tagErotic CouplingsSidney's Skeeter Hunt

Sidney's Skeeter Hunt

bymikey2much©

One hundred and seventy-five miles north of Tallahassee Florida, Sidney Greene tried to act calm, act like he was enjoying a few perfect moments with his darling wife and daughter. In truth, the morning had been an unending misery; the grandchild's soccer game seemed like it was never going to be over. Sidney thought that soccer for toddlers was one of the dumbest things he had ever had to endure.

The mothers of the players were all more concerned that their children didn't get dirty than they were about who won or who did a good job. Sidney watched all the single mothers as they tried to give their children the illusion of a father figure with a man they had paid to coach their kids for a few hours a week. Good efforts were rewarded with cheers as well as the poorer efforts, girls who refused to try, going through the motions just to please their mothers, were cheered as loudly as the girls who really gave it their best. The boys were cautioned to not try too hard because they could hurt somebody. Finally it was judged to be a tie with no one having to face the hardship of losing, or being allowed the thrill of winning.

After the game, he had taken Sharon, his wife and their daughter Rene with her two girls to Sunday dinner at the Holiday Inn restaurant. It had been a pleasant meal and all of them enjoyed it. He had enjoyed their enjoyment. The grandchildren were very well behaved and Sidney had to admit that, in spite of the lack of competition allowed in the game, Rene was doing a good job of raising the kids. He endured the meal, doing his best to be a good father and grandfather, until he could take it no more. Throwing a sawbuck on the table for a tip, he herded the two yapping females and the children toward the door.

Home at last he hurried up stairs for his already packed suitcase. Hugging both wife and daughter, kissing and hugging both the little soccer players, he got into the car and backed out of the driveway. Waving one arm out the window he watched as the dust and distance blotted out his life behind him. At last it is over and he is free; like a snake shedding its skin he left the insurance salesman's life he had been living. All the women in his life thought that he was off on a fishing trip, but it was much more than that. In the Bible Jesus tells his disciples he would make them fishers of men. Well this week-end he was going to be a fisher of women. This week-end he was going to become a very big fish in a very small pond. He was going to be like God to some woman, and he was going to enjoy it.

Outside the tinted glass of his Caddy mile after mile of the rolling hills of South Georgia rushed by. Once Sidney crossed into Florida and passed through the rolling hills that surround the city of Tallahassee the land leveled out becoming waterlogged swamps which the road cut through, straight as an arrow. On each side of that straight line of asphalt there was a solid wall of thick trees, sometime with vines and bushes so thick that nobody could walk through without a machete, other times with black water surrounding the tree trunks for as far as you could see. Back in the sixties Pat Frank wrote a book called 'Alas Babylon' where people came here to survive the nuclear war. In the book it was so far away from anything worth bombing that you would be safe here. Sidney saw nothing to make him think that much had changed since when the book had been written. No curves, no hills, no traffic to speak of, he rushed along, five miles an hour below the limit, toward his greatest adventure in years, maybe the greatest ever.

The boring roads of 'The arm pit of Florida' allowed his mind to dwell on more pleasant subjects. So much depended on finding the right girl, but he had time, and it was a warm sunny day. They would all be in their little short shorts and T shirts, tanned and sexy strolling down the sidewalk. He remembered the last trip down here, it might well be the best sex he had had since college.

His mind circled the memory of the first time he had seen her, red hair glistening in the sun, like a beacon, drawing his attention. Long and wavy it moved in the wind changing colors as the light hit it, constantly changing like a flame. The sexy flame ran down her back, directing his eyes to her slim waist and nicely shaped ass, and two perfect legs. She had the look of raw sex on the hoof.

He had offered her a ride, she had accepted and before he could drive the two miles to the room, she had cast a spell on him. He hoped he could find the one called Skeeter; there was something about her that had stuck in his mind ever since that one night. He remembered how soon he had gone through his allotted money after she had spent that hour or so with him. It wasn't like she was charging for her body. Rather it was like she was a party animal; that's what she did, she partied. She partied with whoever had the pockets to pay for it; if that person was you, fine, if not, than that was fine with her too. Confident of her abilities to find someone else, she was always ready to move on. Skeeter came with no strings attached and she would leave the same way, probably just after you had spent the last of your money.

