I Don't Know Much

"Oh no Freddy boy. Not yet. Ladies first!"

With that, she stripped off her thong and climbed up on the chair planting her hot wet snatch in my face. It looked like I was giving her a reverse piggy-back ride while sitting. When she screamed, "Eat my pussy Freddy!" who was I to refuse? I put both hands on her ass and began licking her slit, pausing just before I get to her joy button and then going back the other way. I was trying to time my attack on her clit perfectly. If not perfect it was close enough.

"Freddy, come on. Stop teasing meeeee...Oh my fucking God!!!!!"

She almost crushed my skull when she came. I could feel her juices running down my chin and pooling on my chest. I had never been with a girl who got so wet.

She then slid back down my body, leaving a wet trail and practically ripped my shorts off of me.

"I need you Freddy. Oh my God, you can't eat a girl like that and not fuck her brains out."

I never intended to abstain from fucking her brains out, so I don't know where she got that idea. My cock was pointed at the sky and she moved up and hovered over it. She lowered herself down and it felt like I was pushing into hot un-melted butter.

It's crazy what crosses your mind at times. As she slid down the length of my shaft, I remembered and incident from my early teen years; The Crisco incident.

It was during my 12^th summer that the Crisco incident occurred. I spent the summer running around with three guys from school. Jason, Chris, Ray and I were inseparable that year. One night we were camped out in a tent in Chris' back yard. Jason had snuck a couple of his dad's nudie books out and we were looking at them with flashlights.

"Hey!" Jason said, "Don't stick my dad's pages together. He'll get pissed."

"How would we stick the pages together?" Ray asked.

"Yeah," I said, "Kinda hard to see the titties if the pages are stuck."

Chris and Jason laughed like they knew some big universal secret. "He means don't be jacking off and fucking up his books." said Chris.

I wasn't sure what jacking off was and I'm not sure Ray did either. I wasn't about to ask either and make myself the source of ridicule for the night. I'd ask my 15 year old cousin Sherman when I saw him next about it. Soon the conversation turned to what chicks we'd all like to fuck. Every super model had her name tossed into the hat and several girls from school.

After a bit Jason said, "I bet you guys have never had pussy."

We all claimed we had and accused him of never even seeing a pussy. "Shit boys, I'll tell you what a pussy feels like. Grab a can of Crisco and force your pud into it. That's exactly what a pussy feels like."

"Exactly what a pussy feels like." That thought was in my brain for the next three weeks. I couldn't even go through the baking aisle at the store without sporting wood. Sherman had explained to me the finer points of jacking off so I was becoming a walking hormone.

One day while my mom was at my grandma's and my dad was at work, I finally decided to try it out. I walked into the kitchen and got mom's brand new can of Crisco. I never thought she'd notice I had done anything to it so I peeled the foil seal and dropped my shorts. I remember the gooey feeling as I pressed my cock into the shortening.

I was so busy concentrating that I didn't hear my mom come in until she hit the kitchen...with Mrs. Beals from across the street in tow. "Sure Kitty. I have a dozen or....FREDDY BRIAN MURPHY!!!!! WHAT IN GOD'S NAME ARE YOU DOING?!?!"

The hardest part of all of it was coming up with a viable excuse for my buddies as to why I was grounded for the week. To this day my mom looks at me funny when she has a can of Crisco out when I'm around.

Stacey's pussy was about as hot and tight as anything I'd ever felt and she knew how to work it. She was pumping up and down and swirling her hips, this girl definitely knew how to fuck. After twenty minutes I picked her up and laid her on the ottoman. Once on my knees in front of her, I pushed into her pussy and began pounding her. She came three times before I finally unleashed my load into her.

"Wow Freddy. Please tell me you don't have to be anywhere tomorrow."

"Nope. I am off work for another week and don't do weekends anyway."

"Shall we see what fun we can have on a proper bed?"

The next forty eight hours were a blur. We fucked, we napped, we showered and then fucked some more. We went to sleep coupled and awoke in a fucking frenzy. We did manage to eat a time or two. The kid who delivered our pizza on Saturday night was treated to Stacey answering the door in my bath robe, fresh from our second shower that day. The poor kid who brought our Chinese food on Sunday evening was treated to me in boxers fresh from our up-teenth fuck session that day.

