The Adventures of Bob Collins vol. 1

FIFTEEN B (and B stands for BONUS!)

2009-04-01T14:39:00.003-04:00

Since a lot a you are probably reading this and saying to yourself why the fuck is Bob teasing me with this shit about getting fired -- and then never telling me what happened -- I decided to ease your pain a little bit. Here's what happened:

I got fired from work today.

I was following my normal schedule and nothing seemed out a the ordinary: My soul and body were prepared for another round a crushing labor, and when I got done with the twelve hours a lifting boxes in and out a big long trucks I was gonna go to a bar and light myself up. But I still had the day a work to get through. So I prepared myself and went. When I got there, I saw my boss standing behind his pea-green podium. He said: “Where the hell have you been?” like he was mad I hadn't kept an appointment.

It was a strange question because it was Monday; I wasn't late; and if he knew me at all he'd know I spent the entire weekend drinking beer and fucking pussy.

“I’m five minutes early," I said and continued to the lockers to get into my jumpsuit as if nothing was wrong, because in my mind, what little of it there is, nothing was wrong.

“Where the hell were you Monday and Tuesday?” he said.

I stared at him. He seemed perfectly normal, healthy, fit, and not sweating or anything that would convince me he was suffering from a fever or delusions. “You might wanna check the calendar," I said. "It is Monday.”

“You check the calendar. It’s Wednesday. You’re two days late for work!”

Phil's a bit of an uptight prick. He's also a manger so sometimes he said things just for effect, and since he'd went to a managerial seminar in order to lie convincingly to his employees, you just couldn't believe what he said.

So I gave myself some time to ruminate on the possibility it was two days later than I thought.

Now, as far as I am concerned, it's impossible to sleep through two whole days unless you did something special. I hadn't. My weekend had been normal. I invited over my next door neighbor when her old man wasn't home and the broad that lived upstairs and I fucked 'em all afternoon. I fucked 'em so much I thought my dick was gonna fall off. Then I woke up this morning. No way it was three days later.

At least I didn't believe it until he showed me a newspaper. In the corner there was a date and the date said it was Wednesday.

So, it turned out Phil was right: It was Wednesday, and I was two days late for work, no matter how impossible that seemed. So, considering all a my other absences and write ups, I was pretty much fucked. Phil said he couldn't let me abuse the company attendance policy; it was an insult to SuperLogistics, LLC. and all hardworking Americans everywhere. I told him he can suck on my meat. Then I whipped it out and dared him to.

He did the only appropriate thing for a man like him could do: he called security. After a struggle, in which one a the guards copped a couple feels, they "escorted me from the premises."

That's how I got unemployed.

There, you happy now? Don't say I don't care about my readers!

FIFTEEN

2009-03-21T09:30:00.011-04:00

I followed her back to the hotel. On the way inside the room, she slammed the door in my face; the force of it almost pushed my nose up into my brain and killed me, but my brain had been so stunted by The Cleveland Public school I had extra room in there and the only thing I suffered was bloody nose. I stood there on the balcony for a few minutes, cleaning myself off, begging her to let me in, if only to get some toilet paper I could shove up my nostrils. She only told me to fuck off.

I didn't have nothing else to do, so I decided to go find some beer to help me erase my memory of the situation. Because, it was a bad one.

Once I got moving around, I saw that this neighborhood was a totally different world from my neighborhod even though it was only a couple miles away. This place was rough while my neighborhod was just kind a scuffed up a little. Here, food stamps and welfare are career options. Even I was employed, sort of, so for once I finally felt good about myself, even thought maybe someone around here would look at me for advice in how to move up in the world. It took me awhile, but I finally found the trendy area I always heard assholes talking about to put me in my place again. There was a bunch a coffee shops and other shit all glowing in neon I didn't care much about; all I was looking for was a beer hole, and not some fancy place that served Euro-piss brew. I wanted good old American barley and hops and some cool Rocky Mountain spring water.

Of course, I don't find that kind a place; but what do I find? My old boss, the guy who fired me when I had all eleven thick inches a my dick hanging out a my pants, the story I was about to write at the beginning a this thing, but didn't have time because I had to start with the pussy. Anyway, he come strolling out a this restaurant like he owned the world and the moment I saw him I remembered I owed him a good dose a revenge.

Because no man fucks with Bob Collins and gets away with it.

So I rushed him from behind and punched him in the kidney, not hard enough to knock him over, but hard enough to get his attention, sort a like going up to someone's house and ringing the doorbell and saying, "Guess, what, asshole, someone's here for a visit!" Soon as I hit him, he turned around in pain, sort a rubbing the hell out a his lower back. When he saw me, his eyes went all wide and shit.

I smiled at him; and with that smile I was silently saying, That's right, motherfucker -- payback.

"Bob?" he stammered. "Imagine finding you in a neighborhood like this. What are the odds?"

"I don't know," I said. "I went to Cleveland Public Schools -- I ain't good at math."

Something must a been going through his head; I could see the gears turning; then, without no warning at all, he went and done a real bitch thing and kicked me in the nuts. Just like that, my undefeated record since I been with Janice was shattered. I went down, just like you'd expect me to, and while I was down, he ran away like a little girl.

FOURTEEN

2009-03-20T21:09:00.017-04:00

"Lets go before the cops come sniffing around."

It was like the third time I'd warned her, but she wouldn't leave; actually, it ain't that she wouldn't leave, because she could if she wanted to; it was more like she wouldn't listen to me. The more I got to understand Janice the more I realized she wasn't going to do nothing no one told her to do. So, despite my rational arguments for leaving, she continued to squat over the old man with this weird look on her face, in some sort a demented defiance no sane person could ever understand, and I think she did it just to spite me, but if she didn't do it just to spite me, spiting me was a big part a her reason why she was doing it. Don't let her fool you on that.

She looked sorry for the old man. Maybe it was the way I beat his ass and took his money that brought on a sudden strain a conscience in Janice, but I don't know. I ain't gonna pretend I can see inside the mind of a woman. After all, the old man didn't deserve what I'd done to him; on the other hand, I didn't deserve all a the shit that happened in my life either. I don't see no one apologizing to me so why should I feel bad for him? The world is a cold hard place. I just couldn't conjure up too much pity.

Maybe I was just an asshole. You always gotta consider you're the problem in a problem. But, in this case, if I was the problem, it was because I was reflecting the world I was raised in -- a world a predator-men who took my time and energy, chewed me up, spit me out, and never said thanks for continually taking from me. Am I supposed to feel guilty that I did a little a my own cheing and spitting? I'm Bob Collins. Guilt ain't my forte.

