The Mix-Up Ch. 03

A Chevy Chevette with a hanging fender parked across two parking spaces, next to his lot full of antique Mercedes, BMWs, and Rolls Royces. In the lot full of classic angles and historic car design, it sat like a dirty throwaway lunchbox.

"Dick Burns! Where's my brother? Dick!"

"Richard? I couldn't stop him," his portly female assistant said, shrugging. Richard Burns turned in horror, his eyes widening at the bloated slob spilling popcorn from the lobby. He wore a giant green bed sheet with pins holding the back together. It fluttered in the wind, just enough to show his greying chest hair.

"Brother! I ain't seen you since you snorted coke off that hooker's ass." His assistant's mouth dropped. "Jesus Christ an' heavens, what, didn't like the smell? Looks like you seen Casper. Figured I'd bring my car for some work." Lester folded his arms with a content snort. His younger brother waved off his assistant.

Lester nudged his younger brother's arm. "What they feedin' you around here, looking like Skeletor." Richard didn't budge.

Richard gritted his teeth. "I am certain a hundred other body shops can fix your... car."

"And yours can't? That's discreemination."

"Get out of here, Lester. This is a fine automobile lot. Vintage."

Lester's eyes narrowed. "Mine's an antique. Veen-tage. Told you I'm gonna pay you for work."

A squealing Civic turned into the lot. Richard's temples pounded. Just my luck. Another poor asshole. The girl who stepped out flicked her long blonde curls over her shoulder, her tanktop showing off her fit young rack. Richard's eyes burned holes in her ass, how she filled her yoga pants, until she abruptly stopped at the sight of the Chevette and Lester. She froze, her face contorting into a disgusted sneer as she waved off the older man with her. Within seconds her hair billowed out of her car as she whipped out the parking lot. Lester stood completely unaware.

Goddammit Lester, Richard thought. Haven't seen a piece of ass like that in years. Lester leaned against the fender of a 1962 Austin-Healey, making the metal groan.

"Figured I'd help out my little brother." He pulled out three grubby, yellowed dollar bills.

"That'd be a first, pal. Look, take your beater south of the interstate where it belongs." Still there, the assistant put a hand over her mouth, now eating some popcorn herself.

"When have you EVER helped anyone else?"

"Listen here little Dicky, there's a reason why I ain't come by much. Ever since you moved out, you just 'shamed of who you is!"

"And what's that? A success. I'll take that over - over whatever the hell you are."

"The real deal! Actin' like we didn't use to watch them tapes in my RV, oh no - you too good sellin' rich folk shit boxes and wearin' ties to remember fam - lee! Faker than a Washington nickel."

Richard turned, shaking his head. "Get your piece of shit car off my lot, Lester. You're nothing but bad news for everyone you've ever met."

~~~~~

Later that night, Lester slammed his RV door shut, rattling the collectible glass Coke bottles he stored above his mini fridge. One shattered, spraying glass shards on the many filthy rugs he'd draped all over the floor that colored it a dirty beige. His brother's words rang in his ears. His beady eyes peered back in the black reflection of his 1980s TV, searching for meaning in the dark void.

It was true. He hadn't done anyone right his whole life. But who could he help? Not that damn brother of his. He was a lost cause. Not Tara, maybe not yet anyway. She'd been too clear threatening jail time, and her eyes didn't lie.

That damn little pharmacist! He was probably locked up in the shithole pen down in Forrest City. He's probably cowering like one of Leon's chihuahuas. Lester laughed. He wondered if his old friend still worked the prison's phone lines, but it'd been 15 years since he'd been there. He dug out his phone book from under his bed.

"Forrest City Correctional Facility, Sherese speakin'."

"Calling for Garth, I think. Garrett."

"Is this Lester Burns?"

"Sherese, Lord won't ever let you forget the name of the man you starved."

"Mhmm honey, you know I'm prayin' every day. We got a couple Gary's, what's his last name?"

"He's a stick thin pharm - cist. Looks like a tether ball pole that grew up inna drought."

"Oh, I know him, he's been moping all day. You take care now Mr. Lester, connecting in 3 - 2 - 1..."

Gary was dreaming of his hot blonde fantasy when a guard banged on his cell and escorted him to the prison phone booth. He picked up the phone, which wasn't much thinner than his arms.

"It's me, bud! Your friend Les."

The reed thin man hissed into the receiver. "You're the reason I'm in jail! I don't even - even—" He clenched his white knuckled fists, the cuffs digging into his wrists.

"Garth, I'm callin' to apologize. Don't give me a reason to hang up. I didn't think you'd get caught... and also, you owe me that key."

Gary's voice rose. "My name is Gary! Not Garth, not Garrett - Gary! Gary! Just leave me alone!"

"Been thinkin' you could use my help so—"

"Your help? I'm sitting in here because of your help!" The guard pointed at him and mouthed for him to cool it.

"Fine - figured I could help you but if you're going to be a 'lil twerp about it, I won't." Lester's heavy breathing filled the silence. "Goodbye, Gary."

"Wait - wait - wait, the least you can do is get me out of here! You OWE me that. Bond is $2,000. I'll pay you back, I promise."

"Can't do it. Got my own bill to pay the gubmint. Unless you got some extra cash laying around."

Gary cursed his never-ending student loans and the idea of the huge Lester lumbering in his studio looking under his couch cushions for money. His poor goldfish would've flipped down in seconds at his ripe stench. His poor goldfish!

"Wait please, PLEASE feed my goldfish, no one else is returning my calls."

"I figure its 'cus you're a pervert. Folks have boundaries, even for feeding fish, y'know."

"Please!"

"Fine - I'll do this for you, friend."

The guard pointed to his watch as Gary hurriedly told Lester how to properly feed his Izumo Nankins. With his stomach doing flips, he swallowed and quickly told Lester his apartment address and keypad number.

Lester yawned on the line. How hard could it be to feed a damn fish?

"Got it bud!"

Gary cringed and slid down in his seat. Being in jail known as Lester's friend was the lowest moment of his life.

