The Janus Coins: John’s Story
Act 1, Chapter 3
You kids today with your cellphones, you have no idea what it was like back in the 90s. You’re always accessible, but back in the day, when we went out for the night, if your friends didn’t know when and where you were going to be, their chances of finding you at some point along the way were next to zero, especially in a college town with a few dozen bars. Sure, occasionally your friends would be determined in enough that they would forgo the drinking until they met up with you, but most of the time?
Nah.
If you were late meeting up with your friends, and they left without you, you had to decide which was more important—meeting up with them, or getting a good start on drinking. And, worse still, if you were like me and habitually five to ten minutes late to your friends’ places, the decision was inevitably made for you some nights.
Saint Patrick’s Day? Yeah, they weren’t waiting for shit.
I know you’re young, and you think you kids go pretty hard at Saint Patrick’s Day, but let me tell you, in the 90s, in a college town, it was its own little Bacchanalia, with shitfaced twenty-somethings as far as the eye could see. For that one night, the bouncers at the bars mysteriously got worse eyesight, and the cops generally looked the other way for a bit, as long as you weren’t too out of control.
(The gold standard of “too out of control” was set by Tommy Malloy, who, I shit you not, somehow managed to get his car stuck up in a tree. In Iowa. I can imagine how you’d do it somewhere hilly like Colorado or Canada, but Iowa? I mean, Jesus, we’re still trying to figure how the fuck he managed to get it that far off the ground with enough speed to wedge it into the tree, but not enough speed to take the tree down. That’s some next-level drunken buffoonery there. And he was unharmed! I mean, talk about your shit things to be epic at.)
By the time I got over to Lee and Billy’s rented house, they’d already left, and I was basically fucked in terms of trying to track them down, so I decided to do the best possible thing I could think of. I drove back over to campus, parked my car and then walked towards the bar district, looking for the first place that looked like it was having a good enough party for me to start my evening.
I purposefully steered clear of Greek row, just because I knew enough about the fraternity and sorority culture to know that I wanted no part of it. The merciless winter we’d just come through had given way to a particularly gentle spring, and so a bunch of the fratheads were running around campus without their shirts on, or with button up shirts that they let go mostly unbuttoned. I even heard some doofus telling ladies they were invited to “the gun show!” And while the idea of half-dressed sorority chicks was appealing, I knew who they’d be keeping company with, and the last thing I wanted was some dude named Chad trying to pick a fight with me because I wasn’t one of his bros.
The reason I was on foot was that... well, it’s hard to explain to you kids these days, but the enforcement of drunk driving laws has been ramping up consistently since the early nineties, but in the late nineties, it was still pretty hit and miss, and you had to be really swerving all over the place for the cops to pull you over on Saint Patrick’s Day in the Midwest.
(Thank god I wasn’t in school when my sister Abby was, because drunk driving was a goddamn epidemic back then. There’s a comedian named Bill Hicks who joked around that in the late eighties, if you got pulled over for drunk driving, it would go like this: The cop walks up to the car and says, “Son, you been drinkin’?” “Yeah?” “Whoops! Sorry to bother you! Didn’t mean to bring your buzz down! Let’s go, Billy, it’s just a drunk behind the wheel of an automobile! Bye bye!” Abby told me he wasn’t really exaggerating that much, and that frightened the shit out of me.)
Walking also let me scope out some of the house parties along the way, and while I wasn’t personally invited to any of them, back then, that wasn’t much of an issue. It was a guideline that you should be invited to parties you showed up at, but it wasn’t a hard and fast rule as long as you were charming enough. In fact, there was even a subsection of kids who just enjoyed drifting between parties they weren’t invited to, seeing how long they could hang out before they got caught, if they even did. I wasn’t one of those kinds of kids, but I’d met a fair share of them along the way.
I was about half way to the bars when I was passing by a house that had quite the party going on, and the stereo was blasting the Bodeans at maximum volume, so I guessed that it was going to either get shut down soon or they were going to have to turn the music down. It looked like there were thirty or forty people in or around the house, and my first thought was that maybe I should try and be a party crasher, see if I could just slip in among the crowd and pretend that I knew somebody there, or that I’d been brought along by a friend who’d just abandoned me.