"So far," Sidney said to himself, "so far she had no strings attached but after this weekend? Only time will tell." Remembering that time with her, he still thought it might be the best two hundred bucks he had ever spent. Just thinking about her, and the plans he had for her, made his dick twitch and a smile spread across his face. His Caddy might have been on a long straight boring four-lane but his mind was traveling down so many delightfully kinky paths.

Fifty miles to the south, Skeeter was bobbing her head over the hard dick of a regular customer as he drove around town. She was using her hand, doing a circular motion in time with her sucking mouth and swirling tongue. It would all be over before Russ, which was his name, could drive three miles.

By the time they came to the first red light she had slobbered over her hand enough that she was making wet squishy sounds with her hand on his cock. He was hard as a rock, slipping deep into her mouth as her head followed her hand down his shaft. Sucking and squeezing. She reluctantly let the slickly smooth dick leave her mouth, stopping at the ridge of his cock head. She swirled and sucked here for a moment and then dived deep onto his hardness again, taking him into her throat, hovering there until she started to gag, coming up gasping for air and going right back down on him.

Face fucking herself as he watched, Russ was unable to look away, he had not noticed that the light had changed until somebody blew their horn at him. Embarrassed, he almost killed the engine trying to take off in third gear. He down shifted and managed to get through the intersection, running a gauntlet of angry stares. Skeeter paid the commotion no mind and went on with her job. Russ, having trouble concentrating on his driving, decided to get off this busy street and turned into the first safe spot he could stop, an old abandoned gas station. He pulled into the shade of the overhead canopy between where the pumps once were and killed the engine. Sliding the seat back he gave Skeeter a little more room to work. He reclined the seat back to enjoy the show as the heavy traffic on the four lane rushed by forty feet away.

Russ watched as Skeeter raced her hand and face up and down his dick. God damn but it was so fucking sexy, he couldn't hold out much longer. "Hey babe, if you don't spit I'll give you twenty." Just as she said OK around his cock he started to shoot.

Russ was unaware that he was pushing the brake pedal every time he thrust his pelvis up to meet Skeeter's face. A cop was driving past and noticed the truck shaking and the lights flashing, but didn't see anybody inside the vehicle; thinking they were on the other side changing a tire, and they had their emergency flasher on, he drove on by, headed to the Huddle House for a late lunch. Inside the truck crunched down in the seat as Skeeter sucked him deep, Russ gasped. "Damn Skeeter you gonna give me a heart attack if you don't stop!"

True to her word Skeeter sucked every last drop she could get from him, and then she swirled her tongue around the shaft and caressed the underside of the swollen head before she lifted her head from his lap.

Eight minutes from the time Russ had picked her up, he let her out in front of the wall where he had found her.

Skeeter grabbed two quarters from the console to add to the twenty dollars in her hand and jumped down from the truck. Money clutched in her fist and the taste of cum on her tongue, she walked to the payphone.

Dropping the two quarters she dialed and waited. "Hey, can I come over?"

The voice on the phone asked, "What you trying to do?"

"Twenty," Skeeter answered.

"Where you at now?" the voice asked.

"The Seven-Eleven." Skeeter went to pull her hair over her shoulder and stroke it, remembering too late that it was gone. 'Asshole,' the word seemed to come into her mind every time she thought of Big Mike, 'what a fucking asshole.'

"OK, I'll send Eddie." The line went dead.

'Fuck!' Skeeter thought, 'now I won't be able to buy a drink.' If he had told her to walk the block to his house, she would have got a coke and given him nineteen dollars and change, with a smile, and Fifty would have let her slide. But Eddie, was just a kid doing what he was told, he wouldn't negotiate. She would just have to live with the after taste of cum for a while longer.

