You Can't Always Get What You Want

Still, Tim never left the house except to go to work. He worked the nightshift at FedEx part-time, and as a Teamster, that job supplied him with enough money to realize his pathetically modest aspirations -- having enough money to eat TV dinners, pay the mortgage, and own a shitty car that he drove to and from his job and never anywhere else. He bought all of his food at the convenience store across the street.

Now that I had moved in, the $500 bucks was enough to get Tim drunk and high on a regular basis, and occasionally buy some records -- if either I or his brother Johnny, who lived next door, would drive him over to the record store. It wasn't a very exciting life, but Tim never expected anything more, which is why Tammy had left him and why his soon-to-be second wife Cynthia would do the same.

The longer I knew Tim the clearer it became to me that some people wont for little and end up never being disappointed in their lives, while others expect much, much more and are usually disappointed when they don't realize their desires.

I had made it clear to Tim that I would not be living there long. I was going back to school in the fall. I had decided that I was going to graduate "come hell or high water." I was tired of working at lousy jobs for very little money. I wasn't expecting that a college degree was a promise of great riches, but I figured I was destined to have a profession. I just hadn't figured out yet which one.

We arrived at Tim's house, and I parked on the street, so that Tim could get his car out of the one car driveway. I knew that he would be sleeping and would awaken around 1:30 a.m. to make it to his 2:00 a.m. shift. He usually went to bed around 10:00 p.m. and then after arriving back home just after 6:00 a.m., he would party with Johnny until about 10:00 in the morning (Johnny worked the second shift), and then he would go back to bed to sleep for four more hours. After that, he would get up, party some more, until starting the whole cycle all over again.

Tim always slept with a noise machine that would cancel out all of the sounds that might awaken him when he slept during the day, so I knew we wouldn't bother him if we listened to music or talked in the living room that night.

That night Glenda was wearing a T-shirt for the band Squeeze, featuring the album cover of their exceptional album Cool for Cats. I had owned that record for well over ten years, and I hadn't heard it in awhile so I thought I would play it for her, figuring quite logically that she must like that band and that record in particular. I was wrong.

This is when I got my first clue that Glenda was a kind of poseur. She had never heard of Squeeze, much less Cool for Cats. She didn't even know that Squeeze was the name of a band. When I asked her why she owned a rock T-shirt for a band she'd never heard of, she informed me that she liked the design and the colors. I guess I understood that. I mean, I thought it was cool design as well.

Still, I considered that Glenda was somehow vaguely misrepresenting herself and her interests and was co-opting someone else's idea of cool and passing it off as her own without understanding it in the least. I thought it was disingenuous to advertise something that a lot of us considered to be cool and hip when she had absolutely no idea whether it was or was not cool or hip.

Glenda was already somewhat intoxicated, so it didn't take much of the Thai stick that I sparked up to put her close to the edge. I hoped that by the time I got her to my bedroom, she would be feeling no pain, but I didn't want her comatose either.

We started making out on the couch, and when I looked at my watch and saw that it was just after 1 a.m., I asked her if she wanted to retreat to my bedroom before Tim woke up and found me with my hand in Glenda's leather pants while sucking her fine tits.

So I helped her to her feet, and we walked down the hall to my room. When we got inside the door, I closed it, and I pulled her tight body to mine and began to pepper her with kisses on her face and neck, while my hands roamed all over her shapely tits, slender hips and ass, and between her legs.

Soon, I had removed her Squeeze T-shirt to find her tits bubbling out of a lacy, black bra. Then, I unzipped several of the twenty or so zippers that allowed her black leather pants to be painted onto her legs, and leaving her high heels where they were, I slide the leather down her legs and off. Now, she stood unsteadily before me, adorned only with her matching lace bra and thong, and a pair of provocative high heels.

I kissed my way down Glenda's chest and stomach until I reached that tiny thong, and then, dropping to my knees, began to kiss, lick, and blow my hot, moist breath over her inner thighs, that tiny strip of lacy fabric, and what I could see of her smooth mound, unleashing a series of low moans and her heaving exhalations. After a few minutes of teasing, I pulled the thong to the side and her sensuous private parts were revealed to me. She was sporting a tiny dark landing strip only an inch or so wide and two inches long, hovering above her glistening, waxed cunt.

