Chinchilla Lace

Chinchilla High

Marblehead rolled down the covers to her knees and let the weight of his right hand enjoy the ride back up her thigh to her patch of black wiry fur at the top. He paused and rotated his wrist for a while as he kissed her. She moaned in such a way that he thought the time was right for the next move.

Sliding down the mattress, he lifted his huge frame so that his cock and balls dangled just beyond her reach. His pecs glistened smoothly over her. She could not quite reach them either. Then he smiled and gently lowered his mouth with its large white teeth to her pussy. He moved his tongue in a slow pattern until he settled on a spot that made her shove herself hard into his mouth. That was fine with him.

The sun from the window warmed his large, hard ass as he continued to slurp at an even pace. The sky was slate on the horizon. Snow coming. She screamed a little, beat on the mattress a lot and yelled for help after a while. She got it. After a long while, he let her come, and she collapsed with her legs wide apart in the middle of the sweaty sheets.

“You are so bad,” she said. He wrapped her in his arms. In a ten minutes, she was asleep.

Marblehead got up and stroked his dick as he looked down at the wet hair around her pussy. The skin was a nice shade of brownish purple beneath the black cloud of hair.

“Mmmhmm,” he said to himself as a man will after a job well done. He headed for the kitchen catching a glimpse of the other rehabbed brownstones on the block. His house in Upper Manhattan had tripled in value in the last three years. He made a large pot of coffee which was not easy to do with an erection that threatened to get caught in the utensil drawer. The kitchen counters were done in veined black marble.

He poured himself a cup and then leaned his ass against the counter. With his free hand, he slowly massaged his dick even harder. He liked waiting to come. Patience made the whole thing a bigger deal. Then too he enjoyed watching the ripple of his arm as the muscles danced beneath his tight skin when he jerked off.

He really wanted to fuck her in the ass to see how she liked it, but he was so thick that he wondered if she would split. He had not actually raised the subject yet, but he had placed the head of his cock against her asshole a couple of times. Clearly she was torn about the idea as much by the thought that she might be torn in half herself. He did not believe in pressure when it came to fucking.

His hard-on was approaching a volatile state and felt like hot granite when there was a bang at the door. It was one hard bang. It had to be Toodles. Nobody else would take the risk of banging on his door. Not many people knew he lived here. His mailing address was a numbered box in Carnarsie.

He put on a silk robe and took off the police lock.

When Toodles came in, he said, “You been bangin’ all night? Smells like the fuck farm in here.”

“Yeah well that could be,” muttered Marbles, the name Toodles called him.

“Look to me like you ain’t done yet..” he was inspecting the tent in the front of Marblehead’s robe.

“Gimme a minute,” at which point he went into the bedroom and closed the door. He gently rolled her onto her tummy and then lifted her up so that she was on her knees near the end of the bed. Making sure she was still damp, he eased the thick head of his cock into her pussy from the rear and began to pump. She seemed to be asleep still, but he knew she was playing possum. She wrapped her arms around her pillow, turned her head to one side and pretended to snore. In so doing, she pushed back hard against him with her pussy as open as possible.

A man of skill and control, Marbles fucked her with majestic certainty for another ten minutes. His balls slapped her thighs in a way that made them a little tender but it was not unpleasant. She clearly thought they felt great as she enjoyed the heavy whapping sound of his balls on her skin. His cock felt like a tree limb moving inside her and she was fond of trees. At last she gave a hard wiggle and the scent of her pussy filled his nose. He exploded inside her pulling her asscrack hard against his hips in a grip that she could not have broken with pliers.

“Hoooo…not a bad fuck,” he said under his breath. He tended to understatement. She was babbling now and starting to cry. Then he bent over her and kissed her shoulders following the ridge of her spine to her hips with more kisses. By then she was nearly asleep again.

When he came back to the livingroom Toodles said, “Take a shower, Man. You been rolling in pussy. I can’t drive the Caddy with no big-ass hard-on, you hear?”

“You can’t do nothing with no hard-on, Toodles.” Toodles had been chipping white bitch about six days a week since he was fourteen. He was so big across the chest by then that nobody bothered to tell him to stop. He had just turned forty before Christmas.

