almost okay

SEVERAL DEATHS IN
THE FAMILY
Chapter Three: A Kitty In Every City

“So what do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked her, sipping at my beer.

“What makes you think I want to be something other than this?” said the bartender as she placed my Patron in front of me. She was cute, slightly flabby, and in her late twenties. Big brown eyes. Big brown hair... a shoulder length cut with bangs. Big ass. My kind of ass, tucked tight into denim and begging to be slapped. She looked me in my eye, leaned forward on the bar, her bare arm flesh causing saliva to flow freely in my mouth. I felt the shot in my hand, held it up for a moment before firing it down and lightly placing the glass back on the bar.

“Well, because if you didn't have something else going on,” I said, “I'd suspect that you were a fool. And I'd hate to think that a foolish girl, no matter how cute she is, would turn me on so much.” I took another sip of beer, paused to see if she was going to say something, but she didn't. “And getting aroused by a fool makes me look bad,” I said, “even if I am an old man.”

She turned away from me, moved down the bar to the only other person in the place besides me who was drinking at three in the afternoon, asked him if he was okay, then started cleaning glasses in the sink. As she washed the glasses she pushed up and down in rhythm on the motorized brushes that twirled below the water in the basin, her ass bobbing up and down at the same time, her small-but-perfect boobs dancing for me as she rotated dirty to clean from left to right, then placed the washed glasses face down to drain on the rubber mat at the end of the basin.

In the middle of the chore she tossed me a sidelong glance, unsmiling. After knocking her hair back from her face and over her shoulders a couple of times, she stood up and pulled it back in a pony tail, tied it with a braided band that had been on her wrist, then finished washing the remaining glasses.

I couldn't tell if she had bought my bullshit or not, so I started watching the television above the bar. Women were playing pool on ESPN 5 and that Black Widow chick - Jeanette Lee, was beating somebody at Nine Ball. I love her... all dressed in black leather pants and black lace top, a matching black glove on her shooting hand. I figured she had a big black dildo in her nightstand, too.

The bartender walked back towards me drying her hands on a stained white towel. “Veterinarian,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“I want to be a Vet,” she said again, glowing proudly, her white teeth shining.

I downed the last of the beer, turned towards her and away from the TV. “See... I knew it. Cats or dogs?”

“Three cats, two dogs.”

“I have allergies,” I said.

“They have shots for that now,” she replied with a grin.

“I'm Marty.”

“Amy.” She held out her hand and I took it. It was soft and warm and made me want to lie down.

“This calls for another round, Amy,” I said. “Care to join me?”

Fifteen minutes after Amy's shift ended at nine, we were fucking like animals in the back of her minivan. When I'd showed her the fresh wound on my chest it had sealed the deal, made her putty in my stubby-fingered-but-able hands. It wasn't long before I had her knees over my shoulders and a breast in each palm, squeezing as I pumped away, my pants around my ankles - just like Popeye used to do to Olive Oyl in those dirty little Tijuana Bibles.

The night was warm and the cricket choir was chirruping a gentle love song as we steadily banged away. Amy's eyes were closed, her lips plump and moist as I slapped in and out, licked her throat, kissed her hard on the mouth and nibbled at her ears, which seemed very sensitive and sported multiple silver piercings. After a while I relaxed, slowed my pace, thought about Oprah to keep me from going over the top. I backed up off Amy, crouched on my knees and held a delicate ankle in each of my hands as I pumped more slowly, kissed and licked her feet, calves and toes. Amy had three fingers in her mouth and was humming with pleasure as I stroked, the soft flesh of her belly rolling in waves, her navel ring surfing to and fro in rhythm to our movements.

When Amy's orgasm started she clamped down on me tight, quivered and shook, ground her hips back into me and I suddenly forgot where my flesh ended and where Amy's began. I stopped thinking about Oprah, opened my eyes and pressed myself into her, melted my flesh to hers as she locked her legs over mine, pulled me in and rode hard until I was swept up right along with her, grunting and bucking and losing all track of time...

* * * * * * * * * * *

At seven o'clock the next morning I was in the middle of a sneezing fit in the tiny bathroom of Amy's two-bedroom flat in Monroeville, the animal dander wreaking havoc on my sinuses. Her calico cat was crouched on the toilet, dropping a load and staring at me. Between sneezes, I heard my cell phone ringing. I went back into her bedroom and pulled the infernal thing from my pants pocket as Amy snored right through. Another sneeze and she groaned, rolled over, then pulled a pillow over her head.

I recognized the number. It was the boss. When I answered, he seemed surprised to hear my voice.