clubs. He moved with grace and style.

Karen could be seen laughing and chatting with Roger as they cut several rugs. He learned that she was assistant curator at a small gallery in New York. So far, so good, thought Roger, she lives in the city. She was also recently divorced after an ill-advised and unhappy four year marriage. She confessed that she hadn’t the courage to dip a toe into the dating waters just yet. It was just too difficult, given her situation, she told him. Bingo! The evening was certainly becoming more interesting.

“Roger, I don’t know why I feel the need to tell you this since we’ve only just met,” she said, swaying in his arms to a Jason Mraz cover. “I have a three year old daughter.”

“REALLY?!!” Roger broke into a beaming, joyful smile. “A girl? How wonderful!”

“Do you really feel that way?” asked Karen doubtfully. “Most single guys would be heading for the hills.”

“I’m not ‘most guys’, Karen,” he intoned patiently. “I actually prefer the company of women who have children.”

She tilted her head and looked at Roger curiously. “You do? Why?”

Why? Why, why, why.

“I just adore the little monsters,” he explained with a smile, swallowing hard. “I can’t wait to have a whole houseful of my own. I just have to find the right girl.”

He thought that last bit was a nice touch. Karen smiled and placed her head on Roger’s shoulder. Over the course of the next two hours, Roger successfully managed to monopolize Karen’s attention. She appeared to be amused by his cheerful insouciance and his extensive knowledge of utterly frivolous matters. He also turned out to be something of an expert on Roman battle formations.

They continued to dance and drink until the band announced the final dance and last call at the bar. When the music stopped and the house lights came up, the couple regarded each other awkwardly. Guests were saying their goodbyes and slowly making their way to the exits.

“Roger,” Karen broke the silence. “I need to freshen up a bit. Now, don’t run off on me!”

Watching her head toward the ladies room, Roger had a moment of pure inspiration.


A bottle of champagne was chilling in the ice bucket next to the bed in Roger’s hotel room. The lights were low and soft music purred from the stereo. Completely naked, he paced in the bathroom. The gambit was risky. It was outrageous. And, in Roger’s mind, it was fucking brilliant.

He had pulled a single red rose from an arrangement in the lobby and written a note on a piece of hotel stationery acquired from the concierge desk. Folding his extra key card in with the note, he quickly sealed it in an envelope. Roger handed twenty dollar tip to a waiter with instructions to give the envelope and rose to the lovely lady in black who would be returning to the ballroom momentarily.

Karen would be taken with the sweet, sexy note, sniff the fragrant rose, and come to him to enjoy an evening of passion. Her instructions were to undress and slip under the sheets. Roger would enter the room in all his masculine glory, pour two glasses of champagne, and ravish her until dawn.

He looked down at his dick. It hung between his legs indifferently. Shit! He began to pull and squeeze it to pump in some volume. A delicate balance had to be struck. He couldn’t just walk into the room with a raging hard-on pointed at a sophisticated woman like Karen Fletcher. On the other hand, first impressions are important, aren’t they? He opted to go with the relaxed, semi-hard look. It was a look that says: I mean business tonight but I haven’t just been masturbating in the bathroom.

Just then, he heard the telltale click of the door unlocking. He held his breath and listened. He heard the door close and the sound of movement across the room. Then, there it was, the squeak of the box spring. This was it! Karen was on the bed, undoubtedly preparing herself for her new lover. Roger counted silently to one hundred and twenty, this having all been carefully calibrated, and swept into the bedroom.

“Well hello there, darl… Mrs. Buonafortuna!!!?” Roger screamed, jumping in the air with hands cupped over his privates.

The octogenarian sat peacefully on the bed, rose in hand, as Roger dashed around the room searching for articles of clothing. He smashed a toe on the foot of a table, eliciting a scream and causing him to hop around on one leg.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he yelled, stumbling back to the en suite with his dress shirt and slacks in hand.

She explained that a nice man had given her a flower with a note telling her to come to this room. Not being able to read English very well, she apparently hadn’t grasped the exact nature of the invitation. She didn’t understand why there was so much running and jumping or why “Regis” had been undressed. Still, she was content; it was a very nice room, much like her own, and she was getting sleepy. She began to nod off.

