One Night Stand

-=-ONE NIGHT STAND-=-

A DUSTY GEM FROM A LOST AND FOUND USB STICK

This town stinks. All the good people have gone away.

[[ Please read the Standard Disclaimer on Alextasy's bio page ]]

* * *

This town stinks. If it ain't the goddamn putrid river, it's the fuckin' smoke belching outa' the steel mills and the rotten garbage littering the brown snow around the gutters.

Yeah, this town stinks, alright, but mostly it's the people. When I was growing up, it used to be a good place to live. Then all the good people, they went away. Nowadays, if you ain't screwing somebody, you're the one who's gettin' screwed. You're either the whore or the john, and the only ones getting rich are the flashy pimps with their shiny shoes down the block on 34th St.

I got me a nice little shop here, right? Not much--it's small, but it's mine. I got groceries for the gray-haired old ladies and candy and drinks for the kiddies, and beer and wine for the bums and the little punks trying to get their dates sloshed so's they can pork 'em. Always carry a buncha' rubbers for the working girls. Sometimes, they can't afford to pay, so we work something out.

So, it's another fuckin' miserable night here, just like all the rest. It's cold and windy, been raining steady now for two days and I ain't had hardly no customers. It's almost closing time when this nice lookin' young girl comes in who I ain't never seen before. She's got what looks like an expensive coat and a pretty dress. Both of 'em are soaked through. The plastic grocery bag didn't stop her blond hair from getting drenched. She sure ain't no working girl, at least not one from around here.

Shaking herself off, she gives me a nervous glance out of the corner of her eye, then heads straight for the back of the store. I gotta' watch this one. People will steal you blind, don't matter what they look like.

She stands there gawking at the medicines and moseys around the canned goods aisle, peekin' at me every now and then. I keep my head down, like I'm reading the paper, but I'm watching the mirrors. I been around long enough to know this one's gonna be trouble.

## * * *

This city stinks. I hate it so much. I wish I had never come here. The air smells horrid, it rains all the time, and everyone is so mean and hateful--the rude bus driver, the waitress at the coffee shop, that jerk of a policeman, but especially him. God, how I hate him!

When we met online, he promised he would turn me into a big-time model. I've seen those tall, exotic women in the magazines, but he told me it didn't matter if I was short or how big my bosom was. He said my pictures would be all over the magazines and maybe on TV, showing off beautiful designer dresses, maybe some lingerie. So, I got a bus ticket, left my home in the country and rode for two days all the way here. His 'studio'--if that's what you want to call it--was one room in this dirty, smelly, office building on the seediest side of town. He said I'd have to pay for the initial shots, but it would all come back ten times more when my pictures were published.

How could I have been such an idiot? I should have seen it coming. I gave him all my savings to put a professional portfolio together, but when I got in front of the cameras all he wanted was for me to take my clothes off. I wouldn't do it. He came after me, so I kneed him between his legs and ran.

The crooked cop sided with him and said the contract I signed gave him the right to keep my money even if I didn't get the first picture. When I got angry, they both grabbed my arms and dumped me out onto the street, tossing my suitcase out after me. I was so upset when I got off that stupid bus, I wasn't thinking and I left the suitcase behind with all my emergency money, and I didn't have a clue what the bus number was. Now I have nothing.

So here I am, soaking wet and freezing. This rain her feels colder than back home, and the wind cuts right through this pitiful coat. It's dark, and I don't know where I am or where I'm going. I don't have enough for even a cup of coffee, let alone a hotel room.

One light shines out, shimmering across the dark puddles in the street--it's a small grocery. I can go in there and warm up a little, just for a few minutes.

## * * *

She's just standing there, in the back by the soft drinks. I'm dog-tired, and ready to go home. It's been nearly a half hour. She ain't buying nothing. She knows what's coming when I walk up behind her, but she don't turn around.

Her blond hair is almost dry and the dark roots are showing. I scope her up and down. She's cute, with smooth, slim legs. Her young face is clean and fresh, pretty brown eyes and tiny ears with little pearl studs.

Gazing at the cooler, she touches a finger to her pink lips, like she's trying to decide.

