Life Goes On Ch. 08

'Ain't it funny how time slips away?' Cool thought to himself, as he drove south on the old familiar highway along the ocean side. 'Seems like just yesterday that I was giving thought to getting married myself and now there's about to be a whole rash of it going on.'

Dennis and Debbie, along with Gerald and Susan, Dennis' mother, were planning a huge wedding for high noon on New Years Day, 1994. The front foyer of the mansion was to serve as the nuptial gallery. The two couples would stand facing the front door and the huge entry room and balcony above would seat all those invited to witness the splendid event. Rita, Camille and the other girls were in a frenzy to make it a memorable event.

Cool was happy for his friends, but a little bothered to see his harem shrinking. Although, he was still getting more action than any one man could ever hope for. Rita, Camille and Ming were insatiable, Caroline was always horny and Bobby Sue, now pregnant, seemed to be more eager to play with him than ever before. He smiled to himself as he drove.

Today was the first time he had taken the old Nomad for a spin in several months. The shiny green wagon throbbed under him as he motored along the road to Daytona. Just for kicks, he shifted down into second gear and stomped the foot feed to the floorboard. The big Chevy mill sucked gas through all eight holes of the twin four-barreled carburetors and screamed forward. He slammed the floor shifter into third gear and drew a loud protest from the rear tires as they bit into the blacktop, and then another quick shift into fourth hurling the powerful hot rod at breakneck speed down the narrow road. Backing off, the twin exhaust pipes rattled loudly as the engine compression slowed the thundering vehicle to a sensible speed. Cool's heart raced in his chest. In the old days, you could hit a hundred fifteen, or better, and hold it for miles and miles. Now, there was a side road every few hundred yards and a happy highway patrolman lurking somewhere behind a tree waiting for you.

It had been months since the Cool One had wandered the pawnshops and he had the urge to spend some money. City pawn was the first stop on his list. The sweet old lady behind the wire cage was most helpful in directing him to the wall lined with hanging instruments. Nothing caught his eye so he thanked the aging proprietor and walked up the street a block to Blackie's Loan and Pawn. Blackie and Cool were old buddies and spent the next few minutes kicking around old times. Blackie then took him into the back room and showed him the good stuff.

Guitars were very much like women in Blackie's mind. It was never easy finding one you really liked. Cool had never had that problem, because he loved all women and guitars were the passion that had kept him sane throughout his sordid life. Blackie pulled a battered brown leather case from under the table against the back wall of his cluttered back room. He carelessly brushed a year or more of dust from the case and laid it up on the bench for Cool's inspection. Lifting the cover of the well-worn case, Cool exposed a gleaming Martin Dreadnaught guitar, dating back to the 1930's.

Hand-made in those days, the old hollow-bodied instrument was a rare piece. Cool lifted his foot up on a chair and cradled the fine wooden guitar on his knee. Forming an E-chord with the fingers of his left hand on the smooth rosewood neck, he picked the first few notes of Wildwood Flower.

Leaning back against the bench, folding his arms across his chest and smiling, Blackie lost himself in Cool's flawless picking. The sound was heaven to his ears. Cool had the gift of music that Blackie had struggled his whole life to create for himself and never achieved. His greatest joy in life was to hear his father's guitar played the way it should be.

"It's still the most perfect guitar I've ever played, Friend," Cool said. "The offer still stands."

"You know I can't sell it, Cool," Blackie said. "I promised the old man that I'd never sell it. But I never told him I wouldn't make it a gift to a friend. Take it with you. There's nobody ever made it sound the way you do."

"I can't do that, Blackie," Cool said. "It means too much to you."

"We're getting old, Chum," Blackie croaked. "'Sides, if you don't take it, it's subject to get stole. We've been hit three times in the last few months and they've missed her so far. Might not happen next time."

"How about if I just store it long term for you up at my place and you can come visit her any time you get the notion?" Cool asked.

"Fair enough," Blackie said. "Now, break out your cash and take a look at these old Fenders I got at a sale the other day."

Blackie showed Cool two old Stratocasters, a Telecaster, and a clean white Jaguar. He also had three Jazzmasters, in various conditions, and a Jazz Bass. Cool gave him forty-five hundred for the lot. He also bought three aging Gibson Les Paul's and a Birdland. Cool felt like the cat that had just eaten the canary.

