Looking back on it I realize that I should have known how it was going to turn out. Back then the little head was in charge and I more or less followed its lead.
The little head was like a piece of steel and she was like a magnet that constantly pulled the little head to her. Just the way I met Monica told me everything that I should have needed to know, but the big head needs blood to operate just as the little head needs blood to inflate and Monica kept the little head inflated which kept the blood away from where it was needed most.
I met Monica when I stopped at King Soopers to get the makings for dinner. It was a Sunday and as I was walking from the parking lot to the store I noticed a woman pulling a shopping cart from a line of them. She was wearing tight jeans and high heels and I have no idea why, but a woman who wears high heels with jeans grabs my attention.
I hurried to get a cart and follow her into the store. I noticed that she filled out her Levis quite nicely and I was so busy looking at her ass and her sexy feet in her heels that I almost ran into her with my cart. I stopped in time and when I raised my eyes I saw that she had a tattoo that covered her entire back. Or at least I thought it did. Her top covered a lot of it, but I could see it just above her tops neckline and I could see some of it coming out of the arm holes on either side.
Her tight Levis and her high heels were already pulling the blood away from the big head and that is the only excuse that I have for what happened next.
"Excuse me" I said, "But I have a question for you."
She turned to face me and I saw that her face was just as sexy looking as the rest of her body.
"And that question would be" she asked.
"How much would it cost me to get you to take off your top so I could see the entire tattoo?"
She laughed and looked around. "Here? In the store? In front of God and everybody? I guess I could do it for a thousand dollars."
She saw the look on my face and said, "What? You don't think I'm worth a grand?"
"I'm sure that you are probably worth a lot more than that, but that is way out of my price range."
"And just what is your price range?"
"I won't insult you by mentioning it."
"Oh no you don't buster. You started this. How much are you willing to pay?"
"I don't honestly know. I never expected to be having this conversation. I thought you would probably say something like "You don't have enough and never will have enough."
"What if I would have said that I'd do it for whatever you have on you? What would I have gotten?"
"Fifty-three dollars and some loose change."
"No way. Not here in the store. Not for that little."
She started to move away and when she turned her leg touched my iron bar hard cock and she stopped, looked at me and said:
"Oh my. Did I do that?"
She got a guilty grin and a shrug from me.
"You are kinda cute" she said and then went on to say, "Fifty-three dollars huh? Not here in the store, not for fifty-three bucks, but give me a call in about an hour" and she took a card out of her purse and handed it to me. "Maybe we can work something out. Use the cell number" and then she pushed her cart toward the deli counter. I watched her walk away and the little head throbbed as I watched her ass move in those tight Levis. I looked at the card and saw that her name was Monica Ensign and that she worked for a real estate company. It gave two phone numbers (one her cell), a fax number and an email address. I put the card in my shirt pocket fully intending to give Monica Ensign a call.
I didn't have my checkbook with me and as I watched Monica walk away I decided not to spend my fifty-three dollars on groceries. I left my empty cart there in the produce section and headed for home. I showered, put on clean clothes and checked my watch. It had been an hour and five minutes since Monica Ensign had given me her card. I took my phone of the charger and made the call.
"I never gave you my name, but I'm the guy who really, really wanted to see your tattoo and by the way my name is Rob."
"I'm surprised. I really didn't expect you to call. I thought you were just running a line on me."
"You hand your phone number out to any guy you think is just shooting you a line?"
"No, but I did say that you were kinda cute. Just what did you expect to get out of this call?"
"No idea, but you did tell me to call you in an hour so I guess I was hoping that you had something in mind."
"I did. I was curious to see if you would really pay me to see my tat."
"You bet I would."
"Okay, but it will cost you."
"Fifty-three dollars and you have to take me out to dinner."
"I can do that. When?"
"No time like the present. Do you know where the Castle View Apartments are?"
"I'm in apartment 15 E. That's in the E building. How long before I can expect you?"
"A minute. Maybe a minute and a half."
"A minute? Where are you now?"
"Apartment 22 in the B building."
I made it in a minute fifteen. She answered the door in the same Levis and heels, but she had on a different top and it didn't expose any of her tattoo.
"Just let me grab my purse and I'm ready to go."
On the way to my pickup she asked me where I was taking her and I told her that it was her choice. She opted for Angelina's and over Veal Scaloppini (me) and Linguini with Clam Sauce (her) we traded our vital statistics. Twenty-four year old single mom – daughter with grandma and grandpa for the weekend – office manager for a real estate firm, avid bowler (two mixed and one women's house league) with a one seventy-six average. Loved classical music and read an average of two books a week (currently had nine checked out of the library) and loved to cook.
On my part she found out that I was a single twenty-six year old logistics manager for a national freight company who also bowled (but only in one men's house league) and carried (embarrassed to tell her after hearing hers) a one fifty-five average. My music was country western and I rarely read, never watched TV and restored cars in my spare time. My current project was a 1993 Mustang convertible. That last fact peaked her interest. She also drove a Mustang convertible. A 1997.
"Black with a black top?"
"I've seen it in the parking lot and I wondered whose it was."
"It was my husband's and I got it by default when he got his dumb ass killed."
"Not a happy marriage?"
"It was fine until I got pregnant with Melanie. He didn't want kids and had made that point very forcibly before we got married. When my birth control pills let me down he said that he wasn't going to be saddled with a brat and he took off. He joined the Army and the fool let the recruiter talk him into going Airborne. I never got the full story, but on his third training jump something went wrong with his main chute and he either panicked and forgot he had a reserve chute or something went wrong with that too. Whatever. It was a closed casket funeral. What's the story with you? Twenty-six years old and single?"
"Twenty-six years old and widowed. Some similarities to your story. I wanted kids and she didn't. After two years of constantly bugging me –unsuccessfully – to get a vasectomy so she could go off the pill she up and left me. Told me to fuck off and die and went storming out of the house. She was so pissed at me that she wasn't paying attention and she ran a red light and got T-boned by a beer truck. Also a closed casket funeral."
"Why didn't you give her what she wanted?"
"Because I wanted kids. I didn't know that vasectomies could be reversed and I thought that some day she might change her mind and I needed to be functional if that happened. The irony of the situation is that it didn't matter because it turns out that I'm sterile and couldn't have fathered a child anyway."
"How did you find that out?"
"A sad tale, but the short version is that a girl I was dating said she was pregnant and that I was the father. I knew that she wasn't exclusive with me and I didn't believe her. I told her that if a DNA test showed that I was the father I would marry her otherwise no. The test proved that I wasn't the father. Three months later at a party I was drinking with an old girlfriend who asked where Sally was and so I told her the story. She said that she could have told me that I wasn't the father without even bothering to do a DNA test. I asked her how she could say that. She told me that she had never been on the pill and we had done it dozens of times when she was at her most fertile and I'd never gotten her pregnant so I probably wasn't able to do it. Since I did want kids I thought I'd better check things out and that's when I found out I was shooting blanks. If I want kids I'm going to have to marry a woman who already has them."
When I got her home she invited me in, had me sit down on the couch and then she offered me a beer. When she brought it to me she handed it to me and said:
"That will be fifty-three dollars please" and stood there and held her hand out until I took the money out of my pocket and handed it to her. She walked over to her purse and put the money in it and then came back to stand in front of me. She took off her top and then did a slow turn in front of me.
"What do you think? Worth the price?"
"No. You are cheating me."
"Cheating? How am I cheating?"
"I paid to see the whole tattoo and your bra is covering part of it."
.... There is more of this story ...