tagRomanceMissy Gets a Real Man

Missy Gets a Real Man


This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, past or present, is completely coincidental.


Missy had a reputation. She didn't really care though. She'd never cared much for what other people thought of her. Even though she knew those old busybodies at the ladies quilting circle weren't the only ones who gossiped about her. She'd never cared much for 'ladies' either.

She lived in a moderately sized town with a population of about ten thousand or so. The neighborhood she lived in was securely middle class. Most of her neighbors were single men with a few married couples of varying ages. When she'd moved here she'd made sure she rented a house right in the middle of all the single men. She wanted a man. Not just any man would be good enough. She wanted a man who wanted her enough to take her.

That purpose was how she'd earned the reputation of a slut. She knew she'd never get a man just going to work and sitting in her house reading. She got a job at the closest convenience store, selling gas and cigarettes from behind bulletproof glass. She knew the men only bought a few dollars of gas at a time so they could come back as often as possible.

She knew they wanted her. At work she had to wear the buttoned- down shirt and pants of a uniform but she made sure to order them in the smallest sizes she could wiggle into. The pants would have shown a panty line if she'd had one. Not that she didn't wear panties. She did. She wore thongs to keep the center seam of her uniform pants from chafing her pussy lips. The shirt of the uniform stretched quite a bit so she was able to wear one two sizes too small. The buttons strained over her size 36C breasts. She was careful not to sit when she had male customers. The buttons strained rather more than she liked over her belly when she sat. She wore an unlined, satin bra under her shirt. The air conditioning was always set on cold, making her nipples stay hard. She always left one more button undone than any other woman in the neighborhood, making sure to show plenty of cleavage. She found it amusing to check out her male customers, eying their cocks to see how hard they got from staring down her cleavage. She made sure they knew she was looking.

The clothes she wore at home were much different. She liked to wear very loose, very short shorts with a too small bikini top to putter around in her flower garden in her front yard. Whenever possible, she bent over at the waist to pull the weeds, flashing a glimpse of her shaved pussy lips. When she mowed the large yard she wore just a bikini.

She liked to lay out and tan in the early afternoons before she went in to work the evening shift. She had a chain link fence around her back yard, letting the single men in all the houses around hers see her as she tanned. She sprayed oil all over her body before reclining on her cushioned lounge chair. When she flipped to tan her back she untied her top so she wouldn't have a tan line from the ties. The bottoms she wore to tan in were thongs.

She knew most of the men were home on weekends. One of them, Wayne, had such an erratic schedule she was never sure when or for how long he'd be home. He was just like all the others though, stopping by her work anytime he was around, watching her lay out. She knew he wanted her, they all did. He was hard from looking at her erect nipples through her uniform top much more often than any of the others. The question was: did any of the men want her enough to take her the way she wanted?

Wayne was a man of rather simple needs. He needed to not be idle, which was the main reason he worked two jobs with 24 hour shifts. He needed a house to eat, sleep and shower in when he wasn't working. He needed a vehicle he liked. This was a black Porsche 911 fastback. It was also one of the reasons he worked two jobs. It was an expensive car. He needed a sex with a woman much more often than he had time for. That was one of the drawbacks of having two 24 hour shift jobs. Since he noticed that he had a new neighbor, and heard about her reputation, he decided it would be convenient to have sex with her on the one or two days a week he was home. He was sure it'd be easy to convince her of the same convenience.

He'd chatted with her a couple of times through her fence when he was home. She was tanning both times, lying on her belly with the ties of her top undone. He was sitting on an old tire swing the previous owners had left hanging from a branch of an enormous oak tree. The tire looked like an old semi truck tire mounted horizontally instead of vertically. Even though it had been meant for kids it was a nice place to relax with a cold drink on a hot afternoon. After working 48 hours straight he needed a nice place to relax.

