Robrotica Ch. 01: The Lot Lizard

A friend of mine claimed that none of his stories have happy endings. These are for you, Rob.

The Lot Lizard

Rob stared at the latest nude his new girlfriend had sent him. They'd met online through a game they both played and, perversely, she had liked Rob almost instantly. They'd started with erotic chat, progressed to hot and heavy phone sex and, when Rob had been fortunate enough to have a load to drop off in her hometown of Wichita, he'd swung by and dropped a load in her mouth and another in her ass. This would qualifier as the best relationship he'd had in a dozen years, except for one thing.

He was looking at a picture of her dick.

"Still the best relationship I've had in two years," he thought as he deleted her phone number and address, removed the game from his phone, and removed his request for loads heading to Kansas. He looked down at his barely touched plate of chicken and waffles and shoved the thing away from him. His fatal heart attack would have to wait until his heartburn died down a little.

She'd had a nicer dick than he did.

He looked at the bill, not surprised to find a separate charge for every coffee refill he'd gotten. Times were tough everywhere, but they all seemed to be conspiring to pay it forward until it hit Rob. He dropped a twenty on the table, figuring the waitress would find a way to squeeze a tip out of it. His truck waited for him out in the lot, its huge engine idling and keeping it warm for him. He just needed to trudge through the slush between them and hope that none of the dark spots hid potholes filled with freezing water.

He was almost there when he heard some laughter. It wasn't that anything was really funny, it was that mean laughter asshats made when they were ridiculing someone. He looked over and saw the object of their attention. It was one of the end-of-the-line prostitutes that plied their trade in lots like this, hoping their instant availability and low prices would let the low-class men sometimes found behind the wheel of a big rigs look past the deficiencies that made them undesirable elsewhere. Her latest sales pitch had been declined with a shove off the running boards of the laugher's truck. She ended up with her ass in one of the puddles of gray slush and water Rob had feared stepping in. It was a tough way to make a living.

He walked over and helped the woman up. She looked rough, even for lot lizard standards. She was probably fifty but looked sixty-five. She wore hotpants that dangled an ass that was all jiggle and no bounce, the tattoo's she gotten in her youth faded and misshapen by the changes in shape her body had suffered. Her arms looked a great deal like the chicken wing he'd decided not to consume. She fished around in the puddle until she found her teeth, popping them in her mouth after shaking the bulk of the gray water off of them. "Thank you, mister."

His instincts told him to extricate himself from the encounter as quickly as possible, but he found himself mesmerized by the woman's cleavage. Her tits were huge but stretched low by the ravage of time. He was almost certain he could see the woman's belly button between them on her low-cut top. He'd lingered too long. She hugged her arms, half frozen. He took off his jacket and placed it on her shoulders, regretting the words even as he spoke them, "Hey, why don't you come warm up in my truck, you look half frozen." She perked up immediately. He could almost hear the cash register noise as she nodded.

Once in his cab with her, he was glad of the unexpected bath she had taken. She smelled like pork rinds and old shoe. "So, handsome, what can I do for you? Suck job is twenty-five, teeth in or out. Double it and you can do anything you want to me."

"Nah. With my luck, you're working with vice."

She cackled at this, which turned into a cough. He thought he heard something chunky come up. She had the voice of a lifelong smoker, so likely the lungs of one as well. Once she recovered, she said, "Well, I best get back to work then. Thank you for your kindness."

"Awful cold out there. You sure you don't want to take the night off?"

"Wish I could." She shrugged his jacket off her shoulders, repeating with a touch of regret in her voice, "Wish I could."

He couldn't believe he was doing this. "Fifty for whatever I want?"

"Pretty much. If it aint been done to me, it aint been done."

Rob suppressed a shudder. He flicked on the little tv in the cab and handed her three twenties. "How about you watch a movie with me?"

She looked at him and smiled. He kind of wished she wouldn't. "You're a sweetheart, ain't you?"

"Yup, I'm the rule that proves the exception. Nice guys finish last."

"I've got a feeling it's all going to pay off for you."

Rob scoffed. "I could win the lottery every year for the rest of my life and still not come out even. I just wish my stories had a happy ending once in a while."

"That I can do, Rob. That I can do." He just pretended he hadn't heard her.

They watched the movie. It wasn't all bad, typical superhero flick, but enough pretty women in it to keep him interested. When it was over, he looked over, hoping the words to get her out of his truck would come to him. She sat there, mouth and eyes wide open, dead as an armadillo on the side of the road in Texas.

"Well, not the first time I've had to deal with a dead hooker." His words startled her. She sucked in a huge breath and started to snore, her eyes still open. Rob shook his head. He'd let her sleep for a bit, he had paperwork to do before he turned in, anyway.

He woke in the morning, unsurprised to no longer possess a wallet, phone, or... pants? He looked around in confusion. She had really stolen his all his pants. CJ crawled out of his corner, whimpering in apology. He scratched the dog behind the ear affectionately. "Fat lot of good you did. Did you show her where I keep my spare credit card, too?"

But, as he moved in behind the wheel to start the day's drive, he had the sudden memory of a too vivid dream. A gorgeous blond, on her knees in front of him, the smooth, muscled body of a porn star with the over full tits to match, was slowly working his cock with a manicured hand tipped with long, red nails. As he erupted, spraying her face and chest with copious amounts of hot, white cum, she raked the other hand down his hip, nearly drawing blood. Then, as he gasped out the last spurt of his seed, he looked down to see the gnarled hand of the aged whore still gripping his cock, his love goo running across her toothless grin.

"I don't even have happy endings in my dreams." He was having a particularly rough week, even for him. It wasn't until he finally managed to get a pair of sweats delivered to his truck at the Flying J that, as he pulled them on, he noticed the row of scratches on his hip.