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Woody

By: Victoria_2001_02769



Victoria had been taking the glassware from within the china hutch, wrapping each glass carefully, and then placing them in the corrugated packing crate, designed for moving and she was getting hot and sweaty. She wished Woody would hurry up and get here. They had a lot of boxes to pack and store in the U~Haul before nightfall. They were going to be heading out from Massachusetts to return to Woody's home state of Texas within the next week.

When the knock on the door echoed in the small entryway by the door, Victoria jumped, nearly dropping the glass. Still clasping the glass, she scooted across the Dining Room and Living Room carpets, and sprinted down the stairs, to unlocked the front door to admit Woody.

"You're la..", she started to say but the words died in her throat.

She was about to tell Woody that he was late, when he held out some Sterling Silver roses to Victoria.

"I stopped to get you these, cause I know they're your favorite rose, out of all the ones you like", he stated quite simply, and giving her a disarming, sheepish grin.

Victoria threw her arms around Woody's neck, kissing him quite soundly on the lips, letting the tip of her tongue trace along the outline of his full upper lip, which you couldn't really see due to the thick mustache he wore.

"Oh, Woody," she breathed quietly, and nestled her nose into a fragrant blossom and inhaling deeply, uttered, "They're beautiful! Thank you!" 

"I'm sorry," she continued, "Come on in, I'm in the Dining Room, trying to pack all the stemware in the box provided."

With that, Woody closed the heavy front door and locked it. He knew Victoria didn't like people just entering through the front door ~ even if there were others who shared the house with her. There was one other female in the house, Erica, and she didn't like unexpected visitors either.

Victoria kept up a running commentary as she went into the kitchen to find a vase for the roses. Their frangrance was already permeating the house, and it was beginning to smell like her mother's garden back home. Woody followed the sound of Victoria's voice, until he came to the door into the Kitchen that led off the Dining Room. 

Upon entering the Kitchen, he stopped dead in his steps. There was Victoria, rummanging under the sink, bent over one of the underthesink cupboard doors, with her ass almost in his face. He was totally unprepared for this luscious sight. His palms were suddenly very sweaty and he wanted to feel Victoria's ass cheeks, soft and pliable in his grasp, and to hear her moan as his entire length rammed her tight little hole, repeatedly. He wanted her, and he wanted her now!

Woody was brought up short by another sensation; that of feeling his 8 inch cock starting to swell with mounting desire for Victoria. God! How he wanted to sink his shaft between those round cheeks. He was so lost in his thoughts that he wasn't aware of Victoria emerging the victor from her rummangings under the sink with the vase in her hand. Victoria was about to say something to Woody, when she noticed the oh so very evident bulge down the left leg of his pants.

Victoria couldn't stop herself from staring and suddenly wondering what it would feel like to find her suddenly wet pussy impaled on that obvious bulge. She was unaware that her breathing had changed pace or that her breasts were heaving in sudden desire, until she felt a hand against her ass cheek pressing the seam of her jeans deliberately into her crack. The pressure was gentle, yet firm; leaving her no doubt of where Woody's thoughts were. She looked up to find Woody's intent gaze fixed on her breasts. The pressure of his hands increased and now one was pressing the seam at the front of her jeans against the lips of her throbbing, wet, pussy. Victoria barely had time to place the vase down on the counter, before Woody was scooping her up in his arms.

"Where is your bedroom?" he growled low against her ear.

"Down the hall, on your right, next to the bathroom," she replied.

Woody was very close to running down the hall, holding Victoria in his arms, so urgent was his need to bury his cock inside her. He could smell her arousal through her jeans and he wanted to bury his face, his tongue and/or his cock deep within it. He reached her room and the door to it, and was through it in record time. He walked the short distance to her king size bed and dropped her in the middle of it, went back, locked the door, and returned to the bed, crawling onto it until he was on his hands and knees, straddling her beneath his legs. Woody lowered his body to Victoria's until he could feel her heat and dampness through her jeans. He rubbed his arousal against her throbbing mound, making her groan in desire.

Raising himself up onto his knees, he reached for the button on Victoria's jeans, undid it and then slid the zipper down. He backed off the bed, briefly, and pulled her jeans from her lower body. It was just as he has suspected. She wore nothing beneath the jeans, she was bare inside them. Her pussy was exposed to him, and the scent of her arousal much more pungent then even through her jeans. With a groan, he pulled her toward him until she was near the edge of the foot of the bed, with her legs draped over his shoulders. Their gazes locked as he started to lower his upper body and face toward her waiting pussy with its thatch of light bush. The hair around it glistened with beads of her nectar. He hands were acting on their own. They were already spreading her lower lips apart and a finger was idly slipping up and down her waiting wetness. He never broke eye contact as he lowered his face those last few inches and his mouth latched onto those wet lips and his tongue ran across the engorged, swollen clit.


Victoria gasped at the initial contact of Woody's tongue with her swollen clit and squirmed with delight as she felt a finger slide within her wet pussy, hearing the squishing noise her juice made as his finger fucked her pussy, first fast; and then slow. Driving all the way to the end of his finger and withdrawing almost to just between the nail and the first knuckle. She squirmed as his tongue joined his finger. She wanted more from him now. But she didn't know quite how to tell him. So she opted to show him.

"W-W-Woody?" she finally managed to find her voice, unaware that she'd lost it. She got no response. She tapped him on the shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked at her, slowly taking his mouth from the sweetness he was so busy lapping and licking. She tasted so sweet! Even sweeter than he'd thought she would.

"Woody? Let's take a shower. I'm hot and sweaty from packing and moving, but I want to be sweeter smelling for you. May we go take a shower?"

He nodded, not wanting to move his mouth from devouring her sweet nectar. He gave one more long, slow, lick; diving his tongue deep in her pussy, sucking as much juicy nectar from her as he could. He reluctantly removed his mouth, picked Victoria up and unlocking the door, dashed into the bathroom, right next to her room. He locked that door now, the third door he'd locked since he'd arrived at the house. He turned and his gaze locked again with Victoria's. He inched closer to Victoria, reaching out to grasp her hands as he did.

"Touch me, baby. Undo my jeans and let my cock out. You know you want it and me. Undo my jeans and let my cock out," he begged harshly into her ear. He felt the button come undone and heard the zipper come undone. Soon, his 8 inch by 2.5 inch cock was free; throbbing and bobbing in front of him ~ eager for Victoria's touch. She reached out and touched him, tentatively, shyly.

As Victoria shyly, grasped Woody's cock, he took off the rest of their clothes and left them in pools at their feet. Victoria pulled gently on this rock hard rod in her hands, leading his toward the waiting, running shower. Once inside the shower, she was reaching for the soap and body scrub puff and was working up a good lather all over his body, leaving nothing nor any part of him untouched. She washed Woody's chest, his back, his legs, and finally his ass cheeks, and she slowly, and lovingly, washed between the crack of his butt cheeks. She also washed his cock.

Woody washed Victoria just as slowly and just as lovingly; taking extra care with the crack between her ass cheeks and with her pussy. Unable to wait to sink himself within her velvety softness, he quickly rinsed her off, gathered her into a huge bathsheet, and spirited her back into the bedroom; leaving only briefly to go pick up their clothes off the bathroom floor and then locking the bedroom door against any other intrusions.

Before Woody touched his mouth or tongue to either her ass, or her pussy again; he opened one of the drawers in the headboard and took out one of his favorite toys that she had told him she had. After he lubed it extremely well, cause he knew her tender hole was too tight and not used to being fucked, he gently rolled Victoria onto her side, lifted her left leg, and pulled her ass cheeks apart, exposing her tight puckered hole to his view.

"Take a deep breath, honey. There's no way around this. It's going to hurt just a bit cause you're so tight," he verbally walked her through the first steps. Then he spread her ass cheeks further apart, watching as the small hole opened just a bit. He pressed the well-lubed tip against the opening and pushed gently, yet firmly.

"No, no, no, Woody. It's hurting," she said in a low voice.

"Take another deep breath, honey. This is the only way you're going to get used to it and to be ready for me to fuck your tight ass. I know this hurts, but not for long," he cautioned and pushed again until the tight opening gave way and the tip slid in. He pushed the rest of the plug in until it was completely swallowed inside her hole. He tapped the base of it, sending waves of pleasure through Victoria's ass and pussy. 

Victoria relaxed against the plug's invasion and Woody rolled her onto her back. Settling his body between her legs, he again opened the drawer in the headboard, and pulled out a Teal 8 inch vibrator and flicked it on, setting it humming into life. Spreading Victoria's lower lips apart he dipped the humming vibrator deep into her wet hole and waited for the sigh he knew she would utter when she came. He didn't have long to wait. He heard it almost at once. When she came, he moved the vibrator to rest against the base of the plug that was still deep within Victoria's tight ass. Sensing the time was right, he rolled her over onto her tummy and pulled her upper body into place so her ass was straight in front of his cock.