~~~~~

The sun settled over the horizon as Taryn checked her constantly buzzing phone. She'd gotten 25,700 more Instagram followers since noon, many with blue check marks. The messages rolled in, many congratulatory, some suggestive, all wanting of her. On Tinder, someone reported her as fake and using a celebrity's pictures. She beamed. She was getting somewhere!

She sipped on her protein shake. It tasted a little off, saltier than usual.

Page after page of cars scrolled down her screen. Her Civic still sat in its usual parking spot, but she'd found some good leads, all before she saw Lester at a dealership. She'd told her dad she was done for the day car shopping and felt suddenly ill, which wasn't far from the truth, seeing his cellulite ridden ass peeking out of his ridiculous green outfit.

Work never ended with her newfound fame. She mouthed short intros to herself that the agency requested for Twitter and Instagram.

"Hi, I'm Taryn A.," she said with a wink. Amy would've told her she wasn't on the Bachelor.

"I'm Taryn, from Little Rock. Thank you... all." She bit her lip. The urge to say 'y'all' was engrained in the southern girl. Wearing a tight white sweater dress and black thigh high boots, she smirked at her change in fortune. The outfit was a step up from her usual leggings and tank tops from the last year, but so was her new life as a model. It was expected now. Probably far too stylish for her date tonight, but she didn't want to wander into her closet for another hour and get lost doting on any of her other new dresses. The packages from Mr. Redding kept coming. He'd seen her eyes light up at the boots on her photoshoot - they arrived the next day. She remembered searching the Weitzman's online - they were $950.

"I'm Taryn Addington, the newest Ford Model... model. Girl?" She cringed. So cheesy.

"I'm Taryn Addington, the -" Her phone glowed. She'd put off going on a date with the D1 baseball player for months. Her best friend chirped in her ear.

"T, are you going tonight? He's literally a man goddess. If you don't marry him, I will. Like, we NEED to see him."

"If you do, I'm literally going to kill you, Amy."

"We'll hide behind another booth!"

"Amy, go to bed." She stepped out quickly, each click of her boots echoing off nearby apartments.

Two hours later she hugged her date goodbye, ignoring five missed calls from Amy. His broad shoulders never lowered. He sputtered at times, the cockiness that he slung at other girls disappearing as soon as she walked in, her perfume washing over him, her shapely legs crossing and exposing generous amounts of her teen thighs. Her beauty intimidated him. She'd seen it in men her entire life. Guys at the bar nursed beers, their eyes sticking to her as they whispered to their buddies about the blonde in the corner. She wasn't dumb.

