Car Sex & Beyond: Valet's Sex Life

"You are still a beautiful woman, Olga," I told her.

"Yes," she answered,

"That may be, but my asshole has shrunk and will not be stretched again by any man. At least, that is my expectation, but on the right night, if one falls in love, anything can happen, but not with you, my dear Valet, not with you tonight, but someday I might offer you a gift I've denied many others."

"That would be a gift I would welcome, Olga dearest."

FUCKING GRANDMA

Have you ever fucked your Grandma? Me neither, but I might have fucked yours if she is one of the elderly tenants in our building. The lady said, "My name was Norma."

Do you have a Grandma named Norma?

When I started as an employee at the Excelsior, I would see Norma, an older woman waiting in the lobby. Sometimes she was standing, and other times she was seated, looking at one of the library picture books. She dressed neatly, but if you looked carefully, her clothes were worn, her shoes were old, and even her watch strap was broken. Was someone negligent in their care for her?

Norma was once a beauty, but time had laid waste to her body. She stood about five foot two, the classic mold, with a full head of fine gray hair. There was no sign she was losing any of her hair although the longer strands were matted as if she was a Rastafarian; what she might be in danger of losing was her mind.

Older women's tits get soft and dry up, creating the illusion of a loss of femininity. Norma's blouse only gave the slightest sign that two breasts lay underneath. I would see her wandering around the lobby, waiting for a family member to arrive to take her out for breakfast or someone had sent inside her to fetch a chrome basket cart to ferry her daughter's packages upstairs. She had a small kind smile and seemed just out of reach, but Norma remembered my name was Anthony or Keith or Jack, and I never corrected her.

I'd asked her where she was going, and she smiled and said, "nowhere."

If I asked too many questions, she'd respond slowly, as if partial dementia had begun but not yet claimed all of her mind. Then she'd come closer, reach out, rub my belly, and smile. She still had all her teeth, and they were white.

"Are you married, Norma.?"

"Not anymore. My husband, Bernard, died last year, and we were married for over twenty years. I live with my daughter in a big apartment up on top, and I bought it for her."

She was of advanced age. I figured Bernard wasn't her first marriage, so I asked her, "How many times were you married."

"Four times."

"What happened?"

The first one didn't really want to be married."

"The second?"

"He was a movie man. We spent a lot of time in Spain with that stupid film where they were lugging a giant cannon across the mountain."

"What was it called?"

"The gun or was it the cannon, a big thing, and Quinn was in it. He was just so nasty, and I never knew why."

"What happened to that marriage?"

"You know those movie people never stay married for long."

"Come here," came a distant shout.

It was her daughter commanding.

The daughter said nothing to me but swooped up the old girl.

"We are going to lunch somewhere," said Norma, reaching out to rub my belly. They both exited to the curb at the entrance.

In slow motion, the car approached them as they stood on the curb.

One of the other valets had brought the car forward, a large fancy Mercedes. I ran to open the door. Norma got in and said,

"Thank you.

Her daughter ignored me as if I was transparent.

The heavy car belched a fume of unused gas and rolled smoothly out the driveway. I looked after it; I could see Norma's gray hair in the car window as the Mercedes turned the corner and sped out onto Wilshire.

And so began our friendly relationship; I'd see Norma every few days, then maybe a week would pass, and then, like the ghost of Christmas past, she'd appear with her sweet smile and ask how I was and other insignificant pleasantries. Somehow she remembered my name, but every time she called me by another.

People were buying Christmas stuff in late November. I was at my station when the big Mercedes rolled in.

The voice of her daughter, like a master Sergeant, barked at me,

"Take the packages and bring my mother upstairs."

I opened the car door, and there she was. Someone had brushed and cut her hair. Norma looked beautiful; she took my hand and slowly got out of the car. Once I was sure she was secure on the curb, I went to the car's rear; the trunk had already opened, and I took a collection of stuff, mostly in brown plastic bags from the grocery and a few boxes that looked like tree lights.

The daughter said nothing; I could hardly see her. She had a large Hermes scarf around her head. The trunk closed automatically, and the big car rolled out of the carport.

"Ok, Norma, let's go. Can you push the elevator button? My hands are full?"

Norma pushed the PH button, and the elevator lurched upward. Norma turned to me, insinuated her hands between my chest and the packages, and began rubbing my belly. This time her hands quickly wandered to my crotch. Before I knew it, she'd unzipped my fly. I laid the packages down and pushed the stop button.

