tagRomanceMeanie Pie

Meanie Pie


He groaned again but she didn't seem to notice; just kept prattling on and on about how excited she was for this opportunity. He held up his middle finger but she cheerfully continued her one-sided conversation.

"Sharon, for the love of God, shut up!" he finally said.

"Fine," she huffed and pouted. "They said you were a real meanie pie. I'll just read then."

With that, she pulled out her Braille book and quietly read to herself. He signaled to the flight attendant and bought another scotch on the rocks for himself. He looked down at the napkin and smiled to himself; the flight attendant had written her phone number on it. He carefully folded up the napkin and put in in his shirt bucket.


Gary Weaver was used to this type of attention. At six foot four and two hundred and six pounds, he was a big man. In college he'd played football and even played two pre-season games with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers before getting cut from the roster. His face was square, his eyes a deep brown and his hair a naturally curly brown. When he smiled, which were seldom, his teeth were straight, even and white.

Getting cut from the NFL was fine, though; he knew the life expectancy of a Defensive Tackle wasn't the greatest. He moved back to Louisiana and immediately secured a job with the Louisiana Department of Rehabilitation Services. That had been his major field of studies in college; Special Education.

When he signed on with LDRS, everyone was fawning over wheelchair bound clients; he picked up the Visually Impaired/Blind client load.

With the same efficient and matter of fact mannerism that he had pounded the Offensive line, he pounded his client load. Many of his clients found themselves cut altogether, others found that they were expected to apply themselves and succeed; he fully expected the Visually Impaired and Blind to be able to compete for jobs in the General Population. Why else would they provide education, training, adaptive technologies?

To the client that was used to simply showing up and receiving a stipend for attending school and getting free 'toys' and computers from their previous counselor, Gary Weaver was a real shock. He had received several 'Hate' letters, threatening phone calls, and quite a few threats of lawsuits.

Sharon Weaver, no relation, was one of his first clients. The bubbly eighteen year old had bounded into his office, parents hovering over her to make sure she didn't hurt herself, and he had outlined his plans for the high school senior.

"I want you to apply for the Pell Grant," he intoned.

"Okay," she readily agreed.

"We will provide you with the adaptive technology you will need to keep up with your sighted counterparts in the classrooms, provide readers to assist with study materials, Braille books where available, you do know how to read Braille?" he went on.

"Yes I do," she proudly declared.

Together, with many interruptions from her mother and father, Gary and Sharon outlined her curriculum and goals. He smiled sardonically at her choice of Special Education; most of these optimistic bubble headed kids believed that they would make great counselors, as they 'understood' the needs of the handicapped.

Five years later, she graduated at the top of her class at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette and he closed her file.

As many enemies as he'd made in his client load, he was equally disliked by his fellow counselors. His lack of concern for their feelings and complete disregard for tact did not endear him to any of them.

"Well, if you'd pull your head out of your ass, you'd have a better chance of getting transferred," he told a counselor that had been turned down for a post with the Baton Rouge office.

"Look, cock sucker, having a full docket is not free reign to whine," he told another.

"Get off my nuts, Florence," he told his supervisor after yet another complaint had been filed against him.

For all the complaints, all the dissatisfied clients, Gary Weaver were a real producer. Other LDRS offices across the state requested his assistance and he had covered the entire state, assisting other counselors with their client loads, motivating other clients to apply themselves, to succeed. One counselor had asked him the secret to his success.

"Easy, I don't give a flying fuck about any of these pathetic little shits," he said. He did not crack a smile at the shocked expression on the other counselor's face.

Other states began to request his assistance and he traveled to Mississippi, Arkansas, Texas, and Georgia. That was what he was doing on this endless flight with Sharon Weaver, intern from Hell. New York City had requested his assistance after he'd testified to Congress about Rehabilitation Services in the United States.

"It's not a fucking vacation, numb nuts," he told John, the counselor for Deaf Services.

"It's not a sight seeing tour, you wrinkled up douche bag," he snarled at Maggie. "Maybe if you learned how to do your fucking job, they'd ask you for your help too."

"Gary, Gary, I do wish you would learn a little tact," Florence told him.

"Bite me," he said and smiled as she wrote that down in his file.