The streets whizzed by in their gridded intervals every 7 seconds. A spark of lust lit in her. Butterflies flipped in her stomach as she gripped the steering wheel harder, her black manicured nails digging deeper into the leather every second. Fuck. Only a couple more miles before hitting Rebsamen Rd. to her complex.

She closed her eyes hard, rubbing her flawlessly smooth thighs together. There'd been a chance her little red g-string would've come off tonight if the date had gone right - really right, she'd never hooked up on a first date - but now the fabric teased her, brushing against the parts of her body she yearned to touch. She bit her lip and gazed into her rearview mirror, her uneven breathing heaving her generous chest. If only she was the 40-something mom in the van behind her, unbothered by the world, whose main worry lay in what chicken dish to make for dinner. The momentary distraction worked until the mom honked her horn twice. The light had shone green for five seconds.

She squirmed in her seat, needing to fulfill the untapped energy sending butterflies throughout her body. It's the hormones. Just get to the apartment. One hand came off the steering wheel.

~~~~~

Trudging by the side of the road, Lester wiped his head with his greasy palms. He'd dropped off his Chevette at a half boarded up body shop for the night, and as he'd reached his RV, feeding those damn goldfish popped into his head.

"Heck, poor thangs gotta eat, same as me. Lord knows that little twerp wasn't feedin' them but soy and sawdust."

He'd walked half a few blocks before the chafing between his thighs slowed him to a halt. He collapsed at the bus stop, sending a scarf-wearing homeless woman scurrying off. Only a mile or two to Gary's apartment and his damn fish.

"Fuckin' hell," he said. The warm summer air fell heavily on his eyelids and before long his raspy snores echoed off the cheap tin enclosure.

A car's screeching brake pads woke him from his temporary nap, his snorting breath blowing open his greasy bedsheet, exposing tuffs of grey chest hair. He had to be still dreaming when his blonde dream girl ducked her head across the passenger seat to speak to him. Her immaculate red lips moved but his eyes roamed her body, to her formfitting white dress and how her leather boots cinched above her knees.

"Fine then, I'll go." Her hair tumbled down her back as she turned back to check the road.

"Er - wait, been walkin' and I'm tired - what'd ya say?" He dusted off dirt and turned his nametag upright. It swung back upside down.

"I just offered. Do you want a ride or not?"

A mixture of pity and disgust filled her as he struggled into her car. The car tilted severely to the right, its chassis straining to contain the mountain sized man. His chair fell backward into reclining position with a thud, wobbling his big stomach.

A metallic groan reverberated under the car, making the blonde roll her eyes. God, if it's a broken axle because his fat ass... Do those even break? If there was one man to test her question, he sat right next to her. And right next to her he did. His knees bumped hers. His sweaty hand rested on her thigh, just above her dark leather boots. He squinted in the darkness to make sure he was touching her skin because it was so soft. With more than a little effort, she pushed his big paw off.

"'Know I appreciate this, figured there was somethin' between us, least because of last time..."

She cringed. They'd made it until now not referencing their wild hot tub sex, and in a way, the encounter didn't exist... until now.

"That's never happening again," she said. "That was the biggest mistake ever. Ew." Her body told a different story as she yearned to cross her legs, to do anything to distract herself from the itch, the soaring need between her legs. Her cheeks flushed as their legs brushed again. She focused on the road, constantly turning left to offset his huge mass.

Lester's cock dribbled liquids against her glove compartment. He couldn't tear his eyes off her pretty face - the way she concentrated on the road like she was taking a test. The car rolled over a speed bump, bouncing her breasts in wonderful serendipity. How on earth had he, 400-pound, 61-year-old Lester Burns, ever hooked up with the newest Ford Model... model? How he wanted to just kiss her and feel her pretty lips against his.

She looked as straight ahead as she could. "Where - where do you live?" They hit a rumble strip, and she swerved back between the lines.

"Won't matter much longer at this rate. Been drinkin' again, hmm?"

Her face flushed red. She didn't even have alcohol as an excuse this time.

"Where?"

His hand returned to her athletic legs. Both of her hands clung to the steering wheel, gripping anything to avoid where she really wanted them. She ignored him this time.

"Got an errand to run over by Murray Park."

She breathed a sigh of relief. It was a quick walk from her apartment - if she could last that long.