Roger re-entered the room, quickly stuffing his shirttail into his trousers. “We must get you to your own room right away,” he said loudly into her good ear.

He rummaged through her purse and found her own room key. He took her by the hand and gently urged her toward the door as quickly as he could manage. Pulling it open, he came face to face with Karen; knuckles raised and ready to knock.


“Roger, I became worried when I couldn’t… ” she looked at Roger: barefoot, one shirt button fastened in the wrong hole, white shirttail sticking through his unzipped fly. Then she looked at Roger’s guest, and instantly blushed. “OHHH! I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have…”

“NO! God no, please… this is all a mistake,” Roger stammered. “Please, just stay right here. I’ll be right back! DON’T LEAVE!”

Roger practically carried Mrs. Buonafortuna to the elevator. He turned to see Karen looking at him with an astonished look on her face as the doors closed.


When the doors opened, the hallway was empty. He wasn’t surprised. Still heaving from all the running, Roger leaned his hands on the wall and hung his head in dejection. This had been so close to a being a perfect evening. Instead, not only had he lost the woman of his dreams, he was now a suspected pervert of the first order. To top it off, he had probably broken a toe. He limped down the hallway and opened the door to his room.

“Hello, Roger,” said Karen. She sat on his bed with her elegant legs crossed, sipping a glass of champagne. His note sat in her lap. “The wine is very good. Nice choice.”

Roger was stunned. “Karen, how did you…”

“Your girlfriend dropped the keycard in the hall.”

“Jesus, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s at least…”

Karen raised one finger and tilted her head. Roger fell silent. She held the note up with two fingers.

“Does this type of thing actually work?”

“Apparently not,” said Roger, looking at his feet.

Karen stood up and turned her back to Roger. Her dress was unzipped to the curve of her buttocks. She looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. Getting the message, Roger snapped out of his trance and stepped forward to guide the garment to the floor. Karen turned to face him wearing a black lace strapless bra with matching panties and sheer, mid-thigh black stockings. The effect she had on Roger was immediate.

“I like you, Roger,” she said, unfastening the button on his shirt. “You’re very cute and quite handsome in that suit.”

She pushed the shirt over his shoulders and began unbuckling his belt.

“And I think you’re funny in an irreverent and helpless sort of way,” she added, watching Roger’s dick pop to attention as his trousers hit the floor. She stepped out of her heels and backed Roger up to the bed.

“The thing is,” she said, pushing him onto the bed and unsnapping her bra. “I haven’t had sex in over a year. So I’ll apologize now, because I’m probably going to hurt you tonight.”

Roger’s legs hung over the edge of the bed as Karen crawled on top of him. She hovered over him, full breasts above his face, and reached back to encircle his cock in her fingers. Roger sucked one long, fat nipple into his mouth, rolled it over on his tongue, and heard her moan. She was delicious. He had never been with a woman who knew what she wanted like this.

Roger’s hands found the elastic of her panties and began to slide them over her round cheeks.

“Fuck that,” she said sharply, sitting up and pulling the crotch of her undies to one side. “You can undress me later. Right now…”

Holding his shaft firmly, Karen centered her pussy over his bulbous head. He could feel the warmth of her slick entrance. Suddenly, she drove downward, taking him into her in one motion.


Karen leaned on his chest with straight arms and pumped furiously with her pelvis. Roger tried to return with upward thrusts but the release of sexual frustration seemed to accord her super human strength. She pounded him into the mattress. He felt the ripple of her muscles and the deep heat of her body as she fucked his hard cock with crazed abandon. He pulled her turgid nipples and twisted them between his fingers, eliciting cries of pleasure.

Soon, the inevitable volcano erupted. Roger’s eyes widened as Karen’s vagina clamped on his dick like a vise. She wasn’t kidding, he thought, it actually does hurt. She leaned back, hands on his knees, and bucked up and down involuntarily. He could swear he saw her eyes roll back in her head.

“OH GOD!” she yelled, followed by a string of unintelligible sounds and utterances. When it was over, Karen lay forward with her head on his shoulder, panting heavily. She pulled the hair from her face and smiled.

“That was a great start, Roger,” she breathed into his ear. “Now why don’t you show me how Mrs. Buonafortuna likes it?”

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright 2013-2014 Gerard L. Johnston All rights reserved.

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