The bar I go to on weekends was empty when I got there at noon. It was Saturday and it was still nice out. In a couple of hours, it would be 100F and an hour after than it would climb to 107F. Then it would pack out as folks wanted out of the heat and as people got off the river after rafting it all day to stay cool. Even the river wouldn’t keep you cool at 107F and bright sunshine.
I took a booth and set up my laptop to write some more of the erotic story I had begun. Writing erotica had become a fun hobby over the past years and I was getting a good response from readers all over the world. I wrote stories that reflected my view of the world and of life as an old single guy. My friends did not know about it, since I work with kids, it seemed like a good idea to not let the cat out.
I ordered a one-pound bowl of edamame and some unsweetened iced tea, pulled out my laptop, inserted the thumb drive that held all my work and began to type. I was into the 2nd chapter of a book I would release next year when I noticed that the crowd was beginning to file in. I noshed on the soybeans and typed away in a stream of consciousness that was driven by a very happy muse.
In the midst of a section that I felt was going to become a nexus, steering the story one way or another, I heard a voice.
“Hi Jas. What’s up?”
“We’re packed, and I was wondering since your booth holds 4 if I could ask a favor.”
“Do I need to move to make room for more folks?”
“NO. Thanks, bro. You are the best. Besides. there isn’t any place to move to. No, man, I have a couple that was wondering if they could share your booth.”
“Um, sure. Let me pack up my stuff and make room.”
“You might not have to. Let me get them.”
A few seconds later Jason reappeared with two women. I would guess that both were in their 30’s. One was tall, maybe 5’10” and slender. The other was maybe 5’2”, but she was kind of dumpy looking, wearing a tent, doubling as a dress.
“Hi, Jason said that you might not mind if we sat with you.”
The tall one spoke.
“Yeah, it’s not a problem, let me get this stuff out of the way.”
“Were you working our something?”
“I was writing some things.”
“You don’t have to stop for us. We’ll sit on this side and there should be plenty of room for our food and drinks.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
“At least let me move the case under the table and onto this side. I’ll unplug the power. The laptop is fully charged and will last me for about 5-6 hours.”
I moved my carrying case and the two women slid into the booth opposite me. When I unplugged the power cable the whole side of the table opened up. I stuffed the cable into its place in the bag and pulled the laptop well over to my half of the table, leaving the two women and good-sized area.
I got my self all set with my beer to the left of my laptop, sitting on a folded napkin to absorb the dripping condensation. Taking a deep breath, once everything was moved, I went back to writing. This part of the story was critical, and I needed to hit it before my muse took a hike. When she bailed on me it could be minutes or weeks before she came home.
I was getting back to it when I heard the voice.
“What are you doing?”
The voice was sweet and soft and oozed sensuality. There was a melodic tone to it as well as a deeper timbre than most girls had.
I looked up into two very green eyes, surrounded by a massive number of freckles and curly red hair. I don’t know that I have ever seen very many really pretty natural redheaded women. Most seemed to be less than pretty. It seemed that the pretty ones were really, really pretty and the others were like the woman sitting across from me.
“Mick! Don’t be a dick!” That would be my mothers voice resonating in my head. For years until she died she was always telling me that everyone deserved to be treated with care and respect until they proved that they were worthy of neither.
OK! Good news, bad news.
The good news, the redhead was sitting across from me with my laptop screen concealing her breasts. The bad news, the redhead was sitting across from me with my laptop screen concealing her breasts.
“I’m ... uh ... writing.”
“What are you writing?”
“Just a short story.”
“What is it about?”
“Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I am at a point that I really need to get the story out and if I don’t, I could screw up the whole storyline. So please let me finish this.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t bother you.”
I went back to it trying my best to keep my typing speed up with my brain and the words it was pumping out. In the background, I could make out sounds of the two women chatting and the sounds of the busy bar/grill. I caught myself glancing up occasionally and noting the green-ness of her eyes. Then back to work.
I finished the entire portion I was on and reread it to see if it went where I wanted it to go and then to check to see if it came from the right place. It was just what I wanted, and I was happy with it. I gave my muse a high-five and a big wet kiss on the lips. I saved my work and then did something really dumb.
I closed my laptop.
Four things happened, then, in rapid succession.
First, both of the women looked up from their phones to look me in the eyes.
Second, I saw that the redhead’s breasts were resting perfectly on top of the tabletop.
Third, my jaw dropped, and a small bit of drool leaked out and onto the laptop lid.
Fourth, the redhead saw me staring and drooling over her tits.
