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Out of Time and Mind
I wasn't sure which way was up or down. The
ceiling fan was spinning at a
rate that would dizzy a tightrope walker, and darkness had come
like someone
flicked off a switch on the sun. I was alone, desperate, prostrate
on the filthy
mattress that lay flat under my broken, tired back.
Gone, it seemed, a million miles from me. SHE
was more than a lifetime
and a half away, abroad for six months in Scotland. The building
steam in my
veins for the touch of a woman made every thought a fog, my essence
lost in a
hazy cloud hanging to just above my eyeballs. But there I was, lonely
and alone,
the worst fucking combination of two concepts in the entire world,
not a phone
call from HER, and HER letters stopped dribbling in over three weeks
ago.
The phone was ringing. Three times...four....five....six...
"Hello?"
"Frank, you still locked up in there?"
I hadn't been outside for three days, mostly
flipping the pages of old,
tattered magazines and drinking.
"Yeah, well, no reason to step outside yet,
Danny."
I looked out the curtains, stained a coarse coffee
yellow, almost sienna
brown, and the darkness through the window was blacker than pitch.
The world
could wait another day.
"Well, I'm up the street, and have I got
a surprise for you, friend."
I told Danny that I hate surprises, but he cackled
his throaty laugh and
slammed down the receiver.
I buttoned down a clean shirt, tucking it in.
The remains of my whiskey I
poured into a filthy glass off the sink, I cleared my poems and
papers from the
table top and dumped them into a file drawer, and I took one last
look in the
mirror: Tired, drunken, shattered, pale, overgrown and unkempt.
Perfect for -
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Perfect for the hooker on the other side of that
door.
I swung it open, and all I saw were lips, tits,
and a mountain of red curly
hair pouring like rootbeer from beneath a hatpinned beret. And Danny's
face
stuck grinning like a jack-o-lantern over her shoulder.
"Frank, this is Lyla, Lyla, Frank McCullen."
"Pleasure," I said. "Please."
I gestured for her to enter. After she passed
me, I grabbed Danny's arm. I felt like snapping it, breaking it
into fifty pieces and
stuffing them down his fat throat.
"Thanks, PAL," I snarled and yanked
him in.
She was already at my whiskey glass. If one thing
was for sure, it was
this: Whores were good for two things. Fucking you and stealing
your drink.
"Can I get you a glass, Lyla?"
"Sure. A clean one would help." She
made a sour face and twisted her
eyebrows as she glared around my one-room studio: Paints and pencils
were
everywhere, photos of HER in cracked frames on the floor, empty
beer bottles,
bits of food and paper all over the place. It was a pigsty, I admit,
but no one had
invited her in...all right, officially, I had.
I stood behind her. That ass went on for a month:
Big and cushy with
bones like ham hocks beneath, and a set of tits that could, and
probably have,
choked a fleet of sailors. Her dress could barely contain her assets,
her
enormous teats pouring over the constraints of the red velvet, maxed
to it's limit.
Danny wet his lips. "Drink here too, Frankie."
He was as bad as a whore, but I poured, as the
gracious fucking host
always does, all the while keeping an eye on those mountainous melons.
"So...any place safe to sit?"
Oh, she was brilliant in her ignorance! I cleared
off a wooden chair in the
corner near my typewriter and pulled it to the table.
"Anything else (your Highness)?" I
felt a river about to burst under my
skin.
"Hey, Frankie," Danny wisely interrupted,
"what you say we take some
snapshots of your NEW apartment here?" From beneath his coat,
Danny pulled
out a black, clunky box attached to a lens the size of a milk bottle.
"Uh, the place is a mess, Danny." I
knew what he wanted, but I'd not even
hear of it. Pics like that went for 20 dollars a pop on the streets,
but one
snapshot of your ham and eggs dangling in a whore's mouth and you
are history,
especially as a writer. I remembered how much shit Oscar Wilde caught
for
blabbering about buggering little boys. No WAY was I going to have
some photo
of a 2 bit hooker sucking my nuts floating around the city, even
if no one knew
me at all.
