Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Violent,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - It was a slow Monday and Tony was daydreaming about his "Perfect Pussy" Phoebe who had spoiled him for any other woman. The day seemed ordinary until he gets a call from Phoebe that sets him off on a trip to the deep south and more trouble than was wise for a normal man.
It was one of those mornings when nothing really seems to matter.
Even Rex, my generally loyal German Shepard was giving me one of those looks that made me feel guilty.
Guilty for not taking him out for a walk.
Guilty for forgetting to get his favorite canned meat at the super market.
Guilty for throwing out his rubber bone by mistake when I was falling down drunk.
I figured it was probably a good thing my on again, off again sometimes girlfriend Roxy was down in Florida with some jerk banker from Wall Street. She had let me know in no uncertain terms what she thought about my often discussed "commitment issue". I hoped she forgot to put on the sun screen and had already gotten a nice burn from the Florida sun.
The empty bottle of scotch stared at me from under the sofa and I knew it was the last one from the case I bought only a couple of weeks ago. Someone must have been stealing my booze. That made me smile because I knew for a fact nobody got near my booze locker without me knowing about it. Twenty odd years in the Marine Corps teaches one the proper priorities.
My name is Anthony Sorrento. I guess I should say Master Gunnery Sergeant Anthony Sorrento retired for almost three years now.
I sighed and slapped on my running shoes and grabbed Rex's leash. I don't think I have seen him jump up and run to the front door as fast since the time accidently bumped into the blonde down at the lake in Central Park with the stuck –up French poodle. That poodle could certainly run fast but old Rex cornered her behind the rowboat house and by the time the blonde and I got there he had already finished his business and if he was a smoker, he would have lit one up to celebrate.
The blonde whose name was Simone was hitting me on my arm like I had done the dirty deed myself and tearfully asked me about Rex's medical history. I figured it was a good time to invite her up for a quick drink and we both woke up the next morning with sizable hangovers and a pair of dogs in dire need of walking. After that incident, I was careful to keep Rex on his leash because I didn't want to be hit any doggie tailored paternity suits. Simone turned out to be married to some Admiral who had snared her as his retirement years "Trophy" wife.
Rex and I headed out for the run around the reservoir and he was scouting the area for any interesting looking female dogs with that air of needing male canine company. I was sort of proud of Rex who had a lot more success in that area than me. Not that I was shy around women or anything like that but I had been married twice already and each time I managed to find the most beautiful "Wicked Witch of the West" with back-stabbing in-laws and advice on getting a good divorce lawyer. Not that I was anywhere being in what could be called the one-percent category. In fact, I was probably more down in the bottom twenty percent of income makers due to a lazy attitude toward work that was acquired after a quarter century of government work.
I weighed myself before we headed out the door and saw I was still heading into minus status on my "fighting" weight range. I think that was more due to my steady diet of scotch and water and a fear of restaurants that had plagued me since I got food poisoning in fucking Majorca. I would like to point to my exercise program as the reason for my slender appearance but I knew that was all bullshit because I was terrible about schedules. The scotch might be bad news for my brain cells but it was working wonders for my waistline.
Rex and I were working our way around the Reservoir running counter clockwise just the way I like to go much to the disgust of the indoctrinated clockwise runners. There were no pretty young things with female dogs in tow so Rex and I did our standard three laps and called it quits over by the picnic tables in the shade. A couple of homeless people were looking for scraps but they gave us a wide berth no doubt due to some unfortunate incidents with dogs. I was still somewhat out of breath because the booze was not helping my respiratory system at all. It was a good thing I had given up the cigarettes that I had smoked for almost the entire time I was in the Marine Corps. I had gotten hooked on the things when I got them for free with our rations and they seemed to fill a void when things got tough.
Now if you were wondering what I did for a living, I would have to be honest and tell you I wasn't even certain on that score myself.
I never really had a nine to five job after getting out of the service. I guess you could say I was sort of a "gofer". My specialty was finding people and things and it paid real nice if you were good at it. My highest paying job was finding a warehouse of some high class oil paintings that got knocked off the docks by intentional accident. It was strictly an amateur caper that almost made me laugh at the lack of security. I could tell the boys in blue were not laughing because the stuff was headed to the museum downtown. The dame that hired me told me there was no money in the budget for contracting my services but she put me on a promise to deliver her goodies if I located the missing paintings and a guarantee of a ten percent "finders" fee for their safe return.
In all honesty, I have to admit I was ready to devote some time to the project just for the promise of hanky-panky for success. It was a bit of shock after I found the missing paintings to discover that they were valued at just north of ten million and that my check would be for slightly over a million bucks of tax-free income. I made sure to get the tax angle in writing because I didn't want any IRS crap down the line about this or that change in the regulations.