By the time he was tossed out of pro football at 20, he was also doing steroids and uppers. He balanced the mood swings with a little tab now and then. This pharmacological mix did not do much for his sex life, but he sure made an impression wherever he went. That was enhanced by his black leather porkpie hat, that he wore on the front of his enormous skull, and the wide black cashmere overcoat he sported in winter with a pocket for a shotgun inside. His orangey brown pigskin gloves were a little out of place with the cashmere coat, but nobody noticed his gloves. Few people forgot his large dead eyes.

“We gotta see a guy,” said Toodles in a dreamy voice.

“About a horse?” asked Marbles.

“Horse? No fuckin’ horse this time. Chinchillas.”

Marblehead was used to this sort of lateral focus from Toodles and did not press it.

“Forget about it, let’s go. Chinchillas hunh?”

“Yeah chinchillas. Dead chinchillas. Big fucking fuss if you ask me over some dead rats.” By the time they got to the Caddy, it had started to sleet. Last week’s snow was still on the ground with a layer of ice underneath that. After they crossed into Brooklyn, even the heavy Caddy waddled a little in the slop.

Toodles plowed the Caddy through a ridge of slush and pulled up to the curb at the corner. A hard wind pushed at the windows. The heater felt good.

The streets were empty. Here in Red Hook they were among the last in the city that were paved with granite cobble stones. They were slippery and good for breaking your ankle if you had to move fast. Marbles hated them. Two blocks down they could see a ratty bodega that might be open. Otherwise the inhabitants had left the neighborhood for work, left for good or were left for dead. Here and there buildings that had survived demolition stuck up in isolation like old, broken teeth. Sleet slapped the windows after the engine shut down.

They got out of the car, went around the corner and headed three blocks north. They both knew appearances were deceptive. No building here sold for less than a million bucks even though there were no windows in lots of the window frames. Everyone wanted to get in on the boom to come. Some buildings were being rehabbed by the new owners who occupied one of the floors.

“This is one ugly shithole,” said Marblehead. He stuck to no load tax free bond funds. Real estate was too much work and he needed tax relief in his bracket.

His eyes swept up to the top floor of the brick building across the street.

“Marbles, you ugly. You ugly as this place,” said Toodles. Toodles had bought two houses in the area in the last six months. He was having them gutted by his cousin from the south who owed him for his down payment on a house in Sea Bright, New Jersey. His cousin was good with a hammer. Toodles had never used a hammer, but he knew how to pound things without one.

“Yeah, Toodles, I’m ugly. I am. I admit it, but I ain’t fuckin’ crazy like you.”

Toodles’ vision went out of phase like an old black and white tv with the horizontal on the fritz. The left side of his head throbbed. The right side buzzed. His fingernails dug into his palms even through the cashmere lining of his hand-made pigskin gloves. He waited a moment for things to clear in his head. He did not like to be called crazy.

“The guy in there?” he said, changing the subject.

“The guy’s in there all right. He walkin’ around. See behind the shade there?”

“Maybe he’s an asshole. A nervous asshole.”

“Could be. Could be.”

They crossed the sidewalk shoulder to shoulder. Together they were half again as wide as the door. Toodles was tall and wide in the shoulders. Marblehead was taller with long arms. His neck seemed to start at the top of his head and flare out to his shoulders from there. He was slow on his feet which had ended his career in the ring. The ring had also left him with a jaw that creaked when he chewed. It sounded like a rusty rendering machine chewing a bone. He had a warm smile, but not many people got to see it.

Toodles was scary. Women never knew whether to be turned on by him, scared to death of him, or both. He did not think much about sex. The front door to the building was not locked. The lobby was stuffy and warm. Marblehead held the door for Toodles. They walked quietly up to the third floor landing and paused to listen for a breach closing or a cylinder snapping into place.

“Why’s this guy in Red Hook? He an asshole?” asked Marbles.

“You gotta gun?”

“Gun? Why I need a gun for an asshole? He an asshole, right? So why’s he living here?” Marbles did not like guns. Too many ways to fuck up with a gun. Toodles didn’t mind either way. He got where he was going gun or no gun.

“No…well yeah I guess,” said Toodles scratching his forehead. The steroids aggravated his skin. “He an asshole, all right. I mean where the fuck else should he be? He’s a Yuppy. Got alligators knitted on his g-string and what have you like that. They all wanna live in Red Hook. It’s cool now.”

“Smells like cat piss to me.”

“No that’s herbals, Man. Herbal shit.”

