A Death, Baked Bob, and the... Ch. 02byRogue Writer©
A Death, Baked Bob, and the Personal Ad
Part 2 – Baked Bob To The Rescue!
(F/F, oral, anal, exhibitionism, jewelry, drugs, tattoos, piercings, food, bad accents)
DISCLAIMER – This is a fictional story to be read and enjoyed. If you can't read, stop reading. If you can't enjoy, stop reading. If you don't like any of the story codes mentioned above, stop reading. If you can't stop, it's not my problem.
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I lost my job three months later. By that time I didn't care, which was probably a good percentage of why I got fired. I would show up late, blow deadlines like they were suggestions, and get belligerent with my bosses. Oddly, none of that was enough to fire me. The combination of screwing up a major project and my co-workers noticing that I seemed 'medicated' earned me a boot out the door. The happy pills did a great job of keeping my mind off of Monica. Unfortunately they kept my mind off of everything else as well.
No one at work had any sympathy for me about the death of my lover. It wasn't because they were callous; fact is they didn't even know Monica had ever existed in my life. When I got the job I had a strong sense that coming out at work would impede my chances of rising up in the company. Monica said I was putting my ambition ahead of my self-confidence. My response was that I was working in a very competitive field, where anything can be used against you and even your best friend would sell you out. But now the fact that I didn't come out was working against me. Maybe if they knew what I was going through, what I'd lost, company management and my co-workers might have given me another chance. Maybe. I wasn't really worried though. For now, I could get any job and still be okay. The rent on the apartment was cheap enough, since Monica and I had been trying to save up for a house. Now all I had to save up for was my next stash of happy pills. Life had become so simple.
Baked Bob sent me to this grief therapy group he found on the Internet. I sat there in a circle with ten other people who'd lost someone, all of them still grieving. One woman had lost her husband over seven years ago. Seven years and she still couldn't let go. It drove me crazy listening to her drone on about how much she loved and still missed her husband. I felt a vicious anger towards her as well, but I couldn't exactly put my finger on why. The rest of the people there weren't in much better shape. They all cried on and on about what they were missing. When it was my turn I had a hard time talking. The seven-year woman told me to let it all out because it feels good to talk to someone about it. That made me even more angry, I felt like she wanted to hear my sorrow so she could feed off of it, like she fed off of her own pain. When the meeting was over everyone told me they hoped I'd come back next week. I couldn't imagine why. I went there to find an answer to my pain and all I found were people wallowing in it.
I spent my nights hanging out at Renee's, partying and enjoying carnal pleasures, but during the day I had nothing to do but sit around the apartment. It wasn't hard as long as I had my pills. They took the pain away, or kept it from getting too bad when I had what I'd dubbed a "memory fit". Thinking about Monica and the times we'd spent together, the laughing and joking, the disagreements, the experiences and traveling we'd shared, the problems we encountered living together, the sex, the things we learned from each other, the loud screaming arguments and the quiet, tender moments we spent cuddling. Sometimes I thought about what the future would have held for us. The worst was those moments when I realized how permanent the situation was. I would never hear her laugh again, or see her smile, her pout, or her funny face that she used whenever I was sad. Moments like those were just devastating.
It was during one of those particular moments when I decided to try and watch a movie to keep my mind off of it. The pill I had just taken wasn't strong enough to keep my sadness at bay. I wasn't sure what a second one would do, and I wasn't looking to find out while I was alone in my apartment with no one around to call for help. So I decided to use a movie to transport my thoughts elsewhere. Looking through the DVD's I came upon an unmarked case, and suddenly felt dread slither through my body as I remembered what it was. But I had to watch it. There was no way I wasn't going to watch it. I put it in the player and paused for a moment. I reached for the pill bottle, stopped myself and hit the play button.
The screen went from black to showing our bedroom. There I was, lying naked on the bed with Portisehead playing in the background. Then the picture shook like there was an earthquake.
"You sure you know how to operate that thing?" I asked, followed by a laugh.
"Shut up!" Monica said from behind the camera. "I just want to make sure I have the right angle."
"Do I get a close-up?" I asked in a mockingly hopeful tone.
"Only if we want to break the lens."