Lester's sweaty palm moved up and down her leg, brushing the top of her boot and back again, each time slipping further and further toward her dress. He pinched himself. Only minutes before he'd been checking out a homeless broad and sleeping on a disgusting bus bench, now he was touching the hottest girl he'd ever seen - and she wasn't resisting.

"Gotta help a friend a mine."

"Oh—" His meaty hand disappeared under the hem of her dress, massaging her soft skin. Her legs opened for a second and then quickly closed, trapping his hand for a moment. His breath caught in his chest. His fingers stuck together for a moment between her legs as he realized he'd brushed her panties. Her soaked panties.

The car jostled as it hit the rumble strip again, and she swung the steering wheel back, her lips parting as her chest heaved.

"I - I - just stop it," she said. Her hips began their unstoppable subtle rolling. Fuck... please not now.

She half-heartedly grabbed his wrist, her lip curling at how her fingers sunk into his blubbery flesh. A thin line of drool ran down Lester's face as he wormed further into her panties, stretching her g-string and inching it down her hips.

"That Vincent Street?"

"You're the one who lives here!"

Her ass inched off the seat with one thrust of her hips, and Lester yanked hard, her panties slipping down the former cheerleader's legs. The damp fabric stretched haphazardly across her legs until he jerked them again. Her insides flipped at the sight of her tanned teen thighs splayed open for his grubby fat hands, with her little red g-string hanging precariously from her boots. Faint trails of wetness covered her thighs.

The air conditioning hit her directly, Lester's beady eyes drinking her body in.

"Er - my eyes are bad." She gasped as he brushed her inner thigh, his sweaty hands so close to the itch she needed scratched.

He squinted back at the road. "Right there! Stop!" She stomped on the brakes, their squeal rattling nearby apartment windows. Her heavy breasts heaved as she looked away from him.

"Okay - you're welcome."

Lester's heart pounded with every increasingly exploratory caress under her dress. In the reflection in the glass, her eyes closed, surely of shame, as her legs parted for him. Sweat trickled down his armpit rolls.

His throbbing cock rutted against the soaked glove compartment. He wondered if he'd pass out, his breathing racing quicker and quicker at the sight of her. How the hell did this stunner, with her immaculate lipstick and style keep coming back to him?

A slight brush against her clit stiffened her whole body, the lightning rod of nerves forcing her to close her legs around his hand, her sopping wet folds dripping onto them. All too suddenly his fat fingers pushed inside her, the void filled.

"Oh fuck..."

She needed to be fucked, filled, pinned down, used.

They spilled out and Lester focused as he never had, ramming his sticky fingers against the keypad until the door swung open. The studio was like its owner - small and plain. An unkempt bed took up most of the room. A controller plugged into a huge screen besides a bean bag.

But his world flipped upside down as he sprawled to the floor with a thud, yanking the controller from the system. The wood floors shuddered at the impact and pictures fell from the mantle, shattering into pieces. He hoped she didn't focus on them too hard - Gary's smiling face peered back. Wearing a Scottish kilt and sword, he looked like a rejected Braveheart extra.

She would have laughed at Lester in any other instance - how he struggled like a turtle upside down trying to right himself, but his thick hanging balls peeked from his grubby shorts, returning her to reality. The same balls that pumped their tremendous load in her fertile, unprotected body days ago. Was that it? Did that explain why every step reminded her of the dripping slickness between her legs, the idea of a beast of a man knocking her up, the hottest teen in the state?

It's the hormones. That's all it is. But then why aren't I fucking hot guys too?

The thought slipped from her mind. She strode forward, focusing on the clicking of her boots and the twisting urge in her stomach spurring each step, only exhaling as she lowered herself inch by inch onto his smacking, drooling lips, straddling his face, pulling her dress up to stare at the ceiling as Lester lapped up her juices.

"Mmm mmm mhmm," he grunted as his tongue probed her from his rotten mouth. The prom queen closed her eyes tightly, wishing for silence from his creepy noises as he licked and sucked on her.

"Mmm dat's it," he said between slurps. Her dark boots covered each of his ears as she rolled her hips, grinding against his face. He'd have died a happy man at that moment, his tongue buried in the former cheerleader. She slipped off the panties and tossed them behind her, not seeing where they went.

I can't believe this. I can't believe it's happening - again.

Her phone buzzed, but her purse was just out of reach. Her hips slammed forward to meet his tongue - now wasn't the time to take a call anyway - until Harry Styles crooned from her purse:

" Tastes like strawberries

On a summer evenin...'"

Fuck fuck fuck. Of ALL the times for Mr. Redding to call.