David Crane: The wife_s young lover

He didn't really give a shit.

He saw the big Cadillac draw up and he watched with interest while Billy shined the woman's shoes.

Then he watched with absolute fascination when Billy packed up his box and got in the car with the woman.

What in hell was that all about? he wondered. Did she have a whole shit load of shoes waiting to be shined? Was the kid making a house call in his line of work? Well, maybe. But Clyde was suspicious.

He ordered another beer and waited. "Buy me a drink, Clyde?" It was Rosy, a regular at the Regency. Clyde bought her a drink once in a while and fucked her occasionally in the back room, but he wasn't interested now.

"Naw," he said.

Rosy shrugged. She was a redhead who had seen better days, and wore far too much makeup on her ravaged face, but she still had a good set of knockers and she knew that someone would buy her a drink soon enough.

She sat next to Clyde, her big tits out on the bar like a shelf.

Clyde ignored her.

The bartender told her to get her tits off the bar and she laughed and left them there. He began to wipe the counter with a rag and managed to give her a good feel as he wiped past. Her nipples stiffened.

Clyde had another beer.

Then the Cadillac returned and he watched as Billy and the woman sat there for a moment, talking. He could see that Billy was looking excited and the woman was flushed and he had a pretty shrewd idea what had happened.

Billy went back to the corner. The Cadillac drove off. Clyde finished his beer and went out, crossed the street and stomped up to the shoeshine boy.

Billy saw his father coming and winced. He didn't much like the brawny hairy fellow. He, too, wondered if his natural father might have been someone else – some respectable gentleman, perhaps, who had fallen upon hard times, or maybe some clever white-collar criminal forced to hide from the law in the slums. It was an interesting thought. Billy would much rather have been a bastard than to be Clyde's kid.

Clyde loomed over him.

"Who was the broad?" he asked.

Billy turned pale.

"C'mon, brat! I asked you a question."

"Just a customer," said Billy.

"Kinky, was she? Hah? She like young kids?"

Billy said nothing, which only served to make his father all the more suspicious.

Clyde raised a threatening hand.

Billy figured he was going to get whacked whether he told the truth or not. As a matter of fact, he was thrilled and proud of what had happened – and he didn't see that there would be much harm in telling his father what had happened. His father already knew that he sometimes went up on the tenement roof with Sally McGee. Far from objecting, he wished that he could fuck the lewd girl, too.

So Billy shrugged and said, "She likes me."

"She want you to fuck her, did she?"

"Errr… not exactly."

The hand rose again, menacingly. "She paid me ten bucks," Billy said. Clyde's hand came down and his jaw came open.

"What for?" he demanded. Billy looked smug.

"She wanted to suck my cock," he said.

Clyde looked stunned. "Jesus!" he gasped.

No one had ever paid him for dick. He was jealous and envious and annoyed. He was also, in a round-about way, proud of the kid. Maybe Billy was his son, after all.

"She did, too," said Billy, encouraged by Clyde's reaction and sensing the combination of emotions that the man was experiencing at this confession.

"Did she… swallow it?" Clyde asked in a strangled sort of voice, his big face flushing bright red.

"Oh, yeah… all of it. She likes to."

"Well, I'll be damned!"

Clyde's eyes were rolling around. Strange thoughts moved inside his beefy head.

Then he looked shy.

"You gonna see her again?" he asked.

"Maybe. She's a married woman, and she was sort of ashamed of what she did. But maybe."

Clyde digested that.

Then, without another word to the boy, he turned on his heel and walked back across the street to the Regency.

Sitting at the bar, Clyde schemed [missing text].

Having never worked a day in his life, Clyde often had to think up ways to make a bit of money to supplement his welfare checks. He was not averse to a bit of blackmail.

The woman was gorgeous.

She was obviously well-to-do, having a new Cadillac.

And she was married.

It was a perfect situation, thought Clyde. A woman like that would probably pay plenty to keep her husband from finding out that she blew shoeshine boys – and maybe she would be willing, to add a little cocksucking to the blackmail pot, as well!

Clyde began to plan.

And his cock began to get as hard as he thought about that respectable woman sucking his kid's dick in her Cadillac.

Hard-ons were not rare in the Regency. The customers there were a lusty lot and many a rampant pecker could be seen thrusting up in ragged trousers. No one paid them much attention.

Except Rosy, who often fucked for beers. Now, leaning over the shelf of her tits, Rosy gazed down at Clyde's bulging crotch.

"Cock's hard," she remarked in a conversational tone.

Clyde was surprised.

He looked down and, sure enough, his prick was thundering merrily away in his pants. Clyde was a man with a one-tracked mind. That is, he had a limited intelligence and could only deal with one thought at a time. He had been thinking about the money he could blackmail out of the woman and that left no room in his mind for thoughts of a sexual nature, so his erection had sneaked up on him before he was aware of it.

"Why, so it is," he said.

"What you gonna do with it, then?"

Clyde looked at Rosy. She had scarlet lips and heavily mascaraed eyes, but she was still a pretty good-looking woman and, more to the point, she was at hand.

"Have a drink, Rosy," said Clyde.

Clyde bought her a drink and got himself another beer and she sat close to him at the bar. Each time he raised his glass, his hairy forearm rubbed her fat tit. She drank in a suggestive fashion, her red lips caressing the rim of the glass and her pink tongue gliding out. She knew full well that Clyde would expect some pussy in return for the drink, but she was most agreeable to that exchange.

She was surprised that he was in no hurry to collect, however.

But Clyde was working himself up as he imagined just what it had looked like in the Cadillac, with that adorable blonde woman going down on Billy's cock. He didn't have a great imagination, but it didn't take much as he pictured those sweet lips peeled back around the kid's cockhead and that golden hair cascading over his balls as her head went up and down with a steady rhythm and in due course, how Billy blew his hot load and she drank it hungrily down.

Clyde's cock was pounding by this time.

"You really ought to do something about that big lump in your pants, Clyde," Rosy suggested. "It ain't healthy for a man to have a hard-on like that for too long."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Let's go in the back room."

"Will you buy me another drink afterwards?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay," she said, as agreeable as could be.

Clyde signaled the bartender.

"We're gonna use the store room, right?" he said.

The bartender shrugged.

Clyde and Rosy finished their drinks and walked, hand in hand, into the back room.

The store room was a small poorly lighted cubicle with beer crates stacked along the walls. It was hardly a romantic place for the consummation of passion, but it was available. Rosy had been there often and had perfected a routine.

She knelt in front of Clyde and opened his belt and zipper. She reached in and hauled his big pecker out. He had a huge dick with a fat stalk topped by a meaty purple helmet. His balls were bloated with cum. The load had built up as he had thought about Billy and the blonde cocksucker.