“Herbal shit?”

“Aroma therapy or some shit. Makes ’em feel better.”

“Sheeeit man, gonna take a lotta herb make you feel better in this fuckin’ place.”

They got to the top floor. Marbles leaned on the front door of one of the apartments. He let his weight settle on it. The metal skin on the door sagged and buckled. The door popped open. The guy was standing in the living room with a t-shirt that didn’t cover his naked dick. The room was large and nicely decorated with a large bank of windows leading to a wide narrow balcony. Doors lead to other rooms off the living room.

It was an odd building having three bedroom apartments and marble stairways. Nearly abandoned in the 70s, it was now a coop. Only the top two floors were occupied as yet.

“Where’s the fuckin’ chinchilla?” asked Toodles as he marched over the fallen door. He kept his eye glued to the guy’s eyeball in case he twitched looking for a sidearm.

The guy was the whitest guy that Marblehead had ever seen. He looked like a dishrag on two icicles. He could see the guy’s eyes flick to the right toward a doorway. Marbles started toward it to check.

“You got the five hundred?” asked Toodles.

Marblehead went to the doorway and looked inside. The room had an enormous walnut sleigh bed, satin sheets and a sea of embroidered pillows. All this shit would go for three, three and a half grand from Manhattan. There was indeed a guest face down on the bed. A small pile of cushions supported the hips of a girl who was now out cold with a martini glass in her hand.

She wore the floor length chinchilla which was now pushed up to her waist. Her creamy ass and pink pussy were in full view between her legs. Her feet were in her open-toed sandals with three-inch heels. They were covered with pale gold sequins. The shoes went with the coat and her pale strawberry blonde cloud of hair between her legs.

The guy looked astounded like they had interrupted his strip croquet game. It was around his eyes.

“Not yet,” said the guy with a hopeful wheedle underneath it.

“Too late,” said Toodles.

“That coat’s worth 80 thousand…Take it.”

“That coat worth shit to me. I don’t move shit like that. Frodo give you the coat for 8 thousand. You paid Frodo 7500. The coat worth 80 grand. He needed cash. You got a deal, man. Ten cents on the dollar. You got a deal. Now you stiffing him on the small five. That’s fuckin’ dumb, you know? He wants his five hundred.”

“I don’t—”

“—have it.” Marblehead finished the thought for him and paused.

“The nays have it, Asshole.” Then Toodles and Marblehead walked over to the guy. They ripped off his shirt which left him naked. Then they picked him up and shoved his head through the glass of one of the windows which also broke out the old wooden frame. Then they paused to let him take in the moment. After that, they threw him through the window assuming he would land in the street, but he managed to grab the iron balcony rail.

The metal was so cold it was peeling his skin off his bare hands and feet, but the guy did not care. He did not want to fall off the balcony. He was pulling himself back over the railing when Toodles picked up two retro Eames chairs. The guy was almost back over the rail when Toodles stepped through the shattered window frame and then smashed the two backs of the chairs together like a huge pair of cymbals. The guy’s head was between them.

“Toodleoo, Motherfucker,” said Toodles using his trademark method of saying goodbye. The guy fell over backward like Wiley Coyote having a bad dream. Toodles chucked the chairs over the rail where they landed on the guy in the empty street. It was starting to fill with snow. In an hour he would be buried in the gutter.

“Gotta move the Caddy before they plow. Don’t want to have to dig the fucker out,” said Marblehead, but Toodles knew they had to get the coat if they were not going to get the five hundred. The girl snored evenly, but it was not convincing.

“You could fuck her in the ass, and she wouldn’t say nothing,” said Marblehead. The girl tried not to flinch about her possible ass-fucking.

“No, man. No time.” He had to get to a dentist appointment back in Manhattan. With luck they would beat the traffic and he could meet his connection first.

“You might mess up the coat fucking her anyway.” Then Marblehead picked up the coat with the girl inside it folded them over his arm. He patted her on the ass to calm her.

“I gotta carry you. You got no shoes.”

They went back downstairs.

The walk back to the Caddy was miserable with sleet melting down their necks. He plumped the girl down on her bottom in the plush back seat.

Marblehead said, “You need to wizz?”

She shook her head no. Her bladder was screaming for relief but she didn’t want to bother these monsters.

“You pee in that coat, you dead, you hear?”