I composed myself and sat up straight, excusing myself to go to the restroom. I walked away quickly and quietly. I went into the restroom that was unoccupied and closed and locked the door. I peed and flushed and then went to wash my hands. Looking in the mirror, I wondered what hell awaited me when I got out. I had moved quickly, thinking that if I took too long they might think that I was beating off.
When I returned to the table, only the redhead was sitting there. She had removed her breasts from the table top. I took my seat opposite her and looked her straight in the eyes before I spoke.
“Please accept my apology for acting the way I did just now. I am sorry.”
“I apologize as well. You were so involved with your writing that you didn’t even notice us making fun of you. My friend, Becky, flashed you twice.”
“Yes, and she left after you went to the rest room because she was insulted that you wouldn’t notice her. She is a little full of herself sometimes.”
“Still, that doesn’t override the fact that I stared at your breasts and actually did it long enough that I drooled.”
“I must admit that I have never seen a man drool over anyone let alone me. I think it is a compliment. What do you think?”
“I think that I am totally embarrassed and ashamed of myself.”
“Ashamed. Now there is a word I have not heard in a very long time. That is a word from a time when men had honor and standards. My name is Deb and in spite of your actions earlier, I’m very pleased to meet you.”
She held out a hand and I took it shaking it gently.
“My name is Mick and it is a pleasure to meet you.”
Jason came back over and asked if I wanted anything. I looked at Deb.
“Would you care for a drink?”
“What are you having?” She answered with a question.
“I was going to have an unsweetened iced tea, but now I am thinking I need something stiffer.”
I waved Jason to come over.
“What would you like?” He asked Deb.
“I’ll have a Jack and Coke, Jason.”
“I can do that.” He said in his usual happy manner.
“Make it two and please put it on my tab.” I said.
“You don’t have to do that.” Deb protested.
“I do if I am going to do the honorable thing and continue my apology.”
“You don’t have to do that either.” Deb smiled.
“Thank you for saying that. In that case I am buying a drink for a lady who chose to share my table on a hot Saturday afternoon.”
“Uh ... Mick ... It is Saturday night and rather late on Saturday night.”
I looked out the window and saw it was dark. I pulled out my phone and looked down to see that it was just before midnight. I had been working on the story since just before noon. I shook my head and looked at Deb. She must have picked up my confusion.
“Mick, how long have you been working on that story today?”
“Wow.” Her bright green eyes opened wide.
“I just got into a stream of consciousness thing and went with it.”
“Must be a hell of a story.”
“I was happy with it.” I said quietly.
“You looked happy when you looked up before you locked up.”
“God! I can’t believe I did that.”
“It’s ok. What is the story about?” She asked.
“It’s just a story.”
“Ok, you go from spending 12 hours on it and being happy with it, to “It’s just a story” in nothing flat.”
“I mean it’s no big deal.” I said.
“It must be a big something for you to spend so much time on it. Unless you are the world’s slowest typist.” Deb joked.
“I have already embarrassed myself enough for one day. Please just drop it.”
Just then Jason came back with out two Jack and Cokes. Picking mine up I lifted it towards Deb and toasted her.
“Thank you for being understanding.”
She touched my glass.
“No problem. What is the story on the story?”
I thought about it and as I looked at her I figure what the hell. She wasn’t someone I was attracted to physically. Her voice was angelic. Her politeness indicated a lady of some education in the social graces. She had already demonstrated that he had two huge tits hidden under her tent, but she was not, in any way, shape, or form, really pretty. In college the term used for girls like her was “Butter Face”. As in her body is fantastic, but her face is a no so great.
“I write erotica. It was an erotic romance.”
“Erotica? As in porn?”
“No. I don’t write stroke stories. That’s what those kinds of stories are called. Those stories are all about fucking with some words stringing the sex acts together. I write light romances and like in the real world, people who love each other, my characters, make love to each other on occasion. They also have fights and have their trash bags split open half way to the curb.”
“That last part doesn’t seem too erotic.”
“Look, in America everything erotic has been removed from our lives. Sex is dirty. Our movies censor sex and then set up rating that penalize a little sex but let a lot of violence through. Then society wonders why we have mass shootings and people getting shot all over Chicago every day. They blame guns instead of a society that puts no value on caring or love. Kids are not taught to love they are taught to hook up. Look at the number of babies born to single mothers.”
“Whoa there, cowboy!”
“Sorry.” I paused and took a breath. “I am off my soapbox now.”
“So, do you sell these stories?”
“I don’t. I know guys who do, and some make a good living at it. I do it because I enjoy it. I have a few ‘loyal followers’ on the site I post the stories on.”