Woody quickly pulled the plug out, with an accompaning plop and after lubing his 8 inch cock with the juice from her wet pussy, he drove his cock into her ass. He was still for a few minutes as she adjusted to his entire length being in her ass. Feeling her relax inside, he began to fuck her; each stroke stronger than the one before. He pulled her body into an upright position against his chest and the fingers of one hand moved to play with her pussy and the other one went to carress her breasts.

"Oh BABY! Oh HONEY!" he said against her ear. He felt her squirm against him as he felt her ass getting ready for its own climax. He drove into her harder, feeling his balls slap against the back of her thighs and getting wet with her pussy nectar.

"Oh, Woody! OH! OH! OH! OH! OOOOOHHHH!" Victoria screamed. He was now driving three fingers into her wet pussy, and his 8 inch cock could go no deeper into her ass. He felt his own climax building and knew it was going to be a large, sticky load he dumped, and he wanted to dump it in her ass. He wanted to pump it deep.

"Honey?" he hissed, "I'm getting ready to cum. Do you want it in your ass or your pussy? Tell me where you want me to fuck you till I cum."

When Victoria could find her voice, she told him.

"I want you to cum in my ass, Woody. Like we talked about. Then I want you to do it again. I had no idea your cock could feel so good. Oh, BABY! Don't stop. Fuck me, please!"

With that, he bent her body forward, and pulled her hips and ass into his groin area, feeling his cock go deep in her ass, again and again. He started fucking her ass faster and faster, feeling it grip his shaft tighter and tighter. Soon he felt his load start to shoot into her welcoming ass hole. He groaned as he came. He could feel it pumping out of his hard cock and into her waiting ass. Soon, his entire load had been shot into her ass, yet still he was hard.

He eased their bodies down onto the towel that he had thrown around Victoria as they stepped out of the shower earlier. With his still hard cock stuffed in her tight ass, he reached for the covers and pulled them up, laying down behind her as he did so. He felt his cock jump as the last of his load shot itself in her ass. As he snuggled Victoria against his chest, with his cock still inside her ass, he knew that the impending road trip home, was going to be filled with nights where they explored the wanton desires they had only talked about in the dreams they had written about to each other. 

Woody gave a few soft thrusts of his hips, and felt his slowly softening cock respond with a few last spurts of cum deep inside Victoria. They fell asleep, just as they had talked about. With his cock still inside her ass, refusing to fall out. It actually fit quite nicely inside her ass. He'd let them get some sleep and wake her up later, while he was going to be fucking her pussy and having put the plug back in her ass to keep the rest of his load inside her. Then he'd dump another load into her pussy later, pull out the plug and put his cock back into her ass. He could not wait. He felt himself growing hard again and filling her ass with his length.

He gently kissed the ear of his Victoria as she lay slumbering in his arms.

"Your ass pleasures have only started, honey. Just wait." Soon, he was asleep as well, dreaming of the road trip and all the lovely nights they would be spending together.

Woody



"Woodrow!" I heard the shrill voice call out from the patio door. "Woodrow? I seem to have made a big ol' mess of myself.

In real life, Brooke was a lovely woman. A refined mother of three who volunteered at the school, spoke quietly, and baked cookies. On Saturday nights though, or at least Saturday nights when she was at a party, Brooke started by putting away two quick vodka sodas and let the volume of her voice go positively off the charts. She must have finished her second drink because she was sauntering her way out of the kitchen but ass naked with chocolate sauce drizzled across her bountiful chest. It was dripping down her belly and onto the concrete and I hoped she had gotten outside before it had started to run. Woody was holding court in the pool. There were three other couples floating around on noodles and he stood in the shallow end, his waist just below the water, his full six foot four frame extending out of the water. He wore is straw cowboy hat and sunglasses and was swishing a bourbon and coke that was almost entirely coke as he entertained the ladies floating around him with s story about our snorkeling disaster.

I loved to watch him. He was just a big giant oversized teddy bear. He was sweet and charming and a total flirt. I knew I was okay with the lifestyle because I liked fucking. Woody never cared too much about that part of it. I mean, he wasn't going to object, but what Woody liked about the lifestyle was a pool full of naked people that all laughed at his stories and drank his booze. The women all greeted him with a kiss as they arrived, the men would whack him across the back as they left. My husband is an attention whore and when the tall blonde with tits covered in chocolate came bouncing over he tossed his hat to the cool deck and buried his face between her boobs covering himself in the sticky chocolate as well.

I guess it was time for things to get started. I moved from the chair I had been sitting in to the lap of the gentleman sitting beside me. I kissed him and he kissed back, I teased his cock and pressed it between my thighs playfully. He put my breast in his mouth. I started to let myself get worked up and watched my ridiculous husband do his thing.

He had drug Brooke into the water and washed off most of the fondue before propping her up on the edge of the pool. I could just make out the top of his head between her thighs. Another woman, someone new, I think her name was Julie or something like that, had broken herself free of her husband and moved up behind Woody. Her hands were under the water and I imagined she had probably taken to playing with his cock as he pleased my tall friend from the PTO. Another woman, slightly plumper, not as cute also paddled over and also had slipped her hands under the water.

"He's such a slut! I can't even get to him!" Denise, the plumper one called out. I smiled a little at the nickname. I couldn't really be upset. Lou had moved my legs apart and had started to tease me with his fingers.

Say what you want about porn or erotica, there is nothing hotter than watching people fuck. The women in the pool didn't let woody give all his attention to Brooke very long before they had propped him up on a float. He was laying back, his legs in the water while the cute one and the Denise took turns sucking his cock. Should I say fellatio? Probably not, it doesn't sound as sexy. Brooke was wearing his hat now and proclaimed that meant she got first dibs. He liked kissing and he pulled her over to him and as he got sucked off started making out with her. Fuck, I was close. I decided to hold off my first orgasm until I could let a couple happen in a row. I pinched my legs together and devoted my attentions to Lou's, let's call it abundant, cock. I stroked him until it was hard and then settled down on a pool towel between his legs and put on a little show of giving him head. I knew the others around me were watching. I kind of liked that.

I kind of laugh when I think about all the ruled we had when we started. I like to let people think Woody talked me into it but when I really thought about it, I was the one that brought it up. I don't think I took it seriously at first. I had decided he needed to lose weight and bribed him. If he got himself down tot 220, I would go to a club with him. Once we were talking about it, we didn't wait for the diet to kick in. 

We went to that first party with a list of rules we had actually written down. We were soft swap only, meaning no fucking. We both had to be there for anything to happen, and worst of all, no kissing. 

I think I made it about an hour. A very kind southern gentleman did his southern gentleman thing on me and I positively tackled him on the couch. We made out like teenagers. He pawed me like we were in the back of dodge after the big football game. Somehow I had totally lost track of what wood was doing. I couldn't take the teasing much longer and let the old horn dog get me in a bedroom. He was settled in between my legs learning how truly multi orgasmic I could be when Woody finally showed back up. I pulled him to me until I had his cock in my mouth and went on having orgasms for a solid half hour. Before we left I had broken every rule we walked in with, assuming a position on my knees, with Wood's cock in my mouth as the sweet older gentleman plowed into me from behind.

So yes, I was a total slut from the get-go but Woody was no better. We are discriminating swingers. We don't just hop into bed with anyone. We tend to go to parties and they tend to be the parties held by the better-looking lifestylers. The men all seem to stay fit, that is what makes Woody's popularity that much more unusual. He never did get to that 220. In fact, I think he is heavier now than he was then. Having satisfied Lou to conclusion I had gone in search of a glass of wine. I watched Woody, his tan fat belly floating about in the water, his lips and cock pressed to an assortment of women's mouths. 

I have to admit, back at the start, this would have killed me. I still remember clearly that first year, we went to a Halloween party where Woody, dressed as a much taller Jack Sparrow, had been commandeered by another woman the minute we got there. He hadn't even gotten naked when I lost it. He was just dirty dancing and it bothered me. Jealousy getting the better of me, I stormed out the door. Woody must have seen, as he chased me immediately. I think that's all it took. He was instantly and earnestly more worried about me being upset than about missing the party. 

The women were dragging him inside and as he passed me he stopped to chat. He is always considerate like that. He wanted to make sure I was okay. He asked if I was having fun. He always made sure there wasn't some creeper making a pass at me. I told him to go. He grabbed another guy as he went inside, joking about needing reinforcements. I went looking for Pat.

Pat was the reason we stayed in the lifestyle after that Halloween disaster. I really kind of thought I was done. Woody was disappointed but he didn't pout or anything. He did ask me about my fantasy. We had gone to a couple of parties and I'd gotten a taste but I still had a fantasy to fulfill. Years earlier a girlfriend had teased me about how awesome a threesome was. I wanted one. He mentioned it and I said, yeah, sure. Before we stopped for good, I was down with that.