She started to cry. Toodles looked at her and grunted.

Marbles turned to him, “She gotta pee. I can tell. It’s a panic reaction. I’ll take her down to the bodega.”

Having no shoes but the sandals, Marblehead picked her out of the back again and carried her along the street to the bodega. This time he carried her like a bride. When he walked in with the girl in his arms, he told the owner she needed the powder room.

The owner would not have allowed this invasion of his dingy toilet, but he realized that the top of his head did not come all the way up to Marblehead’s nipple so he figured the girl could pee on the floor if she liked.

“Careful of the coat,” Marbles told her as he set her down on the toilet on her butt as gently as a butterfly landing. He gathered the skirt of the fur around her and put it in her lap to keep her warm. Then he closed the door and went back into the store. He looked around. He grabbed a tiny bottle of mango nectar from the chill cabinet. He thought of the stuff as gourmet cusine a la Puerto Rico.

“You got any snowballs?”

“Snowballs?” asked the owner who looked baffled and turned his eyes to the slush in the street.

“No, man. Snowballs with coconuts. Pink, you know.”

The owner realized they were discussing snacks and not slush. That was better than talking to this lunatic about possible murders he had was planning to execute in the next ten minutes. He tried smiling at Marblehead who did not smile back.

Instead, Marblehead paid for the fruit juice and the snack cakes with a twenty. He told the owner to keep the change as the stuff was placed carefully into a paper sack with a little napkin. Then Marblehead asked for two coffees which the owner put in a separate bag.

The owner was starting to feel brotherly about Marblehead when the toilet flushed. There was no sink in the little bathroom so she couldn’t wash her hands.

The girl came out of the little room at the back of the store. She was blushing now because she figured everyone was thinking about why she had gone in there, and now she couldn’t wash her hands. But, she did feel a lot better. The owner gave her a little package of towelettes saying, “that’s on the house,” with a soft smile. She mopped her tiny hands and then he gave her a couple of paper napkins. She dried her fingers and then blew her nose loudly on the last one. She had been crying and was still sniffling.

Marblehead handed her the two bags and picked her up again since she still had no shoes. He cuddled her against his chest. She could feel a hard length of pipe in his breast pocket, but she felt safe. The coat fell open revealing that she was naked except of course for the chinchilla. The store owner gently put the coat back over her. She smiled at him as Marblehead took her out the door and through the sleet back to the Caddy.

“Come back and see us,” said the owner and then he threw up with relief on the floor.

Marbles surprised Toodles with the fresh hot coffee and gave the girl the juice and the snack. “You can have some of my coffee if you want something hot after,” but she was still trying to figure out why he had given her the snowballs. So was Toodles.

“We gonna have a fucking picnic? How about the Flatlands? I got a shovel in the back.” He let his eyes flick toward the girl.

“Hey we can take her to my place. She can decide what to do from there. She ain’t gonna bother us, and if she try, who listen to a naked-assed white girl running around in the snow on Lenox Avenue? They just call Bellevue. One way ticket to Ward’s Island.”

She pulled her feet up onto the seat and started to nibble the coconut. She had the message.

They got the Caddy out of the snow and slush with a little shoving and rocking. Then they started back to Manhattan.

“One fucking ways, man. Pain in the ass.” Not wanting to be stopped, they turned the corner and started to weave their way out of Red Hook. Two minutes later, they passed a large lump in the snow. Toodles looked at it briefly.

“Asshole,” said Toodles to himself. He looked at his watch happy in the knowledge that he could see his connection before he got to the dentist. Marbles found he was thinking about the girl waiting at home in his bedroom which was giving him an enormous erection.

The girl in the chinchilla fell asleep in the close warmth of the Caddy’s plush backseat. The soft fur of the coat allowed it fall open again. Coconut shreds had gathered at the corner of her mouth. A few bits of it fell on her little pink nipple. Ten minutes later they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan. It snowed like hell. Red Hook wasn’t plowed for three days.

Chinchilla Downs

“Some fuckin’ outfit for fuckin’ February in Brooklyn,” Frodo muttered. She was climbing down the front stoop in her stilettos from the little apartment he had rented for her in the PR section of Sunset Park. His dick started to wave a little at her from inside his pants. She was in gold pedal pushers, a caramel tube top with one vertical purple stripe over her left breast, a white down jacket and pink pumps with high heels. Her hair was piled high on her head and her makeup was perfect. Little ringlets of shining black hair framed her face and emphasized her huge almond eyes.

