Hook-Up

Hook-Up

​The year was 1973. I walked over to the newly opened World Trade Center this morning, also known as the Twin Towers, and opened a checking account at the Chase Bank on the ground floor. I was surprised to learn that there was a subway stop under the building that I'd use later.

​I deposited my salary check, all $425. I was doing quite well for an engineer just three years out of college and engaged to the boss's daughter, a blushing dark-haired virgin who always dressed in white. The reception area of the Chase Bank looked new and sleek. The bank cashier, an attractive Asian girl, gave me a free toaster, de rigueur in those days if you opened an account.

​I worked late in the downtown office, reviewing blueprints and making corrections to the architect's drawings. I left the office, now empty, at around 9 o'clock and walked over to Greenwich Village. I bought an Italian cannoli and an espresso at Nick's Bakery and continued to Mulberry Street, where the night seemed young.

​That was when I saw Janet, and my eyes bulged out of my head. She was crossing the street and almost walked right into me. She dropped her shoes. I bent over to pick them up.

​"Oh, I'm so clumsy, Sorry."

​"No biggie."

​And I handed her the shoes back.

​She was a black girl, tall and lean but with the kind of tits you'd like to fall asleep on, much better than any pillow. She carried her pair of high-heeled hooker shoes by the straps, held with a single finger, as she walked barefoot on the warm summer pavement in Greenwich Village.

​It was close to 10 o'clock. The crowds were thinning, but clusters of people gathered in front of the ground-floor apartment flats, where impromptu parties were happening and had now opened to the uninvited.

​The black girl stopped and looked at me carefully.

​"I'm not a cop," I said.

​"I was wondering."

When her lips opened on the last vowel, I could see her red lipstick was smudged.

"Are you going to or coming from work?"

​"That depends. What work are you offering?

​"Might be. I was thinking of the kind of work you probably have done a hundred or more times, the work you do with your mouth open and your legs spread wide apart."

​"That sounds about right."

​'Let's walk over to the park and sit on a bench. You can tell me your life story, and I'll check my wallet to see if I have enough to put you in a hotel so you'll have a place to spend the night."

​She followed me over to 6th Street, where I bought two Italian Ices, pineapple for her and lemon for me.

​"So what do you do when you're not selling cats?"

​"What do you mean, cats?"

​"Well, I should have said pussy."

​"Oh, I got ya. I was dancing for a time, but show biz gigs are hard to come by.

​"Where you from, originally?

"Memphis, Tennessee, where I'd rather be."

​"You don't garba the Big Apple?"

​"All I've seen of the Big Apple are the worms."

​"Sorry about that."

​"It ain't your fault." I was hearing her Southern accent now.

​I took out my wallet.

​"Ok. I'm thinking you and me can have a nice evening and then I'll leave. You can spend the night."

​"Thanks, sir."

​"No need for sir, just call me Joe. I've got a hundred for the room and a hundred for you. Is that enough?

​"Could you make it $125?"

​"Sure."

​"Where should we go.

"There's a decent hotel on the other side of the park, but you'll have to register us as man and wife."

"No problem."

​"You ever been married?" she asked.

​"Almost, I dodged the bullet by an inch, a long time ago."

​"Any kids?"

​"Thankfully, no."

​At that moment, an attractive young blond, pushing a baby carriage, passed in front of us.

​"Did you ever notice, as soon as they have their first kid, they start dressing like whores, oo-pardon--present company excluded."

​"It has to do with the woman giving birth. She thinks that her new figure makes her less attractive, and she has to wear shorter skirts with slits that show off her legs, and tighter sweaters over her bigger breasts after going through breastfeeding for the infant."

​"Yeah. Well said. You're probably ace high on that observation. So where is this hotel you find convenient? And do you have any condoms? I don't want Junior showing up in 15 years calling me Papa."

​"No need to worry. I'm on the pill."

​"You can stick it in me and cum like a fire hydrant. It ain't gonna make a bit of a difference."

​"Good to know. If this shit works out, we might make this a weekly arrangement--I'd need some way to get in contact with you."

​"You can leave me a message at my sister's. I speak to her every few days."

​"Well. Let's go over to the hotel, Mrs. Springer. "

​"Who da fuck is Mrs. Springer?"

​"That's you. You are my wife."

​"Is that your real name? They gonna check your ID when we reserve the room."

​"No problemo-you speak any Spanish."

​"Na, just a few curse words."

​"Well, time and tide won't wait for my hard-on to rest, so let's get to it, Missy."

​"Don't call me Missy."

​"What's your name, Missy?--Oops, sorry."

​"Call me Janet or Jan; either one works."

​I stood up. "Take my arm, Janet. I'll be your husband for the night. If this works out, maybe longer."

​I was engaged at the time. My fiancée was very prudish; although she would give me free rein to cum on her tits, she wanted my dick corralled until the wedding night.

