Centerpiece for a Sad Circle

I had arranged to make a drug trade with Dee Dee. She was re-upping her oxy prescription, due to a knee injury, and wanted some of my Moroccan hash bud. My wife and I used them, occasionally, for recreational purposes. The agreement was 1/2 oz. of weed for twenty 10 mg oxys. All I had to do was drive Dee Dee to pick them up. No problem.

Dee Dee was a classy, beautiful lady. Tall, tanned, black haired with a skunk stripe,, 38 DD fake tits, inverted heart ass, beautiful legs. She was smart, sexy, and plain spoken. I liked her company, a lot. She was bisexual, and played the field, and didn't have much in the way of inhibitions.

I picked her up. She limped out to my car dressed very casual. It was a hot summer day in middle Florida. I had rolled a joint and we smoked it on the way to the pharmacy. She was a little blue about her knee. The joint made her feel a little better.

At the pharmacy, a major chain that also sold beer, I grabbed a tall boy for me, and a wine cooler for her. We met back at the car, and I handed her the fluffy sack of buds, and she counted out twenty little pink pills for me. She held out two, "To do right now." I suggested we crush them up and snort them, for a quicker effect, and she frowned, but, gave in. I took my Bic lighter and crushed them, flattened out the big grains, and divided them into two pink lines with a credit card. We tooted up, took pulls of our libations, and headed out.

As it often would, the conversation turned to sex. I had no designs on her, nor she on me. We could talk freely and intelligently about sex without it being distorted by lust and manipulation. We both shared a penchant for taking chances, like exhibition in public. She directed me to the local adult bookstore / movies place. Once there, her dark eyes scanned the parking lot and she said, "Looks like most of the usual suspects are here. " We got out and I felt like I was taking a pleasant swim through syrup. Ahhh, yes !

Inside, the friendly black clerk recognized both of us. We went to the back where their were private movie booths, and one large room with a big screen and a bunch of plastic chairs. It cost seven bucks admission to that room, unless, you were a couple. A dour-looking girl waved us in from her barstool by the door.

Inside the room, a straight porn classic played on the screen. There was nothing but old men in the place, chairs arranged in a circle, facing each other as they masturbated. I mean OLD geezers, one of them even had an oxygen tank. The penises ranged in size and levels of flaccidity or turgidity .
Dee Dee walked into the middle of the circle, cooed, "Hey, fellas" and began stripping. Smiles appeared on grizzled faces, and the speed of the jerking increased immediately. By the time she was starkers, the no tan line tits with dusky nips, the flat belly, the gorgeous ass, and narrow strip of pubes resembling electrical tape, three of the old boys had shot wads, three were still trying, one was drooling, and one was close to vapor-locking. Dee Dee smiled and bowed. Nobody tried to grab ass, tits, or cootch, a well-mannered bunch. I felt warm from the show, the drugs, and the act of kindness bestowed on these old gentlemen.

Dee Dee died of lung cancer five years later. A year after that the adult bookstore / movie place closed down after being busted for the third time for the back room doings. The same circle of old men, the oxygen tank dude was eighty-eight years old. They had to do the fucking perp walk ! Hated it for them, but, I'm glad I wasn't there.

1 month ago

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