Devil With A Blue Dress On

"ADVENTURE (noun): an unusual and exciting, often hazardous, experience or activity."

Welcome to the first story in my new "Adventure" series. My two previous series "The Arrangement" and "Breaking the Arrangement"(which will continue) were autobiographical. Everything in them is based on what actually happened to me as I was growing up. While reliving these experiences was enjoyable, as a writer it was also frustrating because of the need to be faithful to what really occurred and not embellish events.

The "Adventure" series has no such restrictions. While some of the series may have a kernel of truth at their heart, in the main they are pure fiction, a chance to stretch my wings as an author and go where my lust and imagination (as well as reader requests) take me. So now that everyone understands the rules, let's sit back and let the "Adventure" begin.

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OK, before we start with this story we need to get one thing straight. Despite what you're about to read, I'm not gay. In fact, I'm so not gay that one woman, even one as beautiful as my wife, just doesn't do it for me. That's how I got in this in the first place.

No, I'm not saying it's my wife's fault. She really has nothing to do with this story except for the fact that sometimes she's just too good looking. I know that sounds like a strange complaint "Hey, my wife's too attractive," and a problem a lot of men would like to have but none the less it's true.

Screwing a beautiful woman day after day is a lot like eating a rich dessert meal after meal. Sometimes all that lusciousness gets cloying and you just want to chomp down on a handful of potato chips to cleanse your palate. That's what those other women are to me, a handful of junk food that restores my appetite for what I have at home.

So, when I need a change of diet and that happens more often than you'd think, I go looking for whores. Not high-priced, hang around in expensive hotel bars boutique courtesans. Or mid-range escort service companions. Or even lower-priced massage parlor sex workers. I'm looking for the ladies of negotiable virtue with the bargain basement prices. The streetwalkers giving $20 handjobs, $30 blowjobs, and charging $50 to take it up the ass.

I'm not after elegance or loveliness, I get enough of that at home. The whole idea on these adventures is to get my rocks off with someone who contrasts in almost every way from my wife. Mind you, butt ugly doesn't cut it. I'm not going to stop and pick up a scanky-looking hooker. But anywhere between plain and homely works just fine for me.

Age is another issue. I don't want a young girl with a hard-edged body and tits that would poke your eyes out. When I'm in one of these moods older women with stretch marks and sagging tits really turn my crank (in more ways than one). And since my wife is white, I usually can't go wrong with basic black.

I was driving along one of the downtown area streets known as a hotbed of streetwalkers when I saw her on the stroll. On the opposite side of the avenue, she was tall, dark, and, at least from the far side of the six lane boulevard, appropriately coarse and blowzy looking.

In order to get a better look at the merchandise I turned around and cruised back by her. Liking what I saw, I pulled the car over to the curb, locked it (after all, this was far from the best of neighborhoods) and began to walk toward her.

As I got closer my dick started to harden. She was wearing a silky sapphire blue dress that was tighter than Scrooge McDuck, a strolling commercial for the benefits of static cling. Its decolletage showed plenty of cleavage, exposing the upper slopes of unnaturally rounded breasts that screamed "boob job." But that's all right. Like I said, I was after the old Monty Python treatment, "And now for something completely different."

Her legs, bare from mid-thigh down to the "fuck me" pumps she was wearing, were smooth and curvy. Above the knees she was a big-boned girl, not fat but with some meat to her. Her shiny black hair was relaxed and smooth, not kinky. Done up in a modified in a pageboy, it parted in the middle, hanging loosely down over the large gold hoop earrings dangling from her distended lobes.

Eyebrows plucked almost bare with blue upward arches at the outer edges hovered above her brown eyes like a pair of demented Nike swoops. An application of rouge only called attention to the bumpiness of the skin of her face, bumps that the layer of powder she had applied didn't totally cover up. Her thick broad, lips were slathered with carmine lipstick, a color I thought would look great in a ring around the base of my cock.

In a low-pitched voice, one with that Janis Joplin too many cigarettes and too much whiskey timbre to it, she asked me if I was looking for some company, the tip of her tongue lightly brushing against her upper lip, a small teaser of what was to be. Smiling, I nodded yes and then putting my hand on her ass, guided her toward my car. I could feel the firm muscles of her butt roll back and forth under my palm as we walked, making me sorry I had neither the time nor the money to rent a room. I love buttfucking cheap whores but it's not something you can do properly in a small car.