I grabbed a small pillow and threw it to the left of the camera. Monica shouted, "Hey!" and ran into the picture, herself naked, and jumped on top of me. We smiled at each other for a moment and suddenly started kissing, small, passionate kisses building up to a full open-mouthed kiss. My hands ran up and down her backside as our bodies pressed together and our legs moved about like we were doing some slow dance without a floor. Occasionally our mouths would pull apart but our tongues were still playing with each other. Then Monica pulled away and traced her tongue along my jaw line. She wrapped her lips around my chin and let them slide away as she pulled back, straddling my stomach as she sat up. Monica looked down into my eyes as her arms stretched out, letting her fingertips play on my nipples. I remembered that moment, staring up at the serious look on her face and wondering what she was thinking. I was about to ask when she leaned down and took my right nipple in her mouth. My eyes rolled back and I moaned, forever losing the opportunity. Monica moved over to tongue my left nipple as she rolled the right one between her thumb and index finger. I put a hand on her head as she licked and sucked on my nipple, her fingers lightly tracing the underside of my breast. I loved that sensation. She stopped what she was doing and crawled up me until her face was over mine. I leaned up and we started kissing again, our arms wrapped around each other and our breasts pressing against one another.
Monica brought her leg between mine and started pressing it against my sex. I moaned and broke the kiss long enough to whisper her name. "I love you," she returned and we kissed again. My hands glided slowly down her back and came to rest on the globes of her ass. I squeezed softly a few times and then pulled them apart. Monica made a noise I couldn't decipher as I ran my fingers up and down her crack, driving her to grind her leg harder against me. When my finger found her rosebud I toyed with it a little, running my finger along the small folds of skin around the outer rim. She moaned and broke the kiss. I took the opportunity to grab her and roll us over so I was on top. I started licking her shoulders, which was her odd little sensitive spot, and made my way down to her breasts. My tongue ran around the area underneath the right one, slowly moving back and forth like the swinging of a pendulum, arching its way upwards until I reached her areola. It was bright pink against her pale skin. My tongue stiffened and I used the tip to trace the outer rim all the way around several times. Then I slid the entire face of my tongue over it slowly, stopped to watch the reaction on her face and did it again. After the last lick I placed her nipple between my lips and started sucking. Inside my mouth my tongue was alternately flicking over the tip and pressing down on it. Monica's mouth dropped open and she emitted a low gurgling sound. After a minute of this I let her nipple slide out between my lips. I brought my lips close to her ear and whispered, "Did you like that?"
"Yesssss," she breathed.
"Good," I said. "Because after I'm done, I'm going to do the same thing to your asshole."
Monica let out a gasp. I turned around and straddled her stomach so I was facing her feet, then leaned forward and grabbed her foot so I could suck on her toes. My other hand reached down to Monica's fur and played with the hair for a moment before delving further between her legs. The area around her clit was dry, but when I got to her hole and past it I felt an ocean. My fingers scooped up some of her honey and spread it around her clit. Monica reached to the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of lube, spread it on her finger and ran it up and down my ass.
Sitting on the couch and watching all this unfold on the screen, I started rubbing my left nipple through my T-shirt. For a moment I stopped and thought I shouldn't be doing this...right before I pulled the shirt off and rubbed and pinched my bare nipple. Maybe this would be a way for me to come to terms with it. Feel less pain. Start moving on. Bullshit myself.
We were moaning on screen. Monica's finger had made its way up my ass and she was pumping it in and out. I had moved on to her other foot, sucking and licking her toes while my fingers worked magic on her folds. My present day folds wanted some attention and my hand found its way inside my pajama pants and started working some magic of their own. I put my feet up on the coffee table and spread my legs for easy access. Sometimes just the act of spreading my legs caused a sexual reaction in me, and tonight was no different. On the screen Monica was using her other hand to pinch and pull at her nipple, and I found myself mimicking her movements.
