Notes. From the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 75.
Kami and Slammy. Kami sent me an assload of texts in those last few days before fuck-date-to. It was like she was priming my pump. I want to feel the head of your dick between my lips.
I'll breathe over it hot, till you can't take it anymore. That's my cam. I'm going to put your balls in my mouth and massage your scrope with my tongue. The head of my dick reappears in.
I'm going to rub the felt head of your dick against my clique just to see who squirts first. Here's an example of my replies. I am so going to slam that pussy. And you look like a three-hole gal.
I even went oral with... I am so going to suck that clique. I know. I was definitely not giving as good as I got, not even close.
But look it. Kami was sitting there clicking away on her phone with all the time in the world. She even worked in a closed-off cubicle with high walls so nobody could just glance over and see what she was up to. She could fiddle with the words as much as she needed.
Day. Night. I get a little message about my dick and how she's going to bring me off. I had to make sure the phone was on mute whenever I was in the app so Junior wouldn't hear the ding every hour or two.
Me on the other hand? I'm married and surrounded by eyes and I'm a fucking bartender and a damn Irish tavern where the only solitude I can get is an Alvo's office. You remember Alvo? He's the guy who manages the bar where I work.
The guy who never showers? I could have gone in there whenever he wasn't around but the legend about Alvo's office is that all the interior surfaces are sticky. And that legend pretty much keeps me and my coworkers on the suds and customers' side of the door. So I was stuck sending text to Cammy from my phone in the morning after I dropped Harry off at school and Sammy was working on that big feathery mastodon in his room.
I thought up juicy things to say but then I only had a few seconds of texting time so I had to send out something lame like, my dick, your snatch, two of a kind. I even took a break from Fern's face at lunch one night so I could ramp up my banter. But then I realized I had a bigger problem. Namely, Cammy was too good at writing some mutt and she wrote it all the time.
I couldn't compete. Every time I sat down to bolt out one of my filthy thoughts I'd see she sent me a new one. I'd open it up and read something like, I'm gonna slurp it slow all night. I can do that, you know.
Not really slurp hard but little swirls round the head. Sweet little kisses. Legs. Ever had an all night rod.
Huh. While the girl holds her scroat in a cup of her hot little hand. Draining your balls all night. She was the Shakespeare of swollen cock.
I'd see that on my phone and it was like my brain was hit with a phaser on stun so I texted back. I am so gonna ball you. My sense of looking like a complete asshole with these replies started overwhelming me on fuck date two minus five days. Maybe five days.
Fuck if I know now. I just know that somewhere around then I started feeling like I had to take a day off from work just so I could have enough time to compose some extremely evil words for her to pound off to. But I figured what would give me the advantage again would be me in some room somewhere. Alone on the phone tour so she could rub her cunt red listening to my voice.
The mature voice. The daddy voice. Then when I heard the little gas be explosion I'd be able to rest easy again. My mind was made up about the phone call when her texts started giving me stage directions.
I definitely wasn't giving her libido the full court slam so she started sending me little prompts. They were great at first but then. Come on put that wet liquor in my sweet little honey. Mmm.
Baby loves it when daddy tongues whole. Doesn't it make you ask yourself when did chicks start craving tongue up the ass. I guess it's possible they always craved ass face but didn't realize it was something they could have until they discovered the internet. All I knew was Kami wanted it and had no idea that sometimes a boy will lick something just to be polite.
I mean come on. It's your tongue in an ass. Jesus. Somebody should send out a memo on that.
A memo written on official man stationary. A memo that says you're supposed to at least act like it's a big deal instead of just saying tongues stab my colon face bot. But on the other hand she thought my phone call proposition was a stroke of genius. She sent me an email this time.
Hey slammy. Can you call me at three tomorrow? I'm gonna be in my tub with a little vibrator. Cam.
Yeah. She called me Slammy. I thought that was cool. Then I thought about it a little more it was really cool.
I kind of doted on it. I was a gentleman I gave her top billing. That's who we were. Cammy and Slammy.
I could see us calling each other that is the years past and our fucking matured and she stopped wanting tongue in her ass all the time. When the boys were growing up and I finally told the wife to pack her bags, Cammy and Slammy would be together and people would call us. Cammy and Slammy. I loved thinking about that.
I would lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling with a grin cramping my face. At work when it was slow I'd look out the window and think, Cammy and Slammy. And I thought of her pretty mouth when I kissed it. 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 of copyright 20-20 by Dan Rench.