Alana's Playtime

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

*Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

*.*.*

Alana Pratt silently walked along the dark street. In late July, the air in Pinoak, Louisiana was a heavy blanket. The air was fetid with the stench of dying vegetation as a light breeze blew from the Atchafalaya Bayou.

The petite blonde had no fear of the darkness or of those that frequented the darkness. Her.357 was within easy reach in her heavy bag. And, even though it appeared that she was ambling aimlessly, Alana was very aware of her surroundings.

She'd suffered these occasional bouts of insomnia, ever since her mother's death. Children's Protective Services of Arkansas had come in and placed the grief-stricken teenager in a foster home. There, the Tidwells did their best to provide a safe, loving and nurturing environment for Alana.

But Alana often felt waves of guilt over her mother's drug addiction; had she been the cause of her mother's addiction? She felt waves of guilt; could she somehow have gotten some help for her mother? She felt waves of loneliness; for fourteen years, it had been her and her mother.

"Two girls on their own," Deanna Pratt would often joke.

"One girl on her own," Alana thought bitterly as she turned from Caledonia Court onto Barcelona Way.

She saw the Newhart's Restaurant a half mile ahead and decided to walk there for a cup of coffee. Newhart's had a good coffee; it wasn't so thick you could chew it and it never seemed to have that burnt flavor that the coffee of other fast food restaurants tended to have. Alana was not worried about the caffeine; caffeine seemed to have no effect on her.

Two days after her eighteenth birthday, three months before graduating from James Conway High School in Lowenberg, Arkansas, a letter from the law offices of Ferguson, Benoit, Fowler & Jones arrived at the Tidwell residence, addressed to her mother. Alana opened the letter and discovered that her mother's father had passed away. Alan Timothy Pratt, her maternal grandfather had passed away and had left his estate to Deanna Michelle Pratt.

Contacting the law firm; there was a toll-free 800 number provided, Alana informed Mr. Jones, Alan Pratt's attorney of the passing of one Deanna Michelle Pratt. Since Deanna was now deceased, and Alana was Deanna's sole heir, Mr. Jones promised to look into the matter. Three weeks before her graduation, Alana was told that the inheritance was now hers.

Steven Jones, the 'Jones' of Ferguson, Benoit, Fowler & Jones agreed to maintain 619 Caledonia Court for the three weeks until Alana Michelle Pratt graduated from high school and could then assume ownership of the property and other assets of Alan Timothy Pratt's estate.

The maintenance did not come cheap, but when Alana took an Uber from the Greyhound bus station located next to the Courtyard Mall in Pinoak to 619 Caledonia Court, she found the three story house was spotlessly cleaned and the yard meticulously cared for. The pool and hot tub in the rear yard were crystal clear, ready for use.

In the garage was Alan's 2016 Silverado Crew Cab and his 1971 Chevy Camaro. At the breakfast nook's table, Steven Jones and Alana did the paperwork transferring all of Alan Timothy Pratt's estate to Alana Michelle Pratt's ownership.

Five hours after arriving in Pinoak, Louisiana, Alana was alone in the home that had belonged to her mother's father. Alana felt a wave of anger and bitterness toward this man she'd never met. She and her mother had struggled every day to eat, to stay one step ahead of eviction from various apartments, had bought their clothing from Good-Will and thrift stores. All while her mother's father lived in a luxurious three story home. Once, they'd even lived in her mother's Ford Focus, until the car had been towed for out of date tags and elapsed registration.

Alana had learned not to talk about it, talk about their lives. School children made fun of her and some teachers tried to intervene. Those interventions just caused more problems for Deanna and Alana. A few other teachers tried to use this information to their advantage; they would touch Alana and get the frightened girl to do things she didn't want to do.

The foster home perpetuated Alana's social anxiety. The Tidwells themselves were good Christian people and did their very best to provide for each child entrusted to their care. But many of the foster children, experienced hands at the foster care system would manipulate Alana with lies and deceptions. If that didn't work, the foster children would resort to physical threats against the smaller girl.

Deanna never disclosed to Alana why they lived the way they did. Deanna never told Alana that she'd been kicked out of her father and mother's home when she'd started using drugs. Deanna's mother would slip her a few bucks every now and then, but her father wanted nothing to do with his only child.

Deanna wound up in Lowenburg, Arkansas by turning a few tricks. A trucker offered the attractive blonde a few bucks and some good cocaine to join him as he drove north.

