American Ream Pt. 01

I'm not very good at sticking with things, like I've said, but I am pretty damned good at winging it, and all things considered I felt pretty good about myself when I walked into his classroom only to be told that I wasn't needed until next week. Thanks Brik.

As I dragged my ass back down to the change room, Chris called and told me that this customer that I'd been working on for over a week had shown up looking for me, and now the vultures were circling. I had no choice but to dash back there immediately costume and all.

I got some strange looks, especially from Stevie, but there was no time to explain as I snagged the woman and got her into the yellow ragtop she'd been looking at. Fortunately she was cool; she was a mom with three boys, so she knew what my life was like and had no problem cutting me some slack. She was going through some kind of mid-life crisis herself and felt like cutting loose and doing something crazy; specifically buying this sweet little sports car which incidentally would bring me a very nice commission and get the old man off my back for a few weeks.

I sold it hard, I was so desperate I was almost hysterical, and after she calmed me down she said she wanted to take it for a test drive to help her make up her mind. She was almost there, she said, but not quite.

I'm an optimist, if I wasn't I wouldn't still be standing, so when she said she wanted a test drive I could already hear the cash register ringing, and could picture myself getting all kinds of luxuries like pantyhose without runs, and food that didn't come from Ethiopia.

As soon as we got out of town, and that doesn't take long in Orson, she really opened that little sucker up. We were both having a great time, kind of an older version of Thelma and Louise (actually I had never watched that movie to the end, I probably should have). She was tearing up the country roads and we were very quickly in the middle of nowhere, and around Orson it's hard to tell which middle of nowhere you're in because they all look pretty much the same. The top was down, the sun was hot, and soon I was standing up and dancing to the music on the expensive stereo system.

All of a sudden she pulled over saying she thought she'd hit something. I didn't think so, but she insisted that I get out and take a look which I did, reluctantly. As soon as I had moved around to the rear of the car she floored it and was gone. She shouted something about getting her kids out of prison and then I was all alone, which pretty much brings us back to where I started.

Now things started to get really interesting, and in case you didn't guess, pretty dirty too, by which I mean sexual.

ROCKIN ROBBIE

Okay, so I was looking up at the scary biker guy.

I looked up at him with a hangdog expression; "Please, don't hurt me," I said. His reply was probably the last thing in the world I expected to hear.

"Frankie, Frankie Fingers, is that you?" he asked.

I hadn't heard that name since high school, and even then it was said mostly behind my back.

Let me explain. I was always a... friendly girl, you know, wanted to get along, keep people happy, especially the boys. I never put much effort into things. I didn't get great grades, didn't do well in sports, was the least enthusiastic cheer leader, never went out for show dance or anything like that, but of course, like every teenager, I still wanted to be popular.

Just at the end of middle school I had discovered that you could do a lot with your hands that would make boys happy; it didn't take a lot of work, especially if you flashed some boob and used a few well-chosen words at the same time. What can I say, we're talking less than five minutes work here and then you got a big payoff in the way they treated you. Soooo in the first couple of years in high school I kinda did it a lot, and to quite a few different boys. I was good at it, really good, and before long everybody was calling me Frankie Fingers.

Maybe I used a bit of tongue now and again to get things started, or maybe to kick someone over the edge, but these weren't blowjobs, I assure you. I had seen firsthand the massive amount of cum that spurted out of those boys, often without any warning, and I wasn't about to get my face in way of all... that. I didn't want to go down that road so to speak. That would have made me a cocksucker, and that was a line I didn't want to cross. Frankie Fingers was okay, Frankie Fuck Face would have been demeaning. At first I was kind of proud of my nickname, but when I started going steady with Mike, I stopped doing it, except to him, and he did his best to get people to stop calling me that.

So back to the lonely road. I was stunned; totally confused, speechless, as this guy crouched down close beside me and took off his sunglasses; "It is you!" he exclaimed his face lighting up. "Frankie, it's me, Rockin Robbie, from Orson High!"

I straightened up a little, cuffed the tears out of my eyes and peered at him; "Robbie Rotaski?" I said.

