GIRL 40
BENZENE GIRL
They say the best blondes are bottle-blondes. The fake blondes have
eyelashes and eyebrows and they can get a tan. But true blondes? They
can look washed-out, albino, eyelashless and bereft of eyebrows, with
sickly transparent skin. Who'd want that? Better a brunette than a
natural blonde.
Then I met Benzene Girl. It was obvious she was using me for sex. She
had been in one of those War of the Roses divorces with yellow tape
marking off parts of the house for her, parts for her ex. God knows
what happened if there had been trespassing. Her divorce had been final
for a year, but she hadn't had sex in two years. According to her. But
it was academic. I didn't want to know, and the better part of me told
me to stay away, but then there was the curiosity about what she would
be like in bed.
She met me at the local pub. She looked like her pictures with one
exception - in person, she wore glasses and preppy clothing, boyish
jeans, flat shoes, short sleeved two button shirt, windbreaker. Her
hair was flattened to her head. And there was something going on with
her body. She was slender except she looked like she was showing in the
fourth month. A volleyball bulge where her pants buckled. I wasn't
attracted to her.
I knew this wasn't an audition for a relationship. Nor even a
fuckbuddy. Since she wasn't for me, I thought I'd just have a drink
with her. But almost immediately after the first drink, she gathered
her coat and said, take me to your place and fuck me.
Who was I to argue?
Once in the door she did that thing that women have the power to do if they really want a guy. She sank to her knees in front of me as I stood there. The feeling of a woman's fingers undoing your belt while her hungry eyes are locked onto your crotch is intoxicating. She pulled my pants down. I was wearing my lucky boxers. The ones that came out of the wrapper with a ripped up left thigh. They looked like a woman had pulled them down with her teeth and ripped the fabric. As she tugged the waistband down, my cock sprang out of the boxers and pointed right at her mouth. Wow. My traitorous penis, Tyrannosaurus Rex, had decided he liked her, even though in the bar he'd frowned. You just never know with Rex. Woe to the woman who angers him, he'll hide for decades. But the woman who shows her hunger for him, even if she's skanky, he adores.
My cock was only visible for a tenth of a second before Benzene Girl licked her lips as if longing for a succulent piece of chocolate cake, opened her mouth wide, and slowly but deliberately sword swallowed him all the way into her throat, her nose digging into my abdomen.
A word about deep throating. Women have been trying to tell us guys for years that it isn't possible. That a cock only goes to the back of the mouth and that is it. And that any further causes the gag reflex to happen. I'm here to tell you, that is not true. There was Benzene Girl, making funny sounds deep in her throat, her mouth moving back and exposing the gleaming wet veiny surface of Rex in the candlelight, all the way to the mushroom head, which lingered on the outer softness of her red lips, then she devoured him all the way to the bitter end, deep in her throat, the constricting tightness of something touching him at the end - vocal chords? Who knew what this would look like on an anatomical drawing? All I know is, it felt amazing.
But I did know I didn't want to cum for her. This was combat, and cumming meant being in it without a broadsword. I tossed her body on the bed, pulled off her clothes, and looked at her pussy.
What did they say when Challenger exploded? "Obviously a major malfunction." No, she was female certainly, but she was overgrown with a jungle of brown hair. I thought she was a blonde? It was lightly textured, almost the hair of a child it was so fluffy, but she had the most hair per square inch I'd ever seen. It would be a subject of mention later, I decided. The volleyball bulge was also not attractive, but this woman had already shown her love for Rex, and the two visual problems didn't deter me. I licked her to orgasm, and at least she tasted sweet, and then I plunged my cock into her, to her gasp.
And then she screamed. I froze, thinking I'd hurt her. You just don't hear bloodcurdling screams like that during sex. Expressions of passion, certainly. But screams?
"Why did you stop?" she whispered.
"You okay?"
"Yes, yes, oh God yes, fuck me!"
Good enough to make Rex so hard he was raging. I fucked her through several more screams, and then she pushed me down on the mattress. Not many females take that initiative during sex, and I liked it.