Pat is a girl's name, I know, but Pat isn't a girl. Pat is a carpenter. Pat his thick and muscular where Woody is tall and cuddly. Woody invited Pat to happy hour. I was told I had to be the one to propose it and I did. Pat hungrily accepted the offer and we snuck out of the bar to a hotel room next door.

Woody is a kind and considerate lover. He makes your entire body tingle as he teases you with his fingers. His cock is thick and he fucks as conscientiously as he kisses and caresses. Pat fucks your brains out. Pat and Woody spent that night taking turns and sharing me using the very best of their different styles and I resolved I had to get over my Jealousy. As Woody retired to the bedroom with three women prepared to please him until he had used every last bit of energy, I sought out pat, pulling him away from another woman and took him to the living room ottoman. The height was perfect and I kissed him until he was hard. Once he was ready for him I playfully bit his neck and spread open for him. "Fuck me, hard." I told him. I repeated it frequently as he took me in front of a small audience of half dressed swingers. 

Pat and I were done before Woody and his menagerie had emerged from the back room and I poured him another diet coke and bourbon and went looking for him. He was immersed in a pile of humanity, sandwiched between the smaller cute girl and the much larger Brooke. I watched them for a while getting excited again. I had finally learned to let my jealousy be a turn on and after a while I was worked up again. Setting our drinks aside I slipped my way onto the bed prodding aside the cute girl to get to my husband's cock. 

"Make room ladies. I need a piece of my man slut before you wear him out." I slipped a fresh condom onto him and climbed atop him. 

It's funny how it works. We were surrounded my naked moaning bodies. I felt hands on me. I felt a woman's hands massage my breasts as I made love to him, but it all sort of goes away. I wonder if that is what its like for professional tennis players, surrounded by thousands of fans but not hearing a word. I didn't think I had another one in my but I got there again. I think he did to because he made that silly little growl he makes.

I was pretty much done after that. He broke himself loose of the orgy and joined me on the patio. We switched to wine and sipped a glass while sitting in the pool letting our pieces rest. We kissed frequently just because we do that after a party.

I let Brooke steal him again. I really didn't mind. She was a single mother and wouldn't get anything until the next party. I would get woody again in the morning. Hangover sex was the best. I watched my big old man slut wander inside. I found his cowboy hat by the pool and nestled it onto my head. I pranced around naked for a little while longer just because I could. When folks started leaving I pulled on a sarong and did my hosting duties. The party was thinning out when he found me again. He had wrapped in a towel.

"You finally done there, big boy?"

"I hope so!" he exclaimed kissing me again. 

"Liar." I teased him.

"Seriously. I don't think I could if I wanted to."

"Haha, me neither." I was being honest. I really thought I was done. We slowly sent our friends on their way as it grew late. We were down to two other couples when we gave up the door and poured more wine and sat down to chat on the porch. Pat and his wife had gotten dressed but were enjoying chatting with the new couple. I think I mentioned how cute she was? Swingers are a horny bunch; a cute girl or guy makes it hard to leave. We all talked for a while before Pat's wife started yawning and he gave up and wished us all goodbye and thanked us for the party.

"That was y'alls first party? Woody asked the new folks. Yes it was. We talked a bit about how they liked it. Like most first timers, it wasn't anything at all like they expected. Much more mellow, they described it. 

"You guys jumped right in though, well done!" she had after all been giving him head not an hour after arriving.

"I had some fun." She said coyly. I think Peter, well I think Peter was shy.

"Really?" I was actually very surprised. He was on the younger end of the men and I would have thought someone would have grabbed him.

"Yeah, neither of us got to, well, you know."

I know I said Woody was the slut. Fuck, I am so bad about that. I like to blame him for stuff, don't I? "Did you guys want to, you know?"

I'll admit it. It pleased me when the kid, he was just a kid, he had to be 10 years younger than me, stuttered at the prospect. "Um, well, yeah, I mean, that was sort of what we were hoping we would, uh, get to ..."

"A host's duty is never done." Woody smiled. Standing and approaching the cute young blonde, he took her hand and led her inside.

"Well, Peter. Do you think we should join them?"

"Um, Yeah!" he said. I guess I could slut up one more time. He was cute, and was hard before we even got to the bedroom.



Woody Allen at 80



Irrational Man Acting Out (We Died Laughing) 

Who but Woody Allen could write and direct a movie with a title like Irrational Man and go straight to the heart of the subject? That's right, Irrational Man is about so-called "Continental philosophy," the ideas of Jean-Paul Satre, Martin Heidegger, and Soren Kierkegaard. For them, men don't occasionally or frequently act irrationally; man is by nature irrational—irrational man.

Philosophy professor Abe Lucas (Joaquin Phoenix) is driving to his new post at Braylin, a New England liberal arts college, and thinking about life's futility, philosophy's fatuity, and how he doesn't want to be here or anywhere else. And as he drives he is taking swigs of scotch from his hip flask. 

At the picturesque college somewhere in Rhode Island, he teaches his eager undergraduates the ideas of Existentialism and Phenomenology, "bringing them to life"—sort of--through his own intellectual exhaustion, angst, and spiritual flaccidness. What a romantic figure, huh! And so he is, to his undergraduate student Jill Pollard (Emma Stone), a classic Woody Allen pretty, pale, impassioned, seriously intense sweetie. And he also is romantic, in a different way, to sexy faculty wife and played-out chemistry professor Rita (Parker Posey, who made her cinema reputation as the "Queen of the Indie").

Too demoralized to respond to Rita's frank propositions, too unmanned to get it up when she gets him in the sack, Lucas goes along, um, philosophically. But to his student Jill's molten core of womanly determination to get this most "romantic," "exciting," "fascinating," "hurt," and "tragic" new man, Lucas opposes considerable maturity and even (a sort of) reasonableness. After all, Jill already has a wonderful guy, fellow student Roy (Jamie Blackley), who is getting worn down by listening to these descriptions of Lucas who, for heaven's sake, is "just a friend."

At a party to which Jill drags Lucas, parting him from his blocked book-in-progress on Heidegger and the Nazis (which will "not make one scintilla of difference" to the world), Lucas seems to reach the climax of his philosophical convictions. The "kids"—Jill and her undergraduate peers—have taken out dad's revolver and, with a sense of authority, one young man is explaining to Jill what "Russian roulette" means. They wave the gun, remove all but one bullet, talking excitedly. Lucas reaches out, silently, and with his hand makes the "here, give it to me," gesture. He takes it, spins the cylinder with its single bullet, puts it to his forehead, and pulls the trigger. Jill screams; the kids go wild. He spins, does it a second time. He is really that depressed, spiritually deracinated, and, well, drunk and given to "romantic" gestures.

Jill drags him out of the party—more enchanted, more in love, more determined than ever to reignite his zest for life—in bed. Still Lucas resists, but the non-romance goes on with trademarked Woody Allen charm: the obligatory biking scene, a talk at the seaside, and an evening at an amusement park. In one nice scene, in the funhouse, Lucas and Jill pose before the distorting mirror: two squat, belly bloated, dwarf-headed figures. And then they kiss, Jill's slender bare legs like plastic Hobbit stumps as she leans to kiss her man at last. We snap back to reality and the real kiss—and again Lucas backs off, sober and mature, but, of course, lost. Some symbolism there, don't you think?

The moment postulated by Existentialists, when man--whose reason by nature vouchsafes no certainty, no guide to action--sweeps aside mere thought and grabs reality with both hands comes for Lucas while he is sitting in a diner with Jill. They overhear, in the next booth, a discussion of a custody case in which a corrupt judge is taking a woman's children and giving them to their father ("who keeps them sitting in the garage all day"). It seems that the father is well connected and well financed; the mother's lawyer can do nothing in the face of the judge's steadfast corruption. The mother is experiencing Existential despair. Her sympathizers can only wax indignant.

We watch Lucas's face as he listens to this disturbing story and the pity of the mother's plight. Nothing can be done by argument, reason; man's irrationality and the evil that plagues life leave the rational people, the good guys, helpless.

Nothing will help but to ACT. To commit. To feel the right, the good, in your heart, or gut, and simply...act. It is the Existential moment at which Lucas chooses to make his life meaningful; it is the moment at which reason and thought cease to call the shots in Existentialism because man's choice, his will, creates its own reality.

That reality, it dawns upon Lucas, is that if the judge, Augustus Spengler, dies then evil will lose. The weight of the world's ageless pain will be lifted, for a moment, from one woman and her children. And Lucas can accomplish it, do something meaningful; he need only commit himself to act. He can stop speculating and expostulating and act. (Some ink has been spilled relating this scene to what Woody Allen may have experienced in court during the publicly emblazoned legal brawl involving his wife and step daughter.)