Hers was the first pussy I had ever encountered that was shaved or waxed, and I found it incredibly sexy. So much so, that I knew I had to taste it immediately. With Glenda as tipsy as she was, I realized that we needed to move to the bed pronto.

So, I stood up and wrapped my arms around her, grabbing two handfuls of her firm ass, and then I led her to the bed, where I lay her down on her back. In the dim light of my bedroom window, I could see her beautiful body laid out in front on me on the bed. Then, I crawled between her slender legs, and reaching around her slim hips, I pulled her thong down her legs and off. Her sensuous pussy was revealed to me in all its glory, and even before I leaned my face in to taste her, I could smell the delicate aroma of her sex. I would soon come to find out that Glenda had the sweetest tasting gash that I've ever had the pleasure to eat.

I had intended to go slowly, but, with her sexy bush, fragrant tang, and slick lips beckoning me, I was too excited, so instead of more foreplay, I buried my face in her hot, leaking pussy. I went straight for her clit, which was hiding behind a delicate, willowy jacket of pink flesh, and began pulling it into my mouth. Immediately, Glenda started writhing against my urgent sucking.

I quickly learned that while Glenda's reticence was even more apparent during our lovemaking, an insistent and passionate physicality took the place of words. Though she hardly ever spoke in bed, she evidenced her sexual preferences with an almost non-stop grinding of her hips, an uncontrollable flailing of her arms, legs, and head, as well as strident grunts, groans, and moans that replaced verbal communication.

I knew that I could make her cum quickly, and when I drove two fingers into her dripping sex to caress the rough tissue of her G-spot, she instantaneously began moaning loudly and uncontrollably and swinging her head back and forth from one side of the mattress to the other. Then, with my lips wrapped around Glenda's clitoris and my fingers massaging her inner switch, she started climaxing.

Glenda was different from any woman I had previously been with and any I've been with since. She came incredibly easily and unbelievably often. One night a few weeks later when we spent a languid five hours in bed together, I brought to orgasm at least 20 times, and though this night would not achieve anywhere near that degree of bliss, I knew that climax would be the first of many she would reach with me.

When the spasms started to roll through her, she arched her back and let out a long, tortuous groan, "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Then, her arousal started to pour from her pussy, bathing my face and hands in a warm glaze.

After the tremors slowly dissipated, Glenda reached for my crotch, rubbing my stiff erection through my pants. Then, without saying anything, she swung her legs over my head and off the edge of the bed, then turned around and pushed me back onto the mattress before pulling my shoes, shirt, pants, and shorts off me, leaving me naked with my hard-on standing at attention in the dim light.

Then she went down on me. Glenda wasn't into deep throating, nor was she particularly adept at oral sex in any way. Instead, she wrapped her mouth over only the head of my cock and licked me languorously.

In the short time that we were together, she never brought me to orgasm with her mouth. Still, she made up for it with an ardent desire to have me inside her. So when she took me into her mouth for the first time, her intentions, just as they were every time she performed oral sex on me, were to make me sufficiently hard to please her during the enthusiastic and nearly incessant sessions of intercourse that we began having together that first night.

After what seemed to me perfunctory fellatio, Glenda crawled on top of me, spread her legs astride my torso, and lowered her slippery slit onto my stiffness. With her hands braced against my chest, she bounced on my cock for a few minutes, but then she started to grind her mound against me, and using long strokes, she slid up the length of my stiffness until only my engorged glans remained inside her, then plunged downward until I was fully buried inside her, and her clit was rubbing vigorously against my pubic bone. Soon, I realized that she was going to cum again.

She lifted her arms from my chest, and in a movement that I found incredibly sexy and that became something of her signature, she reached both arms to opposite sides of her head and with her elbows extended outward, she rubbed her hands through her punkish 'do while she rode herself to her second orgasm of the evening. This time she screamed her passion even more boisterously, apparently awaking my groggy roommate, whose noise machine I heard click off while her moans were still reverberating through the house. We'd only been in my bedroom together for 20 minutes.