The thing that really got me was as Janice squatted there, refusing to listen to reason or me, she took out one a her titties and inserted its erect nipple in the old guy's mouth. Once the thing was in there, the old guy started to suckle on it, like he was a infant. Janice smiled with pure mirth that almost radiated out a her, then pet his greasy gray hair back on his head and cooed in his ear while he sucked. I could almost see her get happier the more I grew angry.

Finally, I couldn't take it no more; you can't just do that, disrespect a man right in front a his face, and expect him not to get upset. Sure, I bet Janice and her friends probably wanted me to keep my tail tucked between my legs and pretend it was my dick, which had been cut off, at least spiritually, and just let her do whatever she wanted without challenging her on none a it. But I ain't that kind a man. I don't got no tail; but I do got an eleven-inch dong that likes to pound pussy into submission. With an anger so hot and extreme it could a melted lead, I kicked the old man so hard in the gut that he made this hideous wheezing sound like his intestines were gonna explode and he spit out Janice's tit with a loud exhalation.

I could see Janice's nipple wet with spit.

She looked up at me with a fire in her eyes. "You didn't have to do that!" she snapped. "That was just insensitive and cruel."

Like what she was doing to me wasn't any a those things.

I didn't pay no attention to the dozens a other curses and accusations she was laying on me, just pulled her to her feet as a couple porch lights turned on, and started to really put the pressure on us to get the hell outta there.

I walked her down the road to the hotel, and when we were outta eye-shot, I said, "What the fuck was that all about?"

She was all tense, with her body wrapped up tightly in her arms. I already knew, just by the way she was moving, I'd made a mistake. "You wouldn't understand, Bob."

I was taken aback by her lack a response. I expected a hailstorm of invective and a couple a dosings a feminist wisdom. What I got frightened me even more.

So, what do I do? Since I'm Bob Collins, I continue with my line a questioning, unperturbed. Who knows why? Maybe it's some personality defect in me.

"What kind a criminal goes around and sticks her tit in her victim's mouth?" I said. "That just ain't how it's done! You're a horrible fucking criminal, Janice. Horrible!"

"I am not a criminal," she said.

"No, you're not," I yelled. And with as much venom as I could get outta my voice box, I added: "You're just a whore."

I figured that comment wouldn't go over very well; and I was right. She took off ahead a me in that quick way she only used when she was mad. Even though I was mad too, I didn't mind too much, because her ass always looked real good when she walked away like that.

"Don't you wanna see how much money we made?" I yelled at her.

She didn't turn around to look at me, only yelled at the top a her lungs: "Stop trying to control me, asshole!"

Wasn't no one trying to control her -- especially not me. I got enough problems controlling myself and I had no reason to seek authority over someone else's decisions. Dumb bitch.

Maybe she didn't even realize it herself, but no one controlled Janice; she was a force to be reckoned with, a natural fury, a demon a self-possession. She made all a her own decision and everybody, including me, when along for the ride. How else could I explain the fact I was now married? Marriage was the last thing I imagined for myself. I had plans a fucking any woman I came across until the day I died. Beer and broads, that was my mantra. But now I was married. Somehow she'd connived me into it and here I was suffering the consequences -- and the marriage wasn't even forty-eight hours old. I started getting depressed when I realized she had played me like a violin. I had to get my mind off a the situation and I was wondering how much cash I got off the old guy anyway, so I took out the roll -- and unrolled it. The results were unimpressive.

"Fuck," I muttered. I'd just committed a felony for sixteen dollars.

THIRTEEN

2009-03-20T14:51:00.012-04:00

Janice caught up to the victim. From the safety a the bushes, I could hear everything going on just twenty feet away. Janice asked him for a smoke, just like we'd planned. Everything seemed to be going well -- they were smiling and shit -- until the guy answered her request for a cigarette by saying he didn't smoke -- even though he had a goddamned cigarette smoldering and hanging from his parched lips.

Come on, baby, I said to myself. Don't quit now; don't let up. I knew my wife was smart enough to find some angle around his refusal to engage in the exchange that would break down his resistance and wariness. When it came to that sort a shit she beat me hands down. But what she came up with didn't really set to well with me:

She said she'd show him her titties if he gave her a smoke.

I started to get real heated, so heated I wanted to go out there and smack the shit out a her. She couldn't do nothing without making it an excuse to show her titties to a stranger. I just sat there behind them bushes watching her and I got so hot I finally couldn't take it no more and jumped out a the bushes, flexing my pecs in a real intimidating fashion. I was about to put my 18-0 record on the line and I was pretty sure I wasn't gonna lose.

I went right up behind the old man, as quiet as a fox on tiptoes, and stuck my finger into his back, just like I'd done when I was younger, right in his kidney. "Don't fucking move," I said in this real mean voice, "unless you want me to blow your guts out!"

He didn't move. I couldn't blame him. I can be a real intimidating motherfucker when I wanna be. And if I were him I wouldn't want my guts blown out.

After he put his hands in the air and froze like an ice cube, I rifled through his pockets while Janice watched me like I was some kind a animal. I thought I saw a sort a disapproval in her eyes; she was looking at me like I was some sort a animal or something like she didn't know me. Like she was having some sudden insight into my character. I was about to tell her to turn her whore eyes away if she didn't like what we were doing but I was too busy finding the thin money roll in the old dude's pocket. When I did find it, I tossed it in the air in victory, then stuck it in my pocket, sorta like the government does with part a my paycheck. Then I knocked the guy over and kicked him in the stomach. But I didn't fuck him in the ass. I leave that to Uncle Sam.

"Don't forget the smokes," Janice said.

I grabbed her arm, trying to drag her away. "We can buy our own. We gotta get outta here while the gettin's good," I told her.

But it wasn't Janice's style to be told what to do by a man, especially an alpha male like me; so she twisted free a my grip and started through the man's pockets herself, all the while he cursed her by saying: "Don't take my smokes. They all I got left in this life, bitch!"

It didn't matter at all to Janice. She didn't give a damn.

TWELVE

2009-03-19T20:14:00.008-04:00

We honeymooned at the Riviera Motel. It was nothing special, just a two-story strip motel on the rougher side a Lorain Road. I couldn't complain -- it was no worse than my apartment. The walls were stained a little yellow, the mattress smelled a little like dead bodies, and the toilet flushed only one turd at a time. But the room cost $35; so, aside from the stains, it was a good deal.