"I'm sorry lady, but I gotta' close up. Go ahead and figure out what you want real quick, and then you gotta leave."

She tries her feminine ways--seen that before, too.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She flashes dark eyes at me, with a little flutter of them lashes that's supposed to make men melt. "There are just so many to choose from. Can't I have just a minute?"

I guess I'm just an old softie. "Make it quick, missy, I gotta go."

Still keeping an eye on her, I start my closing routine, dropping the steel grate down over the windows and turnin' off the signs. She just stands there, staring at the drinks.

After a few minutes, I go back. "C'mon missy. It's time now. Either buy a drink or you gotta' go."

She looks up at me, brows raised, her eyes are scared, her lips quivering. Her voice starts as a whisper. "Please let me stay, mister. I promise I won't be any trouble. Let me stand in here for a little while longer? That rain is so cold. Just a few more minutes?"

"Where you staying?" I'm pretty sure I knew before I ask.

"I... I don't have any place to go." She's about to cry. I can't handle that.

"There's a shelter on Carter, a couple'a blocks over."

"They're full." She answers quickly. "I tried that already, and the church up the street, too. They don't take women without children."

"Well, missy, you cain't stay here."

## * * *

God, what am I going to do? This grimy old geezer's going to throw me back out on the street. Where am I supposed to sleep? In the gutter? Some back alley? I'll freeze to death, or probably catch pneumonia. I might get mugged or raped, or maybe I'll just disappear, and my family will never know what happened to me.

But he's right--I can't stay here in his store all night. Where else can I go? What option do I have?

Even as the words leave my lips, I can't believe I'm saying it.

## * * *

"Can I stay with you? Please?" she says.

I'm shocked at first. I never figured her for that kind of girl. I stroke my chin, while I look her over. Them round hips are just right for holding onto, and she's got a sexy waist. The front of her coat pushes out enough to tell me she's hauling a healthy load in her bra.

## * * *

Oh, no! What have I done? This lecher has the wrong idea. I just want a warm place to stay the night, now he thinks I'm coming onto him.

But I guess it could be worse. It's not like I've never put out to get something from a guy before. At least this way, maybe I'll have some say about whatever happens. He's been trying to be nice. I don't think he's the sort of guy who would hurt me. Who knows, maybe I'll even like it a little. This guy's a shopkeeper, a member of the community. He's got to be better than getting assaulted by some wino, or a gang.

## * * *

She's good looking alright. Smells soft and pretty. I could do a helluva lot worse. Probably the best I had since Sarah left.

Standing there, just staring at her, I get lost in a daydream where I'm rubbing her between her legs and she's begging for it like Sarah does, so I wiggle her sex button and her ass squirms all over the bed and she moans, all excited like. Then I slip a finger into her hot, wet...

Yeah, I probably wouldn't wash that finger for days, sniffing her all over it when I beat off in the storeroom.

## * * *

I know what this pervert's thinking and it makes me sick. The thought of his dirty, bony fingers touching me is repulsive. His thin lips stretch wide, baring yellow teeth when he leers at me. What have I started?

It's too late to turn back now, though. I'll just have to close my eyes and think about something else while he has his way. Not the first time I've done that, either, and for much less.

## * * *

"You seem to be square. I guess you can stay with me for one night," I tell her, tryin' not to smile too much. I give her a stern look. "No funny business, though. You start doing crazy stuff or acting like a bitch and you're out on your keister in the rain. Tomorrow, you're gone. Got it?"

She nods, accepting my terms.

I count the money in the till, slide it into a zippered baggie, and stuff it down the front of my pants. She gives me a funny look.

"Ain't no robber gonna' put his hand down there to search for my money," I explain. "You gotta' watch yourself around here. This place ain't like it used to be."

I finish closing up, lock the door, and pull the last grate down.

## * * *

I walk close to him, trying to stay out of the rain. The edge of his umbrella drips onto my shoulder, and I put my arm around his waist, huddling against the cold.

"How far is it?" I ask.

