J Long - Three horny teachers

Take the everyday fool coming out of Madame Pompadour's Beauty Parlor. The fool's name was Hazel Turnbow. And she was not foolishly drunk.

She was beautiful.

Her hair was in stacked swirls, every strand sprayed to stand-still perfection. Her eyes were sky-blue because she was minus glasses now and wore tinted contact lenses. Her face was radiant – made that way by a truly remarkable war on ugliness.

Hazel's war on ugliness began early Saturday morning. When, using one quarter that she had borrowed from that fool Archie Cum-Fuck, she had struck fool's gold – a twenty-five-thousand dollar jackpot!

Hazel was ecstatic. Then she became foolishly beautiful. She had gone to the best dress shops, the best coiffures, the best rebuilt body shops in all of Vegas. Shit, she had the best of everything now.

Her tits were completely rebuilt. The chassis was pumped full of silicone and now she had tits that looked like headlights instead of Volkswagen bumpers. Her ass was a classy reclamation project in itself. Now, when she walked in gold patent-leather shoes, men adored her from behind as much as in front.

She was a woman! Foolishly so.

Hazel Turnbow had made a complete turnabout. She couldn't believe it! She couldn't wait to tell Frieda and Bernice about her jackpot, about her forty-two-inch tits, about her padded ass.

Hey! Bernice was right over there, standing in the corner talking to that man who was wearing a dingleberry Kiwanis Club hat.

Hazel nearly stumbled in her six-inch heels in her hurry to show Bernice what a foolish body she had. Then she stopped. She watched the man tuck a five-dollar bill into Bernice's halter top. Then Bernice was taking the man's arm and walking towards Hazel.

Hazel smiled, started to wave… but she was astonished.

Bernice's face looked as if it had been beaten by a hundred rubber cocks! God! And Bernice looked so slovenly. And she sounded so… so foolishly lifeless because Hazel heard her talking to the man as they passed her.

"Look, fella, I really dig the rough stuff, too. For another ten bucks… you can hit me, anywhere. My tits, my belly, my cunt… anywhere you want. How 'bout it?"

Bernice! Don't you know who this is? It's me, Hazel! Hazel Turnbow! Remember me!

Then Bernice and her john were walking away from Hazel, and she watched Bernice put her hand on the man's ass and fondle his ass-cheeks.

God! Bernice was a whore! No!

Another fool was Arnold Higgins.

Arnold had felt foolish as he finished fucking Yvonne Mandell on Friday. And he had felt doubly foolish after fucking Cherry Whittaker on Saturday.

And Saturday night he had felt like the world's worst fool. When he had read Frieda's note telling him to go to hell for one weekend, that she knew she was being made a fool of by a husband coach who told her a bunch of lies about football played in baseball season.

Arnold felt like a fool then.

And on the drive over to Vegas, he had had lots of time to think about foolish, trivial things like death and love and marriage and life in general.

For a fool, he came up with some nice conclusions. He loved Frieda, even though he had treated her like shit. But he couldn't help treating her like shit, because everything he loved he always treated like shit. His football players he treated like shit. His golf clubs he treated like shit. His coaching manuals he treated like shit. The only things he didn't treat like shit were girls like Yvonne Mandell and Penny Krakow.

For the world's worst fool, Arnold finally figured out that those things he treated with manners and kindliness and friendliness he hated – like the neighbor kid who was always pissing beneath his mailbox, like Bernice Hudson and Cherry Whittaker.

Now, he didn't know what to think as he barged into room thirteen ready to tell Frieda he loved her, that he loved everything that he treated like shit.

But the blood emptied out of his head when he saw Frieda unconscious on the bed, tied down in spread-eagled fashion by four bolos.

He didn't know what to think in his foolish state of mind. Somebody else had treated Frieda like shit – that was very obvious because she had cum drying all over her body. But did that mean she was in love with the guy who had treated her like shit?

Arnold bent down, gave her mouth to mouth, which was his way of kissing his wife.

Frieda moaned, aroused from her dream of being a princess and being kissed by a toad. Her eyes blinked, her arms ached, her tits hurt. No, toad! Not now – I'm a princess and I want to go home to Prince Charming. Get away! You'll give me warts! Stop it!

Frieda's head tossed left and right, but the toad lips followed her, nuzzled her cheeks, her ears, and her eyes.

Then she opened her eyes and stared at the toad.

"Arnold!"

"Who'd you expect? Prince Charmin'?"