Janice didn't have no money -- she'd spent it all on wedding preparations -- so I paid for the booze, the ceremony, the licenses, and the hotel outta my measly paycheck. After the first night I ran outta cash. We'd just gotten done fucking when I realized my wallet was empty.

"So how are we going to spend the rest of our honeymoon with no money?" Janice asked.

I turned from the window since I was looking out at a shitty view of an asphalt courtyard I really didn't give a fuck about while I shook out the last drops a cum outta Big Ole Cock.

When I turned around Janice was laying prone on the bed, wearing nothing but a hot pink g-string, her skin all balmy with sweat. "This is not how I expected to start out my marriage," she said. "Penniless, broke. This is unbearable! I should turn some tricks to get the cash flowing again."

"Fuck that!" I said.

"I'm not spending my entire honeymoon broke, Bob."

The acid in her voice corroded my heart.

"Do you have any other suggestions?" she asked.

I tried to think a something, but thinking ain't one a my strong suits. The only thing my brain would tell me was to fuck Janice again.

"I ain't any good with money," I finally said. "You know that. I can't just make it magically appear."

Janice said, "I can. I just shake my ass, and -- BOOM. Money."

It made me jealous.

I turned back to the window, hoping to come up with something she'd accept so she didn't realize she'd married a loser less than twenty-four hours ago, which, if you based your judgments on my accomplishments, is what I was. "We could always roll somebody," I said.

Far as ideas went, it wasn't the best; but, fuck, I ain't about being the best. I'm about scraping by.

She didn't seem too excited about it, but an hour later we had a plan, nothing elaborate, just plain and boring and functional, and we stood up on the catwalk in front a our hotel room, the hours dwindling away until I had to pay for another night, hunting out the victim. We found us a gray-haired man in some blue coveralls, just like I wear to work. You'd think I'd feel some solidarity for my fellow workingman; but don't let none a the political ideas fool you -- people are out for themselves. We took off after him like a couple a bloodhounds, tracking him for a couple blocks into a residential area, where I was sure we could find a good place to roll him. I knew we had to get him before he got home or wherever else he was going or else we'd lose our chance. So I pushed Janice ahead. I hid in a bush and watched her do her thing.

ELEVEN

2009-03-19T17:04:00.005-04:00

We got married in a beautiful ceremony at city hall. Janice wore a pair a boy shorts and a tank top and some gauzy shit all over her head. She also had the remnants of a pearl necklace in the back a her hair. But that's s different story. I wore my work clothes: coveralls and a baseball hat. We exchanged rings and everything, kissed, signed papers, then we were done. We were fucking married.

We left outta there arm in arm, the way you see in the movies. Only difference was we didn't have nobody celebrating out nuptials. On the way down the front steps I said, "Hold on," and grabbed a bag a rice, which I'd hid behind a red grease rag, outta my pocket.

When I showed it to her she smiled and said, "Oh, Bobby, you think of everything. It's perfect."

She was putty in my hands after that.

But things weren't perfect. Never are. Never will be. This is the real world. This isn't no movie or some fairytale that works out for the best at the end. This was real life where people got fucked and the good guy don't always win. Big whoop. In time I'd learn just how true that was and what kind a fuck I'd married, and she'd learn more about me. But if you can't look past your partner's faults on your wedding day, when can you? So right about then everything seemed fine.

We broke open the bag and threw one handful a rice in the air after another till it seemed like we were in a blizzard of rice. We danced around. Then, one pigeon at a time landed at our feet, and soon there was a huge collection a birds around us. I kissed her. When I pulled away she was crying happily. "I love you," I said, even though I wanted to kick myself in the nuts for saying it.

"I love you too, Bobby."

Then we waited for a bus to come by.

Standing there on the front steps a city hall with the pigeons and rice all around us was the last time we were happy together.

TEN

2009-03-18T20:13:00.017-04:00

After she said that, I freaked out and kicked the shit out a the bathroom door and fucked up the toilet so bad it sprayed water all over the bathroom. Then I beat the shit out a the toaster.

When I got it all out a my system, I went into the bedroom and laid beside Janice.

She settled her head on my chest. My nipple pointed at her mouth.

"We don't have to get married if you don't want to," she said.

I looked at her deep in the eyes. "Listen to me," I said. "I'll say this only once: That toaster had it coming. All it did was sit on the counter, doing nothing, for years. Freeloaders deserve everything they get. Ever-y-thing."

She sighed. I guess she knew I was pretending I wasn't upset by what she'd said. (She always did have cutting insight into what makes Bob Collins tick.) So I fidgeted around for a little while, either trying to bet my nipple in her mouth or Big Ole Cock in her butt, I wasn't sure which -- just anything to get her mind off a the situation. She slapped at me.

"Just tell me what you really think, Bob."

"I just never been married before," I said, rolling my head into the pillow. "Kinda freaks me out a little."

"If it makes you feel any better I never been married before either."

"Yeah, but you're like fifteen. You can't get married. Legally. Unless we go to some African country. And I ain't about to leave the borders a this fine country."

"Bob, I'm eighteen and I'm ready to settle down, ready to enter a life of marriage with a man. I've had enough of running around. What do you think?"

"You wanna know what I think? I think financially speaking we can't get married."

Her cheek turned warm on my nipple. I think it was tears leaking out a her eyes. "It all boils down to money?" she said with a bit a disappointment I, in all my maleness, didn't give a fuck about.

"Don't it always?" I said.

Janice said, "Here I am asking you to get married and all you can think about is money. You're so romantic."

She went on bawling and I knew I'd really stepped in a pile a shit this time. I never should a opened my mouth. No matter what I might say or what I might write in this here book, the truth was I hated to see her upset. The more upset she got, the more my maleness wanted to please her. I saw her laying against my chest looking powerless and broken. Every desire in my body wanted to combine together to please her -- in a way that wouldn't force undue expectations on me. Because I wasn't sure if I would fulfill them.

"Jesus Christ, do you take everything I say seriously?" I asked. "I just said all a that shit about moving in so you would sleep with me one more time before I have to go to work. To tell you the truth, after I got you to move in I was going to quit my job and let you pay for everything. You'd make the perfect fuck toy for me around here. But getting hitched it a totally different can a beans. We get married, I gotta pay for insurance and all a that shit. Put it this way, if you're my girlfriend, you a luxury; if you're my wife, you're a burden. See what I'm saying?"

"No," she said in the tightest-lipped, angriest voice I'd ever heard her use.

I guess my monologue didn't work as planned.