I recognized him now, it's amazing how you can still see the teenager in a face even after all the years of wear and tear. He had been pretty well known around school, a couple of years behind me, but he'd been a real character, an unapologetic throwback rocker during the age of punk. We never hung out or anything, but he was one of the people I'd say "hi" to in the hall. Like I said, I was a friendly girl. Not... that kind of friendly with him, but you know, I wasn't stuck up, even though I was a cheer leader. I didn't look down my nose at the kids in the lower classes the way some girls did; hell I'd done my sophomore year twice, so who was I to be on a high horse.

My trembling lips formed into a smile, maybe I was getting a break; "Hey, Rockin Robbie Rotaski, sure I remember you," I replied. It was like fucking home coming week in Orson.

He helped me to my feet and took a step back so he could get a good look at me; he shook his head; "Man, Frankie, there has got to be a good story behind this," he was having a belly laugh now; "Man, crazy shit was always happenin to you, I guess that hasn't changed."

I started telling my story, babbling even worse than usual, and the other bikers all gathered around to hear what I was saying. They were all smiling; they looked friendly, but I could also see them checking me out. It was embarrassing; the costume was never meant to be sexy, but the cheap material, soaked with my sweat, was molding tightly to my spanx-enhanced curves, and it was pretty much see-through now. I could feel the tightness of my nipples and I knew they must be poking out a mile. Without bragging I can say that I've got a decent body for my age (especially around Orson); I've always had a nice rack, and my stomach is mostly flat, and my can is shapely without being too large, but I hadn't thought of myself as... sexy in a long time. Come on, I'd been married for sixteen years and had three kids. I had put all... that on the shelf some time ago and more or less forgotten about it; now I was remembering. I caught myself licking the cream off of my lips, and quickly put my naughty tongue back into my mouth.

Robbie put a hand on my shoulder; "Okay Frankie, okay," he laughed; "I get the gist of it. If you want to come with me, I've got a place not far from here where you can make a phone call, or maybe one of the girls will give you a ride back to town."

What could I say? I smiled, wiped the rest of the cream from my chin, shrugged my shoulders, and found myself climbing up onto the back of his Harley. Maybe he was going to take me and chain me up in a basement somewhere, maybe I would have to fuck him, maybe I was gonna have to fuck the whole lot of them; but it was a chance I was willing to take to get off of that hot dusty road. It's not like they were threatening me or anything, and anyways, that stuff only happened in the movies, right?

####

"So, am I going to get gangbanged?" I asked the woman behind the bar. I couldn't tell you what her age was, she was as lean as a teenager except for big fake boobs, but from the roots of her dyed blonde hair and the wrinkles on her face and neck (the part that wasn't tattooed) I would have said she was almost my age. Her eyes looked like she was probably over a hundred.

But there was a real person there (turned out her name was Donna), because she gave me a real sympathetic look when she replied; "Is that what you expect? I don't know, we haven't had one for almost a week now and the boys are getting pretty restless. So, look, if it happens try to steer clear of the pool room, it can get really nasty in there."

I gulped.

"You know with the cues and all..."

"Ya, I get it," I replied and shifted my sweaty butt around on the bar stool.

"You want that drink now?" she asked.

"Double," I replied looking over my shoulder and making a weak smile at the mountain of a guy that was watching me from one stool away. He must have weighed three hundred pounds; his beard went half way down his chest, and his meaty arms just kind of hung by his sides. He didn't talk; Robbie had told him to watch me, I assumed to keep me from running away, but it might have been to protect me from the other bikers who kept coming by and checking me out. They would look at my outfit and grin and say things like "far out" "allllriight" and "oh ya, this is gonna be fun," which you see kinda lead to my question. He smiled back at me with a mostly toothless mouth, he didn't speak, he didn't do anything else; Robbie told him to watch me, and that was what he was doing, leading me to suspect there wasn't a lot going on behind his slightly crossed eyes.

Robbie had said they would make a call for me, but when we got here there was no landline and nobody had any better phone reception than I did. So zilch. The yellow ragtop was in their farmyard along with a couple of other cars, about thirty bikes, four or five pickups, and two or three stake trucks.

"Hey, that's my car, I mean that's my bosses car, that's the one I was telling you about" I had said when we got off of his bike in front of the farmhouse.

"Ya that's what I figured," he replied leading me up the porch stairs.

"I got to have it back Robbie or I'm toast," I pleaded.

