Nothing to Offer

That trend only lasted a week or two.

Now, he preferred the sites that showed pictorial series with stories to go along with the photographs.

Sometimes, the stories were so wildly implausible that Brian would lose interest, even if the models were attractive people. And sometimes he would get so caught up in the text, Brian would skip ahead, ignoring the pictures.

Most of the time, though, he'd look at the picture, then read the text, and then skip on to the next page.

He smirked at the picture that showed 'Abby' and her best friend 'Gina' a somewhat cute blonde with a less attractive brunette, standing and posing in 'Abby's Bedroom.' He very seriously doubted that Gina or any eighteen year old girl would put her own brown hair into two bony-tails. Looking at the date of the posting, he deduced that 'Gina' whom he recognized from several previous postings, had been eighteen years old for at least four years now. 'Abby' was a new face, though and again, he smirked at the notion that any eighteen year old girl would select such hideous eyeglasses for herself.

Or that two eighteen year old girls would dress themselves in red tee shirts and matching red shorts, red socks and white canvas shoes.

"Love the outfits, girls, but uh, why does your mommy still dress you in Geranimals?" he chuckled as 'Abby' wanted to show 'Gina' that her boobies were finally starting to grow; did 'Gina' want to see?

He actually felt his cock stir to life as the two kissed, touched each other's breasts, licked and sucked on each other's breasts and sparsely haired pussies, then 'Abby' showed 'Gina' how she masturbated, using a doll's arm shoved into her blonde muff.

Brian quickly logged off when a dour faced man brought in his suit for dry cleaning; his daughter was getting married to a much older man that weekend.

"He's even got a son my girl's age, for God's sake," Mr. Bookhammer complained as Brian politely took the information and promised to have the suit and tie ready by the time of the rehearsal dinner.

After Dennis Bookhammer left, Brian waited ten minutes, then logged back onto the site and went to the next pictorial spread in the series.

Brian's favorite brunette, 'Gina' showed up at Abby's house, dressed in green tee shirt, matching green shorts, green socks and white canvas shoes, shoulder length brown hair again done in two pony-tails.

But 'Abby' wasn't home. Instead, 'Nigel,' 'Abby's Dad' was at home. Brian actually laughed out loud at the man's outfit of short sleeve button down shirt, hideous plaid dress slacks, white belt and white shoes. Brian touched his own eyeglasses and smiled at the man's old fashioned eye wear, completing the image of a dork in his late thirties or early forties.

The next picture showed 'Abby's Dad' and 'Gina' enjoying milk and cookies in a garishly lighted kitchen while 'Abby's Dad' told 'Gina' how much she'd grown over the summer.

("Why, I bet you even have hair on your little pussy now, don't you?" my best friend's dad asked me. I told him I did, but I was thinking of shaving it. Did he think I would look good with a hairless pussy? Did he think my idol, Brad Pitt want to fuck me?)

The next picture showed 'Gina' with her shorts and plain white panties pulled down to mid-thigh, 'Abby's Dad' looking with great interest at 'Gina's' pussy.

("Brad Pitt? Isn't he a little old for you?" my best friend's dad asked me but I told him no. Older men were much sexier than the dumb boys at my school.)

Brian lost interest in the story; it was unlikely that any guy as pathetic as 'Abby's Dad' would ever get any eighteen year old girl, unless she was in Special Ed classes to suck and fuck him, even if he did have a surprisingly large cock.

The last picture showed 'Gina' on the floor of the kitchen, nude except for green socks and canvas shoes, sperm dripping out of her well fucked pussy, sperm liberally coating her face and small breasts , a spent 'Abby's Dad' laying next to her, nude except for long black socks and dorky glasses, while a shocked 'Abby' and an older woman looked on in horror.

Brian's last customer had irritated him with her stupidity. She had dropped off her dress and three blouses at his Baylor Lake location but they closed at five; could she pick up those items at this location?

"Uh, yes ma'am, I can bring them up with me tomorrow," Brian had cheerfully said.

"No, no, I mean, can I pick them up here now?" the woman asked in total seriousness.

The next pictorial spread opened with 'Abby' and 'Gina' greeting a muscled African-American male in an obviously fake United States Postal Service uniform, complete with pith helmet. Brian logged off; interracial photographs and stories did not interest him much.