Despite all the complaints, he was the highest paid counselor in the office. He was the one that had to travel all over the state, now all over the country. As far as he was concerned, the other counselors were just sucking up a paycheck for the simple act of showing up.


Well, that was one way of getting him back; saddle him with little Miss Fucking Sunshine, the intern from Hell. He looked at her again as she read to herself. Her long blonde hair was pulled back by two hair clips, which left her small face bare. Her eyes were a horrible milky white in color, but other than that, she was quite pretty with a small nose, pale pink lips and small white teeth. She was very short, not quite five feet tall, and had absolutely no tits, waist, hips or ass. Has he not known that she was twenty-two, he would have sworn that she was just a kid.

Actually, he knew some kids that had better bodies than Ms. Sharon Weaver. Her sensible business suit and sensible shoes made her look as though she was playing 'dress-up' in her Mommy's clothing. For his part, he was wearing a pullover long sleeve shirt and blue jeans. No one gives a shit what you look like on these long flights, might as well be comfortable. Plus that, if you dress nicely, panhandlers at airports try to approach you for handouts. None but the bravest approached him, though; he barreled through crowds and walked with a purpose.

"We'll be landing in about forty five minutes," the flight attendant told Sharon when Sharon asked for the hundredth time when they'd be landing.

"And then we go to the Excelsior Hotel and..." Sharon started telling Gary.

"I know what our itinerary is, Sharon," he grumbled.

"Meanie Pie," she groused at him and he rolled his eyes.

"Just how fucking old are you?" he barked.

"Old enough to know that profanity is the sign of a weak mind," she shot back.

She had to scramble to keep up with him; the only act of kindness he'd displayed to her was he helped her locate her four suitcases at the baggage blame area.

"What do you need four suitcases for?" he groused as he loaded them onto a skycap's cart.

"We're going to be here for at least two months, right?" she asked. "Well, I'm not going to walk around New York without clothes!"


The hotel clerk was extremely apologetic but since it was Sunday there wasn't much that could be done about it. When the New York Rehab had booked the room, they'd seen Gary and Sharon Weaver and assumed that the two were married.

"At least give us a room with two double beds, please," Gary asked the clerk and they were quickly downgraded to a double occupancy room.

"Look Sharon, we'll get it straightened out tomorrow," he told her. "Plus that, I don't plan on being here tonight."

"You don't?" she asked, worriedly. "But, what am I supposed to do?"

"Hey, hey, hey, all I've been hearing out of you is how we're not supposed to help y'all, we're supposed to let y'all figure things out on your own, how y'all want to be all independent and shit, and then when I tell you, 'Here's your chance,' you get all uptight and freaked out?" he chided her and plopped his one suitcase and garment bag onto the far bed. N

"You're absolutely right," she said and set her jaw determinedly.

He wanted to laugh; when she set her jaw like that her bottom lip stuck out and she looked like a little kid. He pulled the napkin out of his pocket and got an outside extension.

"Hey, Gail?" he cheerfully said. "This is Gary Weaver, flight 1082? Got any plans for tonight? No, I don't waste time, how about you?"

He listened for a moment, and then laughed.

"Well, yes, there are some things that a man does want to take his time with, but I say 'Hey, why beat around the bush, unless the bush needs it?'" he laughed.

"I'm sure I can find it," he said and hung up. Sharon sat at the foot of her bed, head down. Gary cheerfully grabbed a jacket from his garment bag, shrugged it on and walked to the door.

"See you later," he called out.

"'Bye," Sharon quietly said. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and called her parents to let them know that she was in New York City, safe and sound.


Gail shared an apartment with two other flight attendants. True to his word, Gary did not waste any time. Within moments of his knocking at the door, her clothes lay on the floor and his head was between her legs. He lapped at her hairless lips and dug his tongue in as far as he could reach, but avoided any contact with her clitoris. He used one hand to massage her ample rump; the other hand was busy groping her pneumatic breasts and nipples.

"Why beat around the bush when you can eat around the bush?" he said and slid a finger into her drooling pussy. She cooed and giggled as he fucked the finger in and out of her pussy, then arched her back as he finally caught her clitoris into his mouth.