It is not a spoiler to tell you that about one-third of the way through the movie Lucas does murder the judge. His "perfect crime," once committed, exhilarates him. The whole weight of senseless philosophy, the impotent idea game, lifts from his spirit. He can live again; he can get it up in bed with Jill; he can dig into a robust breakfast; he wants to live and love. Ah, life! The philosophical significance of taking another human life, and even the resulting spiritual awakening, are a birthplace of Existentialism, of course. Lucas says, "Dostoyevsky, he had it right!" And he annotates his proposed crime in his copy of Crime and Punishment. It is the same kind of literary romp that Woody Allen offers in Midnight in Paris with Gertrude Stein et. al.; only the bibliographic references have changed. I, for one, am enough of a bookworm to enjoy it all.

Well, there is no perfect crime, you know, but to discuss that would be a spoiler. Let us say that Jill's ruling impulse to follow her "heart" becomes as urgent a threat to Lucas as it once was a temptation. What to do? Another existential commitment? The resolution, which I will not reveal, makes Irrational Man quite a neat—and to me, satisfying—murder mystery.

Of course, whether Woody Allen is evoking perfect romance in Paris or Barcelona or San Francisco—or turning, as in Irrational Man, to Crime and Punishment lite—we expect it to be funny. Whether we are in the achingly nostalgic world of Hemingway's and Fitzgerald's Paris--or the alarming rush of Lucas's awakening to his choices--we expect the wit and we get it. 

And yet, it is problematic to view Irrational Man as a witty, even devastating satire on the ideas of contemporary philosophy and the college professors who actually take them seriously. Problematic because the ideas of contemporary or "post-modernist" philosophy, and the gravity of the professors who teach them, are in actuality funny. When Lucas stands at the front of a class of undergraduates, who look up at him expectantly, awaiting initiation into the world of the intellect, and not only the professor's words but his very posture, expression, and intonation speak disgust with philosophy, despair at elusive truth, and self-deprecation it is contemporary philosophy parodying itself. It is funny. "As funny," as my mother used to say "as a crutch."

And so, is Irrational Man not a satire but a serious look at the intellectual bankruptcy of contemporary philosophy and a glimpse at its deadly consequences—cause and effect played out with the revelatory time-compression of good drama? Is the fact that that philosophy's ideas are laughable just part of the grim story?

In the case of Woody Allen, the question makes no sense. You knew that, didn't you? Irrational Man, written and directed by Allen in his 80th year, goes right back to Allen's roots. He first came to attention as not only a comic but a writer with serious literary talent through his comic pieces in the New Yorker. They always sought their humor in serious ideas and always laughed at those ideas. And often the ideas were those of academic philosophy. 

Who could write (parodying the linguistic analytical movement) that his philosophy dissertation explored the question "Are we naked under our clothes?" and not be laughing out loud at the meaningless moaning about meaning of Abe Lucas? But, as Allen discovered way back in the 1960's, writing for the New Yorker, those ideas are only truly, deeply funny—funny in the way we can't forget--as long as part of us takes them seriously. And nothing works so well, to that end, as raising the most fundamental questions that have intrigued men at least since Ancient Greece—and watching modern philosophy's slap-stick attempt to address them.

Irrational Man, by the way, is also the title of a book published in 1958 by William Barrett, a professor of philosophy at New York University while Woody Allen was a student, there. The subtitle of the book is "A Study of Existentialist Philosophy," and Barrett is credited with introducing that philosophy into the United States. (In this sense, Allen's references to Continental philosophy refer more to the 1940's and 1950's than the present; European philosophy since Existentialism has become even wackier, with "Deconstructionism," "Structuralism," and "French feminism" to name only a few trends.)

I had hoped to resist quoting early Woody Allen humor--certainly at length—but... In this exchange from Play It Again, Sam (1972) we hear the same antic muse as in Irrational Man: 

Allen: That's quite a lovely Jackson Pollack, isn't it?

Woman: Yes, it is.

Allen: What does it say to you?

Woman: It restates the negativeness of the universe. The hideous lonely emptiness of existence. Nothingness. The predicament of man forced to live in a barren, godless eternity like a tiny flame flickering in an immense void with nothing but waste, horror, and degradation, forming a useless, bleak straitjacket in a black, absurd cosmos.

Allen: What are you doing Saturday night?

Woman: Committing suicide.

Allen: What about Friday night?

Actually, I had not intended to review Irrational Man, but I happened to see the "Rotten Tomatoes" rating and critique of the movie. The 114 critics whose take on the movie is represented in the rating gave it on average two stars out of five (38 percent). And their "consensus" was "Irrational Man may prove rewarding for the most ardent Joaquin Phoenix fans or Woody Allen apologists, but all others most likely need not apply."

I do not beg to differ; I insist. Irrational Man reveals our era's most astute satirist of the serious pretensions of intellectual nonsense at his best—and it has been a long era to defend that title. The movie maker who decades ago made us chuckle at the absurdity of Marxist guerrillas in Central American jungles today is making us laugh at philosophy professors who assure intent undergraduates that "we know we know nothing"—and that the entire politically correct leftist worldview must be treated as sacred truth.

And yet, he manages always to keep before us the ever-new magic of romance, a sense of fascination with life even at its most disconcerting, and the simple pleasure of the story.

Nothing says more about the seriousness with which the comic genius approaches life than the reliable theatrical potency of Irrational Man that Woody Allen has given us in his eightieth year.



Woody's Morning



"Uhhh," he twists, turns and moans in his fitful sleep, groaning as he slowly awakens from the night's erratic slumber.

His sweat soaks through the cotton sheets from his spastic somatic sleep, fighting his nightly battle with the angry sandman, as he does not want to awaken to the new day and the reality that comes with it.

He rolls over on his back, bringing his hands through his sleep tussled hair, as the last whispers of his drowsiness begins to part from his almost-rested body.

The thin flimsy cotton sheet begins to tent from his early morning hardened erect member. Its prize is hidden under the obvious rise of the bed linens, as he slowly awakens, on his back. He is still snoozing, still dreaming of the 'almost' fuck he had a chance of conquering last night from the bar. 

He smoozed.

He complimented. 

He smiled. 

He worked his masculine wiles on his intended prey.

Nevertheless, it did not play out as he had hoped or had longed for it to be and sought after. He did not get a phone number, not even an invitation back to the object of the night's lustful affections apartment. 

What he got was a frightening case of 'blue balls'.

He was played.

He lost money from the many bought drinks.

Eye contact between the two of them played out over the course of the many hours before he decided to approach the person.

A wink here.

A subtle glance.

A nod.

Alluring longing exchanges happened between the two over the wide expansive crowded room.

He finally approached, after many glasses of alcohol-fueled drinks of courage egged him on.

They talked.

He charmed or tried to.

He bought more drinks for the both of them.

They talked some more.

He attempted to charm, some more.

He reaches under his sheets, feeling his engorged cock grow as it strains from the hormonal and testosterone-laden overload along with his pent-up intense desires. He feels the cum ooze from his cock, ever so slow and gentle, like a leaking spigot with a busted plastic washer, in need of a much-needed repair. He spreads the pre-cum over the swelled head of his manhood. 

This action makes his cock grow even harder, ever stiffer, as he spreads the cream over his crown.

The pressure of his morning hard-on is intense, slightly painful, but he is proud of this pain. 

It feels good.

He brings his pre-cum soaked fingers to his nose, breathing in the essence of his manhood, his virility. 

He smells...himself. 

A strong masculine musky scent that is sweetly fragrant in its aroma, his cock gets even harder.

It reeks of sex, of a fuck, of a long forgotten fuck.

It is the unmistakable smell of man.

Man.

Men.

His strength.

His power.

His cum leaks heavy from his dilated piss-slit, he is wide open.

He continues coating his tool with his essential juice.

With each cum-stroke, his cock grows harder, still.

From smelling it, he brings the essence down to his mouth and tastes his manly discharge. 

He licks his fingers of his proteined-jizz.

He likes the taste of himself, his protein in the morning.

Man-tein.

He tastes good. 

He can see why his cum is devoured so anxiously by those who thirst for it. 

He is sweet and thick.

He feels his ass muscles twitch.

He feels wet. 

Drenched.

Sweaty.

He shifts in the bed as the twitching has magnified. 

It feels good, almost as if he has been fucked.

His cock seeps more and more as he continues the gently coating of it over his mushroom engorged cockhead with more of his sweet man-juice.

"Ahh," he says aloud as he spreads the fluid with each muscular pump from his cock over his erected tool-head.

He takes both of his hands under the sheets, clasping his full balls with both his right and left hand, tweaking them, and pulling the part of himself, which fills the round globes of his testes, out of his piss-slit. Dollop after wondrous dollop of his man-juice is expelled with each continued milking of his man-equipment.

He smears more of his cum over the crowned head of cock.

The mushroomed-head, grows more, swells more, as the blood fills its innermost cavities expanding his girth of his cock, wider and wider, longer and longer.

His cock is so hard; it shines from its stiffened state.

The sheen of the tighten man-muscle is bright; he is taunt from his intense hard-on.