"What are you up to, Norma.?

"I want to hold your cock."

"Do you know what you are asking?"

"Yes." By now, she had Charley between her hands and was stroking him."

"Oh, Bernard, oh, my, that is nice."

She lifted her skirt, and I could see she wasn't wearing any panties. Her gray pubic hair was unshaven but fine as silver threads.

"Here, put it here, Berny," she commanded.

I stood there frozen as she shook Charley to his full length and told me to lower myself so she could fit him inside.

I bent my knees, and Norma licked Charley's head, then looked up and said,

"I'm sorry, Bernie, I'm not as wet as I used to be."

My shiny cock's head quickly disappeared into Noma's vagina, and she had the strength to tighten down on my hard-on. Her unexpected feat triggered, much too quickly, several pulses of my white jizz inside her. I guess the old girl got me excited.

She stood motionless, enjoying her moment, then with two careful fingers, she pulled Charley out of her body, lowered her skirt, and picked up one of the plastic bags I'd laid on the floor.

I pushed the PH button again; moments later, the door opened. I followed Norma to the large double door of her apartment. A Hispanic maid I had seen before opened the door and took Norma by the hand.

"Leave the stuff out there. I'll pick it up shortly." the maid said.

"You're too late," says Norma to the maid.

"What do you mean?"

"We already had our fun," says Norma, "I've got to get to the bathroom. I'm leaking."

"You have to pee?" says the maid.

"Oh, whatever," says Norma as she hurries off, holding on to her crotch through her dress.

"Goodbye, Miss Norma," I called after the old lady, who did not answer as the maid slammed the door in my face.

MURDER IN THE HIGH RISE

A murder took place at The Excelsior. I had been working there for almost a year and had seen William Gailey, the suspected killer, a number of times. Gailey was once a famous football player on the Jet's team when Joe Namath led them to a Super Bowl victory. Back then, Gailey who would race out of the pack, get free, and in some amazing way, catch those long desperate passes that Namath threw to cap his winning season.

The duo's 'Derring-Do' took place in 1965, but you can catch up on U-Tube. 'Broadway Joe' has become a huckster for supplemental medicare programs and can be viewed daily in television ads, and his colorful history is worth a read on Wikipedia.

Gailey was the owner of one of the fancy penthouses. "Billy Boy

Gaily's back was broken late in his career, making him a quadriplegic. Even though he could not walk, he still courted and married Tawny Calhoun, a Miami stripper who performed for him in private.

Gailey's happy marriage came to a crashing end. Tawny was found dead near the side delivery exit, right below Gailey's penthouse. She had jumped or was thrown from the 22-floor balcony. Herbert Hogarth, the DA, believed she was thrown, and William Gailey was charged with murder. One of Tawny's girlfriends testified that Gailey had threatened to throw Tawny off the balcony, and Gailey, who propelled himself in a wheelchair, had the biceps to do it.

In an off moment recorded by a newsman, Gailey admitted he made the threat when he suspected Tawny of having an affair. William was paralyzed and unable to have intercourse with his wife. In plain words, his dick no longer worked. By his admission, he was "a pussy eater" and performed oral sex on Tawny every night. He was quoted as saying,

"It's the only way to keep a healthy woman from fucking around."

Gailey insisted his threat to throw Tawney off the balcony was only a bluff, adding his most personal observation, "recently, Tawney's pussy didn't taste right."

The autopsy on Tawny's stomach contents revealed a mixture of alcohol and aspirins, similar to what Marilyn Monroe had taken the night she died. There was a suspect for cocaine which might have been due to the poppy muffin Tawney had for breakfast. Further analysis arriving a month later revealed there was a trace of semen in her vagina. Whose semen was it? It was never determined.

Hunter Dickerson and F. Lee Bailey were hired to defend William Gailey. The trial lasted six weeks until the jury deadlocked. The press suspected political pressure from Sacramento had intervened. Gailey, was a close friend of the Governor. It was rumored the big guy had pulled the right judicial strings. They did not retry Gailey, and 'Billy Boy' returned to his penthouse. The press referred to him as OJ#2.

I often spoke with Larry Hogan, Gailey's driver, while waiting for Gailey to be brought down to the lobby in his wheelchair. Hogan drove Gailey in a special van with a rear lift that allowed Gaily, seated in his wheelchair, easy access on his trips to the hospital for electrostimulation of his paralyzed lower extremities. Hogan said 'Billy Boy' had confided in him,

"The only time I could get an erection was when the electro-juice was flowing," joking, "Can you find me a nurse?"