I frequented Janet for about 15 months and got to know her quite well; I almost fell in love on a few occasions, but Alice was the girl I was going to marry. Her dad had a successful construction business. They were already building tract homes in Long Island and were negotiating for a large parcel in Westchester. I had graduated from engineering school and had worked for Jake Buchanon for three years. Of course he was no Buchanan. It was probably a Russian name on his passport.

​Alice was his daughter. Whiter-skinned than an ivory monkey, with hair as black as a moonless night, she wore it as the style of the day, imitating Jacky K. Alice was as fragile as a yellow suede coat. If I sucked her tit for more than a minute, she was black and blue for a week. I didn't care. I'd start over again the next time we were together. It wasn't a good night unless I humped her on her bed, till I came on her tits.

​That first night with Janet was comical. When I signed, I listed her as my wife. The desk clerk said sarcastically,

​"Oh, she's married now. We see her face every week or so, but always with another husband. Make sure she washes out her cunt, or your dick will be swimming in some other guy's jizz."

​"Thanks for the lowdown." When I paid in advance, I leaned closer to the desk clerk who smelled like bourbon, "Here's an extra five for you.

"Thanks, sir. Forgive me if I was a bit crude when talking about your wife." And then he winked at me, followed by a whisky burp."

​The desk clerk's name was O'Hanigan. An Irish, bald sixty-five-year-old who walked with a limp. He said when he was a G. I., shot up in the South Pacific.

​"Thanks for your service," I said.

​"You know, my uncle enlisted in the First World War at 16. His mom signed his papers. Got shot in one of the last trench battles in France. I had to bury him a few months back. Going through his papers, I saw he was still getting his World War One Pension. Guess how much?"

​"I wouldn't know," said the Irishman.

​"One fucking dollar a month. That's how we treat our veterans."

​"How well I know," said O'Hanigan.

​He patted me on my back, saying,

​"Go fuck your wife, and if you're up for it. And fuck her one time for me."

"Will do," and I did.

​On our way to the hotel, we'd passed a small liquor store lit up like a fourth-of-July rocket. I bought a bottle of Ballantine Scotch and gave it to Janet to hold in her purse. The hotel clerk gave me a small bucket of ice and two glasses. I asked for three and poured O'Hanigan a shot before we took the elevator upstairs.

​"I really shouldn't. But thanks."

​"Let's give a toast to my dead uncle, Uncle George."

​"Sure. Here's to the dead soldier. May Uncle George live on in our memory."

​"That's fine," I said. Janet put her arm under mine and walked me to the elevator. She obviously knew where it was.

​When we got up to the third floor, after walking down a long corridor, we found the room was on the right. The room light was very bright, so I turned it off and turned on the bedlamp instead. The street lights outside added a brief glimmer of vibrating illumination. When I looked out the large window, I could see there was a full moon.

​"You know what they say about a full moon? Janet was busy undressing.

​"Nope."

​"They say if you make love under a full moon, you will be lovers forever."

​"That's nice."

"Yeah, if you believe that shit."

​By now Janet was down to her panties and bra.

I like big tits, but hers were enormous. Even the bra was gargantuan.

​I'm gonna enjoy sucking on your nips, Jan."

​Just don't be bittin me, and no hickies, please."

​"Sure."

​I was standing there nude and talking about her big tits. It must have excited me. My straight arrow was a full 8 inches."

​"Baby, could you suck me for a few minutes before we start into fuckin?"

​"You sure? You don't look like you need it. You look ready to blow your jizz."

​I know, but I'd really like to look down and see your lips wrapped round my cock and, Jesus, suck my balls a little.

​"Just don't cum in my mouth, Joe."

​"I won't. But I need some sucking before that's gonna happen."

​She knelt on the floor between my legs, then thought better of it, and grabbed the bed pillow and knelt on that. I watched as her lips enveloped my cock like a vacuum cleaner. Jesus, it felt good.

​I gotta get my fiance into cock sucking. I'd met her ex at a Christmas Party, at the Builder's Institute. He knew we were together and had to tell me that she was an expert cocksucker. So far the closest I'd gotten with her was second base. Why was she holding back?

​He made a point of telling me, "We got her so drunk one night at a wedding, she blew a buddy and me back at the hotel, but she didn't swallow. The cum ran out of her mouth and all over the front of her dress. We should have stripped her first."

​"I don't believe you," I said.

"You don't have to. I've got a picture right here."

​He thumbed through his wallet and handed me a worn photo, corners bent with white showing through the folds. There was a photo of a fat guy, his buddy, and his fat dick was deep in my fiancé's mouth. He must have just cum because his cock's cream was rolling down her chin.

​I was shocked. "Could you give me a copy of that photo?"

​"Not a chance." And he grabbed the photo back.