"We'll talk about it," he said in a reasonable tone as he led me through the door. There had been a lot of activity in the yard; definitely a lot of people were packing things up, loading them onto trucks, getting ready to go somewhere. That gave me a bit of hope; maybe they wouldn't have time to "do" me even if they wanted to. Robbie had left me at the bar with the big guy, Teddy was his name, and said he would come and talk to me as soon as he dealt with some shit.

Of course, no one had said anything about "doing" anybody, that all came out of my own head, or at least out of a hundred movie and TV shows that I'd watched over the years.

"Maybe they won't have time," I suggested to the Donna with a hopeful smile as I sipped on the Jack Daniels she had given me.

She kind of scrunched up her face, still sympathetic; "Never been gangbanged before?" she asked like "Oh, you never had your tonsils out," kind of thing.

"No, I'm from Orson," I replied a little sheepishly; "we don't get out much."

"It ain't so bad sweetie," she said with a southern/western kind of drawl; "half these old guys can't get it up even with Viagra there so drunk or stoned, and the other half cums pretty quick. They all kinda close in on ya, press up against ya, feel you up, pour beer on you and shit. It's really more of a gang... maul than a gang... bang," she explained kindly.

"Oh," I replied with a little laugh, "I'm almost disappointed," and took a bigger sip of Jack. I was pretty proud of myself, I was holding up pretty good for a middle aged mother from Orson who had a head full of Hollywood rape fantasies. In fact I was starting to worry more about what would happen if I returned empty-handed to the dealership, than what might happen before then. "Just stay out of the pool room," I reminded myself.

'Ya, it's not so bad," she went on, drinking from a long neck bottle of beer; "except for the smell, there's always a few bastards want to kiss all the time, damn. Ya, you never get used to the smell."

"Shit," I said and downed the rest of my drink.

I almost jumped out of my spanx when Robbie came up behind me and slapped me on the shoulder; "Alright Frankie, we can't make a call from here, so Donna is gonna take you home," he said cheerfully.

"Really, just like that...no, uh...stuff in the pool room?" I asked, still afraid of what the answer might be.

They all busted out laughing. "Come on Frankie, what kind of people you think we are? We've just been yankin' your chain."

Donna had tears coming out of her eyes from laughing so hard. "God, Robbie you shoulda seen her face when I told her about the pool room," she managed to choke out. Even Teddy was making a kind of heaving guffaw sound, as I looked from face to face. I knew I must be as red as my silly costume as I noticed that most of the gang had come quietly into the room, standing back a little, and now everyone having a good laugh at my expense.

"Some of the boys were worried that you might say somethin about our activities, but I convinced them that you wouldn't rat us out. You wouldn't rat us out, would you Frankie?" he asked.

"Of course not, Robbie, I promise, I won't say a word," I replied sincerely, looking around at everybody, shaking my head vigorously.

"That's what I figured," he said to me, and then to Donna; "Take the Blazer." She nodded and started to gather up things and stuff them into her large leather purse."

I took a deep breath, stood up on my shaky legs and gave him a hug. Maybe I should have left it there, but somehow I just couldn't cut my losses and run. "Uh, and what about my car, you know the one from the dealership?"

The place went silent. "You want the car back?" he asked.

"Well kinda."

"The car that you wouldn't even have seen if we hadn't helped you out when you were stranded in the middle of nowhere?"

I scrunched up my face apologetically; "If it's not too much trouble," I said.

He heaved a big sigh and gave me a disappointed look. Donna put her purse down, leaned up against the bar and lit up a smoke.

"It's a good think for you we're old friends," he said. He shook his head wearily. "Okay, I'll see what I can do," and turned and walked heavily back towards the pool room where everyone else seemed to be headed.

"Where's everybody going?" I asked.

"Council; better have a seat, this might take a while," he replied over his shoulder without looking back.

I didn't know if that was good or bad for me, but figured it was probably bad.

THE CHALLENGE

Robbie was gone a long time; Teddy stayed on the stool beside me, acting as a protector, not a guard, I now realized. Donna stubbed out her second cigarette; "We can leave any time Frankie, just say the word," she said.

"I think I'd just like to wait and see," I replied.

"Your dime," she replied with a shrug, "but I don't think they're gonna let you have the car back, not after Jane went to all the trouble of stealin it."

