Another Saturday Night

To begin with, I just want to say this is not my normal shit, tu capisci? I'm pretty straight-laced and on the up and up in this life. I try to not do bad shit, cause what goes around comes around.

But that girl had such a sweet ass.

And I was stoned off mine.

Anyway, I found myself in a fucked up situation to begin with. I was broke, owed some not nice people money and needed a way to earn some cash to pay them off. So I did some shit I don't normally do. I moved some product from one hand to another.

This is the way it works, you got one rich guy with something that he wants to sell, and you got another fairly-rich group of guys that are good at selling. Now normally you would think that is win-win for both, right? Easy-peasy. Not always. See the rich guy didn't get that way from being stupid. He knows that those other idiots are young, dumb, and full of cum. And he ain't going to jail for their asses being stupid with his shit. So what he does is he hires a middle man. A go-between, who can be trusted to do the time without talking if shit goes bad.

Me.

See for me a little time in the "house" is an all-expenses-paid vacation from the normal rat race and hell a chance to see old friends, on Uncle Sam's dollar no less. I've done more than a few, and yeah sure I have no great desire to go back and do more, but if I had too, I would.

And I would keep my mouth shut.

Now Mr. Rich guy knows this, he also knows I'm in a fix and need cash. So I play middle finger for him–wipe his ass so to speak–and deal with the people with the matching wardrobe colors. Reds, blacks, browns its all the same so long as it's green on both ends.

For me, it was easy work. I drive out to the middle of the desert, late at night. And I meet up with some "border jumpin' rat" who was "muleing-in" a backpack full of rich guys shit. The no habla fellow has family back over the border ... who are being held till word from me gets there that I got the stuff. Now if I don't call this guy's mom, wife, sister ... whatever ... will most likely be servicing fifteen cocks a night till they die.

He can't wait to get it into my hands. Familia.

So I get the backpack from the mule, take it to my hotel–registered in a fake name of course–and call the bandanna brotherhood to come pick it up and pay for it. I meet them somewhere in a day or so, get the cash, take my cut, and wire the rest to an offshore account in Mr. Moneybag's name. Or, more and more often of late, I go buy a Wal-Mart gift card and mail it to a P.O. box number. Biggest money laundering service there is, Wal-Mart.

Whatever, it's sucky work but it pays well, and the only real risk is death or jail time.

Speaking of suck, I was in that in-between time. I had the bag, and I had called, and the meet was set up, but they said they were busy for a few days and I had to sit on it. Yeah, I know right? I got enough powder to make Richard Pryor sit back up and start telling jokes again and these fuckers were too busy!

What. The. Fuck?

Fuck it, I went to a bar. I was sippin' Seven and Seven and watching the game on the screen when this girl comes in, looking to use the phone. Now this was back when I was young before everyone had a cellphone stuck under their noses, savvy? Anyway, she gets on the payphone–that's a phone you had to put money in, for all you too young to know–gets into this big argument with whoever is on the other end. Slams down the phone and starts to boohoo. Oh, my god, the waterworks were going strong.

So I bought her a drink. Being all gentlemen like. And as she is sitting there drinking her Jack on the rocks I was checking out her body. Not bad, little flat up top but hippy, and not in the beads and flower kind of way.

I buy her another. And I give her a little sample of what I have to trade to the locals, my own makings, you understand? Just a blotter. Or two. Three, I'm sure it was no more than three.

Soon she is telling me this sob story, and I'm drinking faster to drown her out, and then next thing I know we are in front of my hotel room door. Both of us laughing like we're dying. I got the door key to work–yeah I know hotels work with swipe cards, shut up already–and we tumble into the place.

She says she needs to go "pee" and I let her and then after a bit I notice she has vanished on me. So I open the door and she is passed out on the toilet, underwear around her ankles, and head on the tile wall. Catching some Z's. If I hadn't needed to piss myself, I would have left her there. But I really needed to get a refund on those Seven and Sevens. So I scooped her up, took my leak and turned on the news to see if I could hear the score on that damn game I missed dealing with sleeping beauty.

No dice. Just weather crap.

My buzz was gone, my high was not peaked and I needed a little in-between snack, as it were, to tide me over till I joined her in dreamville. So I opened one of the little bags in the backpack and got a plastic spoon from by the coffee pot. I was just about to pour out a line of white on the table when I looked over at the bed.

The most perfect goddamn ass in the world!

Now she might not have tits to talk about but ... damn! I walk over, I'm looking down at that pretty pair of hills with that sweet valley between and I realized I had a spoon full of "happy" still.