"Just around the corner." He lays his arm around my shoulders, pulling me tighter against him. It's strange, but it doesn't feel creepy. The warmth of his large hand through my thin coat is comforting.

We stroll together, our footsteps splashing in time with each other.

## * * *

I lead her up both flights of stairs and unlock all three bolts. The squeaky door opens and I let her go in first. After I lock 'em all back, I make sure she sees me hanging the keys on the hook where she can get to 'em if she needs to. I don't want her to feel like I'm keeping her prisoner, or nothin'. While she's looking around, scoping out the place, I quietly drop the baggie of money into the big green urn by the door, like usual.

## * * *

The stone steps at the front of the old building are broken and lopsided. Our wet feet clomp up three flights of wooden stairs.

He lets me through the door first. I don't know what to expect. It's tidy, but it smells musty and needs a good cleaning, top to bottom.

The rugs on the wood floor are ragged around the edges. Woven polyester throws lay over the back of the worn sofa and the single, brown leatherette chair. Over by the kitchenette, a plant stand holds a small TV next to a round dinner table just big enough for two, with two mismatched chairs. The fridge has rust stains.

On the far side of a door on the other side of the room is a bed. It's neatly made.

Prints hang around the walls. They're probably the ones that came with the frames. The man is visible in a reflection from the glass of one of the pictures. He watches me for a second, then turns and drops his bag of money into a green urn near the door.

## * * *

"You had anything to eat?" I ask the lady.

"I had a cup of coffee and a half a piece of pie this afternoon."

"Only a half piece?"

"The waitress noticed that I didn't have a purse and asked me how I was going to pay."

"Oh." I wonder how someone as pretty as her got to be so hard up. "What'd you eat for breakfast?"

"No breakfast. I had a hamburger and fries last night."

"Shit," I begin, then catch myself, "Oh, I'm sorry, miss, I mean, that wasn't much of a meal. You're still cold and wet. Why don't you get out of them clothes..."

## * * *

Here it is, he's already putting the moves on me, trying to get me naked. What is it with men and naked women?

He shuffles into the bedroom, shouting back, "... and get a hot bath. I might have something here that'll come close to fitting you, but they're probably a little too big. The bathroom's in here. Come on in."

Cautiously, I approach the bedroom door. He is fumbling through some drawers, throwing a variety of women's clothes on the bed. Who do those belong to?

After a small pile has formed, he goes to the door. "I'll just close this. You have yourself a good bath and hang up your clothes. Maybe some of them will fit you."

"Whose are they?"

"They belong to Sarah." He looks away. "She's my wife." After a brief, uneasy silence, he says, "I'll fix some supper while you take care of yourself."

## * * *

She's a cute girl. The way she talks, she sure ain't from around here. Wonder what kinda' problems got her into this mess. Her clothes look like she comes from a good family, got money. Why ain't they helping her?

I put a can of soup on the stove and nuke a few chopped vegetables. I drop them in the pot of soup with some of my special spices to make it a little more zippy. Maybe a sandwich, too. I hope she's not one of them flaky veg-a-malarian types.

## * * *

The tub is filthy. I find an old can of cleanser and scrub it until I'm reasonably satisfied.

Finally, I settle into the hot water. It feels heavenly. While I wash myself, I feel tears coming on. What a miserable day, the worst in my twenty-four years. You made some pretty dumb mistakes, didn't you, girl? I should have known better than to trust someone I'd never met. I guess I'm the classic, naive, small-town girl in the big stinking city.

I'll bet they're all laughing at me. Especially that photographer--what a jerk. If he had only told me what he wanted to begin with, I might have stripped for him. Of course, I would have made some money for it. Heck, I might have even... no, I guess I probably wouldn't have done anything else with him. His beer belly and chunky rear end didn't do a thing for me. I prefer tall, slim guys with skinny butts.

After I've finished cleaning myself, I lie back and soak for a while. My thoughts shift to the old guy. He's been pretty nice to me, so far--probably the best thing that's happened to me all day. Maybe I had him all wrong, but if I've learned one thing today, it's to not trust people so easily. I don't know what this guy's really like. No telling what he'll do to me in my sleep. I'll leave as soon as I can in the morning and find some way to get back home.