In a greasy spoon diner in Lowenburg, Deanna had gone to the bathroom. Coming out, she was just in time to see the truck pulling onto Highway 467, heading north.

Deanna got a job waitressing at the diner. She occasionally turned a few tricks on the side, even sold some drugs to support her habit. When she discovered that she was pregnant, she did try to kick the habit. She really did try.

"We could have been living here? Instead of those shitty, we could have been living here?" Alana screamed, standing in a plush living room, staring at a large screen television, highly polished bookshelves, an immaculate billiards table and well-stocked bar.

Alana deduced one of the large suites upstairs had belonged to her grandfather. She also deduced that her and her mother's living conditions had somehow been her grandfather's fault. Therefore, Alana decided, she would not refer to the man as 'Grandfather,' but instead would just call him Alan. She gave the man's spirit the middle finger and went back down to the second floor and selected one of the guest suites to sleep in. Her duffel bag contained her clothes and her pillow and a teddy bear. Mrs. Tidwell made a point of giving every foster child a teddy bear upon their arrival in her home, no matter the age of the foster child. Alana had politely thanked the woman but had felt foolish accepting the gift. Until Darren Stilles, a seventeen year old boy accepted the gift and broke down in heart-wrenching sobs over the simple gift. Now, the silly teddy bear was Alana's most prized possession.

At one o'clock in the morning, Alana was wide awake. She knew she'd never get back to sleep so decided to explore.

The second floor had four bedrooms and four bathrooms. Each bathroom had a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of body wash and thick fluffy towels and tick fluffy wash cloths. The medicine cabinets had three guest toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste still in the box, along with a small bottle of mouthwash, seal still wrapped around the cap.

The closets in each bedroom was bare. The armoire in each bedroom housed a 32 inch flat screen television, along with the remote control. The nightstand in each room had a Bible sitting on it.

"Hypocrite," Alana sneered.

One suite on the third floor had some women's clothing. The nightstand had a well-worn Bible on it, along with a very heavy crystal and silver rosary. In the first drawer were some books of erotic poetry and the next drawer had some latex dildos, a sleek battery powered vibrator, and a large jar of lubricant. The armoire had a television and a DVD player. The drawer underneath the television held several romance DVD cases. And on the low dresser, Alana found a framed photograph of her mother with a handsome older man and a beautiful blonde woman. There was also a photograph of a beautiful smiling girl in graduation gown and mortarboard. At first, Alana wondered how her grandmother had a photograph of her Kindergarten graduation, but quickly realized that this was a picture of her mother. The top left hand drawer had more photographs of Deanna.

Alan's suite smelled of polished wood and leather; a strong, masculine scent. The closet held many suits and ties and dress shirts and highly polished dress shoes.

Opening the armoire in this room, Alana saw the television and DVD player and the remote control for the two electronic items.

"Blonde Teen Lezzies," Alana read the first DVD case. "Ass Fucking Blonde Sluts. Geez, Alan, what the fuck, huh?"

It was not lost on Alana that the seven DVD cases in the drawer all dealt with teenaged blonde girls. The nightstand had some hardcore pornographic magazines and again, all dealt with blonde teenagers. A few of the titles even dealt with the topic of incest. 'My Daughter's Tight Ass' was right on top of the stack of magazines. The cover showed a smiling blonde 'teenager' bending over in a very short skirt, her 'father' smiling as he unzipped his seersucker slacks.

There was a gun safe in one of the large walk-in closets. On a hunch, Alana punched in her mother's birthday and the safe clicked open. She found several guns; two shotguns, some high-powered rifles, and five handguns. She liked the feel of the.357; it had a nice, solid feel to it.

Despite her anger and resentment toward Alan, Alana liked the way his room smelled. She also liked the firm mattress the large man had required for his back. Retrieving her pillow and teddy bear, Alana lay down on the bed and turned on the television.

'Blonde Teen Lezzies' started when Alana mashed the correct buttons. She reduced the volume; apparently, Alan had suffered a bit of a hearing loss. Alana reduced the volume and grabbed a few more pillows and propped herself up.

"Damn," Alana breathed as she watched two very attractive young looking blondes kissing passionately.

