Jan--The Good, The Bad & The Ugly

byHornyman69WithU©

Since she was virtually always fucked-up when not working, and I was always with her during her off time, it was hard to tell for sure whether the effect of those mind-altering substances was temporary or permanent. Either way, or perhaps for some other reason, it seemed her brain was somewhat compromised:

Like my first Maria Wanna comment, some of my jokes and intentional double entendres sailed right past her, she'd forget things I'd told her, she spoke with a barely noticeable slur, and she did not walk in an exactly straight line. Even if perpetually inebriated, Jan was always upbeat, lively, and a great conversationalist—a real pleasure to be around.

We went out only a few times because she usually preferred to stay in her lovely, comfortable home. She had a few old friends who'd occasionally stop by—all happily married except David—and, like him, they were good people whose company I enjoyed.

Curiously, she always referred to me as her "friend," though she was quite openly affectionate with me when around others. It had been a while since I'd had a steady girlfriend, and, not dating anyone else, I regarded Jan as just that.

Though we'd never made any promises of commitment, she wasn't dating other people, either. I was across the street with my friends so frequently, peering out the front window when I'd hear a car door shut, that it would have been easy to tell if she was. Jan was, for all intents and purposes, my steady girlfriend, if not officially so.

That she was being that way was puzzling. Here's a great-looking 27-year-old gal who just broke up with her first and only boyfriend after a 13-year relationship. You'd think she'd want to do one of two things: Sew her wild oats and see several men, or settle down exclusively with one she called her steady boyfriend. Yet, though Jan and I got on swimmingly and fucked several times a week, I was just her "friend." Go figure.

So, for approximately half a year, two or three times a week, it was the same routine: I'd come over to her place, we'd talk and laugh and drink like fish, go through the long rigmarole of making out, finally get naked, do the maxi-message, the extended foreplay, her inevitable balk.

Then, I'd ultimately pin her arms down, screw her for a few minutes until her hesitancy quickly evaporated, and we'd fuck like rabbits. It was fantastic sex every time, but the whole deal was a five- or six-hour thing.

One hot summer night, while I was across the street watching "Dynasty" with Russell and Vickie, we heard the god-awful sound of metal crunching metal outside, the unmistakable noise of a car wreck. I quickly twisted around and looked out the window in time to see Jan's Cutlass, with broken red and white plastic falling out of the tail light assembly, speeding away from my beloved black Buick.

We ran outside to find a badly wrinkled fender. Parked in its usual place in the street parallel to the curb in front of Russell's, the car was driveable, but it had never had so much as a scratch before, and I was both bummed and pissed. Bummed because it was my convertible's first body damage ever. Pissed because Jan knew that it was my car, that I was certainly inside Russell and Vickie's, and she sped away anyway.

It was a collector car with a substantial market value, but not yet old enough to be antique, so the book value was next to nothing. The least bit of damage, and insurance would total it out, so that's why I carried only liability coverage. Jan would have to be the one to pay up.

I was ready to leave around midnight, but Jan had not returned by then. I was intimately familiar with her patterns and knew she never stayed out that late on a week night. Was she dodging me? Why? How long did she think she could do that? I wanted to work things out with her directly, but I waited another hour, and knew she had to be intentionally avoiding me.

So, I called the cops! When they finally arrived, they said it was a hit-and-run, characterizing that as a pretty serious offense. I told them I knew who did it, Jan, and had two witnesses in addition to myself.

I gave them her full name, date of birth, and, of course, her address across the street, plus the make, model, year, and color of her car. They made a full report, and told me how to swear out a warrant for her arrest. That would be the first thing on my agenda the next day.

It was almost 2:00 in the morning before the policemen finished up, and they were already in their squad car about to leave when I spotted Jan's car coming up the street in the distance. She must have seen the cops, because she whipped down a side street and gunned it, obviously attempting to get away.

"That's her, that's her in the Cutlass!" I shouted. "Go get her!"

Cracking his window, the cop behind the wheel asked, "Are you absolutely sure?"

"100% certain, sir."

They took out in hot pursuit, lights flashing, siren screaming.

I drove down to where they pulled her over to do the positive ID.

