1 comments/ 24554 views/ 3 favorites Jan--The Good, The Bad & The Ugly By: Hornyman69WithU First, a bit of background: I had completely forgotten about this gal and not had even a fleeting thought about her in nearly a quarter century. Then, one day I was chatting on the phone with an old friend when the subject of the fruit trees in the yard of his first house came up. He worked so hard to maintain them but relocated out of state long ago and wondered if subsequent owners had kept them up. Since I'd moved back to that city, I told him I'd drive by his old homeplace, check it out, and let him know. It was the first time I'd been down Marion St. since he and his wife moved in the mid-1980s. The finicky trees, not unexpectedly, were no longer bearing fruit, but being in situ brought back a flood of memories, among them, the goings-on in the house across the street and over one. That's where the central character of this story lived, a super-sexy but deeply flawed chick I had a six-month fling with. The more I thought about her, the more I remembered, yet for the life of me I could not recall perhaps the most important detail—her name! I asked my fruit-tree buddy and his wife, but they couldn't remember, either. The only other person this girl and I knew in common, her ex-boyfriend David, was killed in a car accident, so he was, literally, a dead-end. I tried looking her Marion address up on the local tax assessor's web site, but records there only went back to the mid-90s, and none of the owner names rang a bell, so she must have moved prior to that. I knew her name was short and not at all unusual, so, taking a systematic tack, I perused a dictionary of common English feminine names, thinking when I ran across hers, it would leap off the page. That didn't work. Since all my stories are true to the nth degree, assigning her a fictitious name was not an option. I could have simply referred to her throughout the story with third-person nouns such as "chick," "gal" and so on, but that makes for a lifeless character and is a formula for monotony. The trick to remembering something you know is stored but cannot locate its mental file is to relax and let it come it its own good time. A Type 2 Personality, I have a hard time with that approach, so I just kept concentrating and recalling details of our relationship, thinking some minute snippet would connect the neural path to her name in my brain. As a result, this tale is almost nine thousand words, my longest yet—a bona fide short story. I usually write and refine a story in a couple weeks or less, but because of the snag on her name, I kept adding more and more. Though writing has been off and on—mostly off—it's hard to believe I actually started on it about a year and a half ago! At any rate, while I was dicing vegetables for a salad recently, out of nowhere, into my head popped her full name, Jan Mxxxxxxx. At long last, here's the story: "I'm not positive I want to go any further," said Jan, looking up at me with big, brown eyes and a conflicted expression as she plucked my cock out of her mouth. Hands on my hips, I was standing there at attention looking down at her sitting on the carpet of her living room floor, legs spread at 90 degrees revealing perhaps the biggest pair of pussy lips I've ever seen. Despite her prodigious brown bush, it did little to occlude the view. Jan's right hand was fisted tightly around the base of my dick, her same-side boob nestled in the crook of that arm, with its dark, .38-special-size nipple kissing the inside of her forearm. Her pendulous D-cup twin bobbled against her left arm as she used that hand to twiddle her glistening-wet clit, itself nearly as large as her nipples. "Not positive?" I asked, not really knowing what to say. "Well, you know it hasn't been long since David and I broke up, and we dated for years before I let him make love to me," she explained, speaking at my erect phallus as if it were a microphone at the finals of the World Equivocation Championship. Oh, shit, I thought. We'd gotten pooty-faced drunk, made out for well over an hour, and I'd finally got all her clothes off. Then I'd given her a marathon full-body massage and gone down on her forever. Here Jan's given me a bodacious BJ, and she's going to back out now? But why should I have been surprised? That's EXACTLY what I'd been told would happen. Here's how things led up to that point, then the rest of the story: Jan lived across the street from one of my oldest, best friends, Russell, and his wife, Vickie. His well-to-do physician father had bought the little house for them to live in when they moved back to our hometown. Russell graduated Phi Beta Kappa from the University of North Carolina, married the beautiful and smart Vickie from the Tar Heel state immediately afterward, and was pursuing a masters in English there in Chapel Hill. Then, he realized that, unless he wrote a best-selling novel, their lives would be a constant financial struggle. So, brilliant and versatile, he moved back home to get a BS in Electrical