As I considered my options, a gorgeous blonde girl in a green tanktop with a gray blazer on over it stormed out of the house, walking towards the front yard, leaning her back against the big tree there, holding one of her hands up to her face, clearly upset and shaken. Her other hand held a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in it, but she was gripping it tightly enough that the can had crinkled a little under the force of her fingers. She wasn’t crying, but she seemed on the verge of it, her breath sharp and deliberately paced, like she was doing her best to keep from breaking down.
She was definitely thinner than my usual type, her arms and legs that overly slender and willowly fragileness that was popular among a lot of the girls, but what I’d seen of her face had looked pretty, and I thought to myself, maybe this was someone in need of a change of pace.
I literally had my hand in my pocket, and was fingering the Janus coin as I considered using it, when a big bulky looking guy came stomping out, heading her direction, a hangdog look on his bright red face, embarrassment having swallowed him whole. “I didn’t kiss her, Rachel!” he said, walking straight towards the girl against the tree. “She kissed me and you saw me push her away!”
“After you let her put it on you for a good few seconds!” the blonde said, looking up at him, anger in her eyes.
“I... I was in shock!” the guy said, throwing up his hands. “It came out of nowhere and I panicked! Jasmine was right there and she saw the whole thing, and you know she fucking hates me, but she’ll tell you the truth! I was talking to Joel about Professor Haney, and the next thing I know, Winnie’s grabbing me and shoving her tongue in my mouth! As soon as I realized what was happening, I pushed her away! I know you saw me push her away!”
The blonde girl stepped up to the guy, grabbing his shirt. “Promise... promise me there’s nothing between you and Winnie,” she said, her voice on the verge of cracking. “I... I got all dressed up for you tonight, and...”
“Rachel! Babe!” the dude sighed, looking her straight in the eyes. “You are my everything. You complete me, okay?”
The girl sniffed, pushing back the tears inside of her, as she nodded to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Okay, Chip. Okay...”
I kept walking, leaving the moment of drama in the dust behind me. In my remaining year and change on campus, I don’t recall running into either one of them ever again, so sometimes I wonder about what became of Chip and Rachel, if they made it or if they broke it off. Is it weird that I think about them, like, once a year or so? Not intentionally. I mean, I’m just doing something somewhere totally unrelated and out of nowhere comes the thought “I wonder if Chip and Rachel ever made it work.” No idea why.
Right, back to the story.
The thing about college towns is that, around that time anyway, the downtown areas of them used to be an endless string of bars, and none of them would be any more or less popular than the others, except on a few key nights, those being St. Patrick’s Day and Cinco De Mayo.
On Cinco De Mayo, getting into Casa De Gringos would be next to impossible unless you showed up insanely early. On St. Patrick’s Day, the bar you couldn’t get into was Paddy O’Rourke’s, the Irish pub that did all the expected bullshit like green beer, but also went that extra mile and had a live band playing this weird combination of punk and Celtic music. I didn’t realize it at the time, but a scene was forming out of that style of music, and it’s entirely possible that some of the big names from that scene were playing in that shitty house band that Paddy O’Rourke’s had every Saint Patrick’s Day.
Most years, I’d get to Paddy’s early, because it had the most interesting mix of people and sound, and the bouncer of the club, a giant biker named Sean who’d moved over from Dublin in the eighties to help his cousin manage the bar, was a master at breaking up a bar fight and ejecting drunks. As long as it wasn’t you, it was glorious to watch. I’d once seen him throw a guy from the door of the bar over the sidewalk and all the way into the street itself. That’s talent.
There was going to be no getting into Paddy’s tonight, though, as the bar was already pushing well into the danger zone. At some point, bars tend to get over capacity, and most nights, if that happens, the fire marshal will come by and do head count, ejecting people until the building is up to code, but on Saint Patrick’s Day, back in the 90s, all bets were off and they packed’em in as much as they could until there were college kids half way hanging out the window. Even with drink prices raised for the holiday, everyone was so intent on getting shitfaced that they didn’t even care. I’d been told by a friend of mine who was a bartender that the insane level of tips people would hand out almost but not quite made up for the mess those same people left in their wake.