"That's bullshit," she said, "and you know it. You won't have to buy insurance for me; I'll keep working. That should reduce your financial burden."

"No wife a mine is gonna work," I shot back. "She's gonna spend all day cleaning house and cooking food. She's gonna whip herself into a horny frenzy everyday so when I come home there's dinner on the table and a horny bitch waiting for me to finish eating."

"That's revolting, bob." She folded her arms right up under her titties. I slapped one and watched it jiggle. "I can't believe you would have teh gall to say something that offensive!"

I heard what she said, but wasn't really paying attention. The jiggling titty had consumed all a my attention.

"What were we talking about?" I said.

"The future of our relationship, asshole!"

I snapped out a my coma. I didn't like her tone a voice so I decided I'd dilute it with a little of Bob's magic charm.

"Relax, baby, I'm just fucking with you. You know your Big Bobby is a big softy." I said this in my sensitive-guy lisp.

"Let me put this another way," she said. "We get married, I keep working, and you don't have to worry about supporting two people. I make enough money for the both of us. It would be stupid for me to quit."

"I don't want my wife whoring around," I said. It was a simple point, and I sorta thought is was simple to understand. Janice didn't understand.

"I've been working the last few months and it hasn't bothered you, why is it a big deal now?" she said defensively.

"It does bother me, bitch. I just never said nothing about it because I know how happy it makes you. Besides, you get all political, acting like I'm trying to repress you, so I just bite my tongue. You can use your pussy any way you want, and a ll a that shit, but that don't change the fact I don't want my wife fucking other dudes."

"If I keep working we'll have more money than we'll know what to do with," she said.

I admitted that was true, and said: "So it's all about the money? How romantic."

"And this whole monogamy thing," she plowed on, "is just not natural to the human species. Even when I'm having sex with those other men, it's strictly a body thing. It doesn't have anything to do with my heart. Look, Bob," she added, then lifted her head to look me directly in the eyes, "I'll lay it out for you: We love each other. We should get married. But we shouldn't have to make personal sacrifices to accommodate the other. Just because we're getting married doesn't mean we have to give up who we are."

Her words were sparkling in the air like dewdrops and I almost couldn't get past the beauty of them; and the fact I would never be able to make heads or tails out of any a the profound things she said. But just to make the conversation move on, I said: "And who are you, if you don't mind explaining it to me?"

"I'm just a girl who likes to fuck as many men as possible. I shouldn't have to give that up just because we're getting married."

I thought about that, then had a remarkable thought: "Does that mean I can still get drunk every night?"

"Let's not go that far. Every once in a while I'll let you have a beer, but no husband of mine is going to be a drunk."

She stroked Big Ole Cock to lessen the blow.

But it didn't sound like a good thing to me. I mean, from what she was saying she wanted to keep fucking other men but didn't wanna let me drink beer. Something about that just seemed wrong. Big Ole Cock was between my legs telling me to fuck her; my brain, on the other hand, was telling me her ground rules weren't fair. All a the information was confusing me. I didn't know what day it was.

She patted my chest, then rolled onto her side and went to sleep. The longer I laid there, unable to sleep myself, the more I started to feel like a bitch. I wasn't allowed to tell her to stop fucking other men, but she was allowed to stop me from my primary source of nutrients, beer? Is that what feminism was really about? I needed to do something that made mefeel better so I fucked her delicately in the asshole. When I was done, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, unable to reconcile the hypocrisy a her position.

I thought about the marriage proposal the rest a the night, as I lay there, and the rest of the next day, the whole time I was at work. I went over the pluses and minuses a our relationship. I came up with a few things. We ain't been seeing each other for long, but she'd touched me in a way no other broad ever had before. Around her I felt invincible, and I'd been 18-0 in fights since we'd met. On the other hand, she was young. She might get sick a being married and run off with some other cocksucker when my money runs out. Then again, she might do that even if she was thirty. So that wasn't no reason to say "no" to the marriage proposal. Then, on the third hand, she might get tired a taking Big Ole Cock all the time, 'cause she said I went too deep sometimes. On the fourth hand, she might leave me if I didn't marry her, might say the relationship wasn't going nowhere -- and I just didn't wanna give up that snatch. Plus, she made her money whoring. That wasn't a good thing. On the fifth hand, she made a lot a money; that was a good thing. It took me a lot a convincing myself marrying her was the right thing to to but I convinced myself marrying her was the right thing to do. Sometimes you meet a broad that'll make you do things you wouldn't normally do -- like give up beer, for the most part. Janice was that girl for me.

Too bad I didn't know what this decision would cost me.

NINE

2009-03-17T14:00:00.012-04:00

'Bout five hours later -- I was in bed, it being three in the morning -- Janice came in and turned on the light. I sat up and said, "Fuck, bitch! Turn off the light!"

She was jittery, tapping her foot, walking around the room, all nervous and tense and sweaty, like a crackwhore that ain't had no crack in awhile. And worst of all, she was ignoring me.

"I need to know one thing," she said.

I was tired, hadn't been laid in a few hours, and hadn't had no alcohol in even longer. I just wanted to go back to bed, forget anything was happening, wrap myself up in the covers before I had to go to work again. "All right, just calm down and I'll tell you whatever you wanna know."

She looked at me, letting the moment get all dramatic. Then she spilled it, nearly ripping out my heart in the process. "Do you love me?"

I sat in bed, unable to move. For fuck's sake! That wasn't one a the questions that was on my high priority answer list. Even if I did love her, that wasn't one a the things I was willing to admit. A man's got his dignity. And Bob Collins has more dignity than most men. Not only that, Bob Collins also had Bob Collins's Principles, one of them which said Don't Ever Tell No Bitch You lover Her, and By Bitch, That Means All Women. From what I had seen, love can cramp a man's style, kill his desire to engage in the opportunity fuck. I couldn't let myself fall into that trap. If this thing with Janice didn't work out, I planned to fuck another broad within three seconds of our break up, while I continued to fuck other women during our relationship. I didn't need no emotional baggage thwarting me. To Bob Collins, love was like kryptonite to Superman. That's the Collins way.

I finally said to Janice, "Listen, I ain't never said those words in my life, not even to my drunk-ass mother. Well, I stand corrected: I have said them to Big Ole Cock, but that's a different kind a love. It's a brotherly bond me and him got."

"Come on, baby. If you love me, tell me. If not, then I have no reason to be here. I need to know; I need you to say it if it's true."

"I think you know what the answer is. Come to bed. I'll show you everything you need to know."

