Chapter 1

More often than not, people call me "a prick, or the prick, or just, "you fucking prick." After you read this you'll see why.

I tend to ramble, so every once in a while you may have to give me a goose, and I'll get back on point, okay?

My name is Jack, I'm thirty-four years old, and currently celebrating my second divorce. It's been exactly three months now since Fellah and I called it quits. The um, celebration is going on in her apartment, yeah, that's right, the bitch can't get enough of me and my meat.

Nah, that's not quite right. It ain't only my dick she misses, there's my mouth, and oh, my hands. Fellah loves my hands ... and the toys they sometimes hold.

I picked her up at a mall when she was nineteen, and thought she knew it all. What a laugh, she didn't know shit; but she was a good-looking brunette with a high ass that most guys would die for. She couldn't have been over five feet tall, maybe ninety-five pounds soaking wet. Her hair was cut short, with a spiky effect that was stunning because of her beautiful heart shaped face with full, pouty lips, and dark green eyes. If she wore makeup it was unnoticeable other than her lipstick. Her tight shirt framed surprisingly full breasts; at least 34C, and didn't cover much of her flat stomach, and none of her tiny waist. The black miniskirt sat low on her hips; hips that flared just enough to make her waist seem that much smaller, her perfectly shaped thighs leading the eye down to dainty, sandaled feet.

I had ten years on her, and when she returned my smile, I knew I had her. We chatted a while, with me asking question after question about her. She opened up to me, unaware of all the extra information she was supplying for me to use on her.

I persuaded her to join me for drinks at the TGIF's located at the end of the mall, close to where I'd parked my car. She didn't make a big deal of not being 21, just said, "I'd better order a coke." She was surprised when I went from our table directly to the bar, and came back with two rum and cokes. Then I ordered hamburgers which neither of us wanted, just to placate the server.

We sat at the table taking. First meetings can be filled with awkward silences, and if there had been any, it wouldn't have been unexpected. But there were none. Conversation flowed smoothly, with one story, quip, and anecdote leading into another. I had her laughing to the point of aching cheeks. I complimented her,

telling her how pretty she looked and she blushed. The attraction was growing. I

could see she was flushed and giddy. There was a sparkle in her eyes.

Fellah told me she thought I was cool. I told her for the second time that she was beautiful. It was exactly what she wanted to hear. The moment she finished her rum and coke, I kissed her lightly on the mouth.

Of course she protested; but not to hard, saying she really should get to know me first, and blah, blah, blah.

"Wasn't it a good kiss?" I said, putting genuine concern into my words.

"Yes ... it was," she conceded. "But I don't know you, and..."

I cut her off by kissing her again. Then got up and went to the bar and refreshed our drinks.

When I returned to the table, she was silent, but picked up her drink and took a generous sip, while I stared her down.

"How was it?" I said.

"Well, I'm not used to drinking, but it seemed okay."

"I was talking about the kiss."

"Oh..."

"How was it?"

"It was ... nice." Her voice was quiet and subdued.

I moved closer to her; put my arm around her shoulder. Her eyes were wider, seeming to devour me.

"Then you'll like the next one even more."

This time I detected her moving toward me, just a fractional move, to be sure, but it was toward me and not away. I forced her mouth to open by battering it with my tongue, and afterward, Fellah confessed I had made her feel weak and highly aroused at the same time.

Her arms were around my neck for the next kiss and it was evident that she was both aroused and uncaring about who might see us kissing. Fellah even began chasing my tongue back into my mouth. I was squeezing her upper thigh with my hand under the table, when I heard them next to us.

"Ahem!"

There were two of them, a guy and a girl, both in their late teens and I had never laid eyes on either of them, so I guessed they were friends, or acquaintances of Fellah.

"Oh, hi guys..." Fellah said, trying to cover her obvious embarrassment at them finding her making out with me.

"Mind if we join you?" the guy asked pleasantly enough. "Names, Gordon," he said offering his hand, which I shook.

"Sure," I said, and as they sat down with us, Fellah made the introductions.

"Jack, this is Mimi, Mimi, Jack. And Gordon, this is Jack, Jack, meet Gordon."

"Hi, how are you?" I said as pleasantly as I could manage.

Mimi said, "You two seem to be enjoying yourselves."

"Well, they serve a good drink here," I said.

"But Fellah's not twenty-one..." Mimi gasped.

"She won't tell if you don't."

"Can we get served?" she shot back.

"Let's see," I responded, and asked if they'd like rum and cokes. I was damned if I'd risk ordering some fancy drink and get us all carded.

"That'd be fine," Gordon said. "But let me pay for this round."