(Seriously, he took a Polaroid of their puke-covered bathroom just after closing one year, and I told him that was the most grotesque crime scene photo ever taken.)
So with O’Rourke’s out of the question, I had to decide where I wanted to go instead. I knew Lee and Billy had good odds of being at Casa De Gringos, but I had always hated that bar, simply because the bartenders there believed everything was better with tequila in it, and so they added tequila to any drink you ordered, whether that would work or not, they didn’t give a shit. Rum & Coke? Sure, add tequila. Mai Thai? Add more tequila. Shirley Temple, because you were the designated driver? Yeah, okay, but what if tequila? I hated the place, but Lee was always trying to convince Rosie, one of the bartenders, to go out with him, and she always shot him down. I didn’t have the patience to watch that drama play out yet again.
Some part of me considered venturing forth into Tramps, but I had a bad feeling that it was going to be the Endless Parade of the Lonely and Despaired in there, and the last thing I wanted was to be out trawling for a date. The idea of using the coin again was bubbling up in my head, but I’d been doing some thinking and planning, and didn’t expect inspiration to hit me, simply because while I had some possible candidates, nobody had really jumped out at me as someone I wanted to invest time in. Of course, in retrospect, I’ve realized that’s partially what the damn coin is for, to help you have some time to get to know a person before you make a long term decision, but back then, I wasn’t quite as keenly attuned to what benefits the coin offered me.
Eventually, I settled on a bar called The Speakeasy. Because it was the furthest from campus, I knew it would be the least crowded, and I could enjoy having a bit of fun without worrying about staggering into a bar fight, something that had happened last year.
What I didn’t know at the time was that The Speakeasy had changed owners just a month ago, and that they’d chosen Saint Patrick’s Day as the night of their grand opening, and with their new attitude. They’d even changed the name of the bar, I realized as I walked into the place. Where once the sign had said “The Speakeasy” in an art deco font, there was a new sign in its place, one that said “The Night Before The Morning After” in an old western saloon style font.
When I walked into the place, it was clear the change in name wasn’t just for show. The interior of the bar had been completely redone in such a short period of time, just by mostly stripping away all the things the old bar had and leaving the raw woodwork exposed, if a bit polished and varnished. Where once there had been soft carpets and mood lighting, now the whole interior felt much more like a wild west saloon, with exposed wood just about everywhere. The booths were still there, but now the seats were the only parts of them with any padding. There was an old jukebox over in the corner that was supplying the music for the place.
As I walked into the place, the first thing I saw was that there woman laying on top of the bar, Daisy Duke denim shorts, a green button up shirt that was only about a third buttoned (in the mid section) and was tied into a knot below her tits to leave her belly and tops of her breasts exposed. A second woman, one of the bartenders, licked up a row of salt off her stomach and then sucked a shot of some kind of liquor from the woman’s belly button as she laughed feverishly.
I distinctly remember thinking to myself “there is no way I am ready for this kind of bar.”
I didn’t even know the half of it.
As I headed to the bar, the woman who’d been laying atop of it slid off, and stood up in front of it, which was when I got a chance to recognize her. She had a massive mane of copper curls that hung down to the small of her back, and her face, neck and chest were covered in freckles. Her name was Shannon Mullins and she was in my History of Rock’n’Roll class, although she usually sat in the back, and at least one class out of every five she might have been sleeping behind her sunglasses. I didn’t know her all that well, but we’d had to do a class project together and she’d struck me as someone I’d have been interested in, if she hadn’t had a boyfriend.
“Fuck Derrick and fuck anyone who looks like him!” Shannon shouted, drunkenly running over to the jukebox to make Meredith Brooks’ “Bitch” spring from it, filling the room.
‘So much for the boyfriend,’ I thought to myself.
Despite her love of partying, Shannon had struck me as a very smart girl, aiming to graduate around the same time as I was, and I’d always wanted to fuck a redhead, so I figured, fuck it, why not, let’s do it.
