Jack Parker - Photo orgy

He's got me figured for a real swinger, which shows he's got something on the ball. I guess he's smart enough to guess what goes on at some of these homes I visit. But I never told him anything, because pal nor not, he's the son of my boss. Anyway, we're not that close, really. I work with him and I went to school with him, but he was never one of my real close buddies. We just don't have nothing in common. Most of the guys I pal around with got something on the ball, and know how to score with the broads. Tony's not a bad guy, but he's a dud.

Then Ed came out with my wedge. I threw him a buck and started eating. After just a few bites, Tony slid his big can off the stool and headed for the door.

"See you guys later," he said.

I waved and finished off the second beer. Ed poured me another. When I finished eating, I lit a cigarette and blew a thick stream of smoke up at the ceiling.

"Just one smoke, and then I'm off," I said.

"Hey, Pete," Ed said, "anything ever come of that egg deal?" He was leaning back against the shelf where all the bottles were displayed.

"Naw," I said. "It wasn't paying like I thought. I was only making twenty cents a dozen and I couldn't sell enough. You didn't say nothing to Carl, did you?"

His face wrinkled up, like I was insulting him. "Do I ever?" he asked. "Come on, Pete."

"OK, sorry," I said. "It's just that my ass'd be in trouble if he ever found out about it."

I should have known better. Ed and I had been pals since I started drinking. He was the first guy to serve me, and I wasn't yet eighteen. We've been close ever since and have gone out raising hell on many a night. He's one of those guys who likes to keep young by hanging out with the kids. Anyway, he's known about all my little money-making schemes right along and he knows how I'm sick of taking Carl's crap, sick of working for peanuts, sick of everything in this town. Even the action, broad-wise, isn't enough to make me really satisfied in Northridge. A guy like me can get broads anywhere.

The egg action, like all the others, was a little plan to make some money on the side, save up so I could go into business for myself and be my own boss so I could travel and live good. With a big, growing town like Northridge, a guy could make plenty, then hire people to run things while he did what he wanted, where he wanted. I can't understand guys like Carl, who work all their lives like slobs even after they got enough stashed away to live it up good.

Anyway, about the eggs. One of the plumbing jobs was over at the Northridge Egg Farm, on the south end of the township. I got friendly with the owner there and we worked out this deal where I would buy eggs from him wholesale and sell them to broads on the job. There's a big demand for natural, fresh food these days, you know, with ecology and all, and it seemed like a good idea. For a month or so I was doing pretty good, giving each customer of Carl's a pitch as I fixed the drain or whatever. Most of my deliveries I made after work, in the evenings. Once in a while, I'd bring a few dozen along in Carl's truck. The fact that it never got back to Carl was due to my way with women. I asked them not to mention it, and they didn't.

Well, it was OK, but there was no real money in it. Twenty cents a dozen profit is pretty good if you're selling 'em by the truckload, but I wasn't. So I gave it up. One of these days, I'll hit on a scheme that'll get me where I want to go in a hurry.

I spent the afternoon running around on various calls for Carl, but my mind wasn't on the work. It was eating at me, the feeling I wasn't going anywhere and there wasn't much I could do about it.

Then, on Friday, two things happened that changed everything. Tony and I were out at this unfinished house, putting in the pipes from the john to the septic tank. At ten, we sat down under a tree and broke into a six-pack of Miller's.

"Hey, did you hear the latest news?" Tony asked me, wiping the sweat from his fat face and rubbing it across his tee shirt.

I took a long swallow of beer. "No," I said. "Why don't you make my day complete?" I was still in a rotten mood, and Tony's boring company didn't help any.

"Well," he said, "Johnson sold his farm to the Rossetti brothers – I found out yesterday – and they're gonna start leveling and laying out roads next month."

"No shit?" I looked at him, interested now. The Rossetti brothers were the biggest developers in the area. They had been after old man Johnson to sell for years, but he was against turning his land into a huge tract of homes.

"What made him do it?" I asked.

"Don't ask me," Tony said. "But figure what it means. Shit, in a couple years from now we'll be so busy we won't know what to do." I could see the dollar signs swimming around in his fat eyes.

It was true, all right. That tract was at least a mile square. There was gonna be a lot of stopped toilets and leaky faucets instead of cows and clover.

I felt my stomach tighten up. Christ, not only were they gonna get rich fixing the plumbing, but Carl and Tony would probably get a good hunk of the installation work. There was gonna be plenty of gravy for them, all right, but what about me?

We went back inside the house. For the rest of the morning I couldn't think right. My mind was filled with schemes, anything, just so I could get up enough to go into business for myself and tap some of that action. But it was no good. By noon I hadn't come up with anything at all that would raise me a quick couple thousand. That's how much I figured it would take for office space, my own truck on time, of course – ads in the local papers, tools of the trade – I was using Carl's – and some dough left over in case things were slow at first.

After lunch, Carl sent me out Maple Hill Estates, another big tract that had been up since '67. A Mrs. Ayres was having trouble with the sink. I went out feeling depressed as hell. When I left three hours later, thanks to Mrs. Betty Ayres, I had the answer to my problem.

The house was a big, ranch-style jobber, the kind with everything on one level, kitchen on one end, bedrooms on the other, and the dining and living rooms in the middle. It only took me five minutes to unclog the sink. When I got up, I noticed for the first time that Mrs. Ayres, who was sitting at a formica counter sipping coffee, was giving me that look I know so well.

"Want some coffee?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. I sat down at the counter across from her. She filled a cup for me from the nearby percolator, talking as she did.

"… so when the sink got clogged, I remembered Lois Kranz had mentioned you, that you had done a good job for hers so I called up your boss, Arlotta, and asked for you." A wicked smile had formed on her lips and she raised her eyebrows. I didn't need no ESP to know what was going on in her mind.

Damn! So my rep was spreading. I had been balling Lois Kranz on and off, but I never dreamed she'd call a friend and tell her. No wonder Carl looked at me funny when he sent me out on the job. This Ayres broad, when she asked especially for me, must've sounded horny as hell to him. She sure sounded that way to me. I looked her up and down with interest now.

She was about forty or so, and thin, with short brown hair cut shaggy, like you see on a lot of guys these days. She wasn't really good-looking, but she had little crow's-feet around her eyes and a few lines above her lips that showed she was just beginning to dry up. I know a lot of guys'll think I'm crazy, but this turns me on. I go for the seasoned stuff.

She was wearing a pair of shorts and a white blouse. I could see her bra through it. Her tits weren't big, but they were pointy and jutted out nice. I got a look at her legs when she got up fore more milk. Nice, very thin, but well-shaped. Her hips were narrow and her ass was small but compact. All in all, a nice change of pace from the big, meaty dolls I usually go for. Once in a while I like a thin woman, one who has a small pussy I have to fight my way into. Then, once in, every stroke is an effort, but worth it, as my big cock stretches the tight cunt walls.