Lyla sat there silently, uncomfortably, sipping
my shit whiskey down her
cum-coated throat.
"Come on, Frank, just a few shots of the
place? It looks FINE." He was
desperate, so I gave hime the go-ahead sign, but I'd have nothing
to do with
these pictures, I said.
He squeezed off a few of the sink, trying to
make it look artsy and bullshit,
like the whore was some lobotamized monkey who was unable to piece
this
together, but he went on, talking lighting, shadows, the intricacies
of essense
and flow and contrast in a picture, etc, etc, and then he blurted
out the
inevitable:
"Hey, Lyla...how about a photo, doll?"
He handed me that heavy bastard machine, and
I hoisted it up in my
arms, wrestling with the weight. Danny opted to be classy in the
first few, hat in
hand, arms locked with the whore, dignified creased lips. Then he
draped one of
his thick hands over her shoulder, brushing one of those milky white
orbs
busting the seams of her dress. Pretty soon, he had flopped out
that massive
teat and I was flashing shots of his mouth smothered by them. The
whore was
moaning that fake whore chant, with her "ahhhs" and "mmmhmmms"
and other
bullshit while I clicked away, never missing a beat.
Pretty soon, Danny had her shoved in the love
seat, her legs over her
head and her massive bush waving at the ceiling. His tongue was
giving it a
once-over, and her squeals grew more convincing as I snapped away
at close
range. Danny shoved a finger in her wriggling tail and mugged for
the camera
lens.
Flash!
She was reaching for his zipper when I made for
my drink on the table,
hard as a rock myself. When I turned around, Danny's cock was sticking
like a
pole in the whore's face as she munched on the head.
Flash!
More whiskey, more pictures, and more and more,
I think the whore was
getting off on it! After a few minutes, drunk and laughing hysterically,
Lyla stood
up and tore off her dress, literally, from seam to seam, ripped
that thing off and
stood there, magnificent and naked, her hand grappling her fabulously
hairy twat
as she shoved in three fingers deep.
"Jesus!" yelped Danny. He dropped out
of his drawers and started
pumping his cock in his fist, standing behind her and sucking her
ass.
"Oooh," she groaned.
Flash!
Danny's cock was rigid and readied for action.
His tongue halfway up her
rectum, Danny reached around and diddled her clit furiously, all
the while
pumping his dick in his other hand.
"Please, fuck me, pleeease," she moaned.
Danny looked over his
shoulder at me and nodded me in. I refused, holding up a hand. Taking
the
initiative, Danny bent her over the arm of the love seat, her creamy
tits banging
on the dirty fabric, as he crammed his cock into her puckered brown
hole with all
his might.
"Jesus! Oh God!" she yelled, her shrieks
echoing off my paper thin walls.
Danny went to town on that massive ass. Waves
of flesh and fat pumped
up and down, back and forth, and those titanic tits floundered on
the seat
cushion like beached marlins. I was rubbing my hardened dick through
my pants
when –
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"McCullen! What in the hell is going on
in there?"
It was the landlady, Mrs. Tessle.
After stuffing Danny's camera in his overcoat,
draping it over Lyla's
shoulders, and hustling the two of them down the fire escape, I
lay down on the
wood floor, curled into a tight ball of yarn, and passed out, listening
to the
soothing sounds of Mrs. Tessle still banging on my door.
I was sitting outside a coffee shop at Las Palmas
and Franklin on a
Thursday afternoon, reading the baseball scores, when someone banged
on the
back of my paper. It was Danny's wife, Matilde.
"Hey, there, stranger."
"Hi! Sit down, please," I said, taking
off my hat. I was still a mess and
didn't need a mirror to prove myself right, and she was so incredibly
refined and
contained, a poetic woman with dishwater blonde hair bristling over
her slender
shoulders, perfectly coifed.
"Haven't seen Danny in a few," I said.
"Yeah, he's been acting up. That's why I
wanted to talk to you. Frankie,
has he told you about anything...strange?"