She fucked like an animal. Her face would have made a fantastic oil portrait. She looked like a saint listening intently to the instructions of God the Father. And then, without warning, she collapsed on my chest. A huge whoosh of air came roaring out of her, and I could feel her convulsing. Then a wetness on my nipples. What the hell, I thought, was this an orgasm? Then I realized that she was crying. Sobbing like a baby.
"Benzene Girl?" I asked. "What's wrong? Horrified, I wondered if I had been that bad.
"You're amazing," she said through a choked voice. "You fuck like a dream."
Well, I thought, Rex does. I just sit there and watch. I felt him begin to shrink inside her. He'd never cum, but then, I had a strange feeling. I did not want to be post-coital with her. I didn't want to cum in her presence. Somehow that seemed like it would be wrong. Somehow I didn't trust her.
Later, on the cell phone during a commute to my construction site, she let her personality out a bit more. Perhaps she had done so before and I wasn't listening. But what I heard was annoyance that she got the "daddy deal." She had to pay her ex child support and alimony, and he had primary custody of the kids. It seemed strange. How is it that a high powered woman in the chemical processing industry loses custody? She had cheated like crazy, she'd said, and his attorneys had used the moral turpitude card for leverage. It seemed like there was more to the story, but while I'd been paying and paying and paying for over a decade by then, she'd only just begun seeing her wages garnished, and her level of fury about it was murderous. If she were handed a loaded pistol and a presidential pardon at the same time, she shoot her ex in front of their kids.
It made me think about character issues and whether females, for all their insistence on taking the moral high ground in divorces, could ever handle what it's like being a man. Benzene Girl had spent her youth in difficult colleges in male courses of study. She'd slugged it out with men in the workplace. She'd done the male role in the marriage, but when she got the daddy deal, she went off the charts in fury.
In the movie "A Few Good Men," Tom Cruise yells at Jack Nicholson, "I want the truth!" Jack grimaces and spits the famous line, "you can't handle the truth!" In this life, I hear the multitudes of women shouting, "I want equality!" In my mind, I heard myself scream back, "You can't HANDLE equality!"
Benzene Girl, for all her expertise at playing the male role, foundered when it came to the really hard part. Watching someone take your kids away and then seeing them rip a third of your pretax income with it. All with the public announcement that it's being done because you were defective as a spouse. Benzene Girl wasn't satisfied in bed, and she did what she had to get satisfaction, and the result was her dead end in a small apartment while her deadbeat ex sat in the marital residence hanging out with the kids while she supported them all. And all she had was rage. Welcome to the male universe, I felt like saying.
But then I realized what I had in the beginning. Benzene Girl was a bus stop in my journey. I'd ignored the warnings to keep my hands, feet and penis inside the vehicle at all times.
Benzene Girl came back for a rematch. She tried the same moves. I knew Rex would be annoyed, so as an experiment I'd gotten my hands on some large dose Viagra. I'd popped one at 5, another at 7. By the time Benzene Girl sank to her knees in my room, by candlelight, Rex was double-dosed.
When she pulled down my boxers, he lay there unconscious, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, barely breathing. The opening bell of the fight, and he'd collapsed to the canvas.
Benzene Girl didn't say a word. Like a nurse pulling the sheet over the face of a patient pronounced dead, she slowly pulled my boxers back up, then my pants. Her fingers buttoned me and fastened my belt. I almost expected her to walk backwards to the door, reversing all her progress, but she straightened her outfit, checked her lipstick, nodded at me and walked out of the Snake Ranch.
I stood there, in the same place where a few days before she'd deep throated my erection with an expertise that would have made Linda Lovelace and Jenna Jameson blush, with no more arousal than if I'd been standing up in a conference room making a presentation to a hostile audience.
When she was safely gone, Rex opened one eye. "Is it safe?"
"And you call me a pussy," I said, oozing contempt for him.
"Hey, how was I to know she was a ball-buster? All that came out after I fucked her the first time."
"So you admit you made a bad choice."
He glared at me but said nothing. I didn't know whether to savor the victory or to shiver at what it meant - because if a woman could fool Rex, where would the future lead?
No comments:
Post a Comment