"I'm breaking up with you effective right now!!!" Jan screamed.

"How do you 'break up' with a guy you've never even called 'boyfriend?'" I asked.

She reeked of booze and failed the field sobriety test miserably, so the cops called the DUI van. I hung out until it got there and left—with Jan inside at .27, nearly triple the legal blood alcohol limit. That was just the alcohol and did not account for all the pills she'd surely gobbled. I exercised restraint by not mentioning those to the men in blue.

I'd seen the ugly consequences of Jan's ugly dimension. What she did shouldn't have been a surprise, but I was nevertheless astonished she bashed my car and then tried to get away with it. Her insurance wanted to total out my Buick, but I got an estimate on my own and told Jan if she paid me cash for the repair, I'd drop the hit-and-run charge, which carried a hefty fine AND jail time, as it was her SECOND OFFENSE.

I just wanted my car fixed. When she tried to get bitchy with me and say she'd only pay me AFTER I dropped the charge, I really got pissed and added another condition—she'd have to have sex with me one more time. Facing time behind bars, she was seething but agreed to settle it that way.

Yes, I'd seen the ugly side of Jan in a big way. However, when I came to collect the money and sex, she was, surprisingly, as nice as ever, so I figured it was just an act. After I carefully counted the cash twice and stuffed it deep in my front pocket, I told her there would be no "pre-game activities" for this final round of sex and stripped.

Surprisingly, without even a hint, she quickly got completely naked, too. Damn, Jan was a fucking piece of ass! It had been almost a month since I'd had any nookie, so I was even hornier than usual. For the first time ever, I dived straight into sex with her for two solid hours of pure carnal pleasure, right there on the living room carpet in the very place we'd done it the first time.

We fucked and sucked and licked and nibbled and kissed and spanked in every possible position, but I was careful to keep myself from cumming until the finale. Enjoying the sensual wobbling of her unique pillow-top buns, I'd been doing her doggie, but pulled out, hawked up a Louie, spat it out onto her pretty little asshole, and placed my titanium-hard cock against it. Reaching around to grasp the squishy wad of her pussy lips with one hand while using the other to forcefully grab a big boob and pull her upright, I repeatedly ram-rodded her rectum ball deep.

Eyes bulging out, she screamed out in pleasure-pain loud enough to break window panes until I got a handful of hair, twisted her head around, and sucked her tongue down my throat. Then I came a lengthy, mind-bending orgasm, and with a four-week reserve of sperm in store, made a large, final deposit in Jan's bum bank.

Of all the outstanding sex I had with Jan, that time was the best ever. Curiously, despite the fuck-or-go-to-jail deal, she seemed to enjoy it at least as much as I. I gave her a hard kiss and smack on the ass before leaving but could not resist looking back. Standing naked in the doorway, highball spilling over onto one hand, long-ashed Virginia Slim in the other, she was typically sloshed on booze and pills.

That large, puffy-lipped mouth just made to suck cock. Those big, perfect natural tits with their bullet-like perma-pokies. The impossibly slim waist. Her humongous dark hanging labia and huge clitoris half-protruding from its meaty hood. Those loooong, smooth, and slender legs. The ungodly unique pillow-top ass I glimpsed as she turned to tap her cigarette. Damn, she was a fine piece of ass!

As a rivulet of my cum snaked down a thigh from her just-reamed anus, Jan slurred, "No hard feelingsh here. You can come over and shcrew me anytime."

To repair the existing fender, the pros that made the damage estimate said they'd have to use some Bondo, something that often develops an unsightly spider web pattern, especially in dark-colored cars. So, Dad and I set about doing the work ourselves. We eventually found a perfect entire front cap off a junkyard Electra 225, which fit but was slightly different—actually nicer since it had more chrome—and bolted it on my Wildcat.

That cap was bronze, not black like my convertible, but cost only a couple hundred bucks, which left almost enough from the sizeable Jan fix-it fund to have the whole car re-painted by the best guy in town. Though no longer truly original, my old Buick was as good as the day it left the dealer, and from then on, I always parked it out of harm's way in Russell and Vickie's DRIVEWAY.

Despite her enticing open invitation, I'd learned my lesson and was through with Jan—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

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