I flashed her Big Ole Cock. If that didn't say love right there, I don't know what did.

It didn't have no effect on her.

"I need to hear the words, Bobby."

"You know Bob Collins don't use language like that!" I thundered in my big alpha male voice. "You know it goes against everything I stand for!"

"If you loved me you would say it, principles or not," she said sternly.

I switched tactics.

"Come on to bed," I ventured in my soft sensitive man voice. "I got the man meat you're waiting for."

I thought the change in my voice would a been enough to make her forget the stand-off we were having, but I underestimated her memory.

She stood there in from a the dresser with her arms crossed and to make matters worse she was pouting. Even I got enough brains to know it ain't good news when a woman pouts.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," I ejaculated, "just come to bed. I need some pussy -- I mean some sleep!"

She just stood there looking at me like I was some sor ta moron, which I guess in some ways I am.

"Not until you tell me one way or the other what I need to know, Bob."

We were in an undeclared stand-off, and one way or the other I was gonna lose. Fuck, I said to myself, would it be so bad to say them words? Maybe not, if I wanted to go to sleep anytime soon. Would it be so bad? Coming up with no answers a my own, I did what I normally do in times a crisis: I turned to God. He didn't say shit. So it was up to me. I always thought it was better to guard yourself rather than let out the way you really feel and let people make fun a you, but I figured what the hell. Janice fucked good. If she wanted them three words I could say them to her.

I put my hand on Big Ole Cock for moral support, since he's always been there for me, no matter what the situation, and said: "Fine. You wanna hear me say it? I'll say it. I love you, Janice. I love you a whole hell of a lot. You happy now?"

She was smiling real big. "Yes, that makes me happy."

"Happy enough to suck my balls?"

She nodded then jumped into bed beside me. I found myself wrapped in her slender whore arms and she kissed me all over the place. The only thing she neglected to kiss was Big Ole Cock, even though she said she was happy enough to suck my balls. I didn't understand that, but she was a woman and I don't know if there is any way to understand one a them. She also refrained from kissing my butthole, but even I knew it wasn't a rimjob moment, so I didn't hold that against her. Then I fucked her hard and dirty. When we were done, a tear spilled out a her eye and a flood gate a baby Bobs came spurting out a her pussy when I uncorked in her.

She rolled over and looked into my eyes. "Remember what you asked me earlier--" she said "-- about me moving in?"

"Haven't had enough beer between now and then for me to forget," i said.

"I thought about it, out on my walk."

"Go on," I said. "Don't keep me in suspense. What's the fucking answer?"

"I will move in -- under one condition."

"What the fuck would that be?" I asked.

She cleared her throat and said the words I never wanted to hear: "That condition is we get married."

EIGHT

2009-03-15T13:18:00.021-04:00

Next few weeks we saw a lot of each other. I went hunting for a job and she kept whoring out her cunt. I tried to forget she was fucking for money but she always had money so it was hard to forget. I thought about forbidding her to whore around. But she wouldn't a listened to me. For Janice, it was her way or no way, no matter how much of an alpha male I am. Depsite all a that, there was something innocent about her. I found myself thinking about her at the most unlikely of times -- like when I was taking a shit. I started to get the feeling we was supposed to be together, like we were meant to be or something.

After we fucked one night, we sat back in my bed smoking cigarettes. She rolled over and said, "Don't you ever want anything more out of your life?"

I had to think about that for awhile, not only because it was one a them profound questions, but I hadn't thought in so long I didn't remember how to do it. Finally, I came up with something:

"You mean something like you got a twin sister?" I said. Having two Janices to fuck instead a just one would a made my life a lot more special. One could suck on my balls while the other rode Big Ole Cock. And vice versa. The possibilities were endless.

"I didn't mean it that way," she said.

I lit her up a cigarette and passed it to her. "You look sexy when you're angry," I said.

"I'm not angry."

"Yes, you are. I can see your top lip trembling."

Her eyes narrowed, but in the slits they still glistened. She threw back the sheet and rolled out a bed and moved to the front window. For a moment all I could see was her silhouette. Then, while she stood at the foot of the bed, her nipples hardened. She had seen Big Ole Cock slumbering against my thigh and wanted to sit on him again.

"You can be a real pig," she said.

"Pigs and humans ain't that different. A lot a people I know remind me a pigs. And if you ever fucked a pig, you'd know it feels pretty much the same as fucking a broad."

She looked down again and saw Big Ole Cock coming back to life.

"You talk about fucking pigs and you get hard again?" Her top lip was really trembling now.

"I can't help what turns me on," I said in my own defense.

"When you look at me you're reminded of some sow?" she said.

I didn't know what a sow was. I said: "What's a sow?"

"A pig, for Christ's sake, Bob!"

"Well, you sure as hell fuck the same. Besides, I'm spent for one night. I unloaded about a gallon inside you. My balls is big, but they can't whip up another load that fast."

Then, she gasped, "You weren't wearing a rubber?"

"Cuts off the ciculation," I said. "When you got a tool this big, you need to allow it blood to stay hard."

She jumped on top a me, I thought because she wanted another load so bad she couldn't stand it; but then she started slapping my chest and I know that ain't something she enjoyed in a sexual way.

"Goddamnit, I can't keep running my business if I get pregnant, Bob!"

"Quit whoring," I said. "There's one solution to the problem."

"And do what with my life?"

"I don't know. Live with me. I'll support you. My new job pays almost eleven bucks an hour. That's enough for me and you to live on. Just stop hitting me!"

She paced the room, seriously considering my offer, even though I'd just spit it out to stop her from hitting me. Seemed like she was working things over in her head but I didn't ask her to let them out. I might a been whipped by then but I wasn't no woman; I didn't need to know what she was thinking. Just let her go on and think if she wanted to, that was my philosphy.

Finally, she said, "I have to think about this more," like it was some sort a big deal or something.

"Think about what?" I'd forgotten what we were talking about.

"Me moving in, asshole!"

"Oh," I groaned.

"I need some air."

"Okay," I said, rolling out of the bed; "let's go for a walk."

"No, I have to go by myself."

I rolled back in the bed, thanking God I didn't have to walk. What kind a badass American would I be if I walked for pleasure? Or thought about shit, for that matter. Even though I didn't like thinking, I didn't wanna stop no one from thinking -- except for myself. That was one a Bob Collins's principles: Every day, do as little thinking as possible. Beer was my main tool to accomplish this, although any form a alcohol worked. Unfortunately, I didn't have no alcohol so I was still somewhat involved in the current situation. If she wanted to think, she could go right ahead and give herself a headache if she wanted to. Bob Collins wasn't about to stop her. Besides, if she went out for a walk and a think I wouldn't have to cuddle with her. Winners all the way around.