"What say we close up and walk down to Fred's and see if we can get us a blowjob and a cold beer?" Blackie asked, after depositing the cash in his floor safe under the table in the back.

"Yes to both," Cool agreed and followed the grizzly dark haired man out the front door.

They walked the short distance to the waterfront bar and shouldered their way through the afternoon patrons to empty stools at the far end of the bar.

"Hey, Gretchen," Blackie howled up the bar to the barmaid. "Bring us a couple of cold Miller's and two doubles of that blackberry stuff."

Gretchen, obviously having had the pleasure of Blackie's company in the past, hooked two large shot glasses from the shelf with one hand, a bottle of D'Kuyper's Blackberry with the other and poured two doubles without stopping between them, dropped the bottle back in the rail and had two longneck Miller's out of the cooler and opened one-handed and on her way back down the bar in less than a minute.

"Impressive?" Blackie asked.

"Smooth as silk," Cool answered.

Gretchen made a great show of settling the ordered drinks carefully on napkins on the well worn bar top. The place was crowded, considering that it was just after noon. Most of the merry-makers were middle aged or older, and surely had very little else to do to while the hours away. Beach people were a race of their own. Cool had live on the water his whole life but had been sheltered on the estate. This was foreign ground for him and he was happy to be with his old friend from the pawnshop.

Half way down the bar, a busty blond with red painted lips and too much eye shadow sat slowly turning a highball glass on the white napkin on the bar. A long thin cigarette hung from her mouth. Cool watched as she stared into the drink on the bar. Two stools farther down, a tired woman with mousy brown hair and big eyes sat with a slender old gentleman wearing a suit and tie. He looked out of place. Cool watched as she got up and walked to the hall in the back of the barroom and disappeared through a beaded curtain. A sign over the door indicated she had gone to the rest rooms. The suit followed her after a minute or so. Five or six minutes later the man appeared and left the bar. The woman returned and took her place at the bar. She rummaged in her purse for a compact and her lipstick. She touched up the smear on her lips.

She glanced at Cool and smiled, shrugged her shoulders, snapped the compact shut and returned it to her bag. She picked up her drink and took a long pull, swirling the strong liquid in her mouth before swallowing it. The blond looked at her, then at Cool, then back into her drink. Score one for the old broad with the brown hair.

"That's Ramona," Blackie invaded Cool's concentration. "She and the blond are the regulars. The blond is Marty."

Marty held up her glass for a refill and was quickly attended to by Gretchen. A fresh smoke found it's way to her lips and Gretchen fired it with a lighter from her vest pocket.

Cool hadn't had any bar room sex in more years than he could remember. Debbie and Marie had been his first and he found the gritty floor of the toilet room in a bar to be an exciting place for getting it on. He motioned for Gretchen to take his money for Marty's drink.

Marty turned her head and raised an eyebrow when Gretchen pointed his way after returning Marty's glass. Cool nodded, but stayed on his stool. Protocol dictated that the man was supposed to move over to the woman when he wanted to make contact. Marie had taught Cool about games and he felt like playing; so he waited. Marty evidently worked a long shift so the drinks lasted her for a long time.

Cool turned to talk with Blackie for a minute and when he turned his attention back down the bar, Marty had abandoned her stool. The glass half full glass still sat on the bar. Cool glanced around the room, but the blond had vanished.

'Oh well,' he thought. 'Life goes on.'

"So what's your story?" A sultry voice crooned next to his ear.

He turned and stared into Marty's heavily made up brown eyes.

"Killing time," Cool answered. "Yours?"

"Wasting mine," she answered.

"Why is that?" Cool asked, turning on his stool.

Marty eased between his legs and reached past him to mash her smoke out in the ashtray on the bar.

"Look around this place and you tell me," she complained.

Cool did as she instructed. He shrugged his shoulders and looked back into her eyes.

"So, you wanna fuck or somethin'?" Cool asked, matter of factly.

"Sure, where?" she asked.

"You pick," Cool said.

"Through the curtain, end of the hall, door on the right," she said, nodding over his shoulder.

Her hip was pressed against his thick meat.

"Lead the way," Cool said.

Marty turned on her heel, and strode toward the curtain. Cool watched her as she walked away. Marty was tall, lean and stacked. She had great legs but wobbled slightly on her spiked heels. The skirt was short and the blouse had been through the washer a lot of times, but she was clean and neat. His dick was hard as steel.