As I got over near the jukebox, it was clear Shannon was a little tipsy, but she wasn’t anywhere near as drunk as I thought she’d been based on that run across the room. Clearly she’d been play acting, amping it up so that she looked more drunk that she was, maybe a defense mechanism to keep people from buying her drinks. She was, however, wearing a large “Kiss me, I’m Irish!” button on her shirt.
“Hey there Shannon,” I said to her, my thumb already starting to rub over the surface of the coin in my pocket.
“John!” she cheered, raising one hand up into the air as she beamed a smile at me. “Can’t you read the fucking button?” She grabbed my shirt suddenly, yanking me in close as she locked lips with me so suddenly, I dropped the fucking coin.
It was a good kiss, not overly affectionate or wanton, but exuberant, as if unburdened by anything for just a moment in time, and it only lasted a few seconds before she pulled back, a lecherous grin on her face.
“Jesus, has a girl got to do everything herself in this fucking town?” she giggled, flipping a large stack of her red mane back over her shoulder.
“Shit,” I said suddenly. “I dropped my lucky coin!”
“Well, fuck! My bad! Lemme help you find it,” she said, as we both crouched down on the wood floor. We started looking in different directions, and she bumped her ass against mine a couple of times, the first accidental and the second not as much, before she said, “This it?”
Sure enough, she’d found it, and as she had it extended to me, I said to her, “Thank god. A new beginning.” The coin fell from her hand into mine, and it was warm to the touch. I moved to my feet and helped her up immediately after. When I pulled her to her feet, she overdid the getting up and moved in to press her body against mine suddenly, giggling into my ear. I could tell she didn’t have a bra on underneath that shirt from just how stiff her nipples were pressed against me.
“I decided to come out tonight to get over Derrick by getting under somebody else, John,” she purred into my ear, and at that point, I was starting to wonder if maybe my first read on her had been correct, and she was already three sheets to the wind. “You wanna be that somebody else, John?”
“I’d be a fool to say no, Shannon,” I told her, “but I just got here. Can I at least have one drink before we take off and I fill the role of Mr. Right Now for you?”
She giggled, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. “Yer funny. Sure, why not? I can do another drink or two. Lemme introduce you to my roomie who works here,” she said, sliding her arm around my waist, pulling me over towards the bar. “Hey Teresa!” she shouted to the bartender who’d taken the shot from her navel just a few minutes ago. “It’s Half-A-Goth from my music class!”
“Half-A-Goth?” I asked her suspiciously.
“You’re always listening to those goth bands... The Cure, Bauhaus, The Cult, Joy Division... but you, like, don’t always wear black, and you don’t put on make up and shit,” she laughed.
“Oh, so what you’re saying is I’ve got good music taste, but I don’t let it define me,” I said, holding out my hand to the bartender. “Hey there, I’m John.”
“Hey John, I’m Teresa,” she said, taking my hand in hers and shaking it. I’d find out later that she was the daughter of Cambodian refugees, born here in the States, but raised in a dual language household. She had Asian features, but spoke impeccable English and was as American as I was. Her black hair was cut shorter than Shannon wore hers, the bottom of it just barely brushing her collarbone, and she was dressed in a tight-fitting black tanktop and a green plaid skirt that reached down to her mid thigh, black fishnet stockings on underneath, and a red flannel shirt tied around her waist like a belt. She also had on the biggest, chunkiest black shoes I’d ever seen. “You drop something? I saw you and Shannon rooting around on the floor over there.”
“My lucky coin,” I said, making a split-second decision as I fished it out, holding it out to her. “My sister gave it to me, and she claimed it’s magic, but I suspect it’s probably just really old.”
Teresa took it from me with her slender fingers, holding it up to the light. “Well, it’s definitely really old,” she agreed. “That’s fucking Latin on it. I’m rusty but... ‘Door of Every Heart?’ Is that right?”
“My sister told me it was ‘a new beginning,’ but that’s just something the guy who sold it to her told her,” I said, seeing her freeze in place for just a half second when I said the phrase, before she immediately handed the coin back to me, as if it was forbidden for her even to be touching it.