"Go ahead and take your walk if you need to," I said. "I understand."

She smiled then began to dress herself. I watched her dress and it made me wanna fuck either her or a pig again. When she covered her titties up I thought I'd just slipped into a major depression but it passed pretty quickly. Then she walked out the door, didn't say goodbye or nothing, just went down the hall deep in thought. I felt bad for her. Being the type a person who thinks as a part of everyday life is like getting punished for something you didn't do. She didn't even take her cigarette with her, just left it on the nightstand.

"Waste of a good cigarette," I said. I picked it up and took a hit. Then I started playing with myself and toying with the idea of getting a pet pig.

SEVEN

2009-03-15T11:28:00.020-04:00

We finished up and headed out on 117th. Cars zoomed by and I sorta hoped one would jump the curb so I could step in front of it and save her life -- and her tittes -- but none a them did. So that left me with my original plan: Beat someone up in order to show my love for her.

After about ten minutes a walking without passing no likely candidates for a butt-whomping, we came upon Ravelli's Deli, an old place with a long tradition a selling salami and a variety a other assorted old world meat products. Some guy stood on the stoop next to a wicker basket full a pepperoni sticks. He had beady black eyes and matching teeth. I didn't like the look a him. But that was only coincidence. The best thing about him was how he'd make a perfect asshole to beat up.

And when he said something to Janice he only finalized himself as my target.

He'd called her a whore.

I don't let no one call the whore I'm with a whore -- even if she is a whore. The rage flared off a me like solar storms. I stepped toward him already flexing my pecs in intimidation. "The fuck you say?" I said.

"Fuck-a, man. Get fuck out my face."

He tried to walk away and avoid the consequences of calling my whore a whore and worst of all he tried to thwart me expressing my love and no one can be allowed to get away with that. So I blocked his path.

There's only so much you can do to get around a brick shit house like me, not to mention a howitzer-sized cock that coulda disembowled him at a moment's notice. You could say he was fucked.

Janice pulled on my muscular and supremely masculine arm. "It's okay, Bob. Let's just go."

But no feminist can understand the ways of a alpha male.

I stoked my overhwelming need to defend her and turned to the tiny foreign immigrant. Before I could even get a word out, he tried to rebut me.

I don't like rebuttals.

So I started driving my knuckles into his face at a steady rhythm. Only took three beats to put him down.

When he was one unconscious, bloody mess, I stood atop him, yelling, who's the man? and told him if he was smart he'd stay down.

Janice pulled at my dominant arm like she was trying to get a steamy creamy treat out a it, but I didn't have the heart to tell her it was the wrong appendage for that.

"He wasn't calling me a whore," she said, "he was saying I was his whore. Meaning, he's one of my customers!" She looked at him, the bloody lump all helpless and beaten on the sidewalk, and asked him if he was okay.

When he didn't say shit because his mouth was swollen shut and full a blood, she said, "He didn't mean it, Geno."

The fuck I didn't, but I didn't see no point in arguing with her. I already felt like a dipshit. So just to make it look good, I turned to the guy to apologize, but his eyes fluttered in his eyesockets and I figured there wasn't much point.

"I was just defending your honor," I said to Janice.

For a second, she looked at me like she was gonna cry. Then she kissed my cheek. I wasn't sure what that was all about but I think I'd proved my point.

In the distance, sirens wailed. I figured someone had seen how much I loved Janice and called the cops on me for an unnecessary public display of affection. I wasn't about to let the authorities arrest us over something so honorable so I grabbed Janice's hand and led her around the corner. We ran a few blocks until we found an alley. Once we were through the alley and all a its shit, we ran a couple more blocks until the sirens were a thing a the past.

About a minute later, she tugged on my arm and pulled me to a stop.

"Kiss me," she said. "Don't say another word until you've kissed me."

We put our lips together. This time the sensation was different. Wasn't only body parts tingling, but it was my innards as well. I went off into some world where me and Janice were the only creatures on the planet. When we kissed, nothing else mattered: not money, not health, not clothing, not the fact that I had booger-flecked blood on the knuckles of my right hand. It was me and Janice, a laborer and a whore, and we were connecting in this awful world as best we could.

When the kiss was over, we pulled away slowly, aching for the moment to last, but needing to breathe too. There was a new look in her eye. I could tell it meant she was sprouting feelings for me.

"I don't know how to explain it," she said, "but you make me feel safe, Bob."

I didn't wanna tell her how she made me feel, but she could a figured it out by the shape a my zipper.

"You ever gonna charge me to get inside your twat again?" I cooed softly.

"You're on the house from now on, Bobby."

The sun was setting. the last rays died on the horizon and darkness was setting in. Her eyes glittered with the last strains a light as she looked up into my eyes, searching for whatever I had hidden inside me (which ain't nothing). I felt my heart beat in my dick.

That was when our love began.

But if I would a had any idea how things were going to turn out, I would a walked away from her right there.

SIX

2009-03-15T11:00:00.014-04:00

I took her to McDonald's. You can't beat that. After ordering a bunch a shit, we sat down by the front window. I told her I would be dead before I went to France.

The way the light came in the front window really made me wanna lay some pipe.

The whore's face was highlighted with gold and there were streaks a orange in her hair. That's when I realized I had some intimate knowledge a her innards, but I didn't know her name. When I asked her she said she didn't wanna tell me.

I thought that was wierd.

She went on and on about something I didn't really pay attention to; then finally she said she'd tell me her name if I told her my deepest darkest secret. She wanted me to indulge her.

I woulda indulged her if it meant something along the lines a putting my dick in her pussy, but I didn't think that's what she meant. So all I did was look at her and try to figure out what she was getting at. Couldn't read nothing in her eyes, so I took a gander at her titties; but I couldn't read nothing in them except how horny I was. Then I realized it didn't matter if I told her my secrets because I don't have no secrets, or any shame. I never regret nothing I do. Regret's the mark a the loser.

"See, when I was fucking you the other day -- " I started to explain only to be interrupted by her saying:

"When you ran out of my room for no good reason?"

"Yeah, see, when I ran outta your room it's because I started to fall in love with you. And Bob Collins can't fall in love. It violates Bob Collins's principles. You see, Bob Collins is going places. Bob Collins don't need no one holding him back. Bob Collins is a man of action."