So I dumped it down the crack of her ass.

Hey, at the time it made perfect sense to me. I was fucked up, I will admit that to the world my hand on a Gideon's. I was fucked up. And I buried my nose in the crack of her sexy ass and snorted white powder and butt perfume. I sure as hell did, and if you could have seen that ass you would have done the same.

Anyway, there I was, my face no doubt looking like I had clown makeup on, and I realized something else. I was hard as a fucking steel pipe! I stumbled to my feet, dropped my pants. Going to the table, I got another spoonful, powdered her ass like a baby with a rash, and placed my legs on either side of her hips. She gave a wiggle–probably my knee hurting her or some shit– and I pitched forwards a bit, and when I sat back up I saw I was lodged a good solid four inches in that perfect ass.

Now was I planning to fuck her ass? I can't say, the memory is a little foggy at that point. This much I know for sure, though, I was there. And she was tight as all fuckin' hell!

Oh, my god! DAMN!

Then she gave a little moan. A whimper.

And gentlemen, it was race day at Rockingham.

Leaning forwards, I grabbed her shoulder in one hand and then a tit in the other and–with my face leaving white all over her sweaty back–I started to hump her ass like it was the last piece of ass on this earth. Now four inches of me had made her whimper, can you guess what the other four did?

That's right.

Sleeping beauty woke her ass up and went to screaming. Now normally I would not have given a damn, but there was a backpack full of drugs sitting open on the table behind me. And, unless I wanted to find myself in her place in some cell with a guy name "Loraine," I needed her to shut up. So I dropped her tit, not much to drop anyway, and covered her mouth with that hand.

And that took care of that as far as I was concerned.

Also ... I think it was about that time that the powder I had put in her ass began to work on her as well, I mean I was pumping it into her like I was pounding a busted pinball machine. Oh, damn how fucking good her ass felt. I mean just tight and hot and gripping my dick like a pair of warm, wet hands. And let me tell you, the deeper I went the harder she moaned against my hand and the more she squirmed and the more I humped.

But then her tone began to change. It was no longer screams and mumbles of "Stop!" it was "Oh fuck yes harder!" that I was holding in with my palm. Then, to add to the kink of this weird shit, I felt her tongue licking the powder I had spilled off my hand. And hell, I can't blame her; I was licking her back and shoulder to get what I had smeared there.

Now, I bet you money that you're thinking I just got my nuts off and passed out right? Am I right? That's' what you're thinking of me. But no ... not quite.

See, something began to happen. Something really weird. Now they say that those guys who cut these drugs over the border sometimes use whatever they can get their hands on. Chalk, talcum powder, bath soap you name it I've heard it. Well with this bag full I know exactly what they used.

Fix a flat!

My cock was getting harder by the god damn second. Here I was going like I was twenty years old–with an eighteen-year-old prom date–and she was going psycho as hell under me telling me to "Tear her ass apart like bread!" Now I know, I fuckin' know, that I had cum. I felt it happen. But that didn't mean a damn thing. I just got harder.

I swear on my Momma's grave! I got harder after I cum.

My dick was harder and darker and thicker than I had ever seen it before in my life! I looked down, and I swear to you, I Iooked liked like a fuckin' baseball bat–a Jose Canseco signed Cooper Pro 100–sliding out that woman's asshole. And by that point I was feeling the friction, let me tell you, I was getting more than a bit raw. But there was no way I was going to stop.

So there we were. Locked forever together, my dick in her ass, her ass gripping me, my cock swelling up like a Goodyear blimp. Her screaming bible verses in some strange tongue, me weeping like I was about to lose a nut forever. The TV news anchor talking about a NASCAR race winner and me trying to get to some damn finish line. And the motherfuckin' phone next the bed began to ring.

So I answered it.

Seem like the thing to do, but like I said I was fucked up. Really fucked up.

It was a girl. This girl.

She thanked me for being a "gentleman" and not taking "advantage" of her while she was passed out. She told me her name, gave me a phone number and said she would like to go have dinner sometime ... if I wasn't busy. Then, when I didn't say anything, she said bye.

And when the phone went dead, I looked down and I realized I had just dumped a load of cum into about ... probably ... four hundred grand worth of Cocaine. The backpack looked like a dropped bag of flour, packets torn open, holes fucked in them all. My whole damn midsection was powdered like a jelly fuckin' donut! And cum was fucking everywhere! I must have been fucking this damn bag for hours.

And the phone rang again.

It was the bandanna brotherhood, ready for their purchase. And they now said they were in a hurry.

Yeah ...