GIRL 49
VASELINE GIRL
Christmas Eve. Worst night on the calendar for us divorced dads when the kids are with their mom. Worse even than Valentines Day without a date.
So there I am, getting hit on by a woman who doesn't look that hot, but I mean, come on. Being single on Christmas Eve is like being a leper. I was planning on staying home, but the woman sent me more messages in one hour than some women did in a month.
Hey, sure thing.
I talked to her on the phone, and it seemed like within minutes she was saying that it would be so much better to get laid than to spread the usual layer of Vaseline on the vibrator. Hey, Vaseline Girl, I said, you really want to be using a petroleum based lubricant than a water based one? She laughed out loud, saying how absurd it was that we lived within ten minutes of each other, it was Christmas Eve, and I was talking to her about the merits of various sexual lubricants.
Well, then, I said - or maybe the speaker was my traitorous penis, Tyrannosaurus Rex - let's quit talking and start breathing the same air.
So I met her that very night, in the lounge side of the famous Americana Diner, where I am a regular. So regular, in fact, that on the nights I have my platinum blonde haired, blue eyed four year old daughter, the waitresses greet me by name. They know I tip fabulously well, in cash, as long as they get me out of there fast, before the kid gets antsy, and as long as that double Chivas straight up in a rocks glass lands in front of me the moment my ass cheeks hit the booth bench, and no credit for a fucking snifter glass. Do I look queer? Jesus.
Anyway, Christmas Eve, on the lounge side, pretty crowded, and she wore a tight red blazer, tight jeans above very tall heeled boots and a very low cut black blouse, with a pair of fabulously huge tits struggling for freedom. Now, all those "tight" adjectives? She was a little porky, I admit it, but it was a voluptuous, sexual chunkiness. Very few women can pull that off, but she did. She had medium length blonde hair and dark brown eyes, almost coal black. Her hair was just the way I like it, not in length, but in color and texture. No poodle-haired blonde will even show up as a small blip on my penis' radar screen. Straight long hair, girls. Not the short permed shit you females tell each other that guys like.
And let me just say this. She smelled so damned good that I just wanted to avoid even the first drink. I wanted to take her home and just fuck her. And fuck her. And fuck her again. And then, of course, never call her.
I know what you're thinking. That I'm some cad who is lower than whaleshit at the bottom of the ocean. Wrong, honey. Guys like me can and do fuck girls on the first date, certain ones anyway, and move on, sharklike, for the next kill. While that's our side of the story, the fact also remains that our prey, the female hosed on date one, is just as leery of intimacy as any of us girl-targeting sharp toothed shark boys. They want us on them, in them, dripping out of them, and gone. I'm sure that if females really told the truth, sometimes they'd just like a good stiff cock attached to a polite, but aggressive guy, who will make himself scarce as soon as the intercourse is done. I believe the technical term is "coitus disappearus."
Now come on, that's funny!
Clarification, for those closet lesbos out there who will flame me for this first date fuck 'em and forget 'em philosophy: this does NOT mean, ladies, that sex early in your knowing a man is a bad thing. You can tell when we are into you for more than pussy. But let's just say this, if we are really, really into you, and you play the hide-the-pussy game on us, you are dead to us. Go get out your own K-Y or Astroglide or Vaseline or prison lube (spit) and go fuck yourself.
Now come on, that's funny too!
So we had the drink and I took my shot. And in the parking lot, I felt the warm erect nipple and her hot wet tongue circling mine with promise and even her beautifully cool fingers closing on the bare skin of my cock there in the front leather seat of her black Lexus. When I asked her to kiss him, Rex that is, she said one word:
"Pumpkin."
What?
Pumpkin, she said. Almost midnight and I turn into a pumpkin.
What is it with women and Mother Goose tales? Frogs, princesses, Prince Fucking Charming, the whole thing. Do you hear guys saying stupid shit like that in the front seat of a Lexus they earned, for God's sake?
And she did earn it, she was the moneymaker. The exes were penniless deadbeats. When she told me they were broke, I assumed that was because she had soaked them for support money. There were two exes, in fact, one from Princeton, the other from Harvard, and they were both tits-on-a-boarhog useless. Hmmmmm, and all that tuition money so your ex wife can kissyface in a parking lot and talk about how superfluous you are.
Hey, that's not funny.
Anyway, she disappeared into the night.
But guess where I was on New Years Eve, when Girl 48, Literary Agent Girl, was furiously texting me while on a date with Stock Broker Boy, and Girl 29, Separated Mom Girl, was whining to me about how she needed some good sex in her life and that her pussy really craved my cock to come back to her? I'll tell you where I was. At the lovely two story home of Vaseline Girl watching her bent over on her knees, her cool fingers curled around the shaft of Rex, shoving him as hard and deep into her pussy as possible.
The look on that woman's face when she was being fucked was totally worth it. She adored every millimeter of Rex. There is just something about a heterosexual female. They had been so scarce in my previous life, always throwing themselves at the football players and doctors and lawyers and multimillionaires. But here was one for me, screaming as I shoved my cock into her. God, that is a wonderful sound.
After it was over, I kissed her, put my clothes on, and walked out into a clear starry night. I checked the Rolex. At the exact instant that 2004 yielded to 2005 - finally - I was knee deep in the tightest, wettest, most appreciative pussy I'd had since Girl 6.
That was odd, I thought. Girl 6, Alayna, had just rolled across the movie screen of my consciousness and I didn't even flinch. It didn't even hurt.
There under that canopy of stars, I even got so bold as to say her name out loud.
Alayna.
Nothing. No emotion. No sentiment. Not even a cock quiver. Well, truth be told, Rex was in a coma and probably would be sleeping it off for a while. But if she had meant anything to him, he would have popped an eye open and commented. His silence made me smile.
I took a deep taste of the clear, clean air of the night.
Happy New Year to me, I thought. Happy Fuckin' New Year.
I smiled as I drove home.
P.S. I didsee her again one last time. It was a ho hum lunch date in Princeton, at the Brew Pub, where I just thought I'd catch up with her and see how dating was going for her. She shrugged. Okay, she supposed. Did she ever want to get with me again, I asked, hoping she'd say no. She lifted an eyebrow over one of those dark eyes.
Did you want to fuck me again, she asked.
I looked at her. Do you climb Mount Everest twice?
She smiled. No, she said, I guess you don't.
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