I had learned from previous difficulties to never trust a "Suit" with more than one pen in the pocket.
The best part of that whole deal was Phoebe.
I just cannot say enough when I think of Phoebe. She was sort of the perfect female ever. She had a Master's degree in Business Administration and completed a Doctorate in Art Appreciation. She was a perfect fit for the job at the Art Museum. But I was more impressed with her physical assets and personality. I don't believe I ever heard her say a sarcastic word and there was no room on her beautiful face for a frown. I don't mean to sound crude or anything like that but when she delivered her promised goodies, I was amazed at the tightness of her vaginal opening. I was going to say, "Pussy" but I just don't feel right in using that word when it comes to Phoebe Von Renneholder. She was tight like I remember Lois Lynch in high school telling me she never did it before under the bleachers at the basketball game. I never got Lois Lynch out of my mind and now Phoebe was there haunting every future encounter with females who could never stack up to her level of sensuality and perfection.
I would almost have to say that Phoebe ruined me for ordinary females but it didn't stop me from trying to find one that came close. I wasn't sure if Phoebe had actually achieved an orgasm from my best efforts but it was in her nature to not disclose such personal matters to the hired help. I read in the papers just about six months ago that she had married a recently elected Senator from some southern state that I had never visited in my entire life. I looked at the photo of the pair of them standing on a podium with their hands raised in a victory salute. She was the picture of the ideal politician's wife with not a single strand of hair out of place and he was a smug looking but undeniably handsome hunk of male superiority. I don't think I was jealous because I had no right to be. I think I was just disappointed that I wasn't a more ambitious guy who might have interested her more than just someone who gave her something she wanted.
I was talking about the oil paintings and not my penis.
In the back of my mind I heard Rex starting one of his low growls that always put me on code red. The pair of homeless transients was up close to my table and the female member of the pair asked me for a "donation".
I pondered that for a moment knowing it was the height of stupidity to reach for any cash in such a situation regardless of Rex's presence. The guy was hanging back like he didn't like the idea at all but I could see they were both on the edge of desperation and I sort of identified with that since most of my adult life was spent in the midst of utter chaos.
I took off my running shoe and removed a "sawbuck" I always kept there for an emergency when out jogging. The broad reached out her hand with dirt encrusted under the fingernails and I gave it to her keeping a wary eye on the partner just in case they got rambunctious. My caution was totally unnecessary because they scampered away like teenagers running from the cops.
When we got back to the apartment with an Egg McMuffin and a cup of Joe from the twin arches, there was a message waiting for me on the answering machine. At first, I ignored it taking care of the rumble in my tummy under the watchful eye of Rex who was unimpressed with my eating habits. I switched on the television just to catch a snatch of the morning news in case of any impending catastrophes affecting my immediate future. Just the same old regurgitated stuff about crime, sex and the usual mayhem that seemed normal in today's world.
The message was unbelievably from the same Phoebe who had been front and center in my thoughts on this slow Monday morning. Apparently, she had run into some sort of problem down there in that banjo-strumming deep south state that required the touch of a qualified "gofer" with a proven track record. Since the only thing on my agenda was a trip to the liquor store for another case of scotch, I listened to the message again and wrote down the number to call and the directions she gave me to follow. I kept telling myself that it was "just business" and that I needed some work to give me direction in my chaotic life.
I knew I was just fooling myself because all I had on my mind was the chance of another shot at that "perfect pussy" just to reassure me that it was not a figment of my scotch-clouded imagination. I took a shower with a ridiculous hard-on just fantasizing about Phoebe and I wrapped around each other like a pair of romantic lovers on a desert island.
I know you folks with lots of experience are probably laughing your ass off at me right now thinking "How stupid can this guy be?"
Still, she had sounded a bit desperate sort of like the homeless pair in the park and I was always a soft touch for that kind of trouble.
I think it was my attraction to chaos that had put me in two unlikely marriages and other situations that let me teeter on the edge with my adrenalin driving the train. There was only one way to be certain and it was on hailing a cab to the airport and another shot at Phoebe.
Before I left, I took Rex to Mrs. Soprano on the first floor. She was an absolute doll even if she was a hundred pounds overweight and was Rex's second caretaker whenever I had to leave for an assignment. She took the leash and I bent down to kiss her triple chins knowing he was in good hands.
As luck would have it, a cab was right in front dropping off some old guy with a gimpy leg and no smile on his weather-beaten face. I had a fleeting thought that would be me in another twenty years if I was lucky to still be ticking.
The cabbie was happy to be going to the airport because the business was slow in the city at that time of the day unless you had a deal with one of the hotels or some upscale restaurant. He drove off with a slight peel of rubber making me feel right at home.