Frodo found her totally adorable. He crammed his plaid water-proof snap-brim cap onto the remaining strands of his hair. Then he worked his way around the battered Chevy Caprice to help her over the ridge of grey frozen slush. He gave her a kiss and gently patted the firm, round curve of her bottom. Her little white teeth were as shiny as the snowflakes that swirled out of the sky. She looked him in the eye warmly, having no idea what he had grumbled when she came down the stairs since it was in English. He settled her in the front seat. When he got in the driver’s side, she smiled her serious smile, reached across the seat and gently squeezed his joint. She was a very gentle girl when she felt like it.

“Boys,” she said and giggled deep in her throat. It made good enough sense to Frodo for him not to care. He thought about her delectable ass in those thin pedal pushers and cranked up the heater as they headed toward the docks.

Once there Frodo was wrestling with two problems and he could not get either one of them straight. He parked the crud-covered Caprice on 30th Street under the Gowanus Expressway. His girlfriend now had her head in his lap and was slowly sucking him with a circular licking motion. She was doing a very good job which was making him lightheaded. As an experienced suckee, he could not deny that. But at 72, he was having trouble keeping his mind on her ass crack even though it was tantalizingly visible from the top of her gold hip huggers.

As with all Latin women, Frodo thought of her as “PR.” She was 27, but looked 18 to most men without them even having to squint. They hoped she was at least 19. She had been shipped to the States in a cargo container from Honduras along with fifteen other girls and two boys. Once in Jersey she was forcefully invited to work off her travel expenses by learning to be fucked in the ass four times an hour by customers.

She had proven less than meek with her Lithuanian owner/pimp. He had two older women haul her pants down to her ankles in a warehouse near Newark Airport. One of them pointed to an oil drum lying on its side. The other whacked her across the mouth prison-yard style. She pressed her lip with her fingers to stop the blood. They figured she couldn’t do much with her pants around her feet, but she could do enough.

The pimp sauntered up to her pleasantly and threatened to ice her if she didn’t bend over and take it. He was busy scooping a handful of all-purpose grease out of a plastic tub. She saved them both the trouble by cutting his throat with a razor blade she had hidden in her cheek. As she squatted down to haul up her pants, she shoved the used blade into his mouth slicing into his tongue. It took skill to stay out of the blood. There was a lot of it. The two older girls who worked for the dead pimp did not seem disappointed when she walked out of the warehouse.

Anytime Frodo watched her walk away, his heart would pound in his ears. He had picked her up outside a truck stop in Bayonne. She was hitching with no idea where she was going. Hers was a classic wonder of an ass in his estimation, and he was a devoted and respectful follower of Latinas from all angles. It could be a risky habit given their volatile male relatives and friends but very exciting. If you could get a Latin girl to grace you with a smile, the sun belonged to you. She was also not a bigot about his being a little older. He liked small boobs with dark puckered nipples. She had two of those. He planned to marry her if he could figure out how to ask her.

Even with those nips in mind, he figured it would be Yom Kippur before he came again because of his second problem. He had a cash flow emergency that needed solving right away or he would not be seeing 72 and a half. It was a question of hedging his profit and loss. Frodo did not like red ink. He made between a half and two million a year, but he was always invested up to his eyeballs. If interest rates dipped too far, he was cash poor and the nature of his relationship with the IRS did not allow for going to a bank. So he borrowed from a discrete Brooklyn associate named Tony.

He owed Tony (“the Crunch”) Cavallo 8 large for a two week loan. It was nothing, but it kept Frodo from taking bigger losses. Tony had not gotten his name for his skill with opening filberts, but nuts were his specialty. Frodo had two nuts and two grand in his pocket and he needed both pairs. The vig was mounting and he would be tapped if he ponied up the other six. He did not like to be tapped as it brought back unpleasant memories from his dismal childhood in Utica selling kosher food in his father’s store. Tony was from Bay Ridge, a place he had never once left. He had Bell’s Palsy on the right side of his face. On top of that he was mean and ugly, but he had money from gambling and a midnight Mercedes-to-order business he ran for select customers. Frodo did not want to excite his displeasure.