We actually slept most of Sunday night and showered together Monday morning. She had a job interview a little after noon so I drove Stacey back to the restaurant to get her car. We sat in the empty lot for a few minutes before she got out.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" she asked me.

"Bettering myself, or making life hard on someone else. Why do you ask?"

"Oh I just wanted to see if you'd like to go hiking with me. We could have a picnic and enjoy the day."

Enjoy the day we did. As a matter of fact we have been enjoying days and nights almost non-stop ever since.

*****

"DIRTY ROTTEN FILTHY CUM GUZZELING FUCKING SCUMBAG WHORE!!!" I yelled as I sat at a traffic light. I looked to me left to see a horrified soccer mom/housewife staring at me from her SUV. "Not you," I said to her, "Some other whore." I tried to laugh it off. She just continued to look at me like I had neon horns growing out of my skull. The light turned green and soccer mama laid rubber trying to make distance between herself and the Tourette's Jag driver.

I couldn't believe that she was really cheating on ME. Our relationship started out hot and heavy and had not slowed down for five years. Maybe we had only mellowed out recently, but only slightly. We are still known to spend an entire weekend fucking and sucking. We even took a week off of work a few years ago and never got dressed. I needed to go back to work to recover.

We got married seven months after that first weekend. The wedding was a spectacle. Italian Catholics and Irish Catholics in the same venue meant it was more of a bash than a wedding. Stacey's mom and dad, as tradition requires, paid for the whole wedding. I offered to help with the booze at the reception only to be handed a wad of cash to help pay for my bachelor party.

Not to be outdone, my parents paid for out honeymoon. Of course all of the aunts and uncles, who felt they needed to contribute, gave us spending money for our trip. Mom had planned on sending us to Europe to see Ireland, and Italy, but a passport mix-up that was going to take three months to straighten out left us on the North American continent.

Two weeks touring Mexico Starting in Cabo San Lucas. Three days and we never saw the beach. On one of my nightly calls to mom she suggested we find other things to do on our honeymoon like see some sights.

She made the same comment when I called her from Puerto Vallarta, Acapulco, and Mexico City. We did see some of these places; we just spent the majority of our time in our room. We saw more of Acapulco since we often fucked on the balcony outside of our room.

When we got to Teotihuacan, we actually did tour the pyramids there. We saw all the tours had to offer there. When I told my mom this she said, "Oh? So I take it your room wasn't ready when you got to town."

I had to admit she was right, but we did enjoy the beaches at Cozumel and Cancun. Some were nude beaches that offered private areas, and on some we just relaxed in the Mexican sun. On our return flight to Denver, Stacey and I joined the mile high club.

Our early years together were pure bliss. There weren't many nights that we went without sex. Even during her monthly visit from "Aunt Flo" she would offer me her ass or a blow job.

Stacey also started what would become my biggest hobby. In her job as an insurance adjuster, she comes across many different kinds of people. Once she was going through a client's car that was to be scrapped and she came across a box of auto parts. She went to throw the box in the trash when the client called for her to stop.

"I thought I had lost those." He told her.

"They look like junk parts." She said "Whatever do you want them for?"

"These aren't just junk parts. These are collectables."

Stacey scoffed and went back to her task. "No, really." He said. Holding up a part, Stacey didn't know a carburetor from a key ring, "This is from Dale Earnhardt's Daytona winning car. It's worth $5000. This is from Richard Petty's last race. It's worth $12,000."

Later she did some on line research into motorsports memorabilia. She found a lot of things that were worth a lot of money to the right person. She had little interest in racing, but knew I followed drag racing religiously.

I wondered why she suddenly started questioning me about different drag racers and asking to look through my stores of old magazines. She was religious about it for a few weeks then I didn't hear much more about it and though she'd lost interest.

Our mom's threw us an anniversary party that year. There was a lot of drinking and a lot of eating and a lot of drunk Irish and Italians before all was said and done. After dinner our moms suggested we exchange our gifts.

I had saved for three months and used all of my bonuses to buy Stacey a diamond necklace with matching ear rings, bracelet, and an anklet. She teared up and hugged me fiercely after she opened it.

"Oh Freddy, It's so beautiful."