“That’s definitely not it,” she said. “’Omni’ is all or every. And ‘new’ is ‘novus.’ I may not remember much of my high school Latin classes, but I remember that much. And there’s no such thing as magic, I promise you. Here, Shannon, have an Appletini on me,” she said, sliding a glass to her roommate. “What about you, John? Green beer? Pint of Guinness?”
“God no,” I said to her. “Am I in trouble if I ask for a Screwdriver?”
She smiled at me with a shrug. “You’re drinking it, so what do I care if you want something boring? I just pour them.”
The bar had a decent turnout, especially for just opening, and it certainly felt a bit more dangerous than any place else in Iowa City, but it was still sort of the last choice, I think, at that point, anyway. I didn’t realize it then, but by next fall, Night Before would be the hottest bar in town. It was owned and run by women, and because they controlled everything about it, they could push the envelope as far as they wanted to. You ever see that movie, Coyote Ugly? Yeah, it was a lot like that place, only less country and more punk.
The bartenders were a great looking bunch of women, most of them dressed provocatively, tight shirts, tight jeans, a surprising lack of skirts until I realized that a number of them liked to hop up and stand on the bar regularly, and they were all heavily flirting with the customers, although they also had pretty clearly drawn lines, and it seemed like most of the guys knew to respect them.
(For most of the next year, I was something of a regular at Night Before, and only a couple of times did I see someone try and get handsy. One of those two times, the guy got picked up by the police. The other time, the guy got picked up by an ambulance and the police came along with it. Neither time did any of the girls have so much as a scratch on them.)
“Here you go, John,” Teresa said to me, sliding a Tom Collins glass over to me. “One boring ass Screwdriver. I may have put a bit more vodka in it than you’re used to, though.”
Shannon leaned against me firmly, pressing her body against mine, her hand giving my butt a squeeze. “Drink up quickly, Johnny boy,” she said to me. “I’ve got a date with whatever’s inside those jeans of yours.”
“I think it’s a cock, Shannon,” Teresa teased, while I took a good draw from my glass. She wasn’t kidding; she’d definitely gone hard on the vodka.
“Then aren’t I a winner?”
“Before you go, lemme talk to both of you in the break room, okay?” Teresa said. “Hey Rochelle, cover me for five minutes, okay?”
“Are you serious?” one of the other bartenders said. “We need all hands on deck tonight!”
“Either you cover for me now for five minutes, or I’m not covering for your cigarette break later tonight.”
Rochelle sighed, shaking her head. “Momma needs her puff puff. Take your five, but no longer!”
“Yes ma’am,” Teresa said, grabbing me by the wrist, pulling me down along the bar until we reached the end, where she slipped under a gate and then led me and Shannon through a door that said “Employees Only,” closing it right behind us.
“He’s gonna fuck you, Shannon,” Teresa said to the girl draped over my shoulder. “You don’t have to pretend to be all wasted. You’ve had, like, two drinks all night.”
“Awww...” Shannon said, standing up straight suddenly. “You’re no fun.” Once she did, I realized the leather boots she was wearing had two inch heels on them, and they made her stand taller than me. I didn’t care, but it was still a surprise. “Anyway, a door opens,” she said, extending one hand to her roommate.
“A door opens,” Teresa said, shaking her roommate’s hand. “So I gotta work until past bar close, so why don’t you go home, have a test run with Shannon, and then tomorrow midday, I’ll get my first shot, so we’re not stepping on each other’s toes. Sound fair?”
I was about to answer, then I realized she wasn’t talking to me. “Yep, sounds square to me, although I may get a bit of fun in with him in the morning. We’ll try and keep the volume down.”
“Shit, Shan,” Teresa laughed, “there’s a whole living room between your bedroom and mine, so as long as you’re not breaking the headboard on the wall, you should be fine.”
“I don’t even have a headboard, Ter,” Shannon giggled. “Anyway, we shouldn’t keep you.”
“Yeah, I should get back to work,” Teresa said, “but before I do—”
She grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me in to kiss me with a bit more heat than Shannon had laid on me a few minutes ago, her other hand sliding down to grope my cock through my jeans, giving it a squeeze. After a moment, she pulled back and shot me a cocky little wink. “That gun better have reloaded by the time I’m up tomorrow afternoon, mister.”