In the trunk was a big part of his second problem. It was a 60 thousand dollar chinchilla coat from the many that hung in his warehouse in Jersey. He dealt in furs and gem stones whenever he could as they were hard to trace. Besides they seemed romantic. He had lots of these coats but it was the off season for coats and the economy was on the skids. Who knew? All of a sudden the broads from Saddlebrook who had bought two fur coats a week were hooking in trailers.

His girlfriend was working his pants down a little which was not such a good idea in broad daylight under an expressway but undeniably racy. He had a buyer for the coat. The guy was a citizen who owned a condo in Red Hook. He wanted to buy the coat for ten cents on the dollar. So naturally Frodo had told him the coat was worth 80 thousand instead of 60. If he was going to get robbed Frodo thought, he would pick up the extra two grand. It was only money but there was a principle here. This way he could cover the vig and a lot of the loan from Tony C. and still have some cash.

The problem was the he was sure Sylva, the girl now sucking his dick, would want the coat once she saw it. He was mistaken in that, but he had no way of knowing it. She saw a future in Frodo that extended beyond evening wear. She started sucking harder which made his vision blur and then she began to cradle his balls in her hand. She rolled them gently in her dark little fingers. Then she tickled the skin just at the point where his balls met his crotch. Frodo thought that was an idea with a future.

He had the impression she really liked him even though he had not the slightest idea why since she spoke no English and he spoke nothing else. He was not even quite sure of her name which sounded like “Wilma”, like the broad in the Flintstones, but then again it sound like “Sylva” too. He liked Sylva better so he called her that. When he did, she would sit next to him and hold his hand so he figured he was close enough. It was very comforting to be close to her and quiet together while they listened to the slush melt on his apartment balcony. They shared things like overstuffed pastrami sandwiches. Of course it was not so bad when she was sucking his brain out of his skull through his dick. He had developed a complex pallet for her pussy which changed flavor with her mood. Now and then they fucked when he had time to deal with the headache the Viagra gave him.

She sensed that he was distracted in some worrisome way and so slowly began to wiggle her little fingers under his balls. Soon she was tickling the rim of his asshole. Just as she eased in her finger to the second knuckle, the Fur-Coat-Guy squealed his tires in three slots down in his “pre-owned” Lexus. The shining silver car was as inconspicuous as a fart in a confessional. The Guy jumped out wearing assorted rugged gear from L.L. Bean and yelled, “Hi!” as he waved at Frodo. His hair flopped around like Hugh Grant’s and he had carefully not shaved in a day and a half. Frodo wondered if this was the Guy’s idea of tough.

Frodo sat on her finger in the battered Chevy Caprice and thought, “Great. Now I got two assholes working here.” Just then she licked the hole in the head of his dick and gently wiggled her finger in his asshole. That turned the key to his heart and Frodo had an orgasm of supremely voluble pleasure causing him to groan loudly. The Guy dodged around the front of the Lexus and started running to the Chevy. The windows were a little steamed by now.

“You okay?” Asshole shouted. “You know older guys have to be careful of the cold.” In Frodo’s mind, his customer went from being The Guy in that instant to The Asshole. Frodo wondered where his nephew had found him. He could picture row upon row of assholes trying to look like fur trappers in downtown Manhattan. They had met at some bar in Tribeca where this guy was trying to impress him about how he wanted to buy a nice fur “under the table.” His nephew told Asshole he understood and would he like a deal on a fur coat (the nephew knowing that Frodo needed to get some cash moving).

Asshole leaned into the nephew breathing sushi into his face and said, “Yeah, Sport” which sounded kind of faggoty to the nephew but the Asshole said he had cash for the coat. There were two problems with non-criminal citizens, civilians, or, as the pros called them, assholes. They wanted to tell you things you didn’t need or want to know, and they wanted to rip you off to make themselves feel smart.

“My name’s Aston—” said Asshole at the car window.

“Yeah yeah,” said Frodo, “And my name is Dick Nixon, but I don’t want it to get around. I know who the fuck you are. Just a minute.”

At this point Sylva sat up and looked at Asshole who she immediately dismissed quite rightly as an asshole. The she turned to look out the windshield and lit a Marlboro while her fingers toyed absently with her left nipple under her coat. Frodo was very good at licking nipples and he would get around to doing that soon enough. Still she was a little anxious to get started from all that sucking.