Then she handed me my box. I opened it to find two spark plugs wrapped in tissue paper. I saw that the plugs would fit nothing I owned and was wondering why she would give me spark plugs to begin with.

Then I saw the certificate in the box certifying that these plugs had been in the #4 cylinder of Kenny Bernstein's Bud King when he became the first driver to go faster than 300 miles per hour in 1992. That was how my collecting began.

Along with King Kenny's spark plugs, I also have the valves from the #3 cylinder of Joe Amato's first 280 mile an hour run, the blower belt from Chuck Etchells' first four second funny car run, as well as the #2 piston from Jim Epler's first 300 mile an hour funny car pass. I also have several other items that either Stacey or I have found and bought over thy years, but my most prized, or coveted mementos come from the same car.

In 1988 Eddie Hill did something no one else had ever done. He became the first driver to go quicker than 5 seconds in a quarter mile. In 1987, Gene Snow drove a quarter mile in 5 seconds flat at Indianapolis. I have three of his spark plug wires from that run. The following year in Dallas at an IHRA event Eddie Hill ran the first ever 4.99 pass in history. Later at an NHRA event in Houston he ran 4.93 to become the first in both sanctioning bodies to do this.

Eddie's crew chief, Fuzzy Carter took the pistons from both historic runs and tuned them into clocks. Of the sixteen clocks I own one. It is the #2 piston from the Dallas run. Stacey and I have searched high and low and have found only four of the clocks from the Houston run. Two owners won't sell but two others might. One guy was from Ottumwa Iowa, the other from Abilene Texas.

Stacey was always an outdoor type. She always had us out skiing or swimming on the weekends. Not that I objected, but it made it hard for me to reciprocate the fabulous collectables she got me. After a few years, I was on a first name basis with every outfitter and raft guide in the state and a few out of state. We also had success at our jobs.

Stacey beat me home one evening, and when I walked into the house and found a bottle of champagne chilling and a roast duck being prepared for dinner, I knew something was up. "Hey babe, what's the occasion?" I was a tad bit worried that I forgotten some anniversary.

I knew she wasn't pregnant; we had discovered two years before that she was barren. Her uterus had never formed so she was incapable of bearing a child. We had considered adopting and then just decided we'd be DINKs. Duel Income, No Kids.

"I got promoted! Rex called me to his main office this afternoon and told me I was being made the manager of our whole office. No more watching people pick through wreckage and crying about it when I get home. I will send others to do that part."

Needless to say I had to call off of work the next two days as we still celebrated. Dennis was quite used to me having sudden illnesses since I had hooked up with Stacey. He always told me that I was more productive than before so he was inclined to look the other way. Two months later Allen Bradley called me into his office.

Allen was the head of our company, and I was sure I was going to be fired for excessive absences. Dennis may have looked the other way but Linda "McButtface" McCarthy-Butler; the HR manager had likely caught us in the act.

"Ah Fred. Have you ever thought about the job of the project managers?"

"In what terms? How bad they suck? How hard it must be taking credit for fifteen other people's work? Taking your sac to the chin?" I thought but did not say. I was wondering if he was trying a guilt trip on me and was going to fire Dennis. "No sir. I just do what Dennis asks of me. I don't truly give much thought to his tasks."

"Well Fred; you might want to. As of Monday next, you are one."

My mind dropped out for a moment leaving me with an obviously stupid expression on my face. "If you don't want the job I am sure I can find someone who does." he said.

"No, I'll gladly take the job Mr. Bradley, but what about Dennis?"

"Dennis will still do his job Fred. You will be getting your own group. It's secret stuff so we'll have to pick your group wisely, but you'll have a ton of say in who gets on board."

I spent the next two hours poring through personnel files and resumes with Allen and finally we had six solid people to put on my team. I also had to sign a non-disclosure statement. It turned out that NSA and a few other shady organizations were paying for the software my team would develop.

Officially my team and I were changing divisions in the company. Only the team would know I was the manager and the other managers would only know the folk on my team reported to an outside manager.

Allen gave me the rest of the week off, and a prepared script for sharing the news with Stacey. I made reservations to one of the ritziest restaurants in Denver and got us a hotel room for a night. Let's just say that Stacey took the rest of the week off as well and we both needed to go to work Monday to recover.