He'd gotten hard from the conversations with Missy. Just looking at her plumply curved body in that too-small bikini would have been enough. But knowing that if she were to turn over, or even if she just got up to go into the house, she'd have to adjust her top to keep her nipples from showing made his cock throb. Added to that were the topics of their conversations. She was very open about discussing anything related to sex. Their first chat was about sexual positions. She told him her favorites, some she'd never tried, and some she didn't care for. He told her he'd tried many different positions, his favorites, and the ones he found difficult to do. Their second conversation involved details of encounters they'd each had. He had the oddest sense that she was a little inexperienced. He trusted his instincts and intuition but this time they were totally at odds with her reputation. How could a woman almost every man in the neighborhood claimed to have fucked be inexperienced?

Every other single man in the neighborhood had gone out on one date with her and told very similar stories afterward. She wore tops that just almost revealed her nipples, skirts that just almost revealed whether or not she wore any panties, or dresses that did both. She smiled a lot, touched a lot, and made a lot of deliberately obvious glances into the men's laps. Some of the touches were just as obviously deliberate brushes of her fingertips, ass, or a hip against their flies. By the time they got back to her place every single one of them had sported a raging erection.

Their stories varied some after that. Some of the men claimed she was so wild to fuck they barely got the front door closed before she was taking their cocks out of their pants, raising her skirt or dress, and having them fuck her standing against the door. Some of the men claimed she continued the tease all the way to her bedroom, making them slowly undress themselves and her and fucking slowly on her bed. Still others went wild with her, taking their own cocks out of their pants and bending her over the back of her living room couch, pounding into her pussy from behind.

Missy didn't care what kind of stories they made up about her. It was public fact that she had dated almost every single man in the neighborhood and that she did dress and act the slut on those dates. It was publicly accepted that, because of her clothes and actions on those dates, what the men said about her actions after the dates must also be fact.

She knew that her slut act was just that, an act. Almost all of the men took her to dinner at the Four Seasons forty miles away. The specialist doctors bored her silly with talk of this knee surgery or that sprained ankle. The lawyers droned on about mergers and takeovers and settlements. The accountants carried on a monologue about taxes. She had to put on an academy award performance just to get through the evening, much less smile, laugh, and tease.

Tonight she'd gone out with what seemed like the last available man in a ten mile radius of her house or work. John was an accountant, a junior partner in the largest firm in town. Missy could tell within five minutes exactly how the date would go. It would be almost an exact replay of all the other dates she'd gone on with accountants. She was right too. He picked her up exactly on time in his very respectable tan Buick. She wore her almost-black hair down in ringlets around her shoulders and down her back. Her dress was white satin, spaghetti strapped, and very low cut. The length would have been a modest ankle length but for the slit in the left side all the way up to her hip. On her feet were sandals with 4.5 inch stiletto heels. She looked hot and she knew it.

John had told her he was taking her to a nice dinner in a town an hours' drive away. He claimed it was because he didn't think any of the restaurants any closer were worthy of her. Missy knew it was because he still lived with his parents and didn't want anyone he knew to see him with her and get him in trouble with his father. She knew his father hated her because of her reputation. Image was everything with that family.

The restaurant was very high class. The dress code was black tie making Missy glad that she'd worn a nice dress instead of a denim mini skirt and tank top with a built in bra. She ordered one of the few menu items she could pronounce, salmon with whole green beans and wild rice, and made a show of eating. She never took a large bite; she didn't want her cheeks to distend while she chewed. She made sure to take the prongs all the way into her mouth, close her lips around the tines and slowly draw the fork out from between them.

The table was perfectly sized for two people, giving Missy the opportunity to slide her foot up and down the inside of John's calf. The angle was wrong for her to look directly into his lap but when she got up and returned from her single trip to the ladies' room she looked and saw the bulge of his erection. She knew he saw her looking. She also knew that he knew the glance was deliberate.