Frodo mopped up his wad and zipped while she dabbed a little cum from the corner of her mouth. Then Frodo got out of the car. He buttoned his plaid polyester car coat and they walked to a pillar in back of the car. They confirmed the price and Frodo went back to the trunk. He undid a padlock that went through a chain in a hole in the trunk lid and hauled out a black garbage bag with the coat in it.

“Cash first,” he grumbled.

“Don’t I get a look?” asked Asshole.

“You want me to get a model? Try on a chinchilla coat under the expressway here, Sonny? There’s cop shop about ten blocks that way. You think if they go by on a doughnut run, they might get some idea it’s a tax free transaction? The rats around here are mean enough to steal the fuckin’ coat and eat it. Never mind the people.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, what was I thinking?” Asshole smiled at Frodo who looked at his customer like he was an old piece of cheese. Then the news got worse.

It seemed that Asshole only had 7500 on hand, but was good for the rest in a couple of days. He pointed to his car like it was collateral. Frodo figured the guy leased the car, but he needed the seven and a half.

Once the bag was secured, the Guy drove back to his condo in Red Hook. Along the way he stopped under the Gowanus again and picked up fifty dollars worth of coke (generously laced with baby laxative) from a local Mexican dealer. The dealer waved at passing cars now and then. The guy figured they were regulars. The cars all looked the same to him as they were covered in salt and street grime unlike his pristine Lexus. He chuckled about stiffing Frodo out of the cash he still had in his wallet. He hadn’t done pre-law and art history at Swarthmore for nothing.

His condo was not yet the swank chick trap it could become owing to the nearby garbage treatment facility, but time and developers would fix that. He picked up a quart of Tanqueray gin on the way home. Once there, he placed his rubber paddle with fake fur glued to one side on the pillow and washed his orange and blue dildo. Then he put out various jars of lubes and creams.

Checking the clock, he ordered a round-the-world pizza delivered from Tony’s on Court Street. He and the guy on the phone chuckled over the name, they being two men of the world. He then put on a Sinatra disk and slipped into his midnight blue ultra-suede jumpsuit with the zippers going front, back and sideways. It drew attention to his dick. It never crossed his mind that most women already knew where it was. He was ready.

Shortly thereafter, Peaches McGuire got out of a cab and banged open the unlocked front door of his building. Every inch of Peaches was pale, creamy pink except her large brown eyes, her strawberry blonde hair and her rosy little cunt. Her nipples were a dark shade of pink. Her tongue was a captivating luminous pink and she liked the way men’s eyes fixed on it when she smiled and put the tip of it right between her teeth. She could be a very bad girl at times and she still smart enough to stay clear of the flying drool.

After doing an MA upstate, Peaches had come to the City to work for a very hip urban planning firm in Chelsea. Two months later, the only planning the city was doing was how to keep from defaulting on its bonds. She was laid off. Rather than return to Poughkipsee and her boyfriend, Boxer Barton, (heir to a once prosperous Chrysler dealership) she decided to plow a new furrow in a field where her pink endowments would not go to waste. She answered a classified ad and took employment as a fantasy escort. It was a concept developed by an unemployed epidemiologist from Bangkok. For five hundred bucks she would do whatever the geeks wanted as long as they didn’t touch her. She would touch them with anything from whips to oatmeal if they liked, but they had to sit on their hands.

She had assumed this arrangement would be no more lucrative than urban planning, but she was wrong. She soon found that the male population of New York City is so driven, exhausted, nervous, guilt-ridden, nipple-starved, delusional, terrified and perpetually, constantly horny, that they thought this was a hell of a deal. In fact, when she coolly removed all but her panties and bra, it would be hard to argue the point, and hard was the name of the game. She usually took off the rest if she was fairly sure they would pull a muscle.

She went through the Guy’s chosen repertoire of tricks opening a zipper here and shoving in a dildo there. He got the chinchilla out of the garbage bag. She tried it on as requested. He studied her face. He seemed to like her getting the feel of this coat she could never have. Being a girl of insight, she saw that in him and wished she had a bigger dildo.

She did a modest amount of stroking and more spanking than he had expected. In time, he blew his lid while staring at her nipple from an inch and a half away. It was snowing hard by then. Getting a cab would be impossible and having nothing else to do, she had got a little drunk. She dozed while the guy took a shower to wash the Vaseline out of his ass. When he was under the water, Peaches checked his wallet. She was a forward thinking young woman. He had asked her for a real date which meant one of two things. Either he was falling in love with some idea of some other woman he had in his head, or he intended to stiff her. The question was, did he have the cash at all.