I could hear Tim puttering about the house, but I wasn't going to let his presence deter me, and I could already tell that Glenda wasn't about to silence her passion to satisfy some imaginary conception of Victorian comportment. Though she was shy, she didn't give a shit who heard her cumming, and over the next few weeks of warm summer nights, when everyone slept with their windows open, the neighbors would get an earful.

So, I quickly straightened Glenda's legs so I could roll on top of her, and soon I was pounding her pussy for all I was worth in the missionary position. I slowed my thrusting momentarily to pull her tits out of her lacy bra, and the contrast between two creamy triangles of tit flesh and her dark bikini tan had me even more aroused than I had previously been.

When Glenda bent her knees and pulled them to her chest to allow me to thrust more deeply into her, I decided to take matters even further. I lifted her lower legs over my shoulders, and began slamming my cock into her frothy hole. The bed was squeaking so loudly that I didn't even hear when Tim slammed the door, started his car, and backed out of the driveway. Still, the bed played second chair to Glenda's vociferousness. Just as I was about to pull my throbbing member from her slit, another orgasm hit her, and she unleashed another torrent of passion, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

I was right behind her, and before her shuddering had ceased, I slipped my distended manhood from her and began shooting thick ropes of ejaculate all over her convulsing pussy, tiny bush, and tanned stomach. "Oooooohhhhhh ffffffuuuuuucccccckkkkkk," I bellowed.

When I was done coaxing the last few drops of my load from my cock, I collapsed on the bed next to Glenda, where we lay panting for breath for several minutes. I got up from the bedroom and went to the bathroom to find a towel to clean up the remnants of our lovemaking. Then, I crawled back into bed and held Glenda in my arms until each of fell asleep.

When we awoke in the morning, I could hear Tim playing music in the living room, and with the aggressive rhythms of Bash & Pop running interference for us, Glenda and I picked up where we had left off the previous evening.

And that was pretty much how the next few weeks played out. Glenda would go into work about noon. Then, when she finished her shift around 8 in the evening, she would come into Maxwell's with Sara or one of her other girlfriends, and she would have dinner and drink at the bar until I finished my dinner shift around 10 or so. Then, we would head back to my place for several hours of lovemaking.

One day perhaps a month after our first night together in the middle of August, Glenda, Sara, and I all had a Monday off work. We were now well into the dog days of summer, and it was sunny and hot, really hot outside. So, we had decided the night before to spend the day at a lake southeast of the city where the sun and the heat might be slightly more bearable. Around noon, I arrived to pick Glenda up at her parents' house, and when she emerged from her front door, she was wearing the skimpiest one-piece thong bikini I had ever seen. I nearly came in my pants!

It consisted of nothing more than three pieces of tiny, blue metallic fabric connected together by a series of strings. Two pieces covered each of Glenda's areolas and nipples and the skin about two inches above and below each one, and the third piece was just barely wide enough to obscure Glenda's landing strip and her pussy and asshole. Two strings connected the crotch of the suit to the bottoms of each of the top pieces, and another beaded string ran upward from each of the top pieces until they wrapped around her neck.

Finally, two side strings ran diagonally from the middle of each of the top pieces around her sides to a third string that extended up from between Glenda's exposed butt cheeks where it connected in a Y pattern to the side strings at her very lower back just above her tailbone. The entire suit covered perhaps a quarter of a square foot of the entirety of Glenda's delectable flesh. To make matters worse, on her feet she wore four inch, strapped, clog heels.

When she reached the passenger door, I expressed my shock in what I realized sounded scarily conservative, "Jesus, Glenda! I can't believe your mother let you leave the house like that! Where in the hell did you get that?"

"She's not home; nobody's home. My whole family is out of town; they'll be gone all week," she answered evasively, before continuing with another rhetorical thread. "They're starting to wear these in California. I had one of my cousins who lives there buy it for me. Do you like it?"

"It's not a matter of whether I like it or not! How are we going to go the beach with you dressed like that?"