“I’ll do everything I can, ma’am,” I said with a smile, “but I’m only human.”
“We can work on that,” she giggled. “Now scoot, before I miss out on all my good tips for the night. Oh, wait, John, one thing before you go...”
“Yeah?” I said, my hand on the door knob.
“Who was the better kisser?” she said with a Cheshire cat grin.
“That’s not fair! I didn’t even know we were competing when I kissed him!” Shannon protested.
“Then give it another go, so he can make a fair comparison!”
“I will!” Shannon said before spinning around, grabbing the back of my neck, pulling me down to mash my lips against hers, and this time, it was clear that she was trying to impress me, as her lips parted almost immediately, and she hummed slightly as her tongue hooked against mine, her hips grinding into my just a little bit. Thank god I didn’t have the coin in my hand that time.
When she pulled back, she patted my chest with the palm of her hand. “That’ll let you make a fair comparison,” she said with a nod.
I knew I couldn’t lie so I just let the words slip from my lips. “It was very close, but Shannon edged it out just a little bit.”
“Damn,” Teresa said, frowning for a moment. “Gonna have to step my game up. Now go!”
On the way out, I left a $20 in front of Teresa and my half consumed screwdriver, which she scooped up before we were even close to the door.
As soon as we were out of the bar, I looked at her with a smile. “Y’know, I don’t know where you live, so you’re gonna have to lead.”
“We’re not that far from here. Me and Teresa rent a shitty little two bedroom house, but it’s all the two of us can really afford. She’s hoping the bar’ll start letting her pay a bigger chunk, and I hope that’s true, because it’s been a motherfucker paying most of the rent by myself,” she said, taking my hand in hers, pulling me along. “You don’t mind that I came onto you so strong in the bar, do you?”
“Shit no,” I said, looking down at my feet while we walked. “I like aggressive women. I think I’m more the shy type than any of the women I’ve dated, so it helps when women come after me.”
“I imagine that happens a lot,” she said, “strapping guy like you.”
“Yeah, well, most of them tend to flip out when they find out I’m still living in the dorms, but I gotta pay my own way some how, so being an RA has been my path forward.”
“You’re still allowed to have girls in your bed as an RA, though, yeah?”
“Oh sure,” I said, “but not more than a couple of nights a week. My last girlfriend wanted way more than that.”
“How long had you two been dating?”
“A month or so? We broke up the Tuesday before Christmas break.”
“Your decision or hers?”
“Mine, mostly,” I confessed. “The sex was great, but we were just heading in different directions at high speeds, and sooner or later, it was going to snap from the tension, so I tried to ease it off gently. What about you and Derrick?”
She looked up at the inky night sky, shaking her head. “What about me and Derrick? I caught him getting blown in his car by some lanky blonde bitch last week, and you know what he said to me? He said he couldn’t help himself, that he had needs and that I wasn’t taking care of him. Fucking prick.”
“Sounds like it,” I agreed. “He try to talk to you about it, or go straight from ‘things are fine’ to ‘I’ve got my dick in some other girl’s mouth’ instead?”
“The latter,” she grumbled. “And don’t you go thinking that I don’t suck cock, mister, because I am going to suck your soul out your dick like it was a milkshake and your prick was a straw.”
“Hey,” I said defensively, “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do with me.”
“That’s just it, John,” she sighed. “I like sucking cock. I like the feeling of control and power it gives me. I know there’s girls in my Modern Feminism classes who think sucking cock is a demeaning thing, and that it’s degrading to women, but I think they’re just shitty at it. When I’m down on my knees blowing a guy, looking up at him, he may be above me, but I’m in total control at that point, and I’m the one with the power.”
“See?” I said. “You’re already one up on them. So forget all about Derrick. You didn’t need his ass anyway.”
“Not now that I have you,” she laughed. “Or now that I’m fighting for you, I guess. I don’t blame you being hot for Teresa, but I gotta ask, John, why me? I’m not all that special.”