Hogan was sure 'Billy Boy' was innocent, insisting,

"Gaily is as big as an ox, but he's a gentle giant. A guy in his situation believed his wife was entitled to an occasional cock. 'Billy Boy' worshiped that bitch, even drank the cum out of her pussy when he knew she was fucking around. He never said a word, just swallowed it. If Tawny cheated, he washed the evidence away with a glass of whiskey. Poor lug couldn't get a stiffy on his own, no way, no how. His tongue was his dick, but did he kill his wife? Not a chance."

After the trial, Gailey when he'd returned from his weekly trip to the Brea Tar Pits, where he was a volunteer bone cleaner. As I pushed his wheelchair into the lobby, he'd tell me how he'd worked on a rare saber-toothed tiger skull. I never went eye to eye with Billy Boy; it wouldn't have made much difference. The dude always wore dark sunglasses.

William Gailey moved to a Malibu beach house a year later. The new owner of Gailey's penthouse invited me to a party on my day off. I wandered onto the patio and was amazed that the brass safety bar separating the balcony from the bricked alley 22 stories below was so low.

I realized Tawney's death may well have been accidental. If one leaned over the low patio bar with a drink in hand, Tawney, had enormous stripper boobs, a narrow waist, and a tiny ass. The weight of her tits might well have done her in. The low guard rail was an architectural design error. High rises built after the construction of the Excelsior were required to have the balcony bars five inches higher.

How do I know Tawney had a lot of weight in those tits? When she leaned over me, cowgirl style, in the back seat of her jeep, one of her tits hit me hard on the side of my head and almost knocked me out.

"What the fuck have you got in there?" I said. Cement? Tits are usually soft."

"I'm sorry, hon," said Tawney, "It's some old injected silicon that the doc could not remove when they redid my titties. That stuff gets hard as a brick."

Moments later, when I recovered, I asked,

"Is it alright if I cum inside you? I'm ready to shoot."

"Sure, it will give my hubby something to chew on," she said. "I want him to know other men find me attractive. What better way to let him suck out their cream soda?"

I will say one nice thing about Tawney. She had a pussy that was so wet you would have thought they attached it to a faucet, and she was dripping the minute you got her panty down below her knees. Whoever would snuff a gal with a pussy that gushed like an oil well deserves a triple life sentence and an eternity in hell.

When the murder trial occurred, no one interviewed me or called me to testify. It's just as well. I had sex with Tawney several times in the weeks before her death and on that last fatal day. Not knowing Gailey was a pussy eater, I left my sperm loads inside her as she asked.

When Gailey's comment about being a 'pussy eater tape' was leaked to the press, it all made sense.

Would my testimony have changed Gailey's hung jury? I don't know. I'm just glad he moved out. When asked me to deliver packages to Gailey's penthouse after Tawney's demise, and I'd tell Eddie to go instead. I was afraid if the big muscled ex-footballer understood I was nucking his wife, he would have tossed me over the side.

TO BURKA OR NOT TO BURKA

Some people don't like girls with burkas. Not me! These gals are as hot as firecrackers. The Sheik, up on the top floor, is the chief diplomat from an Arab country, and it is no secret that he has a bevy of wives. If he were fucking all four of them, they would not be so randy and interested in dick. Those bitches there are, in locker room vernacular, 'super fine cunts.'

Like most people who believe our municipal water supply is poisonous, these desert people don't drink tap water. Some treat their water with an oxygenator, but most drink French or Italian mineral water. Bubbly water does not make them fat, but it makes them fart. If the wives fart while I'm fucking them, who cares? It doesn't smell all that bad, and we laugh when it occurs.

Water is delivered frequently from Whole Foods or Bevmo, but the delivery guys aren't allowed to bring the stuff up to the Sheik's apartment. Either the maids come down to get it, or building employees bring it up.

Last week I delivered four cases of NYC Seltzer water in colored glass bottles. The seltzer comes in wooden rates. Some of the bottles are blue glass, others clear. I put the bottles on a magnesium dolly, one of those grey jobs that look like short ladders, and dragged the bad boys into the elevator and headed for the 22th floor. When I arrived, Magda, the Sheik's maid, told me to bring the cases into the kitchen. Once unloaded, she winks at me, saying,

"The mistress wants to see you."

