I read an interview once with a famous porn star by the name of Big Dick Long. He claimed that he could only get it up when the cameras were on. The rest of the time Angelina Jolie couldn’t coax a hard on out of him after swallowing a truckload of Viagra.
I remembered at the time thinking how stupid it sounded.
Now…
Well…
It wasn’t so funny anymore.
* * *
Pete’s was a dive bar on a side street that you’d miss if you didn’t know it was there. It was one of those hole-in-the-wall neighborhood joints where the locals hung out to watch the game and drink beer and do shots and smoke cigarettes and just kick back and enjoy time away from the world that was waiting just outside the door.
It was not one of those places like Cheers where everybody knew your name. To the contrary, it was one of those places where nobody gave a fuck who you were or what you were doing there. That’s why I liked going to Pete’s. Once I passed through the front door I was immediately anonymous. I wasn’t the famous Yoni guru. I was just a guy looking for a cold beer and a shot of rye and maybe a little hot pussy, if one or all were available.
The place was dark except for the mismatched assortment of neon lights behind the bar and the fluorescents above the pool table. The patrons didn’t look at you too hard, if they looked at you at all. They didn’t want to fill your ear with their sad stories and they sure as fuck didn’t want to hear yours. They just wanted to drink and chill. And occasionally, fuck your brains out.
Lois was of the latter variety.
That was all I knew about her, just her first name, and that she liked to have her hair pulled when being fucked from behind in the men’s restroom.
Lois looked to be in her early forties, two or three years older than me. She was probably beautiful in her youth. Not that she was unattractive today. She could still turn most heads as she sashayed by in the miniskirts and fuck-me-pumps she wore to Pete’s. She just had a worn look about her, like she’d been around the block a few too many times and had the cum-stained t-shirts to prove it.
She was a full-figured, dye-job redhead with wide hips and a nice cushy ass, and a hairy pussy so tight I had accused her of having it tightened. She just gave me a raspy laugh and said it should be tight from all the exercise it got.
I tried to rub her back the first time we fucked in the tiny restroom and she asked me what the fuck I was doing. I had her bent over the sink with her thong around her ankles and her miniskirt pushed up over her ass. I was holding onto her hips and ramming my cock into her tight box so hard it made her entire body jar against the sink. I couldn’t tell you why I did it. It was just habit, I guess. My hands were on her sides. I moved my hands under her crop-top and up her back and started massaging her lower back with my thumbs. Lois grinned at me in the mirror.
“Fuck the massage, surfer boy,” she said, mouth hanging open, eyes dreamy. “Focus on fucking my cunt. Not my fucking back.”
I’ll never forget those words so long as I live.
Focus on fucking my cunt… Not my fucking back…
I couldn’t explain it if I tried, but I found the words to be freeing, as if they opened up a long-plugged wellspring in my loins. I dug my fingers into her soft ass cheeks and thought about nothing else but my cock in her pussy and fucked her like there was no tomorrow.
I lost control, ramming hard into her gushing cunt without regard to hurting her, ignoring her grunts and gasps as I pulled her ass toward me and rammed my cock in as far as it would go.
I exploded deep inside her for what seemed like minutes, until my balls tightened and the rest of me went limp. I opened my eyes slowly, fearful that I had hurt her badly. I could just picture the headlines in my mind…
Famous Yoni Master Fucks Woman To Death In Dive Bar Restroom…
Film at eleven…
But when I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror I saw her smiling back at me. Her mouth was hanging open. Her tongue was out. She was panting like a dog. Her face was drenched in sweat. And she was smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
She blew a strand of hair out of her face, wiggled her plump ass against me, and said the two words I needed to hear most at that moment.
“The best….”
The best.
It was the kindest compliment I’d been given in a very long time.
That was a year ago. Since then Lois and I had had sex in that restroom five or six times, in the front seat of her car, in the back of my car, in the alley out back of the bar with her back pressed against the brick wall and her legs around me, and once inside the bar itself in a dark corner while a dozen other patrons milled around without even giving us a second look. I sat back in a chair and took out my hard cock and she pushed her miniskirt up and her thong to the side and rode me to the rhythm of What’s Love Got to Do With It coming from the jukebox. It was very nearly the best sex of my life and gave rise to a new-found respect for the music of Miss Tina Turner.