And what is it with this "Sarah" person? Did he say she was his wife? I should find out if anything weird is going on. I'll have to be careful, though. Maybe he killed her, and he's going to... No, get those thoughts out of your head now. If he wanted to hurt me like that, he's had plenty of chances.

Relaxing in the warm, soothing water, I doze for a few minutes, then I awaken with a jerk. My skin has bloomed a bright pink, and my excitable nipples are sensitive. They rest just at the surface, and the water lapping over them feels like tiny, liquid tongues. Underneath the water, I brush my hands up along both my thighs. They meet in the center, where I press a long, middle finger into the crease and... Oh, stop it, girl! I always want the feel of a man moving in me after I get off, even if it's just my little vibrating friend, but he's still in my suitcase, and God knows where that is.

The old man left a clean towel out for me. I hang up my wet clothes. Searching through the cabinet, I find an old can of women's spray-on deodorant. Almost all the fizz is gone, but I get a few spurts. Putting it back, I tip over a small vial of cologne. It's an old bottle, probably something cheap, but the scent is pleasant and it makes me feel pretty. I really need that right now, so I dab a drop on both wrists and each side of my neck.

I put on my panties, the only article of mine that's still dry. In the pile on the bed, I find a cotton print gown and a thick, terry robe, robin's egg blue. They are both a little wide for me, but I pull the sash tight. It makes me feel cozy.

## * * *

When she comes out of the bedroom, my heart flutters. She's wearing the robe I gave Sarah on our first anniversary.

The sadness comes back just as quick. Seeing this sweet young thing in Sarah's clothes, I have to admit the terrible truth to myself. She ain't never coming home.

Sitting across the table from the girl, I smell something, something that makes me think sweet memories from a long time ago. It's her--she smells pretty, like Sarah used to. Must be something in the robe.

## * * *

The turkey sandwich he serves is on tasteless thin, white toast, but it has a thick slice of fresh tomato, probably from his store, and the soup is warm and savory. When I taste a spoonful, he grins wide, then chuckles at my face when the spicy kick hits the back of my throat, forcing me to swallow a large gulp of my milk. I have to laugh with him. It was unexpected, but delicious. This is probably the best meal I've had since I left home.

The small TV next to the table is on, showing some old black and white rerun, but we have a polite chat while we eat. We agree on a lot of subjects. My curiosity is gnawing at me. I do my best to keep the question casual.

"Tell me about Sarah."

He doesn't answer. He stares into his soup bowl and stirs it. He's biting his lower lip. When he speaks, his tone is flat.

"She is--she was--my wife. We argued one night. I don't even remember what it was all about. It was raining hard, just like tonight, and she got dressed up real sexy and left for a walk like she always did after we had one of our fights. 'Cept this time she didn't come back." A long silence hangs in the air while he watches the beer as he swirls it. "I asked around, didn't nobody know nothing. The police couldn't find her. I don't know... I just don't know."

The conversation fades away, abandoning each of us to our own dangling thoughts. I'm looking at the TV but don't have a clue what's happening. I can't imagine how hard it's been for him.

## * * *

After dinner, she offers to help clean up, but I tell her I got it. She curls up on the sofa, still watching the TV while I wash the dishes.

I'm about halfway done when I ask her, "So, what are you gonna do tomorrow? You got somebody you can call, or something?"

No answer. I look over at her. She's asleep.

She mumbles when I slip a pillow under her head, and I tuck a thick quilt around her. She's so damn pretty. I could probably untie that sash and...

No, this stinking town has too many people like that, don't need one more.

## * * *

The banging of a dumpster outside rouses me from an already forgotten dream. Disoriented, I look around. Tangled shadows from the glow of myriad streetlights soon reminds me where I am and how I got here. I take quick stock--my panties are still on, no tenderness, nothing sticky. It's a rare man who can rein in that animal inside him. Still, I'm not gonna hang around long enough for him to change his mind.

The luminous dial across the room says it's 5:25. I need to find a way home. If I hurry, maybe I can get out of here before he wakes up.