Suddenly Monica let out a loud cry as she came. I brought my fingers to my mouth and sucked her juices. Monica lay completely spent, her finger still stuck in my ass while my fingers were stuck in my mouth. Looking at it from the couch made me laugh. Then on-screen me hopped off Monica and we cuddled. All alone on the couch me grabbed the remote and fast-forwarded until the image changed. Monica had taken the camera off the tripod and given it to me so I could record her going down on me from my point-of-view. I hit pause and ran to the bedroom. In the closet sat a large box full of the sex toys Monica and I had collected over the years. There were vaginal and anal beads, various dildos and vibrators, a blindfold and handcuffs, a small, soft whip, nipple clamps, and a feather. I settled on a smooth, red vibrator and ran back to the living room.
I took off my pants, got into my previous position and hit play on the remote. The image was looking down my body to Monica's head between my legs. In reality you couldn't see anything of what was going on other than her head moving and hearing my moans and words of encouragement. But it was good enough for what I was looking to do. I started the vibrator and rubbed it against my pussy, using the juices I'd already created on the surface. Then I moved it around trying to mimic Monica's effect on the on-screen me to the on the couch me. I slid the whole thing up and down my folds when her head moved up and down, centered the tip on my clit when her head was still, and slid it inside when I remembered she stuck her tongue into me.
We were sliding up and down my folds when I moaned, "Uhhhh, uhhhhh, slower." I remembered she started fingering my ass. I brought my left hand under my leg, slid my finger along my pussy to get it lubricated, and brought it to my rosebud. I toyed with the outer rim, getting it relaxed until I started pressing on the hole. After getting it lubricated in my juices again, I was able to push it in to the second knuckle and start pumping in and out. I kept my eyes glued to the screen, imagining it was Monica causing all my current pleasure. A series of high-pitched moans came out of me from the television, so I concentrated on my clit until I started coming. My moans couldn't compete with the ones on screen, but I managed to orgasm just behind the videotaped one. Monica crawled up my body and the camera shook for a moment. Suddenly it dropped and there was an incredible view of my hip.
The sound of kissing came from the television and my breathless words. "I love you, Mon."
"I love you too."
"You're the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me."
"I know," she said, followed by infectious giggling by both of us. We continued to whisper sweet nothings to each other while the camera recorded my hip.
I turned off the vibrator and sat there, naked, my legs still spread with my feet on the coffee table and my finger in my ass. Suddenly I started crying. The vibrator hit the floor. I found something else I'd never share with Monica again.
Later I got a call from Baked Bob. He said he wanted to talk to me about something but wouldn't be specific until we met face to face. This is classic Baked Bob mentality. Bob hated telling people any of his so called 'brilliant ideas' over the phone because he wanted to see the reaction on their faces when he said it. The next time we had plans was three days away when he was performing with his band. Bob played guitar, Asian Andy played bass, our friend Trilly sang and some guy named Steve played the drums. They called themselves Carcass Crowd Surfers.
Even thought I was intrigued I managed to go three days without running to Bob's store, throwing him down on the counter and demanding he spill his guts. It was hardly a test of will, between my happy pills and hanging out over at Renee's I had my mind other places. I swallowed a pill before I left the apartment that night, and it was working nicely by the time I got downstairs. This helped me blow off the taunting comments from Ronald and Tim as I passed by them, and kept me from shooting my ride after she picked me up. The whole way there she kept asking about was how I was doing since Monica died. I knew she meant well and was trying to be a friend, but every question was like salt on an open wound.
The band was playing at a small underground club called The Stoned Tongue. It was the kind of place that looked like it was decorated on fifty bucks, and most of us felt more comfortable there than in some of the glitzy high priced clubs around. The walls were covered with psychedelic art and movie posters and the lighting in the room was subtle, mostly in splashes of red, blue, green and the occasional black light. There were couches and cushioned chairs, a bar along the right wall and a large stage in back. But the most impressive part was the black floor that anyone could write on. All you needed to do was ask for a marker at the bar. Some people drew artwork that was truly impressive and others drew things that struggled to be called 'work' much less 'art'. When I walked in my eyes intentionally avoided the floor. Near the doorway there was a big heart with the words "Monica and Keisha forever". Forever was much shorter than we thought.
There was a table near the bar selling band T-shirts and the one CD the Surfers had recorded in Trilly's basement. I was the one who came up with the album title. It's called 'Sip Hard Fish', and yeah, I was drunk at the time. Bob was sitting behind the table. When he saw me he got up and came over.