It was time to play stupid. "Hm? How's that?"
She leaned on the table. "I mean, has he
mentioned...anyone else?"
"You mean another woman?" A laugh erupted
from me from a very fake
place. "Please, with a woman like you at home?"
I'd jerked off quite a number of times thinking
about Matilde, her slight
form riding on top of me, pounding my thick cock, grinding and begging
-
"Please, Frank. You are too much,"
she replied, covering her forehead
with her hand. Her prim gloved fingers were so perfectly poised
there, she
looked like a postcard photo one would buy in a cafe.
"I can see why you might get suspicious.
A lot of ladies take a shine to
Danny." This was a bold-faced, flat out lie. Danny was a stout,
obnoxious,
foppish oaf that gave off the stench of a week old ham and had wit
to match one.
Matilde knew I was playing her. "I think
you two should talk," she said,
finally. "Come by tonight at 8. I'll fix drinks."
"See you at 8 then."
I rang the bell at 1650 N. Wilcox. No answer.
I hung my head over the
steps to see if the lights were on and saw Matilde coming from the
kitchen. The
door swung open and there she was, prim, proper, refined as always,
holding an
ice cube tray.
"Hey, please, come in. Danny's not home
yet."
Their library was filled with the odor of insence
and candles. Books lined
the wooden shelves, some of the best: Doestoevsky, Camus, Rimbaud.
No
doubt, these were Matilde's.
"Yours?" I asked, fingering "Crime
and Punishment".
"Yes, literature studies in college. Scotch
while we wait?"
"Please, thanks." Her tiny, pert little
ass shook all the way into the kitchen.
It had been months since I'd been in an actual house, one with more
than three
rooms, one that didn't smell of rat poison but furniture cleaner,
hard, clean,
finished wooden floors, a library of literature...but mostly, I
missed the scent of a
woman as she passes you by.
She returned with a glass, scotch over rocks.
"Thank you," I said, sitting in a plush
leather chair.
"So," she said.
"So," I returned. There was a pause,
then a chuckle over the
uncomfortable silence, then another pause.
"I - ," I began.
"We - ," she began.
After a good laugh over that, we sat silently
sipping our drinks. Then, she
stood.
"Frank...Frank, Danny isn't coming home
until morning. He never gets
home before 6am anymore."
My cock went rock solid when she said it, I don't
know why. I felt a sudden
surge of adrenaline.
"Why, then, do you think you're here?"
she asked, coming closer.
I chuckled nervously and held up my glass. "To
drink all of your best
scotch, I'm guessing, right?"
From beneath the leather sofa, Matilde drew a
thick, black object. Her
usual girlishness was replaced by something darker.
"Frank, do you know how long it's been since
I've been...fucked. I mean
really, truly...fucked?"
I staggered. My voice was caught somewhere in
between my lungs and
my throat. I had never, even in all the jerk-off fantasies I'd had,
dreamed of
Matilde talking such, such filth. I loved it.
"Danny is...well, he's Danny. You've probably
seen him naked, yes?"
Poor Danny had been ripped off when God was handing
out dicks. It was
like a pig's tail, curved upward, maybe 4 inches long and as thin
as two pencils.
Fate can be harsh.
By now, Matilde was almost to me, holding out
that black object and
uncoiling it, 7 or 8 feet long and leather. She tightened her grip
on the bullwhip
as my dick went into overdrive.
"There's something you should see, Frank."
Matilde hoisted her skirt, revealing a smooth,
shaved flower, pink and ripe
for the licking. Her hips swayed to and fro and back again as she
inserted the
thick handle of the whip into her cunny. I continued sipping my
whiskey,
watching her three feet infront of me, as she pushed in one inch,
then two, three,
four, five, then up to seven inches of that whip inside of her.
She moaned a
death knoll as her legs quivered.
I was frozen, entranced by the show, but Little
Frank grabbed the reigns,
demanding I drop to my knees and suck that cunt. I grabbed the bullwhip
and
pressed it inside, pulling it out, deeper, then out, deeper as juice
dribbled down
my hands.
