Jake's Tales Episode 03

Fuck me, what a night. Who the hell goes out on a Monday night? This mother fucker that's who {emphatically points both thumbs at chest}. Get some freaks out on a Monday I'll tell you. And fewer preditors too, I'd gladly take slimmer pickings in exchange for less competition, any day of the week.

So Barry texts me, he's a spotter of mine, bartends at a local hole in the wall, gives me a heads up if he sees any prime targets and I head over there. True enough, a quartet in full swing, loud, happy and drinking heavily. I get a beer ( bottle, not draft, need portability also looks better) and put a ten in Barry's jar (hey, information is a valuable commodity).

I wait my chance, happens soon enough, a stray from the herd, up to the bar for a refill, about 5'10", short black hair. A sly sidle, a line, an act of generosity ("allow me"), make her laugh, let the accent work, overcome the age concern with a joke ID check (gets her age, 29, and address) confirmed touching, confirmed laughter, a couple of common interest bonds (faked) and we're in. In like Flynn. The accent works every time.

Deal closed, friend separation complete, we head for the Cadi. Make out, whip of her top and check the dashboard clock. 58 minutes from bar entry to tongue entry, perfect timing. All of human civilization is based on the passing of knowledge from one generation to the next, so here's my advice to the younger generation: Butter Your Toast While It's Warm. 'Nuff said.

Did I tell you I got the new iPhone 3G? Awesome device. Typing this on it as a matter of fact. It even corrects my spelling as I go. Plus GPS navigation. So I whip it out as Slutty McSlutterton goes down, type in her address and rest it between her shoulder blades. Perfect fit. That Steve Jobs is a fucking genius.

Cadillacs are built for blow jobs - automatic shifter on the steering column allows for a front bench seat and plenty of head room under the tilt steering wheel. Throw in the silky smooth ride and madam lays comfortably with no distractions.

Before she knows it we're at her place. Tip 2 for the modern youff; always always always do her place in your car. Think about it. Which is easier, sneaking out of her place after the various deeds, or throwing her out of your place? Plus you do not want the crazy bitch to know where you live. Trust me on that one.

Help her the door, fumble in her purse for the key, shhhhh don't wake the room mate and we're in the bedroom. Yadda yadda excuse the mess yadda yadda bathroom yadda yadda. Finally we get to the err "field dressing". I see the crucifix on the wall, the statue of Mary on the nightstand and that poem about the footprints and a poster of JC with the sacred heart above the bed. Great. A Catholic. Well I'm going in sheathed whether see likes it or not. We get at it and she's wearing another crucifix around her neck. It's a fucking graphic one too, metallic and big. Oh boy it's big. I'm pounding away missionary style and JC's every fucking muscle, every fucking sinue is highlighted. The pain on his face, the agony, it's fucking getting to me man! I can block out camera crews and hot lights and directors wanting an open angle but this really getting to me. It's getting bigger too, filling my entire vision, swimming before me, mocking me (she's also kinda flat chested too, so there's no competition for a chest focal point).

I can't take it anymore, I pull out, flip her over and hoist her skinny hips into doggy. Now JC's hanging vertically from her neck and I'm back into my rythm, boning her hard. JC hits her in the face a couple of times a she swings it over her shouder onto her back! Fuck me I can't get away from this thing! And I swear it's getting bigger! Jesus Christ there's blood on it's hands, feet and sides. And from the thorns on it's head too. Christ. I bet she paints that thing, flesh, wounds, blood.

I slap her boney ass, flop on my back and pull her on top, cowgirl style. I got to finish and get the fuck out of here. She into it man, like she's in a trance, grinding, moaning, bouncing, the whole 9 yards. I'm buried balls deep, grab her hips and start humping her up and down on my cock. And that fucking THING is swaying in front of my fucking face like it's hypnotising me! I can't keep my eyes of it! I close my eyes and it's still there! I look away it follows me! I'm sweating fucking bullets. Bullets!

So I grab it and pull.

The chain breaks and the base of the cross goes straight into the palm of my right hand. (I think she sharpens it! Paints it, sharpens it, maybe even cuts herself with it! Fucking freakoid!) Blood shoots out, I yell out, she screams out, panic breaks out. I curse, she jumps up, I pull the fucking thing out of my palm.

"What what" she shouts, eyes wide. I open my palm, hold it up to her and yell "STIGMATA!" Swear to God. Man, she fucking freaks more than any bitch has ever freaked before. She runs, stark naked out of the room. I seize the chance. I pull the case off a pillow and stuff it into my fist to staunch the flow. One handedly I get into my trousers, shirt and shoes. I leave the socks and underwear. I open the door and she's there. I whip out the palm and yell "Stigmata"! Eyes open wide, mouth wide open, hands up by her cheeks like that painting "The Scream", a screach and she runs up the stairs. Out comes the room mate from the door opposite. She has a bedsheet wrapped around her like this is some pre-watershed sitcom. Her face says WTF?, but she can't form the words. I nod, bid her a good night, and head out the door.

Another day in paradise.

Jake