The downside to it all was that I could only get an erection when I was with Lois now. I could only blow a load when my cock was deep inside her. Hell, I couldn’t even coax my cock to get hard with a Hustler Magazine and a tube of lube anymore, the sex tools of my misspent youth.
I was not Devin McMasters when I was with Lois.
I was just me.
A guy that the world had no expectations of.
A guy the world put no demands on.
Lois just wanted me to fuck her.
Because I was the best.
Funny.
I thought the same thing about her.
* * *
It was nearly midnight when I slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar and ordered Coors in the bottle, because I didn’t trust the cleanliness of Pete’s glasses. Pete, who had the personality of a corpse on Quaaludes, set the bottle on the bar in front of me and plucked the ten-dollar bill from between my fingers. I took a sip of the cold beer and let it slake down my throat slowly. I only drank when I came to Pete’s. The rest of the time I had to watch everything I ate and drank to keep in shape and to up the appearances that went with being a guru—a word I had grown to hate, but tolerated because it added several zeroes every year to my bottom line.
The beer tasted good going down. I thought briefly about ordering a burger, then thought better of it. God forbid TMZ shoot video of me with a bottle of Coors in one hand and one of Pete’s greasy burgers in the other.
I licked the beer from my lips and looked around the bar for Lois. Other than me, there were a dozen or so other regulars lined up to the bar and another dozen or so sitting at the little round tables or hovering around the worn pool table. My heart sank a little when I didn’t see Lois, who claimed to practically live at Pete’s. When Pete brought my change and set it on the bar in front of me, I held up a finger to catch his attention.
“Seen Lois?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
He narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, like he’d never seen me before even though I had frequented his lovely establishment every few weeks for the past year. He glanced at the Dodger’s cap, then looked me in the eye and shook his head. “Don’t guess you heard.”
I had the beer bottle to my lips. It froze there. I sucked in a quick breath and held it. “Oh shit… what happened? Is she…?”
“Married,” Pete said with the same grimness as if he were announcing her death. “Last Tuesday. Moved to Waco to marry some guy she met online.”
“Married…” I blew out the breath and forced a smile. “Thank God. I thought you were gonna tell me she had died or something.”
“Same thing,” Pete said with a grunt. “Anything else?”
“No, thanks,” I said, toasting him with the bottle. Shit. How could Lois leave me? I mean, we had a good thing going. How could she just get up and marry some gut she met on the fucking internet? And why was I feeling like the jilted lover who never saw it coming.
Because you’re an arrogant asshole, the little voice in my head said, reminding me of something I already knew. I didn’t even know Lois’ last name. I didn’t know where she lived or if she had ever been married or if she had kids or family or a dog or a cat... I didn’t know shit about the woman and she didn’t know shit about me.
She was just a woman I fucked every time I came into town. And I had the audacity to be pissed off that she met another man and moved onto hopefully a better life?
Yep, I was an arrogant asshole. And now I was an arrogant asshole who would probably never get another hard-on in his life. I guzzled the beer and held up the bottle to signal Pete.
“Another?” Pete asked, giving me the eye that looked in my direction.
“Hang on,” I said. I took the wad of bills from my pocket and peeled off a couple of hundreds. I set both bills on the bar and slid them toward him.
“What’s this for?” Pete asked as he set the fresh bottle of Coors in front of me. He eyed the money, then eyed me. “You trying to buy the place?”
“We’re celebrating Lois’ nuptials,” I said loud enough to get everyone’s attention. I picked up the bottle and held it in the air as if it was a trophy for all to see. “Drinks on me!”
I was suddenly the most popular guy in the place.
And the most miserable.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Cassandra
The week flew by. Lulu managed to add me to her reservation, which turned out to be a near miracle because Paradiso was completely booked out nearly a year in advance. Lulu assured them that we could comfortably share the king-sized bed in the suite she had paid six-thousand-dollars for, and agreed to pay an additional twenty-percent surcharge for my meals and other freebies, which two-percent would have easily covered.