She continued to stroke his inner calf with her foot. She also reached out to touch his hand or arm as he droned on about how she should file her taxes next year. She kept her eyes on his whenever possible, nodding and smiling whenever he paused to take a breath. She barely spoke a single sentence during the entire tedious hour. It was taxing her acting skills to even appear mildly interested. She concentrated on keeping the top of her dress pulled as low as possible and her breasts thrust forward.

Finally the meal was finished. They walked back out to his boring Buick. What happened to men who drove exciting vehicles? Or at least interesting ones, Missy thought. That was when the evening took a turn for the worse that she never expected.

"Super 8 had no vacancies so I got a room at the Motel 6," said John. "I hope you're not expecting to have sex all night. I only have a couple of hours before I need to get back home. I don't want my parents to miss me at breakfast."

Missy looked at him in shock. Motel 6, she thought. I'm not even good enough for the Holiday Inn?

"I don't think so Johnny boy," she said. "I'm not interested in fucking a man who thinks I'm so easy I don't even need to be asked if I want to fuck. Didn't your Mommy and Daddy teach you any manners? You're not taking me to any cheap motel. You're not taking me anywhere but home."

John started to sputter. He reached the driver's door, got in, having unlocked the door with a remote, and instead of waiting for Missy to walk around the back of the car, he started it and drove off.

Missy was even more shocked now. All the other men had taken her home before asking or suggesting that they wanted to have sex with her. When she refused, they either took her refusal graciously or just got a little frustrated and asked her for a second date. The only thing she'd do was ask for their number and promise to call when she was ready for them to take her out again. She never called because she was never ready to be bored by the same man again. This was totally different. She'd never been stranded before.

She must have stood on the parking lot of the restaurant for almost a full minute before she shook herself lightly and decided there was nothing for it but to start walking. It was almost 1 a.m. The restaurant staff had locked the doors behind her and John as they'd left. The parking lot was deserted, John having been the last to leave. She'd seen a gas station just a few miles down the road. She'd left her cell phone at home to be polite and only had a few dollars in her little white satin clutch purse. She hoped they had a pay phone. She'd have to call information and give them Wayne's address and hope that he had a house phone, and that he was home, and that he was willing to drive an hour to come pick her up. During their backyard conversations she'd gotten the impression that he was basically a nice guy. She just hoped that 'nice guy' would include helping her out.

By the time she got within sight of the gas station her feet were killing her. She had blisters on both heels and both little toes. When she saw the station she almost sank down onto the shoulder of the road in relief. It was open. She reached down and took off her shoes. The station was still almost a mile away and she just could not stand walking another step in them.

She was halfway there, just past an interstate off-ramp, when she felt drops of rain on her face.

"Fucking great," she muttered to herself. "Not only am I abandoned eighty miles from home without a phone, have to walk four miles down a poorly lit road to get to the nearest place that might have a pay phone, get huge blisters on my feet from these damn shoes, and have to walk the last mile barefoot, now it starts to rain! There should be a law against leaving your date more than a couple of blocks from their house."

While she's ranting to the night, a car comes up the off-ramp, lighting the road in front of her. She steps to the side, not even thinking of sticking her thumb out to ask for a ride. All she's thinking about now is just placing one foot in front of the other. The sky opens up as the car pulls over a little ways in front of her. She's soaked to the skin in seconds as she watches the reverse lights come on and the car back toward her.

Wayne was headed home from 36 hours at his paramedic job when his gas light came on. He knew from experience that it only came on when there was less than two gallons in the tank. He signaled and left the freeway at the first gas station he saw with the lights still on. He'd just turned onto the access road when his headlights flashed across a white figure walking down the road. His heart jumped, thinking he'd seen a ghost. As he passed the pale figure, he thought he recognized his neighbor. What's Missy doing here? He thought. It's Tuesday night. She has dates every Tuesday. He pulled over just as the rain that had been threatening all night chose that moment to start pouring out of the sky. He backed up and reached over to open the passenger door as she came up to the car.

"Missy?" he asked. "What are you doing walking down the road in the middle of the night?"