"Ya well, you know..."

"You want something to eat?"

She microwaved me a couple of slices of pizza which helped to settle my flopping stomach, and poured me another Jack to steady my nerves. Teddy sat and watched me eat. When I finished I held out my glass for a refill, I was starting to get a bit tipsy. "So...now am I going to get gang banged?" I asked.

She chuckled; "I'm beginin to think you ain't gonna be happy until you do," she replied.

"No, no, it's just that I kinda need to get back to work," I said.

That made her hoot, she smacked the bar so hard with the palm of her hand that it made me jump, and she thought that was just hilarious too; even Teddy gave out a kind of snorting sound. "You want to go back to work...with our car...and you want us to hurry?"

"No, well..." I said with a little smile myself; "It's just, you know, what the hell is going to happen to me?"

She looked past me and nodded, "I think you're gonna find out right now," she said.

"How you doin' Frankie Fingers?" Robbie asked sitting down next to me and pulling his stool over until our knees were touching. He didn't give me a chance to answer, "How did you get that nickname in high school anyway?" he asked winking at Donna.

He was just screwing with me, everyone knew how I got that name; "Well I wish I could say it was because I was such a good shop lifter," I replied trying to smile at both of them, God knows why I thought it was time to be coy.

He laughed and whacked my thigh; "Man, Frankie Fingers! You were a... legend at Orson High, all us guys in the lower grades man, we used to jerk off thinking about you jerking us of!" and he had a good laugh at that. "Lots of guys said you had worked your magic on them; I know a lot of them were lying, but some of it must have been true, I mean, I heard you did a lot of guys."

"Oh no, not... that many," I replied. I was actually blushing, maybe it was the booze, "Orson wasn't... that big of a high school, after all," I said with a nervous laugh.

He shook his head, smiling at old memories; "There was a story goin 'round that you jerked off Mike Heck soooo hard that he shot all the way up through the sunroof of Tom Scott's mother's Jetta," he said with awe, raising his thumb up over his head like a rope of spunk heading straight up.

"That was high school Robbie, you know how kids talk, the things they make up," I chided.

He looked at Donna with a kinda slow wink and then looked back at me and said; "there are several eye witnesses who swear to have seen it in person," he turned back to Donna, "right after school,... in broad daylight, down in the parking lot of the lower sports field."

"Well maybe that one time," I conceded, lowering my eyes. Truth is, I was always kinda proud of that, and secretly happy that there had been witnesses; I mean, what the hell else have I accomplished in my life? Still, this didn't seem to be the right time or place to be bragging about any special sexual skills.

"Ha, I knew it," he gave my shoulder a little shove, "man, that was a shot, man that had to be one great fucking hand job."

"You gotta get the breaks," I replied modestly, "time of day, wind speed, that kind of thing, and I think Mike had been carrying a load for over a week."

He was smiling and nodding vigorously now, almost rocking back and forth; "Thing is," he said, "I told the guys about it, and they don't believe me."

"Well..." I shrugged my shoulders.

"They say that if you can get me to shoot up over the top of the windshield of that yellow ragtop, you can have it back," he replied.

"Whoa, wait, that was years ago, I..."

"It's your call. You don't want to do it, fine. Donna will drive you back to Orson right now and drop you off."

"I didn't say I didn't want to do it, Robbie," I replied, and that was true. It was awful of me, but their disbelief had gotten my competitive juices flowing in a way I hadn't felt in years. How could they doubt Frankie Fingers; after all it was true. I did do it.

"So what do you say Frankie, you still got it in you?" he asked with a taunting grin.

"Do I have it? What about you?" I leaned in close to him, "can your tired old dick make a shot like that? Have you even got that much spunk?"

"No problem Frankie, I just dropped a couple of Dexies and two Mexican Viagra, and I haven't had a drink in almost an hour!" he replied.

I reached down boldly and felt his package, it was pretty big, but not really hard; "What about length?"

"Hey, on this shit, with you at the controls, I swear I'll be ten fucking inches straight up, that'll cut the odds a bit."

I was still uncertain, or maybe just unbelieving, I looked at Donna; "Whaddya got to lose? Might save me a trip to Orson, and to tell you the truth, I'm kinda interested to see if it myself," she said.