She rolled over onto a pillow with the coat pulled up to her waist. This allowed her to inspect the wallet in peace. She reasoned that men never thought about much else if they had a clear view of her ass and pussy. She looked in his wallet and found her five hundred along with another seven bucks left over after the gin, drugs and pizza. She took the five hundred.

At that moment, the front door of the apartment hit the floor as though it had been punched out by a concussion grenade. The biggest, hardest males she had ever seen clomped over the door and started talking to the Guy in unhappy tones. He had come out of the john in his t-shirt with his dick hanging out. The look did not suggest dealing from strength. She deposited her five hundred in a zippered, hidden pocket in the coat and pretended to have passed out.

What the guy had not noticed was the grimy Chevy Caprice chugging along Third Avenue behind him. Frodo had seen him stop to pick up the coke. Frodo had known the dealer for quite some time as they had done some business together in hideous retro furniture from the sixties. Chairs that had cost 20 bucks new then were worth two thousand now even beat to shit. Then too the dealer did evictions in the Bronx on the side so he had a line on some choice pieces. Frodo did the brokerage selling the stuff to art dealers in Manhattan who sold it to assholes.

Having seen the coke deal right on his turf, Frodo got angry. He had been stiffed by an asshole because understandably enough he wanted to get busy and worship Sylva’s ass. He realized that you should not try to think about more than one asshole at a time. Distractions should be avoided, so it was sort of his own fault. Being stiffed, however, was out. So he called his nephew the real estate broker in Manhattan. He had paid for his nephew to go to Yale, so a little favor would be reasonable in return regarding this guy now known as Asshole.

The latest hot real estate location was Harlem near the Park, and the nephew had tried several times to buy a perfectly restored brownstone from a huge black man who declined to sell. In his research the nephew found out the homeowner was called Marblehead and did all sorts of highly unpleasant things for lots of money. So the nephew called a contact who got a line on Toddles who got hold of his old colleague Marblehead and voila. Within an hour Marblehead had joined Toodles in the walk up to and over Asshole’s front door. Then they showed the guy a window of opportunity that left him three stories up without a floor.

Frodo did not care about the coat. It was used goods now anyway. He did not care about the five small. He did care about the guy, who was clearly an asshole with the gall to treat him like an asshole. The guys should know that they were the assholes. Otherwise there would be asshole anarchy. Now and then you had to let them know. So Frodo bit the bullet and sold a couple of T-bills before maturity, lost 5 percent and got liquid again. By five o’clock he had a hundred and seventy five thousand back in the bank. About half of that would go to Marblehead, but in business you got expenses. Frodo was not cheap, just thrifty. The guy had gone to flight school but flunked out having no airplane.

By seven that night Tony Crunch was off Frodo’s ass and Frodo was tenderly exploring Sylva’s. She lay on her tummy on her new gold satin sheets with lace ruffles on the pillow shams. She felt like a safe little girl which she had never felt before in her life. She was reading a Spanish language bridal magazine which he had bought her by way of a proposal. He slowly tugged her thong from between the smooth mocha cheeks of her flawless bottom and left behind little kisses in its wake. The wedding was going to take place as soon as she could figure out a way to show him where Honduras was on a map. She was happy though to stay in Brooklyn. Honduras meant zip to Frodo but whatever made her happy.

Sylva had seen the coat and couldn’t care less about it. Chinchillas were nasty little fuckers, whereas Frodo was a very nice, patient, caring, attentive and rich fucker. He was also an old fucker. They both knew the marriage would not last very long as Frodo was reaching the tape at the end of the race. She would make out like a bandit when he crossed the finish line, a career he fully endorsed. When he died, she would get the ratty old Chevy. The seats were stuffed with cash and bearer bonds. Then there were the warehouses in Jersey.

A month later at the wedding reception at Maria’s Gourmet Cuisine in Coney Island, Frodo said, “Fuckin’ Lexus, my ass. Dumb fuckin’ asshole.” Sylva fed him a tiny, delicate piece of sweet, white wedding cake with creamy icing. He smiled the smile of a man who would be forever in love and they very gently kissed.

© 2004 Cervo. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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