"Ohhh," he moans as he strokes his cock under the loose cotton sheets of his bed.

He does not have to see 'himself' to know he is at his most virile at this moment.

This is that glorious moment of what it means to be a MAN.

He strokes his cock, gently, not wanting to bust a nut or release his load before he is ready.

"I gotta piss," sudden alarm strikes him at the realization of his sustained hardness is because of his lack of a piss-release.

He bolts to the bathroom.

His cock bounces across his furred groin as he leaps from his warm bed, as his feet hit the cold tile floor, bounding hurriedly to the bathroom.

His pre-cum sprays from his erection spattering across his treasure trail and pubes as his cock reacts to his sudden jerky movements of his dash. His full load still built up in full taunt balls.

"Oh, you are up, finally," says the voice and the person, he is greeted with as he crosses over the threshold of his bathroom and bumps into him as he nears the toilet bowl.

"What?" he says, "It's you?"

It wasn't a dream.

The attempted pick-up from the bar, last night, greets him, unexpectedly, unknowingly, in the bathroom.

"Yeah, it's me," the voice says," you don't remember?"

He was drunker than he thought he was, he does not remember even bringing the person home with him.

"No!" he answers, alarmed.

The man in front of him strokes his cock as they both stand, eye-to-eye in the bathroom.

"You ass is nice," the voice of the man says," it took in all of my 10-inches, easy, but I knew it would."

The man smiles at him.

The man steadily strokes his cock, as they converse.

He reaches behind and feels his own ass, now he knows why he was twitching, uncontrollably.

He looks down at the man's sausage that is dangling between the muscled legs of unexpected visitor but welcome guest in his home.

"I took that up my bum?"

A thick cock, bounces and sways, in a nest of densely furred black pubes, as it points out from the man's mid-section, while the man continues with his handy manipulations of his growing erect flesh-organ.

"Yeah, you took it all, this morning," says the man, happily, "Your fur-lined ass welcomed all of me, into it. I want to go back there, now."

"Whoa," he says, loudly, as he is aware of what has crept up in his oft-used ass, as he slept.

"Whoa, is right," says the man," my name is Miles, and you?"

"I'm Woody," he answers.

"That you are," Miles says, "take your piss and come back to bed and I will relieve you of that cum-burden. You have earned it."

"It has been quite a morning," Woody voices," but it isn't over, is it?"

The man smiles, coyly, and shakes his head 'No' it is far from over.

"Hurry up, now," the man says as he walks to bed, seductively shaking his ass at Woody as they part, "I am not finished."

"...and neither am I," Woody finishes.



Woody's Woody



CHAPTER 1

Elwood Chaplin's maternal grandmother always said Elwood was rather near the end of the line when brains were handed out. That told one something about grandma but perhaps gave an impression of Elwood not altogether accurate.

Woody, as Elwood became dubbed, had ended school at eighteen with no one including Woody believing he ought to go on to college. But for every downside there's an upside, and so it was for him. Through generating an appallingly low school attendance record Woody acquired one of life's great gifts -- a street education.

On days when not at school Woody learned how to break into homes and warehouses; how to recruit clients for prostitutes for commission; how to drive cars and assorted other vehicles and then steal them; how to negotiate with gang leaders to save his neck; how to wear smart clothes (stolen of course) and wear them with style and how to hand any woman a rose, eye her in a certain way, and she'd sit him down and cook him a hot meal.

Jobs were scarce at the time Woody emerged on to the labor market and so he behaved gallantly. He applied for recruitment into the military and was snapped up by the navy when claiming he'd never gotten sea sick and loved killing animals with a rifle and had run with a gang that blew up vehicles, derelict houses and sea protection walls for fun.

Alas, when asked in what capacity he wished to serve, the attention of the recruiting officer wandered when a pair of pretty legs went past and he misheard 'gunner' and wrote plumber. So five years later -- and that was yesterday -- Woody was tossed out of the Navy as a fully qualified plumber. The reasons for his ejection were highly classified. In return for undertaking to keep his mouth shut Eddie was handed a big check and he planned to use that windfall to buy himself a small apartment with two vehicle parks in the basement.

* * *

Wondering whether he would have been tossed out of the Navy if found active in bed with a lieutenant's wife whereas it had been caught active in bed with the wives of the admiral and captain of the carrier he was serving on at the time, Woody checked into a flea-bitten hotel. He complained next morning that fleas had bitten him.

"Just a moment sir. That's the owner checking the safe. I shall report the alleged incident."

The burly owner came over and said, "Have you paid for your room?"

"Yeah, the eyebrow plucking babe at the counter last night said I had to pay in advance."

"Then fuck off. Our fleas only bite scum. And don't you dare walk off with any of our fleas."

Everyone laughed. 

"Have a nice day everyone," Woody smiled

The owner grinned and called Woody a geek masturbator.

Waiting for the big guy to return behind the counter Woody said, "And I suppose you enjoy having your way with women?"

"Yeah but I make sure they are without fleas."

The women behind the counter and people lining up for second breakfast laughed.

"Were you aware that woman you fucked last night was your mother?"

The big guy turned purple and attempted to vault the barrier to get at Woody but fell well short, screaming and clutching his balls as he fell to the ground, creating pandemonium.

Woody left whistling and decided that guy ought not to be in business; he was a menace to hotel patrons that he was in business to serve and to protect. He turned into the back street and entered the hotel basement and picked the lock to the boiler room. Woody redlined the gas flow and when he could smell excessive gas left.

Fifteen minutes later he made an anonymous call from a street phone reporting smelling excessive gas when he'd parked his truck in the basement of the Red Sunset Hotel.

"Hold and give me you name and address sir."

"Sorry, got to get my truck out of that building before it blows."

Woody joined onlookers watching the hotel being evacuated. Police and firemen then moved onlookers back and just in time. The boiler room blew, shaking the entire five floors of the flea-house. Watching TV that night, paying a bit more for a room that was guaranteed pest-free, Woody nodded approvingly when the newsreader reported that extensive structure damage meant the building would have to be demolished. He was relieved to hear no one had been injured.

Sucking a beer Woody mused, "I hope the building is uninsured or even grossly under-insured and that the percussion decimated the flea population." 

Next morning the 23-year old attempted to open a bank account with the Navy-issued check. The teller looked at the amount on the check and who the issuer was and wide-eyed hit an alarm bell. Within half a minute security guards surrounded Woody. The day manager asked Woody to identify himself.

"I'm Woody."

"Your full name please."

"Elwood Augustus Chaplin."

"That's a funny name."

Scowling Woody asked the manager for his name.

"Herbert Maygrove."

Woody fell about laughing and most of the security guards were unable to keep a straight face.

"ID please," scowled the manager.

Eddie handed him his passport, driver license and navy discharge papers.

"Why are you in possession of a check of this magnitude?"

"I'm not permitted to say. Call navy HQ and check with Admiral Lahore Gurganus's office. Ask for the chief administration officer."

While the manager hurried off to make the call one of the security guys asked, "What did you do in the navy?"

"I was a plumber."

"The navy has gunners, not plumbers."

"Oh yeah. Well dummy, think about it. You are a thousand miles out at sea and the john blocks and sailors still use it and it begins to fill. Do you stand by and gawk and feel the carrier sinking or do you call urgently for a plumber. Who ensures the water reticulates and wastewater is dumped, the showers supply water and it drains off as it's supposed to. And all that rainwater falling on to the ship, what happens if the drains block?"

"Christ," said the guard. "You plumber guys must be high up in status"

"Yeah, I was in line to be made vice-admiral one day but I fouled up."

The guards gathered around Woody.

"One of the officers had it in for me because I wouldn't sleep with him. So when that gunnery officer was commanding a training exercise he prepared to fire a practice missile. I had a CD of an explosion in my portable player so I blasted it out as I walked past and there was near mayhem as he and his trainees scrambled to evacuate, proving there were no heroes amongst them I said in my defense. But I still spent a week in the cooler and had my pay cut."

The guards, now looking at Woody with respect, laughed just as the flushed manager hurried out.

"Mr Chaplin. We are so sorry. We have made a terrible misjudgment and embarrassed you."

"Utterly humiliated me," Woody insisted and the security guys nodded as one.

"Ah yes. Consider your account open and please accompany me to the president's office. We have a plan of how to compensate you."

"Bye boys," Woody waved to the guards who called "Bye Mr Chaplin."

The bank paid $2000 into Woody's account and placed him in a penthouse suite at the 5-star hotel of his choice ('the one with the best swimming pool with the sexiest women and the best bar' was the request) for five nights, room and all reasonable hotel service expenses paid.

After booking into his suite Woody bought a red rose and walked into a real estate agency and gave it to the sexiest looking receptionist.

"I want you to show me apartments."

"I don't show sir; I'm a receptionist."

"Then give that rose to a sexy saleswoman and tell her to show me apartments."