We went through the usual preliminaries: "Are you a cop?" "No, are you?," negotiated over the fee for services rendered and then, following her instructions, I drove my car down an alley. There, parked behind a hot sheets motel and backed in between two trash bins, I dumped my load into her wet sucking mouth.

Now I've always been amused when I read these stories about how "It was the greatest blowjob I've ever had in my life." For one thing, I'd be hard pressed to pick out a single blow job as "the best ever." For another, hummers in cars are a lot like eating McDonald's while driving. Quick, sometimes messy and never nearly as satisfying as being inside taking your time.

Then there's the high anxiety quotient associated with automotive sex in the city. Your attention is always divided between watching the head bobbing up and down in your groin and watching out for anyone approaching the car. You worry about whether or not someone will see you; whether you'll get busted and the car confiscated; and, if you're going with a hooker you don't know, whether she'll pull a rubber or a razor out of her bag.

So these quickies in the car usually don't provide the ultimate in sexual pleasure. But this one was pretty damn good.

As she used a wet wipe to clean off the last smears of sperm the removal of the condom had left on my cock, I did something I rarely do with business girls, I gave her a tip. Yeah, it was only a lousy ten dollars but that represented a 33 percent tip above the money she got for blowing me. She seemed to appreciate it, giving my crotch a little extra squeeze as she got out of the car. And, with that, our transaction was through.

Two weeks later I found myself back in the city on business. While I really wasn't in one of my "moods," I thought it couldn't hurt to check out the merchandise along the avenue. And there she was again, wearing the same sapphire dress, wiggling her ass back and forth as she trolled for johns. And so I pulled over.

This time we exchanged names. Her street name was "Andi." I told her mine was "Dave." She said she had a new place we could go, one where we'd both be a little more comfortable. Her new "special place" turned out to be a loading dock at the back of a vacant factory. Designed to allow semis to deliver their cargo directly into the storage basement, the roadbed sloped down enough that the top of the car was well below the level of the rest of the parking lot. You'd have to be looking directly down into the dock to see any part of the car.

I let Andi take the lead. She began by wiggling out of the top of her dress, her squashed tits leaping out from their silken confinement like a pair of frisky puppies bounding out of a cage eager to be petted. Each one looked like a half of a medium-sized coconut, the wrinkled nipples resembling chocolate covered prunes. Thinking their shape was too regular to be the unassisted work of nature, I asked if they were silicone or saline.

I know the old saying goes "Treat a lady like a whore and a whore like a lady," but as far as I'm concerned that's just bullshit. You don't treat a whore like a lady, you treat her just like what she is, a business woman who's renting you her body in exchange for financial considerations. Hooking isn't about romance and love, it's about commerce and business and in business no question is off limits, no request is verboten.

Without taking offense Andi replied that they were silicone. As she lowered my pants and underwear, she told me the pain and inconvenience of the surgery was worth it every time she saw herself in a mirror; that Dow Corning's gift to flat-chested broads helped make her feel more like a woman should. As her hand stroked my erection, she asked me the natural follow-up question, did I like them? When I replied in the affirmative she used her other hand to guide my head to her tit. As I captured her nipple with my lips, my nose was tantalized by a sweet green fragrance I had never smelled before.

Andi was right, this new location did make me feel a little more comfortable. I took advantage of the relaxed surroundings to pay more attention to the woman in the car with me. I watched her hair fan across my lap while I enjoyed the feel of her lips enveloping my manhood, the hard vacuuming sucks on the up strokes, the scrape of her teeth on the downstroke.

In turn I caressed her body, the rasping of my nails down her spine drawing little moans from her busy mouth, my kneading of her buttocks bringing them up off the car seat. It was only as I reached for her pussy that she stopped me, explaining that I was the one paying good money to get off. "Just enjoy letting me do my job Dave, you won't be sorry." Again she was right as she coaxed another toe-curling orgasm from me.

