Chapter 3

Harry awoke with the exquisite pleasure of being sucked, the room lit dimly from the sun just edging over the horizon filling the windows weakly, Chrissy’s eyes mischievously gazing at him while her mouth was filled with cock. Her eyes widened and Harry saw the reason, Peg sucking the young woman’s pussy.

Chrissy lifted her mouth off, groaning, “Right there! Right there!” and fisted Harry’s cock, continuing that while her mouth sucked at his glans with almost painful intensity, until it opened and she growled her orgasm, catching Harry’s spend at the same time, at least some of it. Some hit her chin and hung there.

“Holy shit, you guys are amazing,” she commented while rolling off the bed and finding Harry’s boxers, Tom’s actually, to clean her mouth. “Gotta go unfortunately. You guys sleep.”

Slipping on her dress, she left.

Both Harry and Peg laughed. “Think you can get it back up, big guy?” Peg asked.

“Yep.”

Peg straddled his face and sucked his penis, a bit harsh for him at first but he got used to it, got hard for her, and after she came on his face she rode the results for a while, ending things for even longer with Harry fucking her doggy style, her orgasms near continuous at the end.

They finally got up, Peg putting Harry’s shirt on and Harry Tom’s borrowed shorts and they went to the bathroom Peg had found and shared a lovely, intimate shower.

All quiet downstairs where they found Chrissy cleaning, doing her maid thing. “There’s coffee,” she said. “I can make you breakfast.”

“We’ll just make some toast,” Peg waved her off. After a brief meal of toast and coffee and cranberry juice, Harry walked to the study where he found Tom sleeping on the couch. Closing the door quietly, he informed Peg of Tom’s status.

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” Peg decided. “Maybe a swim? The pool’s nice.”

“Suits?”

“No one’s here to watch.”

“Skinny dipping!” Harry grinned.

The pool was indeed nice, maybe three quarters Olympic sized. Harry and Peg did leisurely laps, Harry’s first time swimming in more than a couple decades. They tired themselves out with it, getting out and showering from an open shower spout in the corner before drying and dressing.

“We should go shopping,” Peg decided.

“Sounds good,” said Harry.

They ended up driving for a while towards the Twin Cities before parking at a large mall. Another Perkins was there, freestanding, and they had a leisurely breakfast since the mall wasn’t open yet.

“You still haven’t told me your story,” Harry insisted.

“Like I said,” Peg started, “it’s all about rampant alcoholism. First my mom ran off with another alcoholic she met at the bar.”

“Kind of like me,” Harry said.

“Much worse than you I imagine. Anyway, Dad got sick from all the alcohol, and I ended up taking care of him in what became my apartment while taking over running the bar which I inherited.”

“Before that?”

“I went to Saint Olaf studying psychology of all things and got my MRS degree there.”

“You got married?”

“Pregnant and married. The guy was a drinker too and I matched him drink for drink.”

“You were pregnant.”

“I thought I wanted it because I thought I wanted him, so I stopped drinking. Otherwise I would have had an abortion. I ended up miscarrying probably from the shock of my husband dying in a collision promoted by him being drunk and being blown by some chippy I knew nothing about.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, but the head on killed him and her quick and unfortunately the young couple he collided with. I ended up drinking a lot after that, after the miscarriage, and fucked around a lot until I got called back to the bar because of my dad’s illness.

“Being at the bar woke me up, seeing the sad drunks, seeing my dad and my brother, both suicides by alcohol, and maybe partly just the responsibility.”

“Your brother?”

“Cirrhosis like my dad maybe five years ago? He barely functioned as it was, the bar money keeping him in a sad little apartment in town. His wife had left him long ago, and he fucked whatever bimbo he could find until he got too bloated to have any attraction anymore and then was just a lonely sad creature who probably craved death.”

“Suicide by alcohol.”

“Yep.”

“Sorry.”

Peg shrugged.

“You joined AA?”

“Life was my AA I guess. I just stopped drinking. I realized one always led to another and just stopped.”

“You’re a strong woman.”

“I guess I chose to be alive. I never have the illusion that life is all rainbows and pots of gold, but I guess I do what I can to see the bright side. I get to know people at the bar, find out whatever passion seems to keep them going. The young rockers are especially a kick.”

“Being a prostitute?” Harry asked quietly.

“I get that it’s a harsh life if that’s all you do to survive. But it’s not for me, you know, and I don’t really do it a lot. More it’s about giving a guy a good fuck or a good conversation or both, and them paying for it is as much assuaging any guilt they might have on cheating as it is compartmentalizing the encounter as a business transaction.”