She looked miserable as she said, "It's a pretty embarrassing story."

"If you want to tell me I'll promise to listen and not judge. Just get in before you get hypothermia."

She got into his car looking like a waif. Her long black hair was plastered to her skin, her mascara was running down her cheeks and her vivid emerald eyes looked suspiciously bright. Being a man, Wayne couldn't help but notice that her wet white dress was practically transparent. He could see the darkness of her erect nipples, even her lightly tanned skin. He'd already been considering asking her out, getting aroused from thinking about it, and now here she was in a dress that didn't conceal anything with a slit in the side all the way up to her hip. Now was not the time to be a potential date though. Now she just needed a friend.

"I need to stop in here to get some gas," he said. "Why don't you use the ladies' room and dry your face? I promise not to leave without you."

Missy gave him a weak smile. "Ok," she said. "As long as you promise."

Wayne pulled up to the pumps and went through the routine of pumping gas. While he waited for Missy to finish in the restroom after he paid for his fuel, he noticed a cappuccino machine by the register. He thought she could use a little hot pick-me-up. He got her a small one and went back out to his car to wait. She didn't take long. He'd only been waiting a few minutes before she walked out of the station and got into the Porsche.

She smiled and said, "You waited."

"I promised," he said. "I never break a promise. It's why I make so few of them. They're usually impossible to keep. And here," he handed her the cappuccino; "even though it's May that rain is cold. This should help you warm up."

"Thank you," she said, taking the cup and sounding just a little flustered.

"You sound surprised," he said. "Do you feel like telling me why?"

"You know what everyone says about me," she said. "I'm a little wild at best and a slut or whore at worst. Men only want and expect one thing from me. They expect me to fuck them just because they asked. I tell them no because I don't want just sex. I want to be wanted so much the man almost can't control himself and won't take 'no' for an answer. They're never nice to me. They might have picked me up on the side of the road but they'd never have thought to suggest that I clean up some. They'd certainly never have gotten me a hot drink to keep me from getting too chilled."

"Most of the men around here are all assholes," he said. "I'm not like them. You're a lady in need, a damsel in distress, and I'd do the same for any woman."

She looked at him so long he wondered if she was going to say anything else. He was curious about what had happened tonight but didn't want to push her into talking before she was ready. When she did speak, it was all in a rush; as if she was trying to get the story told before she lost her nerve.

"John didn't even ask if I wanted to have sex with him," she said. "He just told me that the Super 8 was full and we'd have to go to the Motel 6. He couldn't be missed at breakfast so we wouldn't be able to fuck all night. Even if I'd been interested in having sex with him I wouldn't have after he said that. I'd never cared that the whole neighborhood thinks I'm a slut for the way I dress and act on dates but I never thought men would think I was so easy that all it would take to fuck me is dinner in a fancy restaurant and telling me they got a cheap motel room for a few hours. I'm sick of it."

"Was the food good at least?" he asked with a smile, trying to lighten her mood.

She gave a little laugh. "Yes, the food was good. That's about the only part of the dates that is. But they could have taken me to the local steak house and the food would have been just as good. I don't need to be impressed. I just want to be wanted. I want to not be so bored on a date. I want to talk with a man instead of him talking at me."

"Well," he couldn't resist saying with a laugh, "I've never been considered boring. And I like to hear my conversation partner's opinion."

She smiled a little at that but didn't say anything. The exit he needed was the next one so he didn't say anything else. He couldn't remember the drive home from work ever going by so fast.

When Wayne drove his car up her driveway, Missy just sat in the passenger seat for a minute as the engine idled. She stared straight ahead with her hands folded in her lap around her little purse. The warm air from the vents had partially dried her hair and the front of her dress. Now that she was safely home she was a little embarrassed. She'd never wanted any man to see her at her worst.

"Thank you for the ride," she said. "And I'm sorry for ranting so much. I usually don't do that."

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byjezebeldelilah© 5 comments/ 16907 views/ 5 favorites

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