The apartment is one of those twelve million dollar ones with more bedrooms than a pussy has hairs. Did I mention these babes' cunts are hairless? Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating.

She directs me to the Mistress's bedroom, who is standing in the middle of the room wearing a transparent silk robe and a burka. I don't understand their lingo, but the gal grabs my belt buckle and wrenches it loose. Now I know what's up, and what's up is Charley.

The woman gets on her knees, and I expect her to suck my cock. Before her lips meet 'mine' (my dick), she hands me a whip. I'm standing over her with the whip in my hand. She's sucking Charley into his prime posture.

I guess the suck-off was to get me ready. The Mistress, who must be one of the Sheik's wives, delicately removes Charley from her mouth and throws off her robe. She is nude, but the burka never comes off, so I don't know which wife she is. She points at the whip and gets down in a doggy position. I whip her ass gently; I don't want to leave any marks. I figure the whip must be Arab foreplay associated with fucking, so all I've got to do is play along.

The mistress' ass is a light brown color and big. I'm not sure where to put Charley, but her hand grabs him and starts to stuff him in her well-lubed glistening butt hole. I push my trudgen uphill and move fast inside her ass hole. She moans and whispers all the while, which is an incentive to fuck her a little harder, so I do. This whole scene has gotten to me, and it does not take me long to cum. Charley gives her six or seven heavy sperm squirts, and as she falls forward on her chest, Charley pops out.

I'm holding on to her huge tits, and I've gotta pull back my hands. She lies there like she's dead, never moving or saying anything as my 'spermies' ride up her alimentary canal. You gotta hand it to these women, they use the oldest form of birth control on the planet, and before you are invited in, their anus is clean as a crystal brandy snifter.

I'm dangling like a fruit on a banana tree after the pull-out. I grab a damp hot towel the maid must have left on a small round table. I lifted my jeans that were down around my ankles. I sure hope there is no hidden camera taking photos of me fucking the Sheik's wife or whoever she was. I wipe off my hands. I don't want to leave any tell-tale cum smug on the golden door knobs.

The maid knew I was coming and opened the door, probably watching the performance on closed circuit tv. She pinches my ball sack right through my trousers and shoves me into the foyer, where there is a private express elevator with a key lock to keep out unauthorized intruders, and I'm home free.

As I leave the Arabesque encounter, I am so befuddled that when I get into the elevator, I accidentally push the 12th-floor button. When the elevator stopped at twelve, I realized I had hit the wrong button, but I know why. I'm thinking of Annabel, a previous tenant.

Annabel Schwartz was a newlywed on the 12th. There is no 13th floor. She invited me into the tiny room in the hall where the washer/dryer was reserved for the smaller units. I didn't know what to expect, so she pulled down her loose sweatpants. She was nude and hopped on the washer top, indicating I should climb on top. So I fucked Annabel as the washer vibrated and chug-chugged. That was fun!

She and her hubby moved out sometime later when they discovered she was pregnant. She wanted a separate room for the baby. I think she was already pregnant when we did the vibrator act. Women in their first months often become nymphos. It's a hormonal thing.

I've been away from my station, so I run out when the elevator reaches the Lobby and sprint to my post.

Valets are instructed not to talk about any off-color encounters, but Sammy, one of the older guys, pulls me aside and says,

"You've been up to the Sheik's apartment?"

"Yep?"

"You musta fucked someone?"

"I've got nothing to talk about."

"I don't care who you fucked as long as it's not the one I'm fucking. That's my deal. You better butt out!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Was it one of the girls?"

"And if it was?"

"DID YOU SEE HER PUSSY?"

"If I fucked her, and I'm not saying I did, then, of course, I would have seen her pussy."

"She had a pussy? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, what the fuck is your problem?"

"Ok, I'll tell you a little story," said Mario, "I called up to the penthouse to return the Sheik's Roll Royce keys. When I arrive, I'm escorted into a small room, and from another door, an older gal comes in wearing a silk gown. She bends over, parts the gown at the back, and beckons to me as she lifts the veil covering her ass."

"It ain't a perfect ass. It has a few wrinkles, but what the fuck? I got the message, and a few minutes later, I'm fucking her standing up while she's bent over, leaning on a chair back. I guess my humping capsized her as her knees buckled; she let go of the chair and fell forward onto a thick Persian rug. I'm just getting started, so I'll keep at it."