J Long: Motel peeper

"I felt it was a good way to end our first friendship. Please come back when you ever want to taste the honey of my asshole, too. For I will never forget you, Tuesday."

"I love you, too."

"Good-bye and hasta luego," the girl went up the stairs and out the door, of the house that had been Tuesday's home for one years and three months of residing there.

"Yes," Tuesday smirked tearfully, finding her hand to wave it at her first lesbian.

Emory Willets' cock smelled like shit.

Probably because he had not bothered to wash since that night be had fucked Wednesday Mallory in the Sleepwell Motel – that had been two weeks ago.

Now, Emory scratched his cock and ordered another Blatz. He was very good at scratching his cock, using a very sly method of scratching his cock when he was in public places like the Yahoo Bar.

He would pretend that his dentures had fallen out. Which was an easy thing to pretend because all he had to do was smile – and, plop, out went the old canine falsies.

Usually his dentures would clatter on the floor and collect dog-shit or old spittle. Then, Emory would casually bend over and pick up the old ivory chompers, pretend to look at them with disgust. And, naturally, to give the public the opinion that he was cleanliness-minded he would rub the dog-shit and old spittle off on the crotch of his trousers.

That was his sneaky way of scratching his cock – by rubbing his dentures against his shit infested crotch.

Of course, not everyone in the Yahoo Bar was fooled by this stupid game.

Prudence Meeker was not fooled. She was not fooled because she knew now that men liked to rub their cocks in private and in public. She had, to use a dumb-ass cliche, found out the hard way.

And, because she had found out the hard way, it had been terribly difficult for her to realize that she had the same womanly passions as Jacqueline Kennedy who preferred it Greek style, or Barbara Walters who learned to exercise her lips on something as hard as pebbles but which looked more masculine than Diogenes himself – or whoever the asshole was who swallowed pebbles thinking it made good roughage.

And, since Prudence found herself in that vulnerable position of self-discovery, it had been very hard for her to keep her urges contained.

Which was the reason why she was in the Yahoo Bar right now, getting bombed on Blatz and making an asshole out of herself.

She ambled up to Emory, sashaying her skinny us and holding her breath, hoping that it would do something big far her tits.

"Hiya, big prick."

Emory was stunned.

"Well, don't just stand there scratching your cock with your fuckin' teeth. How 'bout it, wanta do it?"

Emory was taken aback. He couldn't believe it. Twice in a span of two weeks he was being chosen as champion stud of Tweedy. All this at the age of seventy-nine! Who would've believed it… you?

"Come here, and let me scratch your cock. Give me those fuckin' teeth!"

Emory was flabbergasted as he watched his dentures being taken from his hand. He watched with buggy eyes as a pair of delicate, but very skinny hands opened up the dentures and placed them on the crotch of his coveralls.

"See, yer not the only one who can scratch your own prick with your own teeth. I can do it, too!"

Emory's knees wobbled. His varicosed legs shook. His heart beat fast. His cock erected, naturally – almost too naturally for a man seventy-nine years of age and who had last fucked his wife in the winter of '72 and before that a young heifer in the drought of '69.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Emory wanted to die with ecstasy. His prick! His teeth! Together they were going to make him come! His cock! His dentures! How many other men in this mundane world could have scratched their own cock using their own teeth – maybe the Indian rubber man, but even he couldn't do it while standing up.

Through a fog of Blatz beer, Prudence tried to focus on the bulge at Emory's crotch. Holy shit! Look at that! Did she… had she… was it true… that she had created such a huge erection?

She did. She had. And it was true. Too true to believe, as Ripley would say.

Prudence couldn't help it, couldn't help getting down on her knees on the old dog-shit floor and paying homage to what she had created with another person's teeth.

Zzzzzziiiiip.

People in the Yahoo Bar gasped. Especially the bartender for tonight – one Fallon Collier. "Hey! Hey! You can't give blowjobs in a bar!"

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

Emory turned towards Fallon. Toothiessly he said: "Thee's the one whooth doing the thucking!"

Fallon jumped over the bar. "Goddamn, Emory! Put your fuckin' false teeth back in. I can't understand a word your saying!"

Emory looked confused, pointed to his yawning mouth, pointed to his dentures, pointed to his cock, then shrugged as if to say: What the fuck can I do?

Fallon understood perfectly.

He grabbed the dentures away from Prudence as she was busy lapping and licking and sucking Emory's cock.

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

"Now, Goddamnit, Emory!" Fallon said, short-tempered. "You know you can't get blowiobs in a bar! Why don't you and I go on down to the Sleepwell and get it on. Shit, I could get busted for this!"

Emory said: "Yeth, Mither Collier, but…"

"Goddamn, Emory! Put your fucking teeth in!"

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

Drool splattered on Prudence's head as Emory tried to align his gums with his chompers. Emory clicked his teeth together. "Click. Click. Gee, Mr. Collier… oooooohh… I jus' come here to enjoy my Blatz… and… aaaahhhh… and this here librarian lady come up to me and… oooohhhhh!"

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

Fallon grabbed Emory's shoulder straps, made his coveralls pull up tight against the old man's ass, made his zipper cut into the old man's cock sucked prick.

"Aaamhieeeeee! My balls! My cock!"

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

"Shut the fuck up, Emory, before you have to buy a new set of dentures!" Fallon's fist was inches away.

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

"Now, you and this cocksucker get out of the Yahoo before I cut off her clit and smash your cock. D' ya hear me good, Emory?"

Emory heard good enough, or at least he heard good enough to kick the cocksucker at his feet in the crotch, which bowled her over backward onto the dog-shit floor. Quickly, he hurried over to Prudence.

"I-I's awful sorry 'bout kicking ya in the cunt, but I suspect we'd better mosey on down to the Sleepwell before Mr. Collier cuts off yer clit."

Emory's kind words helped to soothe Prudence's anger.

He helped her to her feet. "Besides, it'll be lot more comfortable for you to suck my cock in a bed, don't you think?"

Prudence looked sheepish again; of course, she deserved that kick in the cunt. She had acted like a cock-bunny slut in public. Made a complete asshole out of herself. Something that other people in the Yahoo Bar were too scared to do because of social mores.

They left the Yahoo.

And the Yahoo Bar returned to normalcy. Somebody put a wooden nickel in the juke box and Roy Rogers sang "Happy Trails to You" and couples got up and started doing the twist.

Reverend Manly was scratching his cock, a habit he had picked up at Texas Baptist Christian College when it was his turn to say grace before a meal of water and biscuits.

Now, he was scratching his cock because her was nervous. He was nervous because far the first time in six years of marriage he was sleeping alone, without the comforting warmth of a hot-fleshed wife lying next to him.

He had been alone now for three days and two nights. He suspected that something was wrong.

Elsa could have had an accident, been run off the road by a diesel while driving up to Lake Weed to see how things were going at Camp Humpachick before she and the reverend opened up their summer Junior High-Y camp.