I stopped in my tracks, holding her hand to prevent her from walking forward for a moment. “Pardon my French, Shannon, but what the fuck is the matter with you? You’re fucking gorgeous, and I think most of the guys on campus can’t take their eyes off of you.”
“I’m chubby,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And sure, it means I’ve got great big tits, and that’s great and all, but it also means I’ve got a bit of a belly that jiggles when I’m fucking, and no dudes find that hot.”
“You have got a lot to learn about dudes, Shannon,” I said with a grin.
“Besides, my tits have got freckles all over them, and that’s not sexy either.”
“Fuck you, that’s so sexy, Shannon.”
“Now you’re fucking with me.”
“I promise you, I am not fucking with you.” I paused half a second. “Not yet, anyway. We’re still out in public.”
She giggled, seeming a little more at ease. “Like anyone gives a shit on Saint Patrick’s Day. Even the cops are getting loaded.” We started walking again, and some of the tension in her general demeanor had faded. “Most guys don’t like redheads anyway. They say we’re too pale for them, or they try that shitty pickup line, ‘does the carpet match the drapes?’ Like that’s one I haven’t heard a thousand fucking times since high school.”
“Most guys do like redheads, Shannon, but because they’re super worried about screwing it up, they try and play it off like they don’t care. You’re in fucking Iowa for God’s sake. Everyone here is used to the Children of the Corn blonde girls, and anything different can be intimidating.”
“Are you saying I intimidate you, John?” she said, sliding her hand into the back pocket of my jeans. “Because you already know you’re getting laid tonight.”
“So why were you pretending to be drunker than you were earlier?”
“Because that way if you turned out to be a jerk, I could just kick you out in the morning and not feel bad about it.” Her other hand brushed across my chest a bit. “I mean, no offense, but I wasn’t looking for someone permanent to keep tonight, but now that I have you, I’m reconsidering.”
“If you want me to go—” I teased, starting to pull away.
She giggled, shaking her head. “Nononono! I want you to stay. I want you to fuck me. I wanna be fucked by you. Does that make me a bad girl?” she said with a wink, as we stopped in front of a older looking house. “Don’t answer that, ’cause we’re here. C’mon. I’m sick of waiting.”
The house was key lime pie green with white trim, a porch patio in front, and looked like it was the bare minimum amount of space two college aged girls would need in a house. There were a couple of cars parked in the drive way, both of which had seen better days.
Shannon unlocked the door and opened it, pushing me into the house without so much as even turning the lights on. Thankfully, the entryway was mostly free of clutter, although my thigh bumped against a table along one of the walls. She laughed once more. “Don’t break shit, other than me.”
She flipped on the hall light, closed the door behind us, locked it again and then tossed her keys into a bowl on the table I’d bumped into. “I’d give you the tour,” she breathed against my neck, “but fuck that. We need to get to it.”
I was along for the ride at this point, as she pulled me down the hallway, through the living room to a bedroom at the back of the house, kicking off my shoes and she kicked off her boots along the way. She shoved me in backwards and I regained my footing just as I felt the backs of my thighs press against the edge of the bed.
“I gotta really make this count,” she purred at me, stepping into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. “You have no fucking idea how competitive Teresa is.”
The bedroom had a couple of movie posters on the wall, one with Uma Thurman on the bed from Pulp Fiction and another with the opening monologue from Trainspotting on it. While she may have gone out earlier with the intent of finding a meaningless fuck, she’d probably planned to go to his place, because her room was a disaster area, with piles of dirty clothes strewn across the floor. The bed wasn’t even made.
She stepped over and pushed me back to make me sit on the edge of the bed. “You said you thought freckles on my tits was sexy, so let’s see if you were lying or not,” she said, untying the bottom of the shirt before popping the buttons off, sliding the shirt from her shoulders, letting it fall onto the floor to add to one of the piles.
As she’d said, she did indeed have freckles all over her tits, the large mounds of soft flesh covered in tiny brown spots that gave her so much character. Her skin was milky white, as if tanning would only go from pale to burnt in the span of a heartbeat, with large pink areola that offered a rosey offset to the heavy white swells of breast. Her arms had tilted forward a little, to make her tits press together just a little bit. “See? It’s gross, isn’t it?” she said, shyly.