Alana woke up with gray dawn filtering in through a chink in the curtain. On the television, one blonde girl was being taken by three muscle bound men. Obviously, Blonde Teen Lezzies had finished some time ago and Blonde Schoolgirl Sluts had started. Alana shut off the television and went down the stairs to the kitchen. Taking a Lean Cuisine from the freezer, Alana saw she'd need to do some grocery shopping. Thankfully, James Conway High School had taught Driver's Education as an elective and Alana had a valid Arkansas driver's license.

Alan would have been both outraged and horrified when Alana took his prized Camaro rather than the pickup truck. Alana simply thought the smaller vehicle would be easier to drive; she barely scraped five feet in height. At the Burns & Burns Grocers grocery store, an older man attempted to talk to Alana about her car. The man was astute enough to recognize Alana's extreme discomfort so stepped back and gave her a polite nod and said 'nice car' before walking away.

Alana never drove the car again. The Internet helped Alana establish the car's value and Steven Jones, one of the few people Alana somewhat trusted did help Alana sell the vehicle. He was shocked when Alana told him to donate the money to the local Chemical Dependency Unit in St. Elizabeth Parish. He did donate the money in Deanna's name.

Now, avoiding the streetlights, Alana walked toward the Newhart's Restaurant. At this time of night, there usually were very few customers around. There was a short, chunky girl that worked a lot of the late night/early morning shifts. Amanda Arnaud would always smile and ask Alana how she was doing. Alana admired and envied the girl's cheerfulness and easy smile.

Entering the restaurant through the side door, Alana saw an attractive African-American girl working the counter. Amanda was not in sight; Alana assumed her friend must have the night off. Looking around, Alana saw only two patrons in the restaurant, a large, muscle bound man in wife beater shirt and a smaller man sitting together in a booth.

As she approached the counter, the front door opened and an attractive blonde woman walked in. Alana admired the girl's sleek legs and bare belly; the blonde wore Daisy Duke Denim shorts and a half shirt. The girl reached the counter just ahead of Alana and stood waiting for the young woman at the counter to take her order.

"Yes ma'am?" the girl smiled, teeth gleaming in her beautiful dark face.

Alana stood, looking at the blonde's beautiful, round buttocks that strained and flexed as the blonde absently danced to the music bleeding through a broken speaker in the ceiling. Her feet were jammed into blood red pumps with four inch stiletto heels; her legs were muscled and sleek as she jiggled as 'Pumped up Kicks' poured out, garbled and thready.

"That's a bacon and egg biscuit, add jalapenos, and a large decaf," the woman verified and rang up the order. "Ma'am, you want any cream or sugar?"

"Three creams and three sugars," Alana heard the woman respond as Alana continued to stare at the woman's buttocks.

She liked the way the woman's thigh length ponytail swished back and forth, giving tantalizing glimpses of the woman's legs and buttocks. As the woman turned to dig in her voluminous bag, Alana was able to see the woman's smooth back between the hem of her half shirt and the waistband of her low-rider jean cutoffs.

"And here you are," ma'am," the counter person smiled, placing the tray in front of the customer.

Alana looked up as the woman turned to look around for a place to sit. The woman held the tray up, just underneath the hem of her half shirt, so Alana could not see the woman's sleek belly. She did notice the impression of the woman's areolae and hard nipples through the soft black material of her half shirt. Alana could see that the woman was beautiful, with sweet round face, big brown eyes under light blonde eyebrows, a slim nose and pouting lips.

"Yes ma'am? What'll it be today?" the counter person asked Alana as Alana swiveled to watch the blonde's magnificent buttocks stretch and flex as the woman selected a corner booth to sit at.

"I, uh, hi," Alana stammered when the woman repeated her question.

"Hi. How you doing?" the woman smiled a friendly smile.

"I uh, I'm good. You?" Alana asked, blushing.

"Me? Oh God I'm tired," the girl admitted, smiling. "Girl, got another five hours to go? Don't know I'm going make it."

"I, two cinnamon buns and a large coffee; two cream and four sugars," Alana said.

"Ma'am, them buns? They pretty big," the girl hesitated.

"Yeah, I usually take one home," Alana admitted.

"Oh. All right then," the girl said, ringing up the order.

"Do it. Do it, just go over and do it," Alana ordered herself as she carried the tray with the large coffee and two cinnamon buns in Styrofoam containers toward the corner booth where the beautiful blonde woman sat.

"Hi, is this seat, uh, can I sit here?" Cynthia Breaux heard a woman squeak out and looked up from her deconstructed bacon and egg biscuit.