All the signs of heavy use greeted her as she walked around to the back of the convenience store. The grass was gone leaving a shallow depression worn into the sand which was literally paved with cigarette butts and small bits of debris, there was a smell of urine. The small clearing was shaded from the sun by trees growing all around the back of the building, only the small well worn path hinted at the existence of the hidden clearing behind the shrubbery. It wasn't exactly a picnic spot but it was out of sight and today, it being so early, she had the place to herself. She saw Eddie coming on his bike before she could sit down, so she met him half way on the path in the trees.

Eddie almost didn't recognize her with her hair cut off and all, but after a double take he stopped at her side. "What did you do to your hair? Damn girl, that's fucked up." He dropped the yellowish-white half inch square into her hand, grabbed the twenty turned his bike to leave, disappearing into the trees he yelled over his shoulder. "You look like fucking Tinkerbelle."

Skeeter didn't take the time to answer, just waved the boy off as she sat herself down on a concrete block. She took her pipe from her shoe and filled the end with a chunk of crack. The rock sizzled as it was hit with the flame from her lighter; she sucked the smoke deep and held it, letting it out a little at a time in short burst of smoke. She leaned back against the building wall, closed her eyes and let the rush sweep through her. God, she loved the feeling. She tried to wait a few minutes between hits, trying to make it last, but crack didn't work like that. Crack made you think that you were almost there but you needed one more hit to make it. The saddest part of the thing was, crack was the only true happiness she found in her life these days.

'The 'Big Bend'of Florida is a strange sort of a place,' Skeeter thought, 'You have a lot of uneducated poor people living in very poor conditions. Wages are low, many people work for less than the minimal wage because that is the only way they can find a job. They live in unpainted houses and run down old mobile homes. Think southern Georgia or Alabama only with more sand in the soil making it even poorer. Pine trees and flesh eating, blood sucking insects are what seem to grow the best.'

Skeeter burned another piece of the rock, inhaling deeply and leaning her head back, letting the smoke escape a slowly as possible.

Once, back in the late eighties through 2000, things had been good. People had money to spend and new truck sales were up. The reason was the smuggling of pot. The Big Bend is one big swampy area that runs all the way to the Gulf. There is no beach as such; the Gulf laps its gentle waves into the hundreds of small streams and rivers that run through the swamps and grasslands. Cypress and pines mixed with the water, oaks soaring into the sky filtering the sunlight, concealing the channels from anyone flying overhead.

A new rock melted into her pipe's screen as she sucked the smoke deep again. There were only two hits left.

Skeeter's memories took her back to those wild nights filled with excitement; when she got high she often remembered those times. Closing her eyes, she could almost see the moonlight filtering through the trees, shiny and flashy like a celebration when it found the water. She had stood in the bow of the small flat-bottomed boat an oar in her hand as she made sure that the snakes were driven from the overhanging branches before the small boat slipped beneath them. The heavy misty fog had stood several feet deep, almost like a floating veil of white clouds, hiding the path their little stream followed to the gulf. And her father, large and strong in her memories, was smiling at her, pride in his eyes.

"Mom died in nineteen ninety-one, I was born in eighty so I was eleven when Dad started to take me with him." She didn't realize she spoke out loud. She sat silently for a few minutes trying to remember her mother, a rough talking woman who always had a beer in her hand. Skeeter always thought of her mother as an adversary, someone she had to defeat, an opponent. Her mother had always tried to stop JJ from letting Skeeter share his 'business' activities. Looking back on things, her mother might have been seeing where she was right now. Skeeter wondered if her mother knew the price you were forced to pay when you chose to live as an outlaw.

It made a beautiful scene with the sun filtering through the leafy lacelike overhead, the beautiful woman thoughtfully leaning back against the wall. The breeze ruffled the small limbs, their leafy branches casting jumping, leaping, lace-like shadows over everything.

Skeeter filed the scene away, with attention to the way white paint could be sunlight reflected from foliage, she would try and put it on canvas some time, she would name it 'Dancing Shadows'. As the dream like rush faded, reality took over once more.

Skeeter's eyes scanned her surroundings, litter covered the ground, the place was a modern version of a hobo jungle from the depression. A concealed living room for the homeless, and she fit that description so she figured she belonged here. 'Fuck that,' she thought, 'I will make it out of here; once I get away from Mike things would get better.' Mentally, she shook off those thoughts of depression like a dog shaking off water. She reached for the pipe again.