A horse-faced woman came out and returned the rose. "You are rather young to have saved enough money to buy an apartment. You mean rent one don't you?"

"Look here sweetheart, quit this stalling."

"It's called qualifying the buyer."

"Well in that case take a look at this." Woody handed her a bank certificate indicating Woody was good for a deposit of $300,000 and guaranteed a mortgage of up to $1,000,000, more if Mr Chaplin decided to increase the amount of deposit.

"Good heavens. "Jessie! Here please urgently."

A real honey in a tight red dress rushed out. "Yes Mrs Mace?"

"Your client would like to buy an apartment. He has a bank guarantee," said Mrs Mace, handing the young saleswoman the certificate and she boggled. 

"Mr Chaplin, this is Miss Chalice. She will attend to you."

"Please come to number two interview behind your sir. I need to fit you."

"I've no time for sex now. I want to see apartments."

Mrs Mace gasped and Jessie blushed. "It is the process of matching the client to properties that fit within his expectations sir."

"Oh, okay. How do I know which is number two interview room?"

"It's the one with the number 2 on the door sir."

"Oh dear, you must think I'm an idiot."

"My opinion about that remains confidential sir."

"Baby, you're good looking with a great body although a little up yourself. Could you humanize and tell me your name and download all your listings on to a wide screen laptop? Then we'll go to work over a drink in a bar. My name is Woody."

"Woody I'm Jessie. Who pays for the drinks?"

"Now you're smoking. Thanks for giving me Jessie Mrs Mace. I think I'll be the right fit for her."

"Oh god," Mrs Mace said, turning puce.

Woody looked into Jessie's eyes.

She whimpered and said she had a great urge to cook for him.

"You can't cook in someone else's bar. Give me a sloppy kiss instead."

"Anything for a commission," Jessie murmured, throwing her arms around Woody and kissing him soundly.

"Cup one of my breasts."

Jessie pulled back and looked confused. "Aren't you supposed to do that to me?"

"Oh am I? Thanks for the invitation," Woody said, grabbing a handful.

"Ohmigod, they didn't teach the intensity of this approach at training school."

"No problem Jessie. How many properties have you sold?"

"None, this is my first week. It takes a couple of months to get going. I'm still feeling my way. There was only limited role playing during training."

"Well Jessie you let my do the feeling and I'll work you to your first sale if you deliver."

"You mean to have sex with you?"

"I mean to produce the apartments that will appeal to me but since you've offered sex I'll obliged to accept."

"Offered?"

"Don't worry about it Jessie. Selling apartments goes something like the mating game. Ignore tedious detail and just go with the flow. Do you like sex Jessie?"

"Well I think the good experiences would barely reach 50% so that means at this stage I remain rather disappointed."

"Well don't be. You sound fairly well experienced."

"I'm not a prude Woody."

"Oh am I glad about that. Well when you want it say the magic words."

"Magic words?"

"Yes, say to me 'How's your woody Woody and prepare to open your legs."

Jessie giggled. "God they never mentioned clients like you at training school."

"I guess they wouldn't. That's the trouble with the service people today and that includes trainers: their ways are not relevant to today's clients."

"That is very profound Woody. Please tell me more."

"I think we ought to be viewing your listed properties that conform to my requirements. But before we do, show me your tits."

"Why?"

"Then I'll not have to think about them while we sort out properties."

"But if I show you them you WILL think about them and little else."

"Ohmigod Jessie. You have real knowledge. I'm going to learn so much about sex from you."

"From me?"

"Yes, and I'll take your advice and not look at your tits until you bare them for them afterwards."

"But I didn't..."

"My tigress, I mean Jessie. Let's look at small apartments central city with parking for my work vehicle and weekend car."

"How small?"

"Large enough to have wall-to-wall sex without hurting ourselves."

"And two bedrooms?"

"Now you're cooking Jessie. What's your advice on that and other amenities?"

They took a rest after viewing on-screen thirty apartments for sale that appeared to fit Woody's requirements.

"That's enough for now. Let's have another drink before we go off and start looking. Oooh, the crotch of your panties is very wet." 

Jessie attempted to close her thighs but Woody's fist prevented that. He wriggled a finger, Jessie grabbed him and gave him a big fat slopping kiss but Woody pushed her away and said, "Let's go while you still have energy to generate spiel."

"You are so young to have so much money and you appear to have super knowledge and to be masterful at seduction Woody."

"I'm navy trained baby."

Woody had listed his to five choices of apartments he wanted to view and settled on the fourth one, as it appeared to be the perfect fit.

Jessie was excited.

"Ah, but let's view this apartment owner's right to two parking spaces," Woody said.

The spaces were straight opposite the exit and floor to ceiling storage space had been constructed at the end of one.

"Perfect babe -- where do I sign?"

"Oh back at the office. Oh I'm so delirious. I'm a college dropout but you have given me the impetus to succeed in real estate when my parents said I'd be a failure at that. How can I reward you?"

"You have already rewarded me, finding me the perfect apartment."

"But I feel the need to reward you more."

"Okay baby, spread yourself over the bonnet of this car."

Jessie obliged, hitching up her skirt and baring her boobs.

"You're a natural Jessie. No training school would have taught you that. You'll be a frontrunner in your profession."

"What profession is that?"

Looking at the outline of the perfect peach through the damp panties, Woody said, "Er, I was thinking real estate."

Woody broke into the car without damage, turned on the stereo and the front aerial went up. He removed Jessie's panties and hung them on the aerial to dry.

Jessie was already dry humping, fascinated at Woody salivating just looking at her tits when she spotted the boner he'd pulled out.

"Ohmigod. That's not my fit. Woody you're built for a matron who's had six kids."

"No honey, relax. My woody is hand trained and has the expertise to go practically anywhere. Look, you're not that small," Woody said, watching four fingers disappear.

"Oh god," Jessie wailed. "You've made me come already."

Woody ignored the bitching and within a minute they were at it like two dogs, he holding on to the tits to avoid being bucked across the basement.

When they finished Jessie looked beyond Woody and whimpered.

"What?" Woody leered. "Want to go around the block again already?"

Jessie pointed and Woody turned and saw an elderly couple waiting patiently and appearing relaxed.

"That's our car," intoned the guy.

His lady, leaning forward on her walking stick, said, "I always though sex was disgusting until seeing you two passionately going at it like ballet to the death. Your stroke timing appeared perfect, you used rather than abused each other's body and enjoyment radiated from your faces. It was a star performance."

Thank you ma'am, sir. I'm your new neighbor, Woody Chaplin, a plumber. Perhaps I can perform a complimentary plumbing job for you in a couple of days?"

"Well we both require the assistance of laxatives," smiled the woman.

"No darling, I meant household plumbing. You know, blocked drains and leaking pipes."

"Oh Charles has a leaking pipe but you mean pipes in the bathroom and kitchen?"

"Yes."

"No."

Charles said the bath took a long time to drain.

"Ah, a build-up of hair at the S-bends catching condoms..."

"Not our condoms obviously," sighed his wife. "But our granddaughters and their boyfriends stay with us occasionally."

"Well give me the number of your apartment darling and I'll call at 10:00 tomorrow morning for coffee and muffins and will then look at your bath."

"God, what a delight to have an old-style plumber. These institute-trained ones today appear to be gay and so damn PC. They even bring their own coffee and food. You'll also stay for lunch... please."

"Yes ma'am. That would be an honor."

"Ohmigod, how charming."

Only when Charles drove out of the basement, with Jessie and Woody waving them goodbye, did the young couple see the panties flapping on the car aerial. They held each other up, laughing almost hysterically.

* * *

Next day Woody arrived at the Monk's apartment. A 20-year old babe in a very short nightdress opened the door. Her breasts danced as she pushed back her fringe and said, "Hi, I'm Alice. Gran and Charlie have gone out for the day. Gran said you would prefer me to serve coffee and muffins and hold your tool while you work under the bath."

"You mean my woody?"

"Well that too I suppose. I really meant your wrench. You appear real friendly. Gran has left condoms.

* * *

With a full kit of new tools and driving a new van with sign writing declaring 'Superior Plumbing by Woody' along with his mobile number, Woody no longer had to go door knocking to solicit for business. Being mid-city, many of the apartment buildings were old and riddled with plumbing problems. Pamela (Mrs Mace at Mace Realtors) had retained Woody on a monthly payment to be on call for occupants of all the apartments the agency managed. She also paid him to perform as a difficult client in role play and over time her new recruits including Heather, Beth, Sophie, Diane, Elsie, Priscilla and so on called (separately) at Eddie's apartment for extra tuition, all being determined to reward him.

Jessie, now selling or leasing up to eight apartments a week, remained too busy to talk to Woody but always waved and she rushed by.

One day Pamela spotted the look on Woody's face watching Jessie speed by and her heart melted for the poor guy. In her best-honeyed voice Pamela said, "Woody, could you call around to check my plumbing tonight. Paul is away at a Realtor's convention so perhaps you'd like to come for drinks and dinner as well?"