"Keep your eye on the curtain, Friend," Cool instructed Blackie. "Keep the bad guys off my neck."

"Marty's not that way," Blackie assured him. "She's an honest whore just trying to make a buck."

Cool eased off his stool, tossed the Blackberry down and washed it back with the last of the beer and turned toward the beaded curtain.

The hallway past the toilet rooms was barely illuminated by a very low wattage bulb, screwed into an uncovered fixture on the wall between the man's and women's room doors, on the left side of the hallway. Another door opened off the end of the hall displaying a sign, which read: PRIVATE, in large red letters. A fourth door opened to the right of the private door, and stood open about three inches.

Cool stood outside the door, pushed it open with his toe and gazed inside. The same lighting engineer had worked on both the hallway and the storeroom. The room was stacked with various cases of liquor and perhaps fifty cases of empty beer bottles. Shelves reached from floor to ceiling through the center of the room. The room reeked of rancid beer. Marty stood several feet inside the room and was in the act of lighting another smoke.

"C'mon in, Handsome, and push the door closed," Marty drawled.

Cool obliged, turning again to face the blond whore. A twin bed was pushed back against the far corner of the room and was covered with a dirty sheet. There was a dark, dirty window in the wall at the head of the bed. A couple of clean towels lay neatly folded on a chair next to the bed. A small glass bowl filled with condoms also sat on the chair.

"The pussy'll cost you sixty bucks, Cowboy," Marty declared. "Anything more and we negotiate."

Cool extracted three one hundred dollar bills from his pocket and extended his hand to the whore.

"You must be planning' to mess me up pretty good for that much cash. Just don't hit me in the face. Okay?" she cautioned.

"I'm not going to hit you," Cool said. "I just like it nasty."

Marty folded the bills and slipped them into her purse and parked the bag on a shelf next to where she was standing. She reached for the buttons on her blouse and quickly removed it along with her wispy bra. Her huge tits stood rock solid on her chest, indicating that a surgeon somewhere had taken great pains to make sure she was firm. She approached Cool and started to tug at the buttons on his shirt. Cool grabbed her by the hair and gently tilted her head back and covered her crimson mouth with his. Her lips were hot and her tongue came alive.

Moments later, his clothes were tossed aside and the blond was on her knees, stroking his hard prick with her practiced hands.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Marty cooed, covering him with her mouth.

She held him by his buns and pushed her face into him until she choked on his huge manhood. But, she was good and without any further hesitation, other than a slight repositioning, she pushed her face forward until his balls flopped against her chin. Then she started to fuck him with her face.

Marty had done this before and Cool admired her enthusiasm. Most whores her age would have given him very little satisfaction. But, Marty was obviously proud of her talent and decided to give him his money's worth. Her hot mouth moved from his smooth helmet to his hairy balls again and again without even the slightest scraping of her teeth. Cool was impressed.

Suddenly, Marty pulled her mouth off his cock and stood up. She pulled him to the bed and turned around, crawling on the bed in front of him. She flopped down on her face and reached around with both hands and spread her cheeks wide apart for him to see. Cool plucked a rubber from the bowl and quickly skinned it back over his prick. Kneeling behind her on the small bed, he pushed his cock along the splayed lips of her gaping pussy. Then, he plunged into her.

His quick insertion surprised Marty and she gasped when his body slapped against her soft ass cheeks. He began pumping into her, rocking the bed furiously. Marty grunted each time they came together and after just moments, she erupted in an unexpected violent orgasm.

"Jesus, Mister," she groaned. "I haven't cum with a John for years. Fuck me some more, will ya?"

Cool levered into her again and soon she convulsed around him in yet another blinding climax, leaving her gasping for breath.

Cool extracted himself from her and sat back on his heels behind her. Her nether region glistened from her secretions. Cool stared straight at her tiny sphincter, and grinned. He leaned forward and touched her ass hole with the slippery end of his latex covered cock. Marty squeaked with his first contact, but pushed her ass back against him. Cool watched as his cock began to slowly dip into her loose hole. With almost no resistance, his prick slid into her.