Of course, since they were open from nine am until nine pm, at ten after nine, just as he was pulling out of the parking lot, Brian could see an older woman frantically rapping on his door, despite there being no lights on in the store.

Just as Brian Harris was backing his 1972 Malibu into his garage, Glen Peters was backing his Lexus into his three car garage far too quickly and almost sent the car through the rear wall of the garage and into the sunken living room of the house. As it was, the sheetrock of the garage wall would need to be replaced.

Before Glen could even turn the engine off, Barbara Peters had flung the interior door of the garage open and was screaming at Glen Peters.

Where had he been? Did he know what time it was? What was that loud noise? What happened to the wall of the garage? Did he know how much a new bumper for a Lexus cost? "What was her name? The new whore in his life?

Glen played the Jeopardy theme song in his head, focusing on her wide open mouth. He thought of shoving his cock, or a brick in there to shut her up, then thought he'd have a hard time finding a large enough brick.

What did he think was so funny? Did he have anything to say for himself? For the last time, where had he been?

Would he look at the wall? What happened? How did he do that?

"Are you drunk?" Barbara hissed as Glen lurched himself forward and Glen gave her a little salute but still did not answer.

Thankfully, Josette was already in bed so Glen was spared the inconvenience of having to put up with the smaller version of his wife.

Still the questions continued and Glen lurched up the stairs to the bedroom. He clumsily undressed himself, reached into his plain cotton briefs and sook his cock out, waving it at a still ranting Barbara.

Despite how drunk he was, his cock did respond and Glen finally spoke to his wife.

"Here, put that mouth to use, huh?" he slurred.

Barbara had only put her mouth on his cock a few times, and only twice since their wedding. Tonight was not going to be number three.

"Well if you won't put your mouth, let's see if we can find something almost as big as your mouth," Glen giggled, still waving his half-erect cock. "Oh, hey! I know! Only thing bigger than your God damned mouth is that God damned ass! Huh? How about it, Babs?"

(Glen knew Barbara Peters absolutely loathed the nickname 'Babs' and would not respond to the name.)

"Huh? If I can't stick this in your mouth, how about I stick it up that gigantic ass, huh?" Glen snickered and lunged for her.

She screamed and turned to run but Glen tackled her and shoved her to the bed.

"Yeah, big old fat ass like this?" Glen said, fighting to pull Barbara's slacks and panties down.

By the time he did manage to get her pants and panties down to just below her large ass cheeks, his erection was completely withered so Glen just gave her two very hard slaps, one to each cheek, then staggered into the bathroom.

Inside the bathroom, Glen located his stash of coke and quickly did a little up each nostril.

Then he farted loudly and thanked God for Tim Benoit and his two thousand dollar retainer. He also thanked Faith Hightower and her very talented mouth as well as her excellent source of cocaine.

Rita had quit right after her pay check had bounced. Even though Glen had paid Rita in cash, the ungrateful bitch still cleared out her desk and left.

Faith was a high school dropout, six feet tall with no boobs, no hips, no ass, and no real ambition. But the nineteen year old did like sucking cock and she did like doing drugs and knew where to get some really prime stuff.

"Wonderful thing about blow jobs, it doesn't leave any stinky on the dinky winky," Glen giggled to himself, then flushed the toilet.

Barbara started a new campaign of shrill complaints when he came back into the bedroom. Did he know he ripped her slacks? Did he think they had money to just throw away on clothes?

He almost laughed at that one; she sure seemed to think they had money to throw away on clothing.

Let's see," he said, the cocaine giving him new energy.

She screamed when he grabbed the front of her fashionably ugly slacks and gave a severe jerk, ripping the slacks open.

Then he shoved her onto the bed and tried to jam his still flaccid cock into her heavily furred crotch.

Fueled by the cocaine, her enraged screams and struggles did give him a semi-erection and he managed to work it into her dry vagina.

She lay immobile under him, glaring hatefully into his eyes.

Two or three pumps and he lost all interest in her and pulled out.

"My pants are ruined!" she screamed. "They're part of an outfit! You ass hole!"

"You bought a whole outfit that fucking ugly?" Glen asked her.

She named some famous designer and Glen shook his head, not caring.

Then he pulled on a heavily ripped, stained tee shirt and turned on the television. The louder she complained, the louder he turned up the television.

She was in mid-scream when he angrily hit the mute button on the television.