Afterwards, as we were rearranging our clothes, I found out from Andi the perfume she was wearing was called "Jai Ose." Unusually talkative for a streetwalker, she explained how when she awoke from her surgery she had found a quarter-ounce of this very expensive, very hard to obtain scent on the dressing stand next to her bed along with a tag reading "New breasts demand the very best."

Andi was never quite sure who had given her the perfume; it could have been one of her "dates," might even have been her surgeon. Whoever it was had hit a home run as Andi wore two drops between her tits every day. The only problem is it was almost gone and she didn't know where she could buy more; costly French perfume wasn't the type of thing you usually found in the inner city "everything for a buck" stores she frequented. Maybe I could help find some.

OK, I thought to myself as Andi told me the story, here we go again. Giving her that tip the last time clearly was a mistake, now she's playing me for a chump. It never pays to get personal with a nymph du pave, they always want to use it to their advantage. Better to keep things on a paying basis.

Andi looked a little disappointed as I dropped her off at her usual spot sans any tip, but fuck her, that's what she gets for treating me like a mark.

A few days later she beamed like the summer sun as she unwrapped a new bottle of Jai Ose. Now a hooker's smile is like a greeting card, they have one for every occasion and each of them is as artificial as the last touch of makeup they put on before beginning their daily stroll. But Andi's smile was the real thing, reflection of pleasure not cunning.

Yeah, I know I was going to keep this purely business but I stopped at the HiLife convenience store after I dropped her off and used the money I was going to tip her to buy a Wild Wild Winnings scratch 'n win ticket. Damned if I didn't scrape off a $200 winner. I'm a firm believer in a lot of things, including the idea that the fates nudge us in the direction they want us to go, if only we will listen. Well, I was listening so I used the money to buy the perfume, which wasn't easy to find. After all it really was Andi's tip money in the first place. I was just sort of investing it for her.

A few dates after I gave her the perfume she began to "talk game" with me, telling me about her time as an streetwalker; nothing really personal, just some of the "tricks" of the trade, what her other customers liked, what the other girls were like. And then I asked the question.

"Andi, what's it like to suck a cock?"

"Oh, honey I'm not sure words can do it justice. It's something you have to do to really understand what it's like."

"Try," I asked as her hand moved slowly up and down my erect shaft. "Well, to begin with it's fun. Doing a hummer on a cock is a turn-on for the guy getting his boner sucked and the one doing the sucking. Eating some guy 's rod is a big kick for most cocksuckers and I'm no different.

"Some girls will tell you it 's just like eating a popsicle. Sheeit, ain't no way Dave. For one thing a popsicle is cold and a man 's tool is warm. They may both be hard but a cock has that elastic feeling; it 's got some give to it like the padded handle of a hammer. And a dick is alive, you can feel that while it 's in your mouth.

"Gotta tell you, I love the feel of a cock between my lips; the way its weight presses against my tongue and the way it jumps up against the top of my mouth as I lick it. Even if it 's a little soft there 's nothing as good as the feel of a guy 's dick as it slides in and out of my mouth unless it 's the same cock pounding in and out of my ass. And when you get one in each end, man Dave, it 's Heaven.

"It's not just the physical stuff either. Blowing a guy and listening to the sounds he makes is really neat. After I've been with a client several times I can tell just by the noises he makes how close he is to coming. I mean with you Dave, when you 're getting ready to shoot you start breathing in these little short deep breaths, 'huh -- huh -- huh,' and just before you squirt you take a real big breath and hold it until the condom 's full of Dave 's baby-making juice."

Listening to Andi, who had continued to jack me off while she was talking, had already brought to the edge of orgasm. Knowing that a few more strokes of her hands would have me tumbling off the edge of that cliff, I reached down and held her hand motionless on my throbbing dick.

"But doesn't the taste bother you," I asked, trying to concentrate on anything but the tingling sensation where her hand rested. "I'm mean that's why you've never given me a bareback blowjob right. We use these damn condoms because you don't like the flavor."

"Nah, Dave. We use these condoms 'cause I'm AIDS-free and I'm going to stay that way. Fact is I like the taste of cum. Got a lot of protein in it, not to mention vitamins and minerals. I eat five or six loads a week sometimes. Just depends on my customers."