I grabbed her by the hip and pulled her close enough to bury my face between her breasts, taking one of her hands down to press it against my swollen cock through my jeans, much to her surprise.
“Oh. Oh!” she said, realizing just how hard I was. “Okay then, I guess I was wro-ho-ho-hoooo that feels fucking good,” she whimpered, losing her train of thought as I began to suck hard on one of her nipples. “Fuck, you feel hard.”
I pulled my lips from her flesh with a loud smack, looking up at her. “We’re still pretty over-dressed, though, don’t you think?”
She pulled back from me and turned around, letting me see her back, which also was covered in freckles down to her midriff, although they seemed to taper off before her waist. I heard her unbutton those denim shorts and then slowly unzip them, as she bent forward to push them slowly down over the curve of her ass, exposing a deep forest green thong that formed a demarcation line between those halves. “Maybe you should join me?” she said, and before the sentence was out of her mouth, I was peeling my Pogues t-shirt up and over my head. (It was the one with the cover of their album “Rum, Sodomy & The Lash” on it.) She then stood up, and bent over again, pushing down her thong this time, stepping out of it before turning around.
To all those guys who asked her if the carpet matched the drapes, I can say that indeed they did. She had bright red pubic hair in a large wedge shape that had been trimmed, but only enough to keep it under control, as if she was proud of the shade of it, a sharp contrast to how light the rest of her skin was. “Is... is this okay?” she said, nervously, folding her hands behind her back, looking down, as if she thought I might say no.
I didn’t want her to worry, so I stood up immediately and shoved my jeans and my boxers down to my ankles, exposing my thick cock to her eyes. “I think it’s more than okay, don’t you?”
“Fuck you’re big...” she whispered. “I’m gonna feel that going in.”
I crouched down to my jeans, reaching to get my wallet. “One sec, lemme get a condom,” I said, “so we’re—”
“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean,” she said, moving past me to flop down on the bed, grabbing the backs of her thighs to pull her legs up. “So unless you’re not, get the fuck in here.”
When you’re in college, caution tends to go out the window, so I wasn’t going to wait around. I grabbed her hips, moving to rub the length of my cock across her pussy, finding it extremely wet to the touch, before lining up and pushing forward, sinking my dick inside of her, a deviant’s moan escaping her throat.
“Fuck yes yes yes yes oh god you feel so fucking good inside my little pussy oh fuck that’s so fucking nice,” she babbled, her head rolling to one side.
My hands held onto her hips and her head thrashed around enough to make those copper locks of hers swipe through the air, the sound of her whimpers and moans from beneath the jungle of hair.
“Harder harder harder fuck me fuck me fuck my cunt stretch me fucking open plow me harder god harder harder! Pound it! Shit, I’m gonna cum already!” she squealed. “Oh fuck oh fuck I’m gonna I’m gonna oh shit oh fuck oh god oh god I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m fucking cumming!”
Her voice devolved into mostly guttural grunts and whines as I felt her pussy trying to crush my cock, clamping down so hard it almost hurt and just as she eased up on the pressure, I could feel myself rushing to the finish line.
“Do it!” she hissed commandingly, like she wasn’t going to give me a choice, her legs sliding off my shoulders and moving to wrap around my waist like she was locking me in. “Fill me up fill me full pour it in me gimme that cum gimme gimme gimme fucking cum in that hole in your fucking hole it’s your fucking hole you claimed her she wants it she wants her cream do it and fucking cum in me!”
With her heels digging against the small of my back, I wasn’t going to resist, and my body finally just gave way, and I poured what felt like a bucket’s worth of cum into her pussy, which seemed to set her off on another orgasm, as her green eyes rolled shut and her arms wrapped around me, trying to pull my body through hers, as we both crumbled under the intensity of our shared orgasm.
I slumped down on top of her and wanted to pass out, but didn’t want to keep my weight on top of her, so I rolled onto my side, as she nestled her head into the pillow, not letting me pull even an inch away from her.
“Let’s see that cocky bitch top that,” she whispered to herself as we drifted off to sleep.
She was right, though.
Teresa was super competitive...