"Oooh, yessss," she hissed.
My tongue found her hard clit, and I pressed
my face into her bald twat,
her hips swerving and gyrating, grinding her sweet milk into my
mouth. I slowly
pulled out the whip, soaking wet, and brought the fat handle to
her ass.
"Mmmm," she murmured, lying on the
chair, ass up.
Her pussy was soaked, pouring from my mouth as
I lapped up every
ounce of her bare flesh, pushing the handle of the whip into her
ass.
"Oh, Jesus, fuck me! Please!"
Not a problem, I thought, as I pulled off my
trousers and stroked my
granite-hard cock. Thick as a child's fist, Little Frankie begged
me to let him fuck
her the way she pleaded.
For a second, I thought of easing into her slowly,
gently. Then I looked
down at that rounded ass, bullwhip protruding like the tail of the
Devil, listening
to her otherwordly moans and hisses and stuffed in all eight inches,
banging her
walls, spreading her wide open.
"God!" she yelped, squealing like a
stuck pig. As I brought her back onto
my cock, the base of the shaft tickling the soft, shaved skin of
her fig, I withdrew
the whip handle slowly from her ass. A guttural moan escaped her
as she ripped
off her blouse, exposing a black leather brassiere with holes for
the nipples cut
out. Pert, tiny tits, perfectly crafted, and she twisted the pink
buds at the tips,
pinching, drawing redness to the surface of her flesh as she reached
between
her legs and grappled my balls.
I felt the fever rising inside of me. I was climbing
to the surface, a diver
returning from the depths of the ocean; I could see the sun's shimmering
golden
light beyond the blue as my head was rushing all around.
"Don't cum yet! Don't cum yet!" she
demanded, and yanked my balls
downward. A shooting pain wrenched my system, like a thousand needles
applied to your eye sockets. She yanked herself from my stiff cock
and wheeled
me around, face down on the leather couch. Her tongue ran up inside
my ass as
she pumped furiously on Little Frank, her wet hot mouth bobbing
and dribbling
inside me.
"Now!" she screamed, spinning me to
face her, but I was already there.
As a torrent of white shot into her open mouth, I could feel my
feet lifting me over
the tops of the dirty Hollywood apartments around me, waves of air
tossing me
beyond the downtown and hills as I gushed openly, my soul emptying
onto
Matilde's Chinadoll white chin...
Danny, you poor, poor sap. I discovered after
I left that night I hadn't been
the first to get the old bullwhip treatment. Every Thursday for
the next three
weeks I was there, and never alone, three, four, sometimes six other
men,
fucking Matilde stupid, 'til her screams and bellows subsided into
coos and
purrs, munching cock after cock, draining men of their precious
fluids, pleading
with them for more, for anything.
Sloughing it up Hollywood Boulevard, I came to
the storefront of Musso
and Frank's. As I struggled with the heavy wooden door, I recalled
my last dinner
with HER here, in the corner booth. Some fucking movie star was
in the booth
next to us, and SHE made it a point to carry on and on about him
loudly enough
so that he heard. Naturally, when a gorgeous woman is carrying on
and on
about you, you pop by to say hello, work your screen star magic.
The way SHE
diddled her earrings while they talked. He never introduced himself
to me, never
made eye contact, but watching HER and those god damned earrings...
"Frank, what's the good word?" Mel
asked from behind the bar.
Ten people in the whole place on a Friday night,
but business picked up
after 9:00, only in a half-hour. Mel slid a scotch and water down
to me, parking it
in my waiting hand. I looked over and saw a drunk sliding off his
stool three
seats down and a woman in black on the other side sipping some colorful
ruby
red concoction. She licked the rim of her glass. Beyond her, I saw
our corner
booth, empty, dark. She caught my eye and smiled wildly, exposing
such teeth,
white and bold, straight, that they looked like they could tear
a chunk out of me.
"What the hell," I said, grabbing my
rocks glass and walking to her.