I toss the robe on the sofa and tiptoe through the bedroom in the gown he gave me so I can get to my clothes. He's snoring. I see his outline, lying on his back. He wheezes, and the room is suddenly silent--he isn't even breathing. He gasps for air and moves around. A few seconds later, he's snoring again. A long-repressed memory rises to the surface, the nights listening to the same sound coming down the hall from my dear grandfather's bed. Then, one night, it stopped, and never started again.

But I can't stay here. He's not my problem. I need to leave. I take another step toward the bathroom, when there's another wheeze, followed by a silence. My own breath pauses until he makes that dying gasp and returns to his snoring.

I could sneak past, but I can't help but be afraid for his health. I approach the bed softly, and with a gentle nudge, turn his head until the snoring stops.

As my hand withdraws, he rolls up on his side and reaches out, taking hold of my wrist.

"Sarah?" He calls to her from his confused slumber.

His grip isn't tight. I could easily pull away. A vague uncertainty blurs my instinct to flee. I wait, not moving.

"Sarah?" he asks again.

He misses her so much. I lean over him. "Yes," I whisper. "I'm home."

"I love you, Sarah." He mumbles, and his gentle arm is around my shoulders, drawing me toward him. "Come back to bed, sweetie."

Indecision evaporates. I slide under the covers, front-to-front with only two thin cotton layers between us. I'll just lie here for a while to let him feel close to her. I owe him that.

His breath reeks of stale beer, but when his long arm pulls me against him, his skin smells of earth and sweat and raw man. I sweep my fingertips over his bare back, exploring from the bony shoulders down to his scrawny, naked butt. Deep in my belly, a familiar, squirmy knot tightens. Underneath the old gown, my nipples come alive. I brush my breasts against him to relieve the tingling ache.

A firmness presses into my belly. He is excited, too. It's always given me a thrill to know when a man gets hard because of me. I can't make up my mind whether it matters if he thinks I'm someone else. Half of me is hoping, somehow, this won't happen, yet I'm too far gone to deny the demands of my own arousal.

I graze my fingers down over my belly between us to find the sodden crotch of my panties. Careful to avoid waking him, I work a finger through a leg hole where I stir the simmering urges. The pressure increases, little by little. I'm losing control. My hips gyrate, and I rub my sensitive nipples on his chest, chafing against the rough cotton of his tee shirt.

When I circle my clitoris, all semblance of self-restraint is lost. Breaths come in short bursts. Sucking deep, I tense, back arched, tingles swirling at the tip of my finger, and I hold it--hold it--until, gasping for air, I collapse.

His arm is hanging over me, he hasn't moved. It's hard to believe, but after that he's still asleep. A part of him--the part that I need now--is fully awake and erect, and pushing an indentation of its shape into my belly.

I wiggle my panties down and kick them off. Encircling his slender shaft, I brush my hand over the foreskin, barely touching. His breath quickens behind subtle moans. He is ready. So am I.

With a light touch, I push him over onto his back, then raise the hem of my gown and kneel, straddling his hips. Rational thought was left behind long ago. I lift the mushroom head and settle it between my slippery lips, then I slowly relax, relishing the exquisite fullness as he stretches me.

## * * *

What the hell? I'm in that same dream where I'm chasing Sarah and I can't catch her, but all of a sudden she's in my arms, and then it all gets fuzzy. She's lying on top of me, and then... sonuvabitch, she's fuckin' me! Oh, yeah, she feels so good, but something is different. I'm not asleep, and this ain't no dream. She's really here! I can't see her too good cause it's dark and my eyes are all blurry, but I can smell her, and she's right here, on top of me, squeezing my dick with her cunny and it's better than I ever remember.

Her face is snuggled so nice and warm against my neck and her tits is mashed against my chest. I grab a big ol' handful of her ass and hold it while I ram my dick up into her, making her moan so sweet in my ear. She loves it when I rub that little smooth area right above her butt, so I do that, and she groans some more and starts swaying from side to side. It's like heaven.

## * * *

He is awake now. And he is exactly what I need.