"Give me that cock," she demanded and he slipped his jeans off and flexed his muscles a few times for her approval. She fixed her gaze on his throbbing manhood and he smiled.

She grunted as he lay on top of her and slid his cock into her pussy, inch by inch. When he'd finally bottomed out, she groaned in ecstasy.

"Mother fucker, you're big," she gasped and he slowly, maddeningly pulled out and then quickly shoved into her again.

"Aw, shit!" she cried out as her orgasm rippled through her. "Aw, shit, aw fuck, aw shit!"

"Uh uh!" she protested when he tried to introduce his cock to her ample rump. "I don't even let my boyfriend fuck me there!"

It was one o'clock in the morning when he pulled out of her pussy for the last time and put his jeans back on. She lay in the middle of the rumpled bed; his come dripping slowly from her pussy. Her puffy lips were widely splayed open and she groaned again.

"Shit, I don't think I can close my legs," she complained.

"Gee, I'm sorry, maybe you shouldn't have opened them in the first place," he said sarcastically and left the bedroom.

One of her roommates was watching a talk show when he walked through the living room. Neither she nor Gary said a word to each other and he walked out into the night air. He got his bearings and walked back to the hotel.


As quietly as he could, Gary let himself back into the room and lay down on the bed. Within moments, he was wide-awake; Sharon snored very loudly. He looked with wonder at her; she didn't seem to be big enough to snore, certainly not that loud! But snore she did, and it was quite loud indeed.

He shook her lightly and that stopped her for long enough for him to fall asleep.

She was taking her sweet time in the bathroom and he had to piss horribly. He would pound on the door and she would call out that it would be just another minute. Just as he was about to either open the window and spray the hapless pedestrians nine floors down, or use the wastebasket, she opened the bathroom door and exited, dress and ready for the work day ahead.

He did not bother to close the door, just pissed noisily. He still did not shut the door while he shaved or showered; Sharon was completely blind, it did not matter to him.

She sat at the foot of her bed, which had been neatly made when he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in only a towel.

"Who the hell makes their bed in a hotel?" he asked as he pulled on his trousers.

"I do," she said. "I just can't stand to leave a room with an unmade bed.

"That's what they have maid service for," he commented and knotted his tie. "Want to get some breakfast before we head downtown?"

"Sure!" she happily said and grabbed her cane. He looked at her in amusement as she practically skipped at his side.

The hotel provided a simple buffet and they availed themselves of the eggs and bacon and cinnamon buns. Sharon insisted on carrying her own plate, but conceded to letting Gary carry her coffee and juice. They sat down and he had to look away; Sharon chewed with her mouth open. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Sharon, close your mouth," he said abruptly.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I'm so sorry! Sometimes I forget!"

She did close her mouth and he was able to relax again. He was a hard man, not used to feelings or compassion, but he did have his quirks too. He did not like slovenly people, lazy people, or dishonest people. Chewing with one's mouth open was lazy or slovenly and he couldn't stand it.

The office they were looking for was actually only a few blocks away and they walked to the building.

The new head of Services, Andrew Young, greeted them warmly; he was in over his head and he knew it. The counselors had been working there for years and had grown quite complacent in their jobs and their clients were used to making demands and getting whatever they wanted. Of the three thousand clients he had on his dockets, less than two hundred actually had any type of employment history at all.

"I'm not going to play games, or pussyfoot around," Gary told him. "That's disgraceful. That's inexcusable. That's pathetic."

You're not getting any argument from me, I agree with you wholeheartedly," Andrew said. "That's why when I read your transcripts from the Congressional hearings, I immediately called Florence."

"And, look, I'm not here to make friends with anyone, even you," Gary went on. "So, let's skip the bullshit luncheon you had planned to introduce me to the staff here and just get started. How you want to do this? Alphabetically or by Seniority?"

"Seniority," Andrew said and smiled. "You may not be here to win any friends, but you already won one in me, Mr. Weaver."

He and Gary smiled at each other; a common understanding passing between them.


Ms. Baldwin fairly simmered in rage as the rude man and his little intern went through her office and grabbed files.

"I thought the South was supposed to have 'Southern Gentlemen,'" she said harshly.

