Oil Slick

Oil Slick

By

Claude Truveax

It's 2am and I have just written a work-related email to my boss. As a result of my early morning pattern of sending at least one email to him, he believes that I am as dedicated and committed to his business as if I owned the place. Far from it. I live a life of secrets and failings. And I'm always evolving in the most intriguing and deceptive ways.

I close up my email account and open up my favorite local online chat platform, "hitting a single." I am feeling somewhat randy this morning, and starting to sense the blood trickling downward. My impulse control weakening and my loin control expanding.

"Hitting a single," features real-time conversations centering on meeting up and enjoying the company of others. It has nothing to do with sports but sports references are everywhere within the posted sub-groups. I choose the sub-group, "batter up."

I peruse a post from someone named, "Hippy Jessica." The post includes sleeping on a friend's couch and needing rent money. "Can anyone help?"

Is she even a she? Who knows. Pronouns aren't common on this site. I think it's purposeful. Leaving more up to the imagination. Of course, a bold person would simply ask. I'm far from that. I send an opening salvo to Hippy Jessica.

"Are you up?" It's 3 am now and this is an intriguing time of the morning. Bars have shut down only an hour ago and people are not in their right minds. I am at a great advantage. Except I'm not really thinking with my brain.

Hippy Jessica responds! "I'm up. Who are you?"

"I'm Longfellow6969," I write. "I'm horny and looking for a hookup. Interested?"

She writes that she is. You never actually know until the deal is sealed and people intertwine and actually meet. Some of my morning exchanges have been quite unfulfilling at the end of the chat-filled journeys and I have had to take care of business on my own.

We discover we live in the same general area. This is all very positive so far. I receive her next message. "Longfellow69, can you pick me up? I'm staying with a friend and we can drive to a private place and have some fun."

Our exchanges have centered on providing pleasure for me in the way of a hand job for $50. We would park in a secluded area, where I pull out my wanker, and she would then provide an avenue for release. As we focus in on an actual plan, my imagination is getting the best of me. I think about Woodstock NY, hippy chicks wearing loose fitting shirts, their small and flappy breasts darting here and there. I don't know her age but I'm hoping 25 or so. I'm getting hard just picturing all of this. It compels me to confirm to her that I will be getting in my car post haste and heading to the address she provided. It's now 3:30am. I grab my keys.

Heading to my Camry at this early hour gives me pause. "What the fuck am I doing?" I'm married with a child, and both of them are slumbering peacefully, probably dreaming of how close nit we all are as a family. I live a normal life, except when I don't. I carry a lot secrets. They will all be joining me in the cremation chamber someday. I get in the car and turn on the ignition. Momentum is a curious element in sports.

It's a dark street but there she is, standing on the sidewalk. I want to drive right past as I don't find her attractive. We make eye contact as I approach, and against my better judgment I stop the car and she opens the door and gets inside. "Do you know me?" I ask a question that I hope is a resounding, no. It is. She doesn't know me. This encounter is off to a strong start.

Jessica is her real name. And she is a diehard hippy. She tells me she just got home from a night out with friends. She seems a bit disheveled. She smells a bit like booze. She looks like she's in her 40's. She is one hundred percent, not my type. "Where are we headed Longfellow69?"

"I figured we could go park down by the local community center. It's a big parking lot and we should have a lot of privacy." Jessica nods in agreement. She also puts out her palm and into that I drop two twenties and a ten. We're off and running.

A little about me. I'm nearing 60, close to retirement, and I work in a very public position for a local business that serves the community. I'm an early riser, and have brought my work clothes with me this morning. At the moment however, I'm wearing a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants.

We park in the lot. I can't get past how unattractive she is. I'm also a nervous wreck. It would be inaccurate to assess that this is a regular deal. It's not. It's a result of a long, slow, progressive journey to deeper and darker experiences within my sexual evolution. I'm concentrating on our differences, and I'm wondering if this is going to work. It's only $50 dollars. I could just drive her home and move on with my life. I ponder this for a moment.

