Notes from the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 50. Mommy.
So we're lying there and I can hear the wish of the ventilation and I'm thinking the only thing that's missing is the breeze. That's when I got the idea that me and Kami would actually go to Hawaii someday. I'd get the boys from the wife somehow and it would be me and Kami in the man squad by the beach in the sunshine. And I would act in local theater and film and Kami would do whatever day job she could get and then come home and blow me.
I was lying on her right. Everything was still and my thoughts were turning out visions of Island Kami when suddenly she grabbed the part of the bed spread that used to be hanging off the bed and threw it over us both. Now we were all wrapped up together and getting toasty. We lay like that for maybe a couple minutes.
Then Kami bolted up and got her round little tight pants covered ass out of bed. She circled around the bed on tiptoe like she thought I was asleep and then she went part way into the bathroom and snapped on the light. She was grinning this big grin. I'll be right back.
She said in her regular grownup voice. The door clapped shut and a second later I could hear faucet water running. That sound. The sound of the water.
Interrupted my Hawaii frame of mind and I started mulling over what had just happened in the room with me and Billy. And look I know some people have non-traditional preferences. Okay. I try not to think of these people as pervs.
Like I said before a couple times. I'm a liberal. But that doesn't mean I don't try to make sense of shit that happens to me in hotel rooms. Lying there I knew that if it hadn't been for the Transplendent Blowjob she'd just given me I would have been pretty steamed.
If you're into pretending you're a little boy getting face plowed by a grown man you should probably mention that fact to the grown man before you dress up as a little boy and ask him to start plowing your face. Am I right? Especially if that grown man is the actual father of an actual boy or two. I lay there under the covers and started a slow burn.
Yeah. Great blowjob but this was not a fantasy I could relive and revisit and mull over. Bitch. Then I remembered what a sweet ass she had and how I was pretty sure that later like on a second date we'd be acting out some of my fantasies.
That calmed me down a little. Right. I thought she owes me. We could play harem girl begs for a load in her ass.
The water running from the bathroom faucet stopped and a second later came out. She snapped on the overhead light and looked at me. I blinked and squinted. When my eyes recovered from the flash I could see she was dressed like a grown up hot chick and a leather looking pencil skirt that hugged her ass so tight it made my heart hurt and a sleeveless pull over blouse of some salmony color that hugged her tits and showed her abs and made my heart hurt worse than the skirt.
At first I was alarmed because I thought she was leaving and these were her street clothes. You boys? You know what I mean. It's a reflex.
Seeing ass dance out of your life is agonizing even when you're pretty sure it'll be back soon. I was about to say something but boy did she ever interrupt. What the fuck are you doing in here? She shouted.
She stopped over to my side of the bed and grabbed the blanket and yanked it off me. Admiral Ballze was out. He looked lonely and stupid. You're naked?
She shrieked. Her eyes were all wide. She stopped back and forth in her high heels at the foot of the bed. Oh right she was wearing two and maybe three inch heels.
The only thing that kept me from calling time out was fear. Yeah it seemed weirdly plausible that she might try to cuff me or scratch my face or punch me in the balls. What's wrong I asked? She didn't answer but looked at me for a second like I was an idiot for asking.
Then she stopped pacing and turned to me like she just figured out it was me behind the Manson murders. She started breathing fast through her nostrils like she was getting ready to break into a full pant. Oh my god. She said, have you gone fucking my little billy?
She got up on the bed on her knees and crawled on all fours till she was right over me and straddling me beneath her. She grabbed my face with her right hand. You know around my cheeks. She squeezed and made me pucker.
Look at me shitbag. She said, I look, did you make Billy lick your whole creamer? I um, I said through my pucker. Answer me.
She shouted. Did you or did you not put pork in my little boy's face? Yes. Oh my god.
And you made him suck you dry didn't you? Didn't you? Well then. She said, is she let go of my face and sat back on my legs?
If you want to stay out of prison you better have what mommy wants. And right on wants she took her face grabbing hand and used it to grab Admiral Ball Z instead. She squeezed him a couple times and frowned. Hello Maine.
She sneered. She reached for the zipper on the side of her skirt. You're going to train mommy's pussy even without your useless dick. Aren't you?
I was watching her on zip. I asked you a question. Yes. Um, definitely.
I said she smirked and stood up and let the skirt drop to her feet. No panties. The cunt was out. Her muff had been razor sculpted into just a landing strip of hair.
A snatch hawk. She dropped to her knees and wriggled up so she was straddling my head. Her cunt was just an intro to for my lips. I inhaled.
Yep. Nice and slow. She said and pushed her cunt onto my mouth. I began licking her and she started moaning.
She's us. And yeah. And that's right boy fucker. Just think of yourself as mommy's cunt stool.
Now if you've been reading along you know already that I don't buy it one bit that there are men out there who love eating cunt and just isn't in the male DNA. That science is settled and I have the blog post to prove it. So I'm lying there licking and sucking and she's moaning and talking about how she's going to make me her personal party head and I'm practically livid. You know, at parp.
See the only reason I had a cunt in my face instead of on the end of my bulge, pulsy cock is because said cock was limp. And why was it limp? Okay, I was spent from the blowjob. Plus opening night jitters plus parp sabotaging me.
That's right. Remember the phone call he made that afternoon? Yeah. Okay, maybe he wasn't completely responsible for my lack of confidence that night but the limp dick result was definitely what he was going for when he dialed my number.
And the more she rubbed her cunt in my face the angrier I got. Not only did I know that parp would be laughing his ass off if he could see me there being abused by this mommy character but I also knew that he'd act all confused and faceplante that having a hot chick's cunt in my face didn't automatically give me a boner. So I guess I wasn't really focused on the job at hand. I hate to admit it but all those thoughts riffing in my head meant I was pretty much just going through the motions of the year out.
Not that that seemed to matter much to Cammy. You know that zone chicks going to when they're coming? Were they grind your head like they're trying to strangle a rat between their thighs? Cammy was in that zone for a long time.
Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist. Notes from the Upper West Side copyright 2013 to 2017 by Dan Rench.