"Nah, those are just little pussies that can't get laid," Gary said and smiled tightly at her shocked expression.

Within two hours, Ms. Baldwin was in Andrew's office, complaining of a severe headache as Gary pointed out wasteful charge and poor planning in file after file to her.

I'll be right back," Gary told Sharon as she was trying to make sense out of the file she was listening to on her laptop.

Andrew chortled as he called the District Attorney's office to file charges of fraud against Ms. Baldwin. Gary returned to the small office and tapped Sharon on the shoulder.

"You can stop right there, we're going to Don's office now," he gruffly said and she had to scramble to follow him to the next counselor's office.

"Look, numb nuts, y'all don't get a fucking choice," Gary told the man. "Either hand over the files or get the fuck out of my way."

"Why are you such a meanie pie?" Sharon hissed as they went through incompetent file after incompetent file.

"Look Little Miss Fucking Sunshine," he growled. "Believe it or not, not everyone that works with the handicapped, disabled, disadvantaged, impaired, challenged, handicap able, whatever the fuck you people want to be called today, is actually looking for the best interest of their clients."

"Humph! she said and bent down to her task.

"You plan on eating?" Andrew smiled as Gary tossed another file onto the 'Close Immediately' stack and nodded his head yes.

"Yeah, since y'all already paid for it," Gary smiled and got to his feet. Sharon closed her laptop with a sigh.

She hated to admit it, but it looked like Gary was right; Ms. Baldwin and Mr. Decker had numerous files that should have been closed out years ago; the clients either placed in gainful employment, or in workshop employment. Very few of the clients were currently in training or schooling, so why were they still open cases?

The rest of the counselors sat in barely concealed contempt of Mr. Young and whoever this large brute of a man was. They'd already heard from Ms. Baldwin and Mr. Decker just how intolerable this Mr. Weaver was and was not looking forward to their turn with him. Mr. Young had made no bones about wanting to get rid of the majority of them, but because they were state employees, that was nearly impossible. There were eight counselors in all, but Gary and Sharon would be in New York for at least two months.

"Why were you so mean to MS. Baldwin?" Sharon asked as they trudged back to their hotel room.

"Because she had a shipload of clients that should have been thrown out years ago," Gary said.

"But still, if she just doesn't know any better," Sharon said.

"Look, honey, I know y'all want to see nothing but the roses and ignore the thorns," he sighed as they waited for the light to change. "But she's been with the NYDRS for thirty two years; she knows better, just doesn't want to do anything about it."

When they got to their hotel, Gary went to the desk to inquire about an available room and Sharon went upstairs. He was told that they did anticipate a vacancy in a few days.

"Well, it looks like I'm stuck with your snoring for another one or two nights," he groused at Sharon as she was hanging up her jacket. She blushed lightly at his comment.

"Oh!" she said. "Did I snore last night? And what time did you get in? I didn't hear you come in."

"No, you didn't snore, but you were pretty busy with that chainsaw you sleep with," he joked. "I guess it was about two o'clock when I got in, why? What time did you get in?"

"About ten, I guess," she said. "Well, if I snore tonight, just shake me until I stop, okay?"

"Oh, you don't want me bounding you around on your head like I did last night?" he asked.

"You did not!" she laughed.

He had to admit, she was kind of cute when she smiled or laughed. She was definitely not his type, though. She was completely flat chested and he loved big big breasts, even the fake ones. She looked so much like an innocent little kid, and he preferred his women on the trashy side, the sluttier the better. That's why most of his relationships were of the 'one-night stand' variety.

"But, hopefully, I won't be back tonight, so you can saw wood all night long," he told her.

"Oh? Where are you going?" she asked, concerned.

"There's a bar a few blocks away; I'm going to check it out, see if I can get laid," he said and she blushed at his directness.

"Oh," she said and hung her head. He hung his jacket and slacks and slipped on a pair of jeans and pulled out his cowboy boots.


"Hey there, cowboy," a loud red head called out as Gary entered the bar and he smiled widely.

That was his kind of woman. Her tits were unencumbered by any bra and wobbled deliciously in her tight blouse. Her skirt was very short and her legs were very long. He sidled over to where she sat and asked point blank if she'd like a drink and maybe a little company tonight.

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