"When the fuck is it going to sink in that I am not listening to you? That I simply do not give a fucking shit what you are saying? That I just do not care about your pissy little fucking problems?" he snarled at her, the loud television and the shrill bitching and whining eradicating his pleasant alcohol buzz and cocaine inspired high.

She sucked in air to scream some more.

"Now, mind waddling your huge ass out of the way? And put some clothes on; ain't nobody wants to see that forest you call a twat, huh?" he snapped.

She did not heed his words and screamed some more complaints at imp, ducking when he hurled the remote control at her head.

That did get her attention and she scurried away, large ass giggling like gelatin.

Thirty minutes later, she stomped back into the bedroom, wearing a cheap flannel nightgown.

"One word, say one fucking word to me and so help me God, I will fucking kill you, you miserable fucking bitch," he threatened.

It took a great deal of self-control, but she managed to scowl darkly, but silently at him. Then she spent a great deal of time, making a great deal of noise plumping up her pillows.

"Fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you?" he screamed, grabbing one of the pillows and hurling it into the bathroom.

Thirty minutes later, Glen had to get out of bed and rifle through her medicine cabinet. He found some of her anti-anxiety pills and took three of them. He did wonder what in the hell Barbara Peters had to ever feel anxiety over. She did not work. She did not have the day to day stress of trying to earn a living, trying to keep a roof over their heads.

Finally, he was able to fall asleep.

**..**

Again, Brian found himself at the Super One's store. Sally's assistant was coming along, but both Sally and the assistant did not feel that she was ready to run the store on her own just yet.

Sally had been with Brian from the very first day; he trusted her. If she said the new hire just wasn't ready to be on her own, Brian had to nod in agreement.

In the eleven years he'd been open for business, if the receipts said there should be two hundred and eight dollars and twelve cents in Sally's register, Brian knew there would be two hundred and eight dollars and twelve cents in that drawer.

At about seven o'clock, Brian stuck a 'Back in Ten Minutes' sign in the window, locked the door, and ran next door to Super One's Deli counter. A pimple faced girl that still had braces on her teeth sold him a steaming hot breast, wing and thigh of fried chicken.

In between bites of the too hot chicken, Brian found his favorite web site and found his favorite double pony tailed slut, 'Gina' in new adventures.

The latest vignette showed 'Gina' having to come see 'Mr. Harddick' about a detention she'd earned in class that day.

'Mr. Harddick' looked suspiciously like 'Abby's Dad' but with a dark brown afro wig and horrible mustache glued on his pinched face.

The story never did tell what 'Gena' had done to deserve having to suck 'Mr. Harddick's' cock, or take his cock in her freshly shaved pussy, or take 'Mr. Harddick's' large cock up her tiny little ass hole, but judging from the satisfied smile on her face in the last photo as she sat on his desk, sperm oozing out of her raw anus and splayed pussy, 'Gina' would most likely be committing that infraction again.

Brian looked and saw a previous link he'd missed and clicked on it. This vignette told the story of how 'Gina' and 'Abby' had shaved 'Gina's' little pussy bald.

'Gina' really wasn't very attractive and Brian had to admit, if 'Abby' had not been blonde, she actually would have been plain looking, but their stories were, for the most part, fun to read.

'Gretchen', a red head with tremendously large breasts and no ass or hips at all did have an interesting story of how she managed to lose her virginity to three football players at her high school.

It was hard to believe that any of the four people in the photos were actually still in high school, but 'Gretchen' was a trooper about having all three of her holes plugged at the same time. The three males, however, did not seem to be all that smart. One did not have the sense to take off his helmet and the other two did not have the sense to remove their football jerseys.

For her part, though, Gretchen didn't take off her very short pleated skirt either, just pulled it up to under her enormous breasts.

"Pat Is Now Patty" puzzled Brian and he clicked on that link, only to quickly back out of it. The three football players of 'Gretchen' fame were surrounding a scrawny looking young man, most likely 'Pat.'

"Dude, you really need to get laid," Brian chuckled as he read another one of 'Gretchen's' adventures.

There had been more mail at the Haughton house for the previous tenants. Brian had thought very briefly of just throwing their mail into the garbage but knew that was not the Christian thing to do. A moving van was parked in front of the Haughton house just as he was leaving for the Super One Foods store and Brian wondered if the new tenants would be any improvement over the last three or four. Just the fact that they'd used a moving van, from a reputable moving company and not two or three battered pickup trucks was a good sign.