Engineering, then the most marketable bachelor's degree you could have, with starting salaries in the $50s. That was big bucks in the '80s. For the two or so years it would take Russell to get another undergraduate diploma, Vickie worked for a local insurance company to support them. At the time, I was switching gears, as well, forgoing my original academic plan to get a Ph.D. and go into clinical psychology and, instead, get an MBA degree at the same local university as Russell, and do the business thing. All my other old pals were either working or getting advanced degrees elsewhere, so even though I was back in my hometown, Russell was about the only friend I had there. I had a small home restoration business to earn some income, but that kind of work is spotty, so, with Vickie working 8 to 5, Russell and I had a lot of time to hang out together during the day. We were shuffling around in his yard one such day checking on the apricot trees when I saw this tall, buxom woman get out of her car and go into the yellow brick house across the street and over one, on the corner. Seeing us looking her way, she waved and said "Hi," sporting a wide, toothy smile, before she turned to go inside. "Who is THAT girl?" I asked Russell, finding her immediately attractive even from a distance. "I've never met her, so I don't know her name. But I see that Cutlass she got out of parked in the drive all the time, so she must live there." I liked that big, friendly smile. I liked those big, friendly boobs! I liked the rest of her looks, too: very tall and slender, with long skinny legs, an unusually slim mid-riff for such big breasts, and thick brown hair hanging to a few inches below her shoulders. She appeared to be in her early 30s—probably seven or eight years older than I. Sometimes you just have an instant attraction, and such was the case with her. Because there was a large picture window behind my usual place on the couch in Russell and Vickie's living room, it was easy keep an eye out for her. However, when the booby brunette would come and go, she was always in her car and gone or inside the house lickity-split before I could get outside to meet her. Finally, late one chilly afternoon at dusk, she drove up just as I did. "Hi, my name is Jan. You must be the new people across the street. Welcome to the neighborhood!" she said with a genuine beaming smile sweeping across her very pretty face. "Actually, I'm a close friend of the new people, Russell and Vickie—that's why I'm over there so much. My name is (Hornyman); They're married, but I'm not," I said to introduce myself and leave no doubt about my availability. "Oh, I'm single, too—still not used to that. Thought I was going to be married to my boyfriend that I dated for over a decade before we recently broke up. He lived here with me but just moved out," explained Jan, her incredibly hard nipples visible despite the thick wool professional suit she wore. So, this babe who looked even better up close was unattached, as well. "You're a very attractive woman. We should have a drink together sometime," I offered, having learned to waste no time in expressing interest. "You really think so? Really? Why, thank you, thank you very much. Yes, I'd love to have a drink or five, ha, ha. I'm a big drinker, love to drink," Jan chuckled, conveying both that she was not hung up on her good looks and that she liked to party. Just then, I heard an exasperated "Oh shit!" from Russell's back yard, only to turn and see that he was rubbing his forehead, and flames from the charcoal fire he'd started roaring several feet into the air. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Jan, but I must run, literally, as it appears my buddy has used jet fuel to start the coals, and his face is on fire," I quipped only half-jokingly. Then I sprinted across the street to squelch the fire with the grill lid and discover that his bushy "uni-brow" was singed. Well, I didn't get her phone number right then because of the emergency. By the time we grilled and ate dinner, cleaned up, and watched a movie, it was midnight and too late to knock on anyone's door, so Jan had gotten away from me that night. But the next day, a Saturday, I got over to my friends' a bit earlier, while it was still light. So, before I went in, I decided right then was the time to just knock on Jan's door and make a date. I was halfway across the street when an El Camino pulled up in the driveway behind her Cutlass. A guy got out. Uh-oh, bad timing. Damn, he's probably there to pick her up for a date himself, I thought. Better to walk up and introduce myself rather than act sheepish and veer away. But before I could, he enthusiastically engaged me, saying, "So YOU'RE the owner of that awesome Wildcat convertible? I recognized it right away. Seen it parked on the cove I just moved onto and drool every time I pass by it. You live there across the street?" he asked, pointing at Russell and Vickie's house. "No, I'm here to visit friends. Actually, I live where you see my car parked all the