"You find a new job yet?" he asked. I shook my head. "Are you looking?"
"Dammit Bob..." I started, but he held up his hands.
"I just wanted to know the situation," Bob said. A smile came across his face and I prepared myself. "I have an offer for you. Come to work for me at the store."
"Are you not high again?"
"I'm quite fine actually, thanks."
"Do you know what I was doing at my last job? How much I was making?"
Bob's mouth twisted a little. "Was is the operative word there. Nowadays you're just hanging out with Renee."
For a second I wondered if Bob was going psychic on me too. "How the fuck do you know that?" I asked. A guilty look came across Bob's face and I felt anger welling up inside of me as I realized what he did. "Your buddy?"
Bob had an old high school friend who took the opposite direction in life. He became a cop. "I just asked him to keep an eye on you every once in a while."
"Well you can tell him to stop. I don't need a babysitter."
"I'm just worried about you."
"I don't need a mother either. I can handle myself just fine."
Bob nodded, even though the look on his face said he didn't believe me. "So what about the job offer?"
I thought for a moment. There'd been no response to the jobs I'd applied for. Working at Bob's store would be easy and I already got along with the boss. Besides, for the condition I was in, working there would be paradise. Literally.
"Okay," I said to him. "When do I start?"
Bob owns a place called Baked Bob's Paradise. It's a combination movie rental, liquor and convenience store, since he got tired of having to drive all around town to get everything he wanted whenever he got high (Bob also repaired electronics like VCR's, which scared me). Working at Baked Bob's Paradise was a paradise in itself. I'd come in at nine-thirty, and the first order of business for the day was to sit in Bob's office and have a smoke. We would discuss which movies to play on the monitors throughout the store, then open at ten and sit behind the counter watching movies and helping the occasional customer. Lunch was at one-thirty, after which we'd smoke again and discuss afternoon movie options. Bob was easy to pick movies with because he liked all types of films, from art house to action, foreign films to horror, dramas and even the occasional romance film.
At every customer service job I've ever worked there was always at least one oddball customer, and at Baked Bob's there was Jiminy Cricket. He was an older man, maybe in his mid-fifties, with a tall, bulky body and thinning white hair he kept at a crew cut's length. You could tell from his eyes and face that he was a lifetime drinker. We dubbed him Jiminy Cricket because in under a minute he would come in, quickly grab a movie from the porno section without even looking at the title, and check out. He moved like he was in a rush to get to a bathroom and it was hard not to laugh. Bob and I and the people who worked the night shift all tried to make conversation with him to no avail. One day as I was helping him I asked, "Are you afraid your wife is going to catch you renting pornos?"
He stared at me like a kid who just found out Santa Claus wasn't real. I swallowed and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
He grabbed his movie and bumped into Asian Andy as he rushed out the door. I shook my head and said, "What the hell is up with that guy?"
Andy walked up to the counter and said, "If you really want to know..."
"No," I said sternly. "Not like that."
We quietly stared at each other for a moment. Then Andy said, "I haven't seen you around in a while. Wanted to find out what you're up to."
I snorted. "What, you don't already know?" I turned around and started doing busy work behind the counter.
"It doesn't work like that," he said. "I'm just worried about you."
"Everybody's so worried about me and yet no one seems to believe it when I say I'm okay."
"They're worried about what's happened already. I'm the only one that knows something worse is coming." He paused. "And I feel it's going to happen soon."
I spun around to face him. "Listen, even if I believed in your...powers, I don't know any blondes, and I don't plan to meet any. So thank you for your concern, but I think you got it wrong this time."
Andy stared at me. Then he gave a nod and said, "Be careful."
The next week Bob was out of town on what he called business. Whether this had to do with videos, chips, Slushies or drugs I had no idea. But for five days I was in the store by myself, and for some reason I watched all sad romance films where someone died. 'Love Story', some movie with Sidney Poitier in France, 'Here on Earth' and a bunch of others, and I cried through each and every one of them. Of course, it looks pretty strange when you go to rent a movie and the checkout person behind the counter is in a full out bawl. Customers would ask what was wrong and get an earful.