Marty hissed as he progressed farther into her bowels. When he felt the bottom, he stopped pushing. But, Marty had other ideas and reapplied the pressure, taking him full length into her well-used rectum. Then he started to pump savagely into her. Marty came alive and returned his motion with her own until they crashed together again and again. Cool glanced up at a filthy window, just above the bed and stared directly into Blackie's smiling face. The mousy looking woman, Ramona was with him. They were in the room next door watching the whole time.

Ramona's face descended from view. Cool could tell that she had gone down on Blackie by the look on his face. He had closed his eyes and his head sort of flopped back. Smiling, Cool laid into Marty with a renewed vigor and shortly thereafter, filled the rubber with an ocean of scalding cum. Marty stiffened and lost herself in another hard orgasm, then collapsed on the bed with Cool on top of her.

Cool could hear Blackie and the woman on the other side of the thin wall. It was downright hilarious listening to his friend telling Ramona what a great cocksucker she was, and how much he loved her. Blackie was evidently a regular patron of her professional services.

Cool felt the whore stir and he eased his soft cock out of her hole and was about to divest himself of the swollen condom when she put her hand on his wrist to stop him.

"Let me have that, Hon," she whispered.

Marty carefully slipped the cum-laden rubber from his prick and lay back on the bed. She held the thin sheath above her silicone enhanced tits and let his semen flow out of it onto her bulging orbs. With both hands, she massaged the milky substance into her skin, until she shone with his cum.

"Cum is great for the skin," she instructed. "Makes you soft and smooth."

Cool dressed, quickly, and exited the dingy storeroom, leaving the whore lying on the dirty bed. Blackie joined him at the bar a few minutes later and slapped him on the back.

"So how'd ya like fucking my old ladies ass?" Blackie blurted out.

"Say what?" Cool gasped.

"Yeah, Marty's my old lady. She and Ramona turn a few tricks to keep busy in the afternoons," Blackie howled with laughter. "She loves it when we watch her through the window."

Cool couldn't believe his ears.

"You've got some sense of humor, My Friend," Cool said.

Blackie continued to bellow with laughter as Marty rejoined them at the bar. Cool bought a round for them all.

"That's some sausage, Honey," Ramona announced as she walked up to Cool and reached between his legs to heft his balls.

Cool flinched and they all laughed again. Ramona continued to knead him through his pants as they drank their beers. The bar had all but cleared out while they had been in the back and only the four of them and Gretchen remained.

Ramona pulled Cool's zipper down and reached in through his fly and pulled his cock from his pants. Marty stood behind Ramona, blocking her from the room and pushed the brown haired woman down to her knees in front of Cool.

"See if you can get him to cum for ya, Mona," Marty whispered. "I'll see nobody bothers ya."

With that, Ramona collected Cool's cock deep into her gullet and preceded to blow him right there, in the bar. Having just emptied his balls in Marty's ass, it took a good bit of diligence and great handwork to coax another load from Cool. But cum he did, after many minutes of suspense, filling Ramona's mouth to overflowing with hot sticky sperm.

Standing up, with a long thread of milky cum streaming down her chin, Ramona turned and covered Marty's mouth with her own, passing the thick discharge from her mouth to that of her friend. Cool watched, fascinated, as the milky fluid escaped and drooled down between their lips. He quickly tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped up. He motioned for Gretchen to bring another round. It was then that he took note of the fact that Gretchen had been standing there, while Ramona had sucked him off and torpedoed Marty. Blackie had some interesting friends.

After the drinks were finished, Cool and Blackie went back to the pawnshop and loaded the guitars into the Nomad. Cool bid Blackie goodbye, promising to return to Daytona real soon for an instant replay of the afternoon's delight.

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Dennis was sitting in the studio, playing some rhythm to a track he had been working on, when Cool backed the Nomad up to the door. Carrying a guitar in each hand, Cool entered the room and greeted Dennis. Dennis jumped up and helped Cool bring the rest of his purchases into the studio. The two men spent the remainder of the afternoon examining each instrument and discussing each of them. Dennis was enthralled with Blackie's ancient Martin. This had to be the Stradivarius of guitars.

Dennis threaded a fresh tape on the sixteen-track recorder and sat listening, as Cool played a half hour of solo music into the machine. Playing the reel back, each of them played a different guitar, adding a harmony track and a rhythm track to the sweet sounds on the tape. Playing it back again, Dennis made up some words, singing along with the music, while Cool played a steady beat on the drums.