"At least send me some smart enough to pull their fucking pants up. Like I want to look at their drawers," Brian mused as he read about 'Gretchen' her best friend 'Vanessa' teasing a classmate they were sure was gay. Sure enough, it was 'Patty' and 'Vanessa' produced an extremely large strap on dildo and had 'Patty' get it wet with his saliva and Brian hit 'Page Down' until he found the list of other available vignettes.

"Hello, help you?" Brian asked as an older woman came in.

He recognized her as the woman that had been rapping on the door the other evening after he'd closed.

"Yes, I'm here to pick up my prescription; I came here the other night and you were already closed but you're supposed to be open twenty four hours a day; why were you closed?" the woman shrilled at him.

"Ma'am?" Brian asked, sure he'd heard her wrong.

"Prescription! I'm here to pick up my prescription! You speak English?" she barked at him.

"Ma'am, this is a dry cleaner's. We don't do prescriptions here," Brian calmly said.

"Yes you do! I had my prescription filled her last week!" she yelled. "Get your manager in here! Now!"

"Ma'am, I am the owner. This is Professional Dry Cleaning, see? Here's one of my cards," Brian said gently. "I think the drugstore you're looking for is on the other side but they closed about a year ago."

"What's your name?" she snarled, fixing him with a one-eyed stare. "I'm going to sue you for everything you got."

"My name's right here, on this card, ma'am," Brian said gently, handing her the card.

"Brian Harris, huh? You don't look Jewish," the woman said.

"Harris? That's not a Jewish name," he smiled. "I do know some Jewish people..."

"I bet you do, y'all are all alike," she snapped, stomping out of his business.

"Looks like someone else needs to get laid too," Brian shrugged and began the process of shutting everything down for the evening.

The moving van was gone by the time Brian was backing into his garage.

Glen Peters was backing out of his in-laws driveway, feeling angered.

Did Barney Siegel think he had enjoyed having to borrow money from him? Yes, he was well aware that he still owed them two hundred and eighteen thousand dollars, the money that it had taken to build the house that their precious little daughter just had to have.

Lopez Properties was preparing to open a mall in unincorporated Pinoak, having already bought up two thousand acres. It would get traffic from Jack's Creek, Elgee, Pinoak and Hardington. Glen had put in a bid to design the proposed mall, and had even shaved five percent off his bid to ensure that he'd get the account.

But while he waited for the proposal to be accepted by the board of Lopez Properties, his business bills continued to mount, as did their household bills. Barbara just did not seem to understand the meaning of the word 'prudence.'

If you look at your bank account and it shows that you have two thousand fourteen dollars and eighty nine cents, Prudence would dictate that you not pledge fifteen hundred dollars to a day care facility that the fucking synagogue wanted to build.

Prudence would dictate that you not take your three year old daughter to T. Dayton's for her very first haircut. Sixty fucking dollars? The girl was three years old and had a child's sized head. He had an adult's sized head and did not pay sixty dollars for a haircut.

Glen wanted to punch Barney Siegel in his pinched face, wanted to strangle him until he lost that disapproving frown.

"You've got the fucking money, fucking cock sucker, just stick a God damned crowbar up that Jewish ass of yours and pry the money loose," Glen wanted to snarl at his father in law.

Instead, Glen had to act warm and friendly and cheerful. Had to act like this was just a temporary thing.

Josette was already asleep, sitting up in her car seat. Next to him, Barbara prattled on and on about something or another, something that Glen just absolutely did not give a flying shit about.

Thankfully, Barney and Joanna Siegel made sure there was wine, plenty of wine with their meals. If it wasn't for the warm comfortable feeling in his gut, Glen would have killed all of them as they sat at the table and bitched and whined about everything.

If it had not been for the twenty thousand dollar check in his wallet, Glen would have slapped Joanna when the bitch brought up the fact that Brian Harris, the loser that he'd stolen Barbara away from, had opened his third dry cleaning store.

"Well, he seems to have done okay for himself," Glen said smugly. "Uh, where did you say he went to college?"

"Glen!" Barbara giggled at Glen's question. "You know he didn't; he barely finished high school. I told you that."

For once that evening, Barney was on Glen's side; the man still smarted over the divorce.