“No illusion it’s an ongoing relationship?”

“Exactly, although some are. It’s more about not having love being a part of it or that it’s not going to be anything beyond what it is. And maybe there’s something in there about making men pay because they’re assholes,” she laughed.

“And I’m not?” Harry asked.

“Jury’s still out on that,” Peg smirked. “Although you could see it as payment in kind with me getting to meet famous people, hang around in an amazing house, and fuck a hottie.”

“You’re talking about Chrissy?”

“Yes asshole,” Peg laughed. She enmeshed his fingers with hers. “Though you’re hot enough for me to want to fuck you for free.”

“For which I’m incredibly thankful that you were attracted.”

“Just don’t let it go to your head and be like Tom.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Of course you would. You’d at least contemplate it. What man doesn’t?”

“True,” Harry admitted. “Though there’s something to be said about intimacy, not that I’ve had much experience. Pleasure’s one thing, but there’s something to be said about the warm and fuzzies with enjoying someone’s company.”

“Pillow talk.”

“Or just talking like this.”

“I haven’t been in a relationship for a long time,” she said with ambivalence, liking it and being afraid of it at the same time.

“Me either.”

They laughed.

Shopping went better than expected. She wasn’t the supposed typical woman who loved it, and neither was he the typical man who couldn’t get it done fast enough, probably because it was a long time since he’d done it as much as anything. What made it best was the fun they had with each other.

By the end though his wad of cash had been greatly reduced. She offered to pay but he refused. However, the reduction of money brought out the most significant suggestion of his life, after the actions that put him in prison.

“You can bartend,” she suggested. “And stay with me.”

“You sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” she replied.

“Then yes please.”

The conversation happened, coincidently or not, standing near a jewelry store. They went in.

The expense, which Harry again insisted on paying, and would have reduced his wad to nothing or beyond, had Peg say, “I have an idea,” and pulled him out of the store.

“What?” he asked.

“Pawnshop.”

“You mean buying another couple’s failure? Golden Rings by George and Tammy?”

“How about giving them, and us, a second chance?”

“I have a friend who might give us a deal,” Harry remembered.

“A friend you still know about?”

“A second set of friends in high school, actually the first set before I plunged into the second set, the bad boy set instead of the good boys.”

“Why the bad boys?”

“Drugs. The psychotic was a dealer and I got shit from him for the first set of friends who might have been good boys but still liked getting high. He took a liking to me and I liked his unbridled and dangerous adventurousness. Frances kept track on my first set for me or just let me know how they were.”

“You didn’t keep track of them?”

“Me and Dave, the guy with the pawnshop, kept in touch for a while, but he ended up not much for writing letters all that often and then it became not at all, which I really couldn’t blame him. My other friends never made contact, and again I didn’t blame them. They had their own life, not even a grain of what my life had become.”

“You know where his pawn shop is?”

“I can ask.”

“Use my cell phone.”

Frances’s number was on the same folded sheet as the address, so he pulled it from his wallet and called. He ended up having to leave a message.

“It’s Harry borrowing my girlfriend’s phone. Do you know the address of Dave’s pawnshop?”

She didn’t call back until they were in the car, and the Bluetooth bringing her into the speakers amazed Harry.

“Harry?” she asked.

“Hey sis. You okay?”

“Been better. Girlfriend?”

“Hi Frances, I’m Peg. Sorry we haven’t had a chance to meet.”

“Saw the gem in the rough?”

“You could say that.”

“Good for you.”

“We were thinking about visiting a pawnshop and...,” Harry started.

“You want me to text Dave’s store?” his sister asked.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. We can talk when you get back. You are coming back?”

“Of course,” said Harry.

“I could use a friendly shoulder.”

“Which I will provide.”

“Thanks.” She hung up and soon texted the address, with the note, “Love you,” added, surrounded by heart emojis, one frowning and one happy.

“It’s a bit of a ways,” said Peg.

“It’ll be worth it,” Harry promised.

“Seeing your friend again at the least,” Peg smiled.

They drove for a while to the other side of the Twin Cities to the small store in a strip mall.

Harry recognized Dave immediately, the short man not having changed all that much really. Harry must have changed more.

“Dave?”

It took a moment. “Harry?”

“They let me out of my cage.”

“About fucking time.”

Dave moved out from behind the counter for a hug, not even all that uncomfortable.

“This is Peg,” Harry introduced. Noticing Dave’s puzzlement, Harry chuckled, “Long story.”