Cindy liked to eat the bacon first, then the scrambled egg patty. The egg patty was smeared with a white cheddar cheese sauce; Cindy suspected that there was very little actual cheese in the sauce. She would then pop the jalapeno peppers into her mouth one at a time. She loved the tangy bite of the peppers. Her last act would be to squeeze the packet of honey onto each half of the flaky, buttery biscuit and would eat the bottom half first, then the top half last. In between bites, she would sip her coffee.

As she sat, chewing the last bite of her bacon, Cindy heard a young woman's voice squeak, asking if she could sit with her. Looking up, Cindy let an uncertain smile cross her face. The restaurant was nearly empty; there was only two other patrons, two men that spoke in hushed but urgent voices to each other. There were at least twenty other booths and eight tables with four chairs apiece that this woman could have taken.

Cindy looked into the terrified eyes of the woman and let her uncertain smile broaden. She nodded with an enthusiasm she did not feel and even pulled her tray closer to herself to give the stranger room to place her tray onto the table.

"Hi I uh, I'm, I'm Alana," Alana stammered, sure her heart would hammer out of her chest.

"Hi, Alana," Cindy smiled warmly. "I'm Cindy."

Alana tried to think of what to say next but could not. She opened her mouth a few times, then opened the lid on one Styrofoam container and started to eat the large, hot, gooey cinnamon roll with the plastic fork the counter person had provided.

"So, just getting off work?" Cindy asked after a long moment of silence.

"Huh? I uh, no, no, I, I just couldn't sleep," Alana admitted, looking up.

"Mm," Cindy said and used her teeth to tear the packet of honey.

"You?" Alana asked a moment later.

"Mm? OH, hmm mm," Cindy agreed, carefully squeezing half of the packet onto the lower half of her biscuit.

Placing the packet onto the top half of her biscuit, Cindy pointed with her thumb across Barcelona Way. Alana glanced through the glass window behind Cindy, then looked at Cindy again.

"Sugar Shack," Cindy explained. We close at one. Well, one on weekdays, but I didn't get out until one thirty."

"I, Sugar, isn't that, that's a, that's a titty bar, isn't it?" Alana asked, again glancing over Cindy's shoulder at the unlighted silhouette of the Gentlemen's' Club.

Cindy's face tightened. Alana felt her heart drop into her stomach and quickly averted her eyes to her cinnamon roll. Using her fork, she tore off another bite of the pastry and stuffed it into her mouth. Her stupid, blabbering mouth.

"Well," Cindy said tightly. "It's called a 'gentlemen's' club' but honestly? I don't think I've met a whole hell of a lot of gentlemen there."

"I'm sorry," Alana whispered, close to tears. "It's just..."

"Don't be. You're right; it's a titty bar," Cindy said, picking up the bottom half of her biscuit.

Cynthia Marie Breaux had not planned on being an exotic dancer. She had not planned on working in a Gentlemen's Club. But having earned three-quarters of the credits needed for a bachelor's degree in mechanical engineering did not qualify her to work at Pilot Petroleum Exploration & Development, Incorporated as she had envisioned. Cindy had gone to a Job Fair at the St. Elizabeth Public Library and had listened with rapt attention as William Kennedy, a giant of a man had talked about PPEDI and their many strides in searching for new sources of oil and natural gas. Tri-Carter had also intrigued Cindy; she decided they'd be her fall back plan.

But three fourths of a degree did not qualify her for employment at either company. It did not qualify Cindy to do much of anything.

On reflection, Cindy should have gone to the Vo-Tech with her best friend, her former best friend Chrissy Theriot. That friendship had ended when Cindy voiced her dislike of Steven Guillory, Chrissy's boyfriend and now husband. Even telling Chrissy that Steve had made a play for her did not dissuade Chrissy from marrying the man.

"Was going ask you be my maid of honor but you can just forget that now," Chrissy had yelled, hot tears in her eyes.

Had she gone to the St. Elizabeth VO-Tech, instead of to the University of Louisiana at DeGarde, and studied to become a welder, Cindy would be working for Fontenot's Welding, or at Kendricks's Engineering, or Whitehead Generators. She could have even studied Administrative Assistance like Chrissy and would be working in an office, working with other people, instead of viciously competing with five to nine other dancers nightly, competing to get every sweaty, wrinkled dollar bill she could out of the fists of sweaty, wrinkled old men.