Tuesday, June 29, 2004

Let's play.......career Jeopardy!

There are some girls I should just walk away from. But, as Woody Allen says, "you can live to be 100 if you give up all the things that make you WANT to live to be 100". If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, I want to be satisfied that I didn't sqandor any opportunities to have fun. But sometimes I go too far.

It was Friday. I screwed on Sunday night, and had not whacked it since. I hadn't gone that long without orgasming since I was a kid. A LITTLE kid. I was working out like a beast, and getting kind of ripped! But I was sore as hell, day in and day out. And still horny.

I wasn't thinking about sex less without the masturbation. I was thinking about it MORE. I was obsessing. I wondered if I was striking out with the girls so much because I seemed too desperate. Probably not, since Christie was ALL ready to go, methinks.

The last agent I met with was a guy named Charlie. I didn't have any more appointments scheduled for the day, so I really took my time and worked with him. He's considering selling his book of business to us, and this would be a coup. He actually has a nice little practice going...

Like most agents I met with, Charlie's office is very poorly run. His girlfriend, Mercedes, works as his secretary, and I arrive at the office to find her HAND-WRITING address labels for their clients. And not just one or two: DOZENS!

All their phone numbers are hand-written on index cards, each littered with ugly cross-outs and write-overs, and stuffed into a giant round Rolodex.

I sit down with Mercedes and look at her computer. She's got Microsoft Outlook, Word, Excel, and so on. They probably paid hundreds for the software.

"What do you use it for," I ask.

"Letters, mainly," Mercedes says.

I painstakingly show her how to make entries into her Outlook contact list. And how to print out sets of labels from there. And how to create personalized letters using mail merge.

"Charlie's gonna be pissed," she says.

"Pissed? Why?!"

"He hires his aunt to come in a few days a month and make out the labels. Now he won't need her anymore."

"Tell him to have her answer the phone and sort the mail. This label printing is the most inefficient thing I can imagine."

"OK. Good idea." She is looking at me.

Mercedes is about 25 or 26, and no more than 5 feet tall. She's big-boned, maybe 120 pounds or so, a really curvy Latina girl. She has big brown Cleopatra eyes and thick, pouty lips. And she wears door-knocker earrings, which I find hot. Her hair is shoulder-length and parted in the middle. It smells like Lilacs.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee," she asks.


We spend the rest of the morning talking insurance. Charlie joins us, and he is thrilled with the improvements I've suggested for label printing and mail merging. He is going to have his aunt handle the conversion of Rolodex cards to Outlook contacts, then bring her on to help with the receptionist duties, as I suggested.

"I just worry about what will happen if my computer blows up tomorrow," he says.

"You have nightly backups," I say. "Also, you can print out a hardcopy of all contacts once a month, just to be sure, if you want."

He seems happy with this. "Steve, I can't tell you how much this is going to help my business. Now, Mercedes will be free to help with other projects!"

"Anytime, Charlie."

"Come out with us for a drink tonight."


So the three of us head out to a Karaoke bar at around 8:00 to get loaded. Charlie's a drinker. He gets up and sings "My Way" by Frank Sinatra, and does a damn good job of embarrassing himself.

I look at Mercedes. She just scoffs and finishes her Bloody Mary.

It's 12:30. Charlie gets up to sing "Over the Rainbow" (yes, from the Wizard of Oz), and trips. It's all Mercedes and I can do to get him to stand up.

"Let's get him home," she says.

We get to the house, and as soon as Mercedes opens the door, Charlie bursts through and runs to the bathroom. We can hear him puking.

"He'll probably pass out in there," says Mercedes, shaking her head. She leads me to the kitchen and hands me a beer.

She goes into the bathroom to check on Charlie. I hear the toilet flush.

She comes back into the kitchen. "Passed out," she says.

The toilet runs and runs. "Damn thing," she says. "Charlie can't be bothered to fix it."

"Come on," I say. She follows me to the bathroom.

Charlie is there, curled up in a ball on the floor, snoring. There is a line of mucous running from his lip to the floor. The room stinks of puke. How can that be, if she flushed?

I look at him again. His shirt is covered with semi-digested nachos and guacamole. Nice!!

I remove the lid from the toilet tank, and show her how to adjust the float. The toilet stops running.

"That's IT?" she says. "That's all he had to do!?"


We head back to the kitchen. She takes a pretzel rod from the cupboard and breaks it in two, handing one half to me. Then she takes her shoes off.

(Did you catch that, guys? The shoes came off!!!!!!)

Her toes are French manicured. She has rings on the second toe of each foot.

She smiles at me. "Are you married, Steve?"



"You would make a nice husband," she says. "You know everything. And you are such a good.....leader. You take charge." She shakes her fist a little.

"Thanks, Mercedes! I like you, too. I..."

She is walking towards me.

"...like the way you do busin-"

She kisses me.

Now she stops and looks at me. My move.

I kiss her.

"mmmfffmfmff--mmfff," she says.


"The bedroom is over there."

So we move to the bedroom and fall on the bed, rubbing and groping each other. Her tits are nice; big, round, soft melons.

Suddenly she gets up and starts walking towards the bathroom.

Uh-oh. WTF?

She comes back, smiling. "Dead to the world," she says.

I am vaguely aware that Charlie probably fucks her on this very bed. But not like I'M going to. It's been a long time.

We undress. I penetrate her. The second I feel her wetness the drug hits me. I am almost blinded with ecstasy. My ears are ringing; my body is quivering, from head to toe.

Mercedes is liking it. "Oooooooo, yeah, baby, fuck me good! Come tear this pussy up!" she is saying.

So I push her knees back and start pounding her, all the way out, all the way in. HARD. And fast, too. Like I said, Mercedes is no waif, and the smacking sounds are getting kind of loud. Her big tits are bouncing all over the place.

"Fuck me with your thick shaft!" she is saying, loudly.

"SHHHHHH!" I say.

"He never wakes up," she says.

He NEVER wakes up? What, does she do this every night? Good thing I'm jimmied up!

My balls start to ache. I can feel the orgasm, building, growing to a huge crescendo. I pull out of her and remove the condom, all in one motion (it takes practice). Then I straddle her with my knees and mash my cock between her tits. Wow. I have been in pussies that didn't feel this good.

Mercedes is still talking. "Yeah, yeah, fuck my tits, baby."

The first wave consumes me. The ringing in my ears grows to a rumble. My body spasms and I blast her with cum. It splatters all over her chin. She flinches as if shot...

I blast her again. And again. And again. And again. At least 5 times. She is a total cum-soaked mess. I have NEVER shot that much, in my life.

"Holy Jesus!!" she says. "Where the fuck do you KEEP all that?"

We laugh.

She gets up to clean herself off. She comes back to the bedroom, and I am already in my boxers. She throws her arms around me and kisses me.

"Come back and visit me soon," she says. "I like the way you fuck. There aren't too many guys who can scratch my itch like that."

Oh, thanks. And by the way, could you call Kelly and tell her that? Because she seems to think I don't do it right.

"OK," I say.

Shit. I just fucked an agent's girlfriend. Doing Lila is bad enough, but this is worse. This is lawsuit material. One big fight, and Mercedes could let slip that I fucked her. And then Charlie could claim that we violated the morality clause of the contract, and take all his clients and split, costing us a truckload of money - and earning me a certain one-way trip to the unemployment line.

Ahhhh, shit. What the FUCK did I just do?