"Yeah, okay. I'd like to get at those big tits."

"Oh Woody."

CHAPTER 2

Woody and Pamela only had the one fling. Pamela was amazed that Woody knew so much about sex and seemed to know so little about anything else. He hadn't even known about social mores and the adverse reactions of family and friends when finding out about the great social evil called adultery.

"Adultery, what's that?"

They had been about to commit to that very thing and so with heavy heart, feeling it would drive him away from her looming evening of passion, Pamela explained it to him. And then was blown away when he bit her left breast and chortled, "Damn them, who cares?"

So she experienced the most robust fucking of her life and could scarcely walk to the kitchen when she arose from the sofa to heed his call he'd like coffee and something solid to eat. He'd even fucked her on the dining room table; she'd been unaware that was a great place to do it. He'd drawn passion from her she'd not known she'd possessed -- he did all of that, a poorly educated guy, really not much more than a kid. Unbelievable.

It was unbelievable that Woody and Pamela became close friends. The mismatch threw her family; even her husband thought Pamela must be fucking Woody. But gradually the lively lad won them over. Woody had done plumbing work for both of Pamela's married daughters. They knew it was tradition for housewives to be fucked by the plumber and attempted to comply with tradition but were thwarted when Woody wouldn't oblige. The daughters compared notes to find although he'd turned red-faced and appeared ready to shaft them to the hilt, judging by the manner smaller woody was behaving behind Woody's shorts, he'd stood to attention and intoned, "The ship must come before everything else. My friendship to your mother calls for that same pledge." 

Pledge? They failed to understand but agreed Woody must be fucking their mom for her to deserve that level of loyalty.




Woody's Woody



But no. Woody kept his zip up when with Pamela apart from that one evening of passion. Pamela had assumed the role of mentor and extended that to help Woody with his accounts and payments when they lunched in her office on Thursdays. She expanded to begin advising him on his wardrobe, urged him to grow his blond hair longer, corrected his grammar and began teaching him about things a young guy needed to know to impress the woman he'd not met yet who was destined to become his mother.

Woody's business grew so he hired three retired navy plumbers to be on call and by the end of the year two more had been added. The fraternity called themselves Woody's Geriatric Helpers and Woody set up a depot, bought a clapped-out limo and hired a street kid to drive his Geriatric Helpers to their jobs and collect them when they called.

That aspect of the business was an astonishing success. Older women felt safer when alone in the house or apartment with 'a geriatric plumber' although all elderly plumbers claimed they could prove everything was in fine working order if required. A newspaper columnist published a photograph of the five geriatrics lined up alongside their limo, each guy brandishing a wrench, and wrote a colorful story about their backgrounds and their new role in civilian life that had brought them out of retirement. 

A TV reporter seized on the story, added Woody to the mix and the comment she drew from Woody, "I do the jobs where female clients are likely to want traditional service from their plumber, leaving all the other work to the boys" was screened unedited and Woody became a folk hero overnight. Women in coffee shops, hair salons and at golf giggled about Woody's woody, some lying they knew how big it was and what he could do with it although (giggle, giggle) he hadn't actually done it to them. Their friends of course considered that denial to be a lie.

Reading yet another article about Woody bringing home plumbing to a new level of business entrepreneurship, Pamela came up with an idea. She persuaded Woody to engage a consultant and so after research and careful planning a new franchising opportunity was launched nationwide. The concept that all guys taking up a franchise were required to change their name to Woody before signing to take up a 'Superior Plumbing by Woody' franchise caught the attention of the media and great publicity ensured. Woody even became a public speaker and appointed an agent to extract fees and keep his events diary. Women's clubs in particular enjoyed listening to a young guy speaking like an experienced man. At the end of the address it was quite usual for the president to invited prudes to leave and then to invite the guest speaker to display 'woody'.

The plumber's monthly, 'World of Plumbing Magazine' named him 'Plumber of the Year' and the National Association of Household Plumbers awarded him life membership in honor of Woody lifting the tradition of household plumbing to an unprecedented level. Both awards received extensive media coverage.

Woody received massive media coverage when named 'Franchiser of the Year'. His acceptance speech, composed jointly by Woody, Pamela and her two daughters caused a near riot at the presentation function, drunken guest falling from their chairs laughing. Phrases such as "I enjoy keeping abreast of today's desires of women in regard to household plumbing" and 'most women know how to pass a wrench without dropping it plumb on Little Woody" amused the media no end.

But then potential disaster arose for the mushrooming growth of the franchise. A bitchy woman, sick of her friends giggling at her being married to a Woody with a woody, sued Woody Chaplin for $11 million for distress, anxiety and loss of dignity for illegally requiring her husband Fred, a plumber, to call himself Woody.

"Oh crap," Woody said, talking to Pamela. She replied that was too polite... "You are in deep shit and could be wiped out."

"I best consult an attorney."

"Make sure you get an expert in commercial law."

But Woody didn't have to worry. He received calls from almost 150 attorneys and then came the big one, 'Francis B. Gladding, an internationally acclaimed attorney in litigation.

"Woody, you're a great kid and this ailing country needs more young hot shots like you to get the wheels rolling again. I'm offering my services to you without charge. We'll take this stupid cow to the cleaners, her team of attorneys with her and seek payment of our full costs from the plaintiff and her irresponsible legal team."

"Wow Mr Gladding."

"Call me Francis Woody. By the way I want you to fly over to see me. I'm based in Geneva and my third wife Kitty wants you to attend to her plumbing, lucky boy. Because that's a house call I'll pay your expenses."

Woody returned from the arms of pimply-faced Kitty with her bony body in Geneva to find the media was proclaiming, 'Woody Chaplin Engages World's Greatest Attorney to Fight For Woodies'.

The case received so much publicity and sparked so much public debate that the hearing received priority and the Chief Justice took the bench along with two other judges. There was bedlam when the ruling was delivered: 'The terms of contract requiring the franchisee to change his or her name to Woody for the purpose of carrying out business under the franchise agreement is legal and therefore binding. A late complaint that the franchise was sexist, and therefore illegal because applicants are required to maintain a woody during the length of any plumbing job was deemed mischievous and irrelevant and the judgment noted the franchise agreement did not state applicants must be male so sexism was not an issue 

The action was dismissed but and application for full costs to be awarded to the defendant was rejected.

Woody and Pamela arrived at their home airport to find a large crowd waiting for them. The municipal brass band played 'Hail the Hero' and led them to the first vehicle in the motorcade behind police vehicles and it set off with sirens wailing. Woody was driven along streets lined with waving citizens and at City Hall he was welcomed by the mayor and awarded Freedom of the City for being the city's greatest entrepreneur in it's 180-year history.

At the civic lunch that followed Woody took a call from his franchise company president.

"Woody, we are hitting it big. Plumbers by the thousand are applying for franchises. You can now consider yourself a multi-millionaire."

"Thanks Jill. Award yourself a bonus of a hundred grand. Send me the authority to sign. Also $100,000 to Mrs Pamela Mace for her unstinting support as my mentor and for suggesting I franchise."

CHAPTER 3

Catching up on newspaper that evening Woody recoiled in horror, reading that apartment sales consultant Miss Jessie Chalice had been admitted to hospital after being knocked down by a hit and run driver.

Woody raced to the hospital only to be told Miss Chalice was still unconscious.

"What's her condition er Lana?" he said reading the woman's name tag.

"Still classified as critical and she is showing signs of improvement. She is being left to work through on self-recovery. I know her. Jessie acted for Clive and me in finding us our apartment."

"Yeah, she's great isn't she? I'm her brother."

Lana working at the computer giggled and said, "Jessie's only immediate family are her parents, two grandmothers and her sister Chase."

"Er half brother."

The woman looked up grinning and her expression changed to amazement. "Oh god, its Woody."

Women behind her rushed to the reception desk while two or three guys sat looking sullen.

"Woody -- how should I list you?" Lana asked.

"Fiancé."

"Right that's close enough to be family. Janice, please take Woody to critical care to the bedside of Miss Chalice. Only her mother is there at the moment. Lovely to meet you Woody. How's woody?"

"Deflated and worried."

The women smiled broadly, holding back laughter.

Woody entered the private room and a larger version of Jessie demanded, "And who are you?"

"Jessie's fiancé."

"Jessie doesn't have a fiancé. She's too busy for romance."

"That's why I had to take matters into my own hands and take the short-cut for her. I've seduced your daughter but only the once Mrs Chalice. She was great. Didn't she mention me?"

"When was this?"

"The day she sold her first apartment, me providing her with that breakthrough."

"Ohmigod, you are Woody. Yes I recognize you."

"Do you know Jessie's boss?"

"Of course I do. Pamela's older sister went through school with me and I knew Pamela through that and persuaded her to give Jessie a trial at selling."