​"You'll have to make your own. Vodka and orange juice will do the trick. She'll guzzle that down like orange pop."

​"I'm not the kind of guy who would share my fiance with a buddy. I am also the kind of guy who doesn't give two shits about whose dick my fiance was sucking or who she was fucking.

​"Well, let me tell you something. Your bud will last forever. Wives get divorced for things they won't do in front of you, and then they are gone."

​When I told Alice her boyfriend said he had provocative photos of her, she blushed,

​"Don't believe anything he says; he's a fucken liar."

​That was the first time I'd heard her use that word.

​My mind drifted to that story that had sat in the back of my mind like a slow-growing cancer. I was losing touch with the fact that I was in the middle of a blowjob.

"My balls. Janet, don't forget my balls."

​She began sucking my balls into her cheek pocket and then popping them out. I began to feel I was getting ready to cum.

​"It's ok. You can stop sucking. Let's take a short break."

​I slipped my cock out of her mouth while she tightened her lips.

​"You're the boss."

It's nice to hear a woman say that. My wife never did.

I just got my dick out in time. I took a minute or two to relax and let my hard-on enjoy the day.

​"You gotta treat your prick nicely if you want to get use of it into your old age," my dad once told me,

"Lube it up every morning till it shines like the morning star."

​Janet got up off her knees. I could see some cigarette burns in the carpet of the no-smoking room. She got into bed and pushed the blankets aside. Janet was tall, with small feet. She could have modeled shoes. Her toes were outlined with grey nail polish, a nice touch.

​"You go to a salon to get your toenails done?

​"Naw, too expensive. My sister went to Cosmetology school. She does'em for me."

​"Would she do mine? I'd pay her."

​"I doubt it."

​"Bending over to cut em is the problem. I can't see clearly what I'm doing, and I end up cutting off the skin, next step: infection."

"Enuff wit the talk." Janet grabbed me by the dick and started squeezing and then milking the skin back and forth as if my cock was a cow's udder. I took this as her invitation to get down to business.

​I fell gently on top of her. She was thin and long, and I buried my face into her big breasts. My dick, like a submarine periscope with a little female guidance, stiffened up again and entered the promised land between her thighs. It felt so good!

​I was sure she'd been fucked hundreds, if not a thousand times before, but her cunt was still tight.

​"You got a tight twat, like a teenager," I said.

"Yeah, that's what the boys tell me."

​Now that my manhood was deep inside her, I took my time. She was here for the night. I didn't have to rush. I slowed, and my dick slipped out, but she stuffed it back into her snatch as if she didn't want to miss a moment of our sex."

​Of course I knew my fucking meant nothing to her. Whoring is just a one-sided pleasure for the man. Only when we knew each other very well, she'd tell me how she missed our sessions. Of course, by then I was eating her out and doing her ass with my tongue. Of course she washed properly. She really loved that. Even then, although I wanted to believe her, I knew a whore's word is as believable as a politician's.

​I don't want to bore the readers with more sexual details, but it didn't take long, and with a few moans of pleasure, I shot my load as deep as I could, smothering my face in her moon pie tits. Afterward, when she excused herself, I waited patiently while she showered the translucent goo down the drain.

​"You know," she said as she exited the bathroom, if you don't get that jizz out right away, it will burn through your flesh like battery acid."

​"I know, a few times I didn't wash up, and it raised a sore about an inch long on the side facing my nuts. Even with antibiotic cream, it hung around for ten days."

​"Yep, sperm can be a killer."

​She was wearing the hotel bathrobe when I kissed her goodnight on the cheek.

​"Thanks, babe. I really need that fuck. We're gonna do this very often."

​"You should get a girlfriend. Then it wouldn't cost ya."

​"I've got one, but she doesn't fuck as well as you."

​At least not with me, I thought, thinking of the fat guy's smile as Alice sucked his dick."

​Fast forward six years. I'd caught on that Alice was sharing her cooch with someone else, and after a flood of tears and denial, we got a divorce. Thankfully, no kids. Maybe I'm sterile, or maybe it's her. My teenage girlfriend aborted what we thought was my baby back when she was eighteen. Who cares?

​Alice ended up having a big, fancy wedding at the Westchester Country Club, which the New York Times covered. Who'd she marry? When I examined the photos in the Sunday section, it was the same guy whose dick she was sucking back before we married.

​Any hard feelings? Nah, I'm still fucking Janet after all these years. She even let's me butt fuck her from time to time. And when I cum in her ass she always whispers,

"I love you."

Just a few words about whores. Whores are people just like you and me. They ain't bashful about sex. They provide a service, and it's only fair we pay for it. Sure, you gotta be careful around whores. Lots of them are grifters. The only way to know a whore is to know her for a long time. Then, under her big tits and short skirt. you might find a treasure, or not.