Up until three months after our promotions we had the perfect marriage. It's funny how a few hours can change the outlook for someone. A few exchanged words with another person can make you look at the world, and your significant other quite differently.

"Hey, yeah, you don't know what it's like. Baby, you don't know what it's like to love somebody. To love somebody, the way I love you"

"Barry, Maurice, I sure do know what it's like. You don't know what it's like when that fucking somebody can't keep their mother fucking legs closed."

I probably looked stupid chastising the brothers Gibb on the radio, but I didn't care. I was only one left turn and five blocks from home and still didn't fully know my exact plan of action. I wanted to splatter her face all over a rock, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my life getting my asshole stretched out in the pen.

The green arrow lit up and I made my turn. I realized I was quite possibly making this turn for the last time. Maybe I was stupid for ever thinking a guy like me could hold onto a girl like Stacey. I remember exactly when the first seeds of doubt were planted about the faithfulness of my wife.

Traditionally during Homecoming weekend some classes held impromptu class reunions. My class was no different, but I never liked many of the alumni who would likely show up. Nor did I care which chick got fat, which jock lost his hair or who had so many brats that their uterus prolapsed.

Stacey however lived for Homecoming weekend. We attended the game even though this year looked to be a waste of time. Our team was one loss from being eliminated from play-off contention and we were playing our biggest rival. They were undefeated and lead the state in every category.

There were at least a dozen tailgate parties by Stacey's class alone. She and I traditionally went to a local Italian place and then went to the stadium. We went a little earlier and had a few beers with her old cheerleader squad. I had to admit most of them were still hot. I say most, because the three bitches that Stacey always had problems with all gained at least a hundred pounds and looked like trailer trash.

The other team jumped out to a 14 point lead early and our crowd became subdued. Stacey had even hinted about maybe leaving around half time to beat the traffic. Then with five minutes left to go in the first quarter we intercepted a pass and scored, and the first quarter ended at 14 to 7.

We never looked back. At the end of the game our team walked off, more like danced off the field 45 to 14 victors. The alumni went nuts and the student section almost got tear gassed. We knew the banquet the next evening was going to be a joyful one.

Jim Taft, Stacey's class president always reserved the Grand Ballroom at the Creste de Everest Hotel. I never knew how they afforded to do this. As far as I knew, Stacey had never been asked for a contribution.

Most years, the turnout is quite small. Since Stacey and I have been married I have never seen the ballroom even half full. Whether it was a big rival game, or a full moon or planet alignment, I don't know; but almost all of Stacey's graduating class showed up that year.

We arrived and found a table with her cheer squad and their husbands. I had met a few of the guys before so we mostly got re-acquainted. Most talk was about the game the night before and some of the college games that day. Stacey and the girls reminisced over old times and then dinner started.

The meal was as wonderful as always. A green salad with bleu cheese crumbles, and oyster bisque, followed by prime rib and a baked potato. The meal was to die for and the Baked Alaska served for dessert was most likely the best I have ever eaten.

After dinner the mixer and dance started. I talked with one or two people I had known in school, but mostly I talked to the other husbands I had met at previous reunions. Stacey was mingling with her old classmates. I was listening to Jim Harding, Stacey's best friend Paula's husband; explain to another guy why science was in need of limitation when someone spoke in my ear.

"So you're the guy who married Stacey LaRusso."

I turned to a plump balding guy who looked vaguely familiar. "Yes I am. Fred Murphy."

He shook my hand "Jerry Martin. Do you see that guy she's talking to over there? That's Don Sanders." He said pointing to the shorter balding man with a push broom mustache that Stacey was talking to. He's the biggest reason Stacey and I aren't married any more. Come, let's talk."

I followed him to the bar and he ordered us each a beer. "I'm only telling you this because I feel you need to be warned. That guy and that girl together are bad news. She cheated on me so many times with him that I lost count."

"He never wants anything to do with her unless she's with someone, then all he wants to do is bed her. I think it's an ego thing for him, and she's powerless to say "no."

He talked on but I didn't hear much that he said. In my mind I heard what she said on our first date as if for the first time. "He flew off the handle and accused me of cheating on him again." AGAIN! Again didn't mean he accused her AGAIN. Again meant she had cheated before. She never denied cheating either. Have I been a fucking chump?