His broad hands hold my bottom steady while he shoves himself up into my depths. Then his firm fingers massage my sacrum, as if somehow he knows what that does for me. I lie on his bony chest and kiss his neck, and my fingers entwine in his thin hair, caressing his scalp.

I come up on my hands so my breasts can graze over the rough bumps of his lean ribs, arousing my nipples further. We rock together, moving faster, and he pumps harder, gripping both my buns with fingers like eagle claws to steer me to his own pleasure, and his desperate need re-ignites the fires in my belly.

## * * *

Wait a damned minute. This ain't Sarah. Sarah's gone. Who the hell...? It's that girl! She's fucking me. That pretty girl is fucking me, and I didn't pay her a goddamn penny. I can't believe it. She's fucking me because she wants to. She smells and moves and makes sexy noises just like Sarah, and goddamn, forgive me, Sarah, but I swear it's better than anything you and me ever did.

"You feel... so good," I tell her as best I can, but I can hardly breathe. She kisses my neck again, and she's so sweet, I think I could cry.

I can tell my nuts is about to blow, so I grab her ass and start pumping myself into her, fast as I can. She's riding me quick and hard, groanin' and moanin', and I'm doin' the same. When she squeezes them muscles inside her cunny, I can hardly hang on.

My crotch bone is banging against hers like a damned sledgehammer. Them tingly feelings is crawling all over my body, and I'm wheezing and puffing, then my balls tighten up. When my stuff starts shooting up through my dick, I holler out loud. Her claws are digging into my shoulder. I'm so happy, I'm crying like a baby.

## * * *

He explodes with a pained roar, heaving and thrashing, and clutching my butt cheeks. The fury of his climax arouses me even more. His hard pelvis grinds against my clit, and I seize his lean shoulders, my bared fingernails clinging to him as another glorious orgasm washes over me.

Slowly, we both settle, gasping and shuddering.

"Thank you," he says, gulping for air. "So good. Thank you. Thank you." He places kisses all over my neck, my cheeks, and finally my mouth. Holding each other tight, we let our passionate lips and tongues speak for us.

In the thrill of afterglow, we each shiver as passionate tremors wane and the chilly night air meets our sweat-covered bodies. I pull the blankets back over us, and we snuggle together. He shrinks and softens. When he slips out, I smile with the bittersweet chill as his semen trickles between my lower lips, making me sigh.

Soon, his breathing is soft and regular.

I wait a while, enjoying the warmth before I slide from between his limp arms and out of the bed. Dressing in the bathroom, I realize I left my panties under the covers somewhere. I'm not going back for them.

When I tiptoe back through the bedroom, he is sleeping quietly and breathing well. Sunlight is already beaming through the dingy kitchen window. No clouds, no rain. At the door, I remember the bag full of money he dropped in the green urn. I'm tempted--only forty dollars for the bus ride. I'm not a thief or anything. I would send the money back to him when I could get it, with interest and a thank you card.

But, no. I will find another way. Unlocking the door, I slip away silently into the morning.

## * * *

It's been a long damn time since I woke up feeling this good. Helluva dream, though. Was it really a dream?--no, that weren't no dream, was it? It was real. For the first time in years, I don't miss Sarah no more. I guess that was what I needed to say goodbye to her. Shoulda' done that a long time ago. Maybe it's time I oughta start looking for somebody else to come home to.

I guess that girl went back to the sofa. Maybe I can talk her into hanging around a while. We got along real good. I chuckle to myself. Who am I fooling? A pretty girl like her? She'll find her a good man somewhere. She sure ain't gonna find one of them around here.

When I pee, I smile at how tender my dick is, and the crusty stuff dried in my curlies. I sniff my hand, and it still smells like her. That's when I notice her clothes are gone. A heavy breath hisses outa my nose. I shoulda' knowed it couldn't last.

Yeah, this town stinks, alright. Mostly, it's the people. All the good ones have gone away, and they ain't never coming back.

The squeak of the front door startles me. When I peek into the living room, the girl is standing in the doorway. She's holding the twenties I shoved in her coat pocket last night.

"You can have these back if you'll let me stay a while."