Lolly

 Sticking A Used Condom On The Wall

Harbor Boulevard in Santa Ana.  I’ve only been here twice, both times to buy drugs.  I’ve got a premonition I’m going to find love and affection and I’m cruising a group of motels in Anaheim.  I know exactly what I’m looking for and when I find her she climbs in the car tells me her name is Lolly.  I ask her if her last name is Pop and she tells me no her last name is Gaggle.  She’s black and tall and thin with big red lips.  She’s cute and sexy.

“I’ve got twenty-five dollars.  I’d like to take pictures of you, somewhere around here.  If you got a place that would be good.”

“That’s not very much, twenty-five.  We could get a nice room but that wouldn’t leave enough for me to do all the nasty things you’re going to want me to do.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and I bet twenty-five dollars you’ve got more in your pockets than twenty-five dollars.”  She moves in close and puts her tongue in my ear and a hand on my thigh.  “Just think how much fun we can have.  What’s your name?”

“Scot, and I am thinking about how much fun we can have.”

“Scotty?”

“Scot.”

“Scotty Potty.”

“Scot Tissue.  I really don’t have more than twenty-five but I’ve got an eye out for a ready-teller.” 

She has long pretty fingers and they’re walking around the buttons on my fly.

“I hate to ask, but how old are you?”

“You worried I’m not legal.”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“I’m plenty legal, don’t you worry.  You got gray in your hair, how old are you?”

“I’m almost forty but I can be pretty immature.”

“That’s funny.”

“Yeah, well.”

When I see a ready teller I squeal the tires and make a u-turn and park at the curb. Lolly gets out with me and holds my arm like we’re taking a romantic stroll.  At the money machine I take out eighty which leaves the account with less than ten.  Lolly watches over my shoulder.  “Damn, Scotty Potty.  That’s all you got.  I thought you were a high roller.”

“Yeah, well, I was a couple of days ago.”

“Nigger rich Saturday night,” she says. “Nigger poor Sunday morning.”

“I haven’t heard that in a long time.” 

“It’s one of those things I can say but you can’t.”

“As it should be.  I knew an ugly old white guy in Tallahassee, Florida, used to say that.  He also used to carry a pistol and shoot at cats. I embezzled a bunch of his money and got away with it, so I guess it evened out.”

 “I like you, Scot Tissue.  Let’s go get a room.”

I get chips and a Hostess Cherry Pie and an twelve-dollar bottle of sparkling wine at a liquor store.  Lolly and I spend a couple of hours in the motel room where I take naked pictures of her then I get naked as well.  Her abdomen and her breasts have been distressed by childbirth. I think it’s nice.  I know the rule, the rule is never believe a whore who tells you how good you are, but I believe anything Lolly tells me.  We foreplay all over the room then we fuck American style, nothing fancy, but joyfully, giggling and grunting.  Afterward I unroll the condom and stick it to the wall above the bed. 

Relaxed and naked on the bed, I just happen to have a joint so I fire it up while Lolly shows me Michael Jackson dance moves: the robot, the moon walk, the crotch grab.  She jumps up on the bed, on her feet, over my intertwined ankles.  “Look at that,” she says.  “Look how much you made me come.”  A silver slobber has stretched all the way down from her vagina to my legs.  This is something I've never seen before.  She moves forward, astraddle my waist, wiggles her hips and swings her elastic discharge, a pudendum pendulum, until it connects to my sternum.  She shimmies forward pulling along the slime string as it stretches and stretches and clings all the way up to my chin, then it snaps clean of Lolly and divides my face, over my nose and between my eyes.  Lolly laughs as if this is funniest thing ever and I tell her she is my all-time favorite whore.

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