She saw she had one more 'good hit' and a small half-ass hit. She put it all on the pipe, and hit it with her lighter. Drawing the smoke deep she held it, enjoying the taste and the feel, reluctantly breathing the smoke out in small puffs. Leaning back against the wall of the store Skeeter thought that this was what Pink Floyd meant by comfortably numb. But even as comfortably numb feelings filled her body, those old memories started to fill her mind.

From the time of her mom's death she had lived the life of her father, going everywhere he went. If he went to sell some bales of pot she rode shotgun, if he was on a boat Skeeter was too. They were a family, they trusted each other. Even after all the trouble he had caused her, she had never doubted her father's love. Skeeter had lived her childhood trying to be the son he didn't have. And JJ, having no ideal how to teach his daughter to be a woman, taught her what he knew, how to be a man in a man's world.

Whenever they were riding somewhere whether in a boat or a truck he would be telling her stories of his past and each story had a lesson. Without her realizing it she had adopted a man's viewpoint on life. If you wanted something, go out and get it. She had learned to shoot and hunt because that was something she knew would earn JJ's approval, and because it was something she figured JJ's son would know how to do. She had enjoyed the pride of knowing that her daddy trusted her to do her part, taking for granted she would hold up her end of any deal.

She was proud of the fact that he trusted her like he would've trusted a son, letting her grow up thinking like a man and doing a man's job. She had earned that trust, but she knew she had thrown it away when she let herself become who she was now. That sense of respect and trust, that she had worked so hard to earn, was gone now as well as the family.

She wanted another hit but she was out, there wasn't another hit until she found another dick to suck. She got up and walked back around the store. Skeeter lit her second to last cigarette as she reached the wall where she liked to sit. Settling down leaning back against the shaft of a power pole, she remembered the way it had been back then. Young, bright and beautiful, she had everything laid out before her. Now, Skeeter's eyes roamed up and down the high-way, now she thought, she was totally lost.

In this horrible time referred to as 'now', she spent her days and nights running around in a vicious cycle of selling her ass to feed her habit. It was a full time job, demanding every minute she was awake. She let her mind roam, going back to those days when her good memories were being made, back when there was more then 'now', back to when she thought she had a future.

Her dad, his real name was James Johnson but everybody called him JJ, was a local legend, both as a hell raiser and bar room brawler. Sort of a local 'Robin Hood' slash Al Capone, a man who thought every problem could be solved if you could just find out who needed their ass kicked. . He never backed down from a fight, and he never shied away from telling a man what he thought.

JJ knew every stream of water that wandered across the Big Bend area. If it was big enough and deep enough to float a boat then JJ would know how to get to it and how to get back. He could find the Gulf, pick up a ton of pot, and get back to the trucks, twenty miles inland without ever cranking an engine, a nearly silent trolling motor the only sound anyone might hear, the slitted lens of two flashlights the only visible sign that he was there.

And the guys, the people who came and took delivery of the cargo once it was landed. They ran the spectrum from serious old men to the wild fun loving young guys, all of them riding the rush of successful criminal lifestyles. Flush with money and knowing that they were at risk every minute made for wild parties and plenty of drugs. The women were drawn by the drugs and money, the men by the money and the women. Yeah when she thought back on it she had gotten quite an education growing up with JJ for a father. They had become too good at what they did, once the D.E.A. found that most of the weed that went to Mobile and Pensacola as well as Birmingham and Atlanta was offloaded from small boats in the Big Bend area, they focused their power in the small towns surrounding where she sat right now.

When she was twenty-one she had run away with Big Mike. JJ had forbidden her to go and after she left, well, it had never been the same. Skeeter missed those days, missed the way the men had looked at her, so different from the way guys looked at her now. Back then she was respected for the work she did and the company she kept, her word meant something. She was trusted. While she was still a woman, and she could remember seeing interest and desire in their eyes sometimes, she could also see respect in their eyes. A far cry from what she saw in the eyes of men now.

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