"Hey there, mind if I - "
"Sit, please. I am Claudia." Her voice
was deep and throaty and her
accent distinct. I'd only spent a month or so in Germany, but my
guess was
Berlin.
"Very good guess, Mr....?"
"McCullen. Frank, jeez, sorry for not introducing
myself."
"We all have shortcomings. If that is your
worst, you are lucky, Mr.
McCullen."
A quart of blood left my head all at once, and
I was tanked. Whether it
was the scotch or watching Claudia's red lips move in cadence, her
tongue
caressing those thick fleshy creases and wetting, licking, then
curling again to
form words I didn't, I couldn't, hear, I'll never know.
"Excuse me, won't you?" she asked,
grabbing her small sparkly purse and
heading to the ladies room.
Her weight shifted delicately on the heels of
her jet black velvet shoes as
she slinked past the waiter's station to the restroom. Little Frank
was tugging on
the inside of my pants, asking me what the fuck I was doing welded
to that
barstool. So, at his beckoning, I stood, straightened my tie, and
marched
foreward into the ladies powder room.
It was empty. Not even an attendant. I checked
my reflection and
regretted it, seeing the tired, pasty face that I knew was hiding
behind the
looking glass.
"Uh, hello?" My voice reverberated
off the sanitary walls. I knelt down on
one knee, checking for those black shoes in a stall. "Anybody
here?"
Hands grabbed my shoulders from behind, and I
tumbled onto my gut. I
whipped around, and there was Claudia, her long black wool coat
touching the
tips of her toes at my hips.
"You were looking for someone?" she
asked, half smiling. That was when
she dropped the coat. Not a stitch, not even a garter belt to hold
up her thigh
high stockings, was on her tanned flesh, so tightly wound to her
shape that I
thought of a sausage packed in it's casing. Her breasts heaved up
and down,
perfectly balanced on her ribcage, nipples upright and hard. She
placed one of
her shoes on my head, pressing it onto the cold tile.
"Uh, yeah, sorry to intrude." I tried
to get up, but she pushed harder on my
temple.
"You do know why they call this the 'ladies
room', yes?" She was funny, in
a naked-woman-in-a-restroom kind of way. Before I could answer,
she squatted
over my face, rubbing the delicious hair of her cunt on my nose,
her fanny
waggling lower onto my mouth. I lapped up as fast as I could, keeping
an eye on
the door. Pretty soon, Musso and Frank's would be packed to the
gills with
patrons, drinking, eating, and more than likely, having to piss.
But she paid no
mind, spreading her lips open wide, flushing her insides on my tongue,
which I
flicked maddeningly as I rolled on my back. Her taste was that of
powdered
sugar, sweet, and she tasted off her own fingertips as I fucked
her fig with my
tongue.
The door swung open.
"Frank?" asked the woman.
"Matilde?"
She was standing there in a long red overcoat
and matching red purse.
"Matilde?" asked Claudia.
My head continued spinning, and Claudia never
missed a beat, pumping
my face with her cunt the entire time as I pieced together the scenario.
"Sorry I'm late," laughed Matilde,
dropping her own coat, showing off that
magnificent shorn camel toe of hers. Before I knew what was happening,
Claudia rose up, grabbed Matilde, and shoved a finger up her cunt.
Matilde
responded by lapping Claudia's teats up in her puckered mouth. What
the fuck
was going on here?
With Claudia bent over the sink, Matilde probed
her tongue deep into her
hot dripping cunt, smacking her ass with a thwack! that Mel heard
clear across at
the bar. Little Frankie told me to relax and give him some air,
so out he popped,
and I began stroking his head watching Matilde insert two fingers
into Claudia's
rectum.
"Mmmnnmnn," moaned Claudia. "Frank,
fuck her, fuck her while she fucks
my ass!"
Never one to be asked twice, I obliged, standing
Claudia upright and
sinking Frankie deep into her flesh. I banged away at her meat while
her fingers
reached up and into Claudia's ass and twat, a giant chain reaction
of fucking
over Musso and Frank's pedestal sink.
"I'm cummming!" yelled Claudia as she
let out a squeal of sheer delight
and pain.