Now I was insulted. I'd been a good customer, even bought her the perfume and she was treating me like a regular john, someone she'd picked up off the street for the first time. My mood must have shown in posture because Andi took her hand off my cock and instead placed it against my cheek, her eyes locking with mine as though she was trying to read my mind

"I like you Dave, a lot. You're one of my special friends. And I'm willing to give you special treatment. I'd love to swallow your sperm and I will. I'll even let you come to my apartment where you can cornhole me and whether or not you wear a condom while you pound my ass is up to you. But you've got to do some things for me." I waited for her to go on.

"Dave, as much as I like you and I do like you a lot, I'm not a charity girl. I earn my living doing this. It pays for my food and my apartment and my clothes. In a good week I can even send a bit of money to my little girl." This was the first I knew Andi had a daughter, not that it made any difference right now. "So, if we do go bareback, it costs more. Not a lot but still more than I've been getting."

"I'm comfortable with that, provided you're not asking for too big of an increase."

"Bareback's a $50 surcharge, Dave and believe me it's worth it." Fifty dollars was double the usual stree rate but then again I pissed that much away in lottery tickets every week. And this fifty bucks would buy me a sure winner every time. I let Andi know the extra cash was fine.

"But that's not all Dave. There's more. I'm not looking to die on the streets. I'm sure as hell not going to get AIDS just to make few more dollars. I get an AIDS test down at county health the first Tuesday of every month. It's free and I get the results back on Thursday. You've got to do the same. And I've got to see the results, Dave. You show me yours and I'll show you mine. That way neither of us takes any unnecessary chances and we'll both be happy, healthy and wise."

"Andi, I've got to think about that for a little bit."

"That's fine Dave. I understand. It's not easy to show up every month at public health for the test. Sorta gives away your private life, even if you use a phony name on the paperwork. While you're think about that, there's one more thing I want you to think about. If we're gonna exchange bodily fluids on a regular basis you have to agree not to have sex, any sort of sex including a handjob, from anyone other than me or your wife."

"Now just a minute Andi. I'm willing to pay more. I'm probably even willing to get tested every month. But how come I can't have sex with anyone other than you or my wife while you're still working the streets?"

"Dave, we've been out six or seven times now. You've seen how careful I've been. I'm just as careful with my other customers. I don't gamble anymore with my life than I have to. I'll trust you on this Dave. It's not like the AIDS test. There's no paper you can show me proving you didn't let some hard leg slobber the virus all over your rod between tests. Your word will be good enough for me, I know you'll keep it. But you've got to give me your word Dave. I don't want my little girl growing up without one of her parents."

My cock had softened while we were talking, the once proud tower of power now slumping over like a candle left in a south-facing window on a sunny August day. Andi reached down and began to play steelworker, bringing my limp dick back up to a full erection.

"This one's a freebie baby," she said as her hands rubbed me from top to bottom. "And if you can't live with the conditions I've set we can still see each other. It's just we'll always be using a condom.

"But Dave, think of the fun we can have if you do agree. Think of how wet and warm my mouth will be without all that latex in the way. Can't you just feel my tongue licking the underside of your dick; the roughness of my tastebuds rasping along that blue vein of yours; the tip of my tongue poking right into your pisshole trying to hold back that flood of come like a finger in a dike and failing, your sperm gushing around it, flowing over it, sliding down my throat to puddle in my stomach.

"And my ass. Honey, my ass is waiting for you. It wants your dick, wants it bad. Think about the head of your dick popping past my sphincter. I bet you can hear the whimpering sound I'll make when it pushes through. I'm tight back there honey, real tight. And I can use my asshole to draw your cock all the way in without your even having to push." At the thought of finally buttfucking Andi, I shot so hard the reservoir tip on the condom seemed to leap out from the rest of the condom like a hot air balloon taking flight.

I gave Andi's conditions a lot of thought over the next two weeks. I didn't want to catch AIDS any more than she did. Since I lived in another county, I could give a fake name and address to the health department. No one who mattered would ever know I was getting a monthly test for the virus. But giving up sex with everyone but Andi and my wife. That was the tough part.