Chapter 1

“No one believes an ex-con,” said the mid-forties man, handsome despite the ruggedness of his face, a map both physically and psychologically of a rough past, his short hair, a browned blond, like thoroughly dried grass or wheat ready for harvesting, entertaining Peg at her bar, a corner bar with quiet pretension in its almost antique age, everything made in a matching dark hard wood, lights low enough so that the neon beer signs and the classic colorful Wurlitzer juke box managed to create their own lightening of the space, the juke box only with music predating the British Invasion of the Beatles except for a fondness for Minnesota music.

“Tell me your tales anyway,” Peg insisted, “tall as you or not.”

Harry, born Harrison for some horrible reason, not including being a son of Harry which would have been Junior anyway which would have been worse, squinted a smile at the tough blonde woman, nursing his second Special Export beer, the first drank down quickly. He saw a beauty that had mellowed with age, becoming subtler via harsh times in her face and a filling out of her body, a filly becoming a race horse which had passed her prime and put to pasture as it’s said, speed replaced by sturdiness. “Just got out of prison,” he told her.

“Not some tall tale so far,” she smirked. “Stillwater State Prison?”

“Yep. A stupid youth combined with some kind of noble loyalty.”

“You took the fall?”

“I was never innocent except for being stupid and young. I was the one who got tracked down. The other two so called friends got away.”

“Your term would have been lessened if you spilled the beans.”

“Yep.”

“Must have been a harsh sentence if you just got out.”

“Murder while performing a felony.”

“What felony?”

“Armed bank robbery. A thrill thing, getting the blood pumping I guess, but a woman ended up getting shot for reaching into her purse. Turns out she was just reaching for some pill for her epilepsy or something. Of course she was some bigwig’s daughter.”

“Did you...?”

“No. That was my psychotic best friend. He had the idea, he pulled the trigger, but I was the one who pulled it together. My big idea was to disperse instead of going off in one getaway car. My car got seen and identified, some kid with some memory remembered the license plate. My dad’s fixated on guns, so they got me on that too.”

“The others?”

“Disappeared into Wisconsin. That was my plan too, meeting up in Madison. The BOLO went out and I got found before we could meet, although who knows what happened after the murder, how freaked out they must have been, except my psychotic friend probably getting his psychotic jollies.”

“So it was loyalty?”

“It was guilt, both in the judicial and psychological sense. I deserved to be punished, the harsher the better. I was responsible and why should I make the responsibility any worse by telling on my friends?”

“Even the psychotic one?”

“Even him.”

“Stay here,” Peg said and walked out from behind the bar. Just an older couple remained on a late Tuesday night. “Go home to your spouses,” she told them, and they bowed to her kicking them out and left. She shut things down and locked up. “Come on,” she said, and he followed her full ass out a back door and up some steps to an apartment atop the bar.

Once in the old but clean apartment she kissed him. “Name’s Peg,” she told him.

“Uhm, Harry. You sure?”

“How long has it been?” she grinned.

He chuckled before pulling her into another kiss.

“You need a shower?” she asked.

“Had one before they finally got rid of me.”

She laughed at his choice of words. “I need one. Wait here.”

He watched her shifting ass before she disappeared into the bathroom. He turned on the television but didn’t get a signal so turned it off. She had a stereo beside it and stacks of CDs and a shelf full of albums. Going through the latter he found a George Jones album, I Am What I Am, and managed to figure out how to play it. He turned up the volume a little and sat back on a worn but intact hunter green couch and waited.

“Good choice,” he heard yelled from the bathroom moments before hearing the shower.

He hardened in anticipation wondering if he should do something about it. “Fuck it,” he decided and opened his trousers, lowered his jockeys and masturbated.

His need for release was intense to the point that, even if he didn’t stroke himself, he could very well cum. He leaned down to remove his shoes, Oxfords of all things and not the least bit comfortable, and his pants and underpants soon followed. Keeping the underpants, he used them to catch his spend less than a minute later. Though uncomfortable at first, and it was a pleasurable discomfort, he kept fisting himself and never got quite limp before hardening again, becoming fully erect once more and continuing to masturbate, not quite getting to the point of orgasm nor wanting to.

She emerged from the bathroom with a smile and little else. The flowery robe she wore was essentially transparent and barely reached below her pudendum. Though fleshy, he thought he’d never seen anyone so sexy and beautiful. Some thickness at her tummy couldn’t be classified as fat, and her breasts as full as they were remained resilient to the pressures of gravity, rounded flesh capped by reddish brown areolas somewhere between quarter and dollar coin sized with slim thimble sized nipples at their center.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, standing, his cock bouncing.

“Let me see you,” she told him.

He removed the rest of his clothing except his black socks. He’d worked out, mostly calisthenics but some weights as well, but the definition was subtle enough not to be muscle bound like some of his fellow prisoners. He went for strong and fast as much for defensive protection as anything. Never an abundance of food, along with the workouts, kept him lean.

“Nice,” she approved, her gaze centering on his cock, not all that thick but more than seven inches long. She went up to him and knelt, her face at cock level, but instead of bringing her mouth to it, she removed his socks with a chuckle. Only when done did she stand and take hold of his rigid flesh and pull him into her bedroom.

A queen sized bed greeted him, with a sturdy looking headboard with similar dark wood seen in her bar. Except for the antique vanity, the room wasn’t particularly feminine, maybe gender neutral. A heavy desk took a corner of it, a computer monitor atop it. Shelves lined a lot of the wall, full of books, and where it didn’t were drawings, nudes, looking to be of her, some quite sexual.

“You’re a model,” he said.

“Among other things,” she chuckled, tossing aside the robe. She pulled down the quilt and coversheet to the end of the bed. “Lie down.”

When he did, her mouth headed directly to his cock. “Let me taste you,” he insisted, and she straddled his mouth. The ambrosia of her pussy, both taste and smell, thrilled him to the core. It had been years since he’d been where his mouth was. It was a memory he liked to retain for his masturbation in prison because it was a favorite thing for him, pleasuring his girlfriend, making her cum and cum again, ignoring her objections, at least at the beginning of their time together, her learning he’d keep going despite her protests and she’d learned how amazing it was to let him do his thing.

Concentration helped delay his cumming, listening to her moans when she lifted her mouth off his cock to find what she liked best, though when she didn’t lift off but her moans buzzed his cock, that made the focus more difficult. In the end he beat her to orgasm, warning her. She swallowed the results. “Keep going,” he insisted.

“Only if you do,” she replied.

“Of course.”

It wasn’t long after that he relished the growl of pleasure and the vibrations of her pussy and the new abundance of juices. She was about to move off him. “Stay,” he insisted. “Please.”

She stayed and he worked past her sensitivity and built her to her next orgasm, quicker and maybe more intense than the last one. He was as hard as ever by then and she moved languidly to her bedside table to grab a condom and soon had him covered before pulling him over her and leading his cock inside her.