I took his money and brought two more rum and cokes to the table, then sat back and waited for them to initiate the conversation.

Mimi was a bubbly brunette, one year older than Fellah, but she was a close friend of Fellah's. It seems Gordon was a new boy toy, and Fellah ached to know more about him, but since I was present, she forced herself to be quiet in that regard.

It's possible she was thinking about stealing him away from Mimi; or more likely she just wanted to find out how serious Mimi was about him. Me? I couldn't have cared less.

But Mimi wanted to know about me. And since Fellah knew next to nothing, but didn't want Mimi knowing it, she babbled about everything and nothing. To amuse myself she ran on, I let my hand find Fellah's knee under the table. There was about a three second interval before she reacted with a surprised gasp. I gave her the same look that Gordon and Mimi did, and watched as she pretended to have choked on her drink.

"Excuse me," she said. "I swallowed wrong."

"Oh, I do that all the time," Mimi said.

Gordon quickly agreed, saying he did it all the time too.

Meanwhile my hand kept moving up her thigh. Fellah found herself trapped by her big mouth. She couldn't very well reach down and remove my hand because all eyes were on her. So she let me go on, just giving me a fleeting glance, hoping that would cause me to stop.

Not hardly. I chose to take the tack that she approved of my hand and the thrills it was providing as it moved into forbidden territory. Had she ever had her pussy rubbed by a guy? I wondered, and then answered my own question. Probably. Doesn't every family have an Uncle Phil, or someone like him?

Gordon picked that moment to start a story about his prowess as a rower in college. I used it to take advantage of Fellah's predicament and lightly ran my fingers over her panty covered mound.

I quickly learned that she had an abundance of pubic hair.

I saw the flush rise up from her neck to her brow; felt her hand cover my wrist, trying to halt my advances.

And, when Mimi inquired, "Isn't that wonderful, Fellah? He's a rower!" Fellah had no choice but to reply, while I wormed a finger under the edge of her panties, paused so that she had a moment to take a breath, and then slid the length of her outer labia, feeling the dampness level increasing as my finger rode north.

Fellah clenched her thighs together, obviously hoping to preclude my venturing any further, or deeper. I had expected resistance long before this; and simply marked time by joining a second finger to the first, and moving them in a pattern designed to add to her growing stimulation.

She surprised me by diverting everyone's attention from her by pointing to a picture over the bar and asking if anyone knew the artist. Even I looked, and didn't resist when her hand seized mine and forcibly removed it from her pussy.

It was a short-lived victory, however, for a minute later, my hand was back, and now Fellah had to contend with the fact that she was somewhat aroused, and my fingers knew where they were going.

After the briefest of hidden struggles, she succumbed and parted her legs, while at the same time giving me a beseeching look that said, 'Please, don't embarrass me in front of my friends.'

Not surprisingly, Fellah was having trouble following the conversation, which led Mimi to ask solicitously, "Are you okay?"

"Oh ... I'm fine, thanks," Fellah replied, "Just thinking about what I'll be doing this weekend."

"Why you'll be with me," I said, throwing her a curve ball she didn't have a chance of hitting.

Mimi, actually beamed at me, "That's wonderful!" and then silently exchanged a knowing glance with Gordon.

That told me he was fucking her. There would be no interference on their part on behalf of Fellah.

Fellah didn't pick up on it as she was already distracted by my fingers, of which four were under her panty line and approaching her cunt at warp speed. Or so I thought at the time.

I sent a finger inside her. Fellah's gasp was lost in the noise of chair legs on the wooden floor as Mimi and Gordon got up and began to say their goodbyes.

I was more than pleased with Gordon, when he said, "Oh, don't get up on our account. Enjoy yourselves. We'll see you both again."

Mimi added, "And soon I hope."

Then they were gone. Fellah looked a little strange as they left. For one, she was flushed and bright-eyed, as though she were getting sick. Her instinctive clenching of her thighs did nothing but trap my hand against her secret garden. And my finger found a little room to move deeper into her with devastating effect.

We were now alone, and Fellah had the succumbed to the quiet moans and whimpers that her body was telling her it was so necessary to make; as though they were some safety-value which prevented a dangerous build-up of pleasure which would otherwise drive her insane. The moans didn't travel any distance from our table. The bar's normal conversation and movement muffled her sounds.

"Isn't having my finger diddle you, better than your own? I asked genially.

"You ... you bastard!" she spit out.

"My, my ... is that any way to talk to someone who has made you so wet you'll be leaving a dark spot on the chair you're sitting in?"

Fellah was shocked to hear me put her excitement in that perspective; and tried to shift her rump to prevent leaving any "spot."