"Well you may be interested to know that I had what Pamela calls 'a deprived childhood' and she has been mentoring me, both in business and private life. She is preparing me to impress my future mother." 

"Who is... ohmigod, you mean me?"

"Yes Mrs Chalice. I see much of me in Jessie although she is way more educated and has more class than me. But you will be aware that Pamela has seized the potential in me and pushed but I had the talent to take me to the top as entrepreneur of the year. And I'm amassing money but that aside, Mrs Chalice just look at me. Now what did Pamela say? Ah, I have the good looks and height to stand alongside any fine looking woman and we'd look a great couple and the hopeful and discerning mom wishing to become a grandmother would see um, innate fathering potential within me. Someone has to take control of Jessie Mrs Chalice otherwise she'll work her sweet heart out. She has to be shown there is balance in life and I'm the guy to do that. She's a great fuck Mrs Chalice."

"Woody really,"

"Oh sorry, that was a bit rough but Pamela insists she doesn't want to totally erase the blatant manliness I have because some women like a little animal in their man. Well there it is, you can see and have heard what I am and I hope I have armed you accurately to receive a true impression of me."

Woody had walked around the bed from Mrs Chalice to hold Jessie's other hand. He squeezed it but received no return pressure. As he finished speaking he looked intently at Jessie. "Mrs Chalice I think she is hearing me -- look at the tiny tremors of her eyelashes."

"Ohmigod. I've not seen that before. Jessie, can you hear me? Jessie it's mom. No, I see nothing. We must have been dreaming."

"No Mrs Chalice, I saw flicker. Jessie sleep peacefully. I've already overstayed my ten minutes. You're a tough babe. I love you."

"Ohmigod, her eyes opened."

"Well not quite Mrs Chalice. Just one larger flicker I think. I'll be back tomorrow babe. No way are you getting away from me."

Mrs Chalice and Woody caught two very large flickers and looked across at each other and smiled.

"She's trying to tell me you're good for her Woody. Yes I think that's what it is. Please come back tomorrow. I'll report to the charge nurse what we have observed."

"Bye ma'am. Until tomorrow then."

"Goodbye Woody."

When Woody arrived at the hospital next afternoon Lana was smiling. "Jessie awoke three hours ago and quickly went back to sleep and awoke an hour ago and again half an hour ago. Most of her family is with her but Mrs Chalice insists you be permitted to join them."

Woody entered the room and Mrs Chalice rushed to him and kissed him and turned and said, "This is Jessie's fiancé Woody Chaplin."

The two grandmothers and Jessie's father Arnold looked at him very closely.

Arnold gritted, "My understanding is you are very loose with women."

"Is that a crime?"

Arnold didn't know how to reply to that. Kate, the maternal grandmother, said, "At least he's washed up and wearing his good clothes."

"Yes Arnold, back off," said Mary his mom. "Don't be too hasty to dislike this young man. He looks a prime specimen if you ask me."

"No one was asking you mother," Arnold snarled.

"Woody?"

"The soft call came from the bed."

"Oh it's a miracle, Jessie has spoken," cried her mother, crossing herself.

That plunged Arnold into a temper. "Why wasn't her first word for Angela or me?"

"Arnold, for god sake shut up or do you want me to have you removed from this room."

"I apologize mother."

They turned and saw Jessie had fallen asleep again.

The ward manager swept into the room, all 6ft 4in of her. "Right, the show's over. Only one of you may stay. The rest of you out."

"Woody, you stay with my baby," said Angela. "You are on her mind at the moment. Everyone else, out your go and no fussing Arnold."

"Yes dear."

Almost an hour later Woody felt his hand being squeeze and looked down as Jessie's lids opened and her blue eyes shone straight at him. It was one of the most wonderful sights of his life.

"Hello lover."

"Hi Jessie," Woody croaked.

"Oooh, where's all the bravado... I thought you were here to seduce me?"

"Jessie, will you get better as fast as you can? When you are discharged from here I want you to slow right down."

"I have my business to run."

"I'll organize a structure for you so you can stay with Pamela as your principal with the qualifications but she'll permit you to employ assistants."

"A business within a business. Oooh, I'd like that."

"I'll talk to Pamela about that. She regards me as her protégé. I also want you to become my girlfriend and socialize with me."

"Socialize, what's that?" smiled Jessie, yawning.

"Go back to sleep sweetheart. You'll be taught about socializing as part of your rehabilitation. Sweet dreams."

"I love you Woody. I've been dreaming of you saying that to me."

"I love you Jessie. Your mom will be anxious to get back in here. Please remember to tell her she's a wonderful mom."

* * *

Woody almost fell into depression being so worried. His problem was how could he remain true to his profession and not give housewives the service they'd come to expect from their plumber and yet be true to Jessie who was in line to become his mate?

It was resolved for him by the power of the feminine mind by a college history professor who said to him after he'd explained his dilemma, "The problem with your men is you can't think beyond your dicks."

Fiona McDonald had booked Woody for the afternoon when scheduled to finish her professorial duties early. She had a partially blocked kitchen sink drain. As Woody attended to the S-bends Fiona performed as any red-blooded woman would. She freed Woody's woody as he lay on his back working under the sink and hitched up her skirt, having discarded her panties as she'd spotted the plumber arriving, and sank down on woody with a grunt, guiding the presently unexploded missile into her depths. Keenly she gained momentum with increasingly stronger downward thrusts.

Woody's woody blew and Fiona felt her cunt explode and she staggered off to make coffee. As soon as Woody's eye-sight returned to normal he completed emptying gunk from the S-bend, reassembled and tested it for leaks and joined Fiona at the table.

"You certainly know how to use woody," she said. "A couple of times I thought your return thrusts were about to send me through the ceiling. But why are you looking a little down?"

Woody told Fiona about his moral dilemma.

She replied incredulously, "God, you're a male and yet are aware the need for punctiliousness behavior to exist between a male and his mate is the greatest moral dilemma of our times."

"Yes of course I do. Don't all men?"

"Laddie, you are kidding me. Most men don't have the faintest idea of such a noble concept. I must note this conversation and report it."

"Well Fiona, having sorted that, please give me guidance."

"Yes of course. You should withdraw completely from working in the field, becoming totally occupied in administration, and thereby severing your requirement to adhere to the tradition of servicing horny woman clients."

"Is that all?"

"Yes but you being a guy it's understandable you didn't have the brains to work that out yourself."

"But the women working in administration. Won't they desire to get their share of woody?"

Fiona sighed as if dealing with a child. "The difference is that's opportunist sex. You have no duty to adhere to any tradition. A simple 'No' avoids over-use syndrome, committing adultery, catching unwanted STDs, protecting you from manipulative pregnancy claims and finding a pussy you might believe feels more homely and more acrobatic and pulsating than the one you are currently screwing."

"God Fiona," Woody said, coming out of near depression. "I never realized casual sex was so complicated. I'll follow your advice. Let's have another one before I write up my invoice."

* * *

Jessie was home, recovering well, and had just been cleared to return to work. She called Woody who'd been seeing a lot of her, in the traditional sense. She called and invited him over. "My parents are out till late. I'd like to start revisiting the world of sex."

"I'll grab a DVD -- what about a FFM threesome?"

"Just bring woody and spray silicone on your zip so you arrive ready to screw me to the bed head."

"Oh gosh."

"Quit stalling Woody, get over here. My long neglected pussy is practically twitching."

They kissed and stroked and gazed into each other's eyes and made mooing noises while woody was frantically attempting to burrow out.

"Are you ready?"

"God yes, leaking like the Titanic."

"Are you sure? I don't want to..."

"Elwood Chaplin. You insert right now or I'll call your mom to chastise you."

"Oh right... but do you know my mom?"

"Not yet but you may as well know women stick together. If I complained you were not fucking me and I'm her future daughter she'll rush here to tan your ass and you'll have the type of threesome you've never envisaged."

"Save me," Woody yelled, unzipped and almost sending Jessie over the end of the sofa in his desire to dock to the hilt.

"God Woody, take it easy. That felt like being hit in the pussy by a fence post."

But all was well. Jessie hoisted her ankles in behind her ears and with Woody gnawing a tit and sending her over the top she climaxed with a shriek and Woody pulled out and sprayed her chest, face and hair.

Woody watched Jessie as her eyes turned huge looking beyond him and he heard her croak, "Hi mom, dad."

"You two are not even married," shouted Jessie's mother.

"You fucking sex maniac plundering my innocent daughter," Arnold snarled. "I'm about to rip out your penis by the roots."

Woody yelled, "Jessie, will you marry me?"

"Yes, oh yes darling. Daddy don't you dare touch my fiancé otherwise I'll tell mom about you and Mrs O'Grady."

Angela screamed, "Mira O'Grady, that bitch..."

Jessie's parents left the room screaming at each other and Jessie and her Woody fell asleep in a big hug, smiling, having agreed that sex plays a huge part in everyone's life.

THE END