"Hold on," she said. "Your big secret is that you fell in love with me? Or that you are a man of action?"

"Falling in love with you," I said. "You flattered?"

"If that's what you wanna call it."

"Coming from me, that's one big fuck of a compliment," I said, and that seemed to seal the deal because she told me her name was Janice and that was that.

From there she was off, spilling her guts, telling me about her childhood. Turned out her mom was a college professor who liked to sleep around and her dad had disappeared when she was a toddler; so Janice couldn't stand it no more and took off a few months ago and hadn't looked back. No regrets. She was her own woman now. Do whatever she wanted.

And she did do who- and whatever she wanted. Since she left home she figured she had close to three hundred lovers.

"Amateur," I mumbled. "I had three hundred in one night."

"I'm also a bit of a feminist," she added like she didn't hear me.

"So, you consider me a second-rate citizen because I got a cock the size of a sewer pipe?" I asked. "Because as far as I am concerned, that makes me el numero uno."

"I just wanted to warn you," she said.

Her eyes gleamed for some reason. Maybe she was happy to find a alpha male she could rely on. At least, that's how I liked to think of it.

Sitting there across from those titties, I realized those titties was the key to our relationship. I felt like I'd give up my life just to call them things mine. She didn't know it, but I would a gone down fighting to protect them things. I couldn't think a no words to tell her the way I felt, so I figured I better find a way to show her. There was only one way to do that, too. I had to find somebody to beat up.

FIVE

2009-03-15T10:26:00.006-04:00

When I pulled out she said, "I guess you owe me two hundred dollars now," with a big glop a goo running down her thighs.

"Put it on my tab," I said dismissively.

She dabbed a paper towel at her crotch. "Who says you have a tab?"

I couldn't think a nothing to say, so I said what I always say when I can't think of nothing to say: "Fuck you!"

"That's how you treat me after what we just did?"

"Sue me," I said.

"If I wasn't sure it would be a waste of time and money, I would."

I looked at her dumbly, but that only seemed to piss her off.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself, or are you going to stand there looking like a jack ass all day?"

I thought for a long time. Best as I could manage I couldn't come up with nothing to say, at least nothing she wanted to hear, so I just said what came to mind. "You got nice titties."

For a moment I thought she was going to throw the come-covered paper towel at me, but she only growled.

"Forget it. I was hoping we could be friends. I was wrong. I want my money. And an apology for the rude and callous way you treated me."

I invoked Bob's First Principle. "Fuck you!"

"Aren't you scared I might come back here with some big black pimp and take it out of your ass?"

"Go ahead," I said, "you can't get no blood out of a turnip," thinking I'd probably trip her up with that one and confuse the shit out a her. Standing there smugly, I waited for her to fall apart in front a my face.

"Don't pull those pathetic hiphop metaphors on me," she said. I was so stunned she'd caught on to my bullshit, especially that fast, I knew some drastic measures had to be taken. Before she could say nothing else I grabbed her arm and started directing her to the door. It was hard to imagine, but even as we argued I was falling more in love with her. I wanted to take her back to my bed and keep her for the rest of my life.

She yanked her arm free and I just stood there looking at her in super-amazement. Not only was she beautiful, hot, sexy, and fun to fuck, she was strong too; and the smartest girl I ever met.

"No one around here understands my metaphors," I said.

She said, "I'm not from around here. Now, stop trying to change the subject. How much cash do you have?"

"Ten bucks," I said.

"Show me."

I whipped out my dick, but by "show me" she meant the money, not Big Ole Cock; so I pulled out the ten dollar bill. She snatched it out a my fingers. Before I could get my hands back on it, she'd stashed it between her titties.

"You owe me a hundred ninety bucks now. You can make payments on the rest, ten bucks a month for three years until we're settled."

I took a moment to think about it. That added up to far more than one hundred ninety bucks.

"It's called interest," she said. "It's the least you owe me."

I needed a bitch like this in my life. Maybe she could help me get myself straight, get me on a budget or something, help me out a debt (even though she'd just got me into more). Suddenly she seemed like much more than a whore; she seemed like the key to my happiness and prosperity. "Who the fuck are you?" I said more to myself than to her.

"If you want to know who I am, take me to lunch."

"I don't got no money," I said.

She had that problem solved. She gave me back the ten. "You can pay me back, in installments if necessary."

"You're never going to leave me alone, are you?"

The way she smiled sort of worried me. "At least not until I get my money or an equal amount in goods and services. Are we going?"

"Don't expect me to buy you dessert," I said.

"Let's just say if you're nice enough to me, I'll provide the dessert."

I liked the sound a that.

FOUR

2009-03-15T10:21:00.005-04:00

Next morning I went to Labor Ready. It's a work a day get paid that day operation; so I got some money to buy more beer to help me stop thinking about the whore even though I couldn't get her out a my head no matter how many beers I drank. Then, without no warning, she showed up on my doorstep.

She wasn't wearing much. All a the sudden my nuts were tingling and all I wanted to do was fuck her up against the wall. Maybe stick my thumb in her ass then sniff it when I popped.

"We have some things to talk about," she said.

"Uhhh," I said.

"Don't play stupid."

"Who's playing?"

She looked like she wanted to smack me.

First thing, Bob doesn't play stupid; he is stupid. Second thing, if I let her in I would make a move on her, fuck her (she was a whore, after all, she wasn't gonna say no), and then not only would I fall deeper in love with her, I'd owe her two hundred bucks. I didn't want that to happen. Besides, I knew the only reason she was here was to collect the money I still didn't have. That made my boner wilt.

"It ain't a good idea," I said.

I was about to shut the door in her face when she said, "I want to come in."

When she said "come in" it made me think about coming; so I said fine. The minute I had the door closed behind her I pressed her against the wall and started kissing all over her. Within a minute I was fucking her her from behind. Another minute after that I had to blow my load, so I said fuck it, she's a whore, and I dumped it inside her.

THREE

2009-03-15T09:47:00.002-04:00

But even after drinking all a that beer, I dreamed about her, and I couldn't stop thinking about her. Her pussy was too amazing. When I woke up, I went over to my brother's to talk about things. When he answered the door, he took one look at me and said, "Jesus Christ, what's going on now?"

I hung my head and told him I was in love with a whore. He didn't wanna let me in, but did it anyway.

Sitting in his apartment, drinking more beer, I explained how the sex we had, even though I was supposed to pay for it, was like a miracle; and now I couldn't get the bitch out a my mind. I'd never been so confused in my life, and I had no idea what to do. I was hoping my big shot brother could give me some advice.