"So am I, Frank! Keep fucking that pussy!"
My head was still upside down, and now things
got surreal as I jabbed at
Matilde's cervix, slapping her ass with one hand while fingering
her anus with
the other and watched her insert a third finger, then a fourth,
into Claudia's ass.
Before I knew it, Claudia's puckered hole had taken all five of
Matilde's fingers,
buried nearly wrist deep.
"I'm cummmming! Fuck me!" screamed
Claudia, riding Matilde's fist.
"So am I, Frank! Cum on me!"
That was all the coaxing Little Frank needed.
I pulled out of Matilde's
pussy. "You're not getting my cum this time," I groaned,
and I shoved Frankie
deep into her ass, plugging her hole, filling it with gushes of
hot liquid.
"Your cum has me on fire, Frank!" she
yelped, riding faster and faster,
twisting her nipples to a bright red that matched her overcoat,
frumpled on the
floor between my legs, my cum dripping from her anus onto it, as
we all sighed
and heaved, our legs twitching, our minds a blur.
When I woke up, I was facedown on my mattress,
naked except for my
hat, with an empty glass in my fist. To my right, a fat, naked ass,
dark as
crimson, shifted its weight on the box springs. Who the hell was
that?
I rolled the form over on its side, and a beautiful
whore snored loudly
through her nose. Her heavy bosoms drooped to one side; her large
black
nipples like chocolate bars twitched and hardened as the cool morning
air hit
them.
I threw on some clothes, tossed ten bucks on
her thick thighs, and
headed out for Canter's for breakfast.
After two cups of thick java and three greasy
eggs, I strolled down Fairfax
about a mile to the Farmer's Market, a large, open-air venue specializing
in the
area's freshest fruit and vegetables, butchers and coffee merchants.
It also
housed Danny's liquor store, and, being low on whiskey, I thought
I'd stop in for
a surprise visit.
Danny was bitching out some Mexican woman he
had mopping up a
spilled mess of milk in the aisle. I tipped my hat as I passed her
and snatched a
pack of Camel cigarettes. I didn't smoke, but as of late, I was
needing something
to with my hands besides jerk off.
"Fucking good workers are hard to find,
Frankie," said Danny.
I pocketed a pint of Bushmills and shrugged as
I struck a match on the
counter. Taped to the register, I saw a familiar image: A photograph.
It was of a
fat hairy-assed man getting head from a bloated hooker in a pig-sty
apartment...
"Jesus, Danny! You posting this on the register?
Come on, what's wrong
with you?" I ripped it down and shoved it in my pocket.
"Oh, take it easy, Frank, take it easy.
I've been sellin' them, three for 40
dollars. See?"
He reached in the register and fanned an assortment
of shots, some of
which my reflection could clearly be seen in the mirror, photographing
two pasty
white whales engaged in twisted acts of God only knew.
My blood was boiling. "You idiot! Did I
not tell you to keep those to
yourself?"
Danny held up his hands, "Whoa whoa, Frankie,
take it easy there," he
said, pocketing the pictures. "I only sold 'em to people I
know you didn't know,
okay?"
I marched out the back door, back up to my car
on Fairfax, gunned the
engine and raced to Matilde's.
"Frank? You look awful. Come in," said
Matilde, grabbing my hat.
"Matilde, can I ask you something? Do you
know where Danny keeps his
camera?"
"Yes, he keeps it here, in the closet. Why?"
Three days later, I returned to Danny's store.
He was picking his fat red
nose when I tossed an envelope at him.
"Enjoy."
I swear, those pictures were illegal in some
states. Not only had I
squeezed off a fair amount of shots with my dick in Matilde's various
orifices, I
managed to capture my fucking her with a mop handle, a broomstick,
shoving
Danny's knotted necktie in her ass, making her piss herself in the
bath, and even
got good one of her thumb up my ass. Yeah, Danny could make a mint
selling
those on the street, selling them to people that I didn't know.
--- the end? ---
Story Submitted By "F. McCullen"
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