“There is a website for these stories?”
“Deb, there is a website for everything.”
“Yeah, I guess there is. So how can I read one of these stories?”
“You can go to the website I post on and read them for free. Be aware that if I am in a bad mood I write stories where bad things happen to people, if I am in a goofy mood I write stories that are light.”
“So how do I know if I am reading one of yours?”
“I write under the name WriterMick2016.”
“The year I started posting stories.”
“So just look up WriterMick2016 and I will find your stories.”
“Well I don’t come up on Google, I can tell you that for sure.”
“So how do I find the site? Tell me the name.”
“Type in “Storiesonline”, one word. It should come up. Then click on the top on Authors and then on the letter “W” and scroll down until you hit WriterMick2016.”
“Ok. Can I use your laptop?”
“I would rather you did it in the privacy of your own place.”
“Ok, finish your drink, we can settle our tabs and I will take you to my place, so I can look on my computer.”
“I don’t know.”
“Look, Mick, I know that I am not the most gorgeous girl in the world. I hope that you won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me. I am 39 years old, soon to be 40. I don’t go around picking up guys, however, you’ve acted honorably. I don’t see that too much. Come on, take a chance. The worst that happens is you get a new reader and maybe I spread the word and get you a few more.”
Maybe I was tired. Twelve hours of typing and focus and a few beers will do that. I hemmed and hawed and then finished my drink and called to Jason for my tab and Deb’s. I paid them both. We headed out the door when it hit me.
“Deb, I just remembered that I walked here today. I will have to walk back to my place and pick up my car. Let me have your address and I will get there.”
“I am not going to give you a chance to run out or disappear on me. I can drive you to my place and then home afterwards or I can drive you home and then you can follow me.”
I thought about it. Oh, what the hell.
“I’ll go with you.”
“You sound shocked. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think that you would go for it.” I chuckled.
“Come on. You know I’m not going to do anything wrong. Let’s go.”
She led me to her Honda and after she unlocked the car, I opened her door. She looked at me like ... well, like I don’t know what. It was good, but it was strange. I got in the passenger side, put my laptop case under my legs, and buckled in.
“What was that look for?”I asked.
“I can’t remember the last time someone opened a car door for me.”
“You are obviously dating the wrong guys.”
“I am not dating any guys. Most guys look at me and think homely fat girl. The guys that try me because they figure that even a fat girl needs love, get shut down pretty fast. I will tell you right now that I happen to think that my pussy is pretty valuable stuff.”
“Good to know. I would hate to be seen with a woman who didn’t think that.”
There was that look again. We drove for a few minutes into an area of Boise known as The Bench. She pulled into the driveway of a small, modest house. Even in the dark I could tell that the place was well cared for.
“Would you like me to open your door?”
“I can get it. But thank you for asking.”
I got out and went around the car to hold the door open and offer a hand, which she took. I walked next to her up the steps to the door and stood off to the side as she unlocked her home. She opened the door and motioned for me to enter.
Deb walked in, I followed, she moved behind me and closed and locked the door.
“Please sit on the couch or in the easy chair. I am going to go and change into something more comfortable.”
I looked at her and laughed.
“I was wondering how you would react to that line. I’ll be right down.” She said.
I sat there and looked around the house. It was clean and conservative. There was no sign of children or small yappy dogs. I hate small yappy dogs. I truly dislike women who are married to small yappy dogs. I got up and looked in the kitchen. It had the look and feel of a well-used room. The pots and pans were hanging above a well-used butcherblock table. The stove was gas, unusual in Boise where geothermal electricity was so common and inexpensive.
I went back and sat down just before Deb returned and shocked the hell out of me.
“Here I come.”
She announced her approach like she expected me to be looking around the house. When she came down the stairs and four things happened in rapid succession.
First, I stood when she entered the room Second, I noticed the bounce under her shirt.
Third, I noticed that she had a very small waist.
Fourth, my dick sprang to life.
“I see that you are surprised.”
“Yeah, just a lot.”
The best way to describe her was to say that it looked like every bit of energy her body could muster went into supporting her two very large breasts. If I was living in a Sci-Fi world, I would guess that her boobs were her and her body was a life support system for the two massive mounds.
“I wear those dresses because I hate it when guys stare at my tits. Unfortunately, my breasts are so big that they overshadow everything else. I kind of hijacked you by setting them on the table. Other than that, you never stared at them. I was watching. Even in the car when the seat belt split them and showed how big they are, you didn’t stare.”
“I always figured that both people know that one of them has big breasts. It makes no sense to be obvious about it.”