"What do you mean?" she asked cluelessly.

"Well, this isn't California, Glenda! You'll probably get arrested if you wear that at the lake. But even if you don't, I'll get arrested for appearing in public with an erection!"

"Are you hard now?" she asked, smiling, as she leaned across the passenger seat running her hand over the front of my swimming trunks. "You are! You're getting hard already!" she said, apparently marveling at the impact her sexy outfit was having on me.

"Glenda, at least wear a beach jacket or robe over the top. You can take it off when we're lying on the sand or when you're in the water," I pleaded, amazed at my own sudden conversion to conservative morality.

She contemplated my suggestion momentarily, and instead of jumping into my front seat, she returned to the house before emerging again a minute or two later wearing a sheer, multicolored beach robe.

It was an improvement and may well have kept her from an unpleasant encounter with the cops. I wasn't sure that once she removed the robe, sirens wouldn't start blaring, but I guessed that I had done my best. Besides, we were headed to a small lake that was not particularly well known and which was remote enough that I doubted that any cops would be anywhere near the place. After Glenda jumped in the front seat, I backed out of the driveway, and we were soon on our way. I needed Glenda's guidance to get me to Sara's house.

But before we got there, there was something I needed to ask. As Glenda began fumbling with the radio, I decided to point out some of the practical drawbacks of being an agent provocateur. "Glenda?" I asked timidly not wanting to initiate an argument of any kind. "Do you want to get in trouble for wearing something that provocative? And more simply, how is your outfit practical attire for the lake? I mean, you're wearing high heels, for god's sakes! How are you going to walk in the sand with those things on? And your suit! My god, I'll be the first to admit it's sexy as hell, but, I mean, can you really go swimming with that on? If any one of those pieces of fabric moves a half an inch, you're pretty much exposing yourself, and even if they don't, your ass is completely uncovered!"

"I don't care. I just want to look good. Besides, I want to get an all-over tan."

"Oh, you look good! No question about that! Way too good, but..." I never finished my thought. What was the point? Glenda wanted what Glenda wanted.

She smiled; I could tell she never heard the word "but" because her mind shut down as soon as she heard me say "you look good." Then, she turned her attention back to the radio. I had several dozen CDs in a case that sat between the two front seats; I didn't listen to the radio -- ever. But, much to my dismay, Glenda ignored them and instead searched for a classic rock station.

As soon as she found one, the angelic voices of the classical choir that open The Rolling Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want" began trickling tentatively from my speakers. Even though at that particular time, I considered The Rolling Stones to be a bog part of the problem, and certainly not the solution, I had to admit that it was a great song, and at that moment, it just seemed to me it was the perfect message for Glenda -- a cautionary tale that spoke directly to her superficiality and self-indulgence, warning of the dangers of thinking that you deserve it all. But if the song was a message to Glenda, she missed it by several continents, spending its entire seven and half minutes pushing her tits together so they looked just right and smoothing baby oil seductively onto her shapely legs, slender shoulders, chest, arms, and taut stomach while the Stones gospel classic poured from my stereo system.

When we pulled into the driveway of another suburban atrocity, not unlike the one that Glenda's parents lived in, Sara came bounding out of the house wearing a yellow two-piece bikini that was only slightly less revealing than Glenda's. Considering the size of Sara's tits, her tight, round ass, and gorgeous, enticing face, I was soon struggling to conceal another massive hard-on.

Shortly after Sara hopped into my backseat, I knew that something was up. The two girls kept looking back and forth at each other and giggling uncontrollably. Then, they would both look at me and start laughing all over again. I wanted to ask what they found so amusing, but when I realized it had something to do with me, I thought better of asking the specifics. Besides, I was too busy trying to keep the car on the road and the lump in my swimming trunks from being too obvious.

We drove east out of the city, crossed over the river and into Illinois, and then turned southeast onto Highway 15. When we reached the lake's east shore beach, we were pleasantly surprised to find only a couple dozen people occupying the wide strip of sand. Considering how hot it was, I was shocked to find the lake so deserted, but then I remembered that it was a Monday, and surmised that most people were probably working.