"You want my advice?" he said, lighting up a cigarette. "Shoot yourself in the head. It would be faster than dying of some disease." Then he got up and left.

Wasn't exactly the kind of advice I was looking for; so when his old lady came into the room I fucked her in the ass, anally.

That still left me one big problem. What the hell was I supposed to do with all a the feelings for the whore? I decided the only thing I could do was pretend she didn't exist. Gradually, I hoped, her memory would fade away -- like and old fart.

TWO

2009-03-15T08:56:00.004-04:00

I had her missionary style, but didn't get six or seven inches in before I hit the back a her cunt. As I was fucking her, her aromas got me lightheaded. I lost my mind and stuck my tongue in her mouth, which was a part a the deal for a hundred dollars, never mind the fact I didn't have the money.

But you ain't supposed to lose your head over one a these girls. These girls are for maintenance. No strings attached. Pure mechanical relief. Sex without conversation, emotion, attachment, guilt, or regret. These were girls to use and abuse.

But that kiss made me lightheaded in a way I ain't never been lightheaded before. It was something I couldn't think about -- and I wasn't the thinking type.

Shit, I said to myself, this is one entanglement I don't need. So, after I finished, I gathered my clothes off the dresser.

"Are you in a hurry?" she said. She was sitting there on the bed with sperm in her eyes and it made her look beautiful.

I pulled on my clothes, then headed for the door. I didn't have nothing to say.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she said.

One thing she hadn't yet learned about Bob Collins is that he don't forget shit. There wasn't no way to explain that, though, because I couldn't remember the words to do it.

Since I was just standing there like an asshole she broke the silence:

"Where's my money?"

"That all you can think about?" I yelled, trying to act offended in order to throw her off a her game.

She looked at me like I was some sort a idiot, which I suppose most of the time I am. "You can leave it on the table," she said.

Even if I did have money in the first place I wouldn't a paid her. Bob Collins is a man a principles. Principle number one was: Never Pay Whores. But this broad was special. She just had that aura, almost like she glowed. I had to look away because each time I looked at her I got such a warm feeling I didn't wanna think a her as a hooker. And I definitely didn't want the exchange a money ruining what feelings I had. I figured if I could get out a there without forking over cash, everything would be all right. I'd go about my life and forget any of this ever happened. So I ran out the door, hoping some big black pimp didn't chase me down.

But I'd done a shitty thing to her. I mean, fucking for money ain't the same thing as manual labor, but I'd be pissed if I worked all week and didn't get no paycheck. On the way to my house, I realized I was feeling way too guilty over this whore. I had to get over her. So I took the twenty-two bucks and bought a case a beer. I spent the rest of the night erasing my memory.

ONE

2009-03-15T08:38:00.005-04:00

The morning I got fired from my job, all eleven thick inches a my dick were hanging out a my pants.

That's another story, and I ain't got no room for it here.

The most important thing I need to talk about right now is the fact rent was due, and the fact I needed beer. With only twenty-two dollars to my name, you could say I was fucked.

So what does Bob Collins do when he's got a lot a questions but ain't got no answers? Bob Collins either drinks beer until he can't see no more or he fucks whores. In this case I didn't have no beer and the whorehouse was closer than the bar, so that's where I went.

Usually, whores slunk around the whorehouse in various stages a being undressed. Some lived in the halls without no proper address; some stayed on the porch spread out on blankets and old yellow pillows. Today the place was as quiet as a graveyard. I figured the whores were probably out working the streets now that it was summer here in Cleveland, which meant I was up shit creek. But that was normal for me. I'd had my whole life to get used to the idea that nothing in my life was gonna go right. I was just the latest link in a chain a losers and fuck-ups and I sure I wasn't gonna be the last. The empty whorehouse was just another setback; so I did what I always did when things weren't working out -- I leaned my head back and threatened God to send me a whore.

Praying to God usually didn't do shit for me, but this time somewhere in the building a door opened. My brain rang just like a foghorn or one a them horn blasts a ship makes when it's coming in to land: There was a whore in there, and not only that, there was a whore in there and she was waiting for me. Slobbering all over myself, I looked around, curious about what kind a whore God had sent me. What I saw nearly gave me a heart attack.

The whore was a girl, not only a girl but a young one, no more than sixteen as far as I could tell. When she saw me standing in the doorway, she stopped dead in her tracks, like she sensed how monstrous my cock was an how much pain she was going to be in when I stuck her with it. For a while we just stared at each other like we were the last two people alive on earth and it was our duty to fuck each other hardcore. She kept pushing a strand a dark hair behind her ear only to have it fall loose again. I imagined draining a couple ounces a baby Bobs inside her.

"You working?" I said.

"Yeah," she said coyly, "you buying?"

"No. I'm looking for egg rolls," I said. "What else you think I'm looking for in a whorehouse?"

She pretended to think about it for a while. "I don't know. Maybe you're looking for your mother?"

I almost laughed at that one then I realized she was making fun a me and I wanted to shit on her face instead. But fuck it, I decided to just go along with it. "How much you charging?"

"Hundred dollars gets you anything you want." She smiled sweetly.

I was seventy-eight bucks short."You worth a hundred bucks?" I said. "You look young, baby. You know, young meaning inexperienced. You sure you ain't more in the twenty-dollar range?"

"You tell me." She turned slowly so I could take a nice look at her. She was wearing this tank top and boy shorts the color of robins' eggs. It all clung to one a the shapliest forms I ever seen. Her titties were miracles from God, and I just let myself stare at them for a while and watched the nipples get hard. My nuts tingled.

I gave it awhile before I answered, to make it look like I was thinking it over. With a set a titties like those, there wasn't much to think over. "So where do we do this?" I said.

She just sort a looked at me with this weird look then took me by the hand down one a the hallways. Finally, she led me into her place. Soon as we got in there she started peeling off her tank top like she was some sort a whore dander in FLASHDANCE. There was a small window in the back a her apartment by the bed. She turned to it so I couldn't see none a her goodies prematurely. Finally, when there was nothing left for her to take off she turned around to give me a look at them exquisite titties. I nearly shit myself. I ain't never been in the same room as a creature as fine as this girl. She was about to say something, but when she saw I was buck naked with an eleven-inch spear pointing right at her reproductive organs -- and her worst fears had been confirmed -- she decided to say something else: "Wow!" It was all she could say.

"Enough of the foreplay," I said. "Let's fuck."