Then Jessica raises her skirt and reveals that she isn't wearing panties. I stare at her blond cooch. It's a part of anatomy that holds great attention. It eclipses all other aspects of a body type or personality. Especially at a moment like this one. Compartmentalization is of great necessity for someone like me. That's why I'm sitting here I would guess, and not at home with my loving family. Jessica breaks the silence and says, "Touch me down there and feel my wetness."

I take my right index finger and do some exploration. She is wet and my finger glides along and inside. I start to get hard. Suddenly the money is of no issue. Her unique appearance is intriguing. And the smell of stale booze, well it's more like rose petals or candy canes. I'm feeling up a total stranger in an empty parking lot, getting hard, and sensing the weight of the world is lifting. "Oh, you feel good," I say. I put in another finger or two.

She looks down at my sweats and suggests that I pull them down past my knees and pull out my cock. We both can see the growing pressure on the black fabric and that perhaps a prison break would be warranted at this time. "The guards are all asleep Johnson, let's go for it."

I motion to the glove box where I stashed a jar of herbal salve. My wife is really into herbal remedies and I lifted this jar from her medicine cabinet a few months ago. Sometimes I like to jack off after work, before dinner. It's been a very effective salve. Jessica grabs the jar, opens it, and puts a dab on her finger which she rubs over her two palms.

At this very juncture of our morning adventure two cars enter the lot. It's 4am. This complicates things immediately for me. We are over in a far corner but the introduction of a new variable compromises my purity of excitement and I somewhat flatline.

Jessica, her hands oily now, her legs spread, her glistening blondness beckoning, doesn't even notice any of this. She's staring intently at my limpness and then into my eyes. "Is something wrong, Longfellow69?"

I'm both sexually excited and deflated, like an old balloon hanging off a power line. Jessica motions for me to continue playing with her pussy. I do this in an attempt to generate and redirect some useful blood flow. My nervous tension has other ideas. It's a real quandary. "Perhaps, try a little massage on my penis," I suggest.

Jessica is hands on. I remain small and insignificant. I'm aroused yet not aroused. It's all a jumbled mess. Then another car enters the lot. My oily penis an aberration all the sudden.

"Stop," I say. I was almost going to cum. I'm not even hard. Jessica stops and looks up. As her hand was backing off the job it brushes against me. In slow motion the side of her hand, soft and oily, runs its way along my sullen member, I cry out, "no," and suddenly I am heading over the edge.

We both stare at my limp noodle as it gyrates, pulsates, and thickened cum starts trickling out, like the last watery breath of a dead fish laying on dry land. We both feel utter and complete disappointment. I eventually take the edge of my tee shirt and wipe up the mess that has congealed in my belly button.

I am mortified. And unsatisfied. And spent. And more cars are coming in the lot. "Shit, that's right. The health club over there is opening up. What was I thinking?" We are both staring out the front window as dawn begins to break.

Jessica breaks the uncomfortable silence. "Let me try to get you hard again. Do you want to feel me again? If we wait a few minutes?" I imagine she knew the answers to all of her queries.

I pull up my sweats, mercifully tucking myself away, and start the engine. "Let me take you home," I say. I drop Jessica off, curbside. Before I drive off, she leans down to the open window.

"You have a really nice cock, Longfellow69. Maybe someday you want to be inside of me? I'd only charge you $100."

I tell her I appreciate her offer and will duly consider it. I mean, we had such a great time and all.

I drive off and get to work, parking behind the business so I could have some privacy to change into my uniform. I look down at the wet stain on the crotch of my sweats. Cum, mixed with herbal salve. I ponder this and know that this stain will be there for all of eternity. A memory encased in the black fabric of life. Being somewhat Zen, I think to myself, "It's good this went sideways and badly. I'm not about to try anything like this anytime soon. Or ever again. What an embarrassment."

I was able to live up to this affirmation, until the next time occurred. I wasn't kidding about the progressive nature of my ailment. It has gotten me into all kinds of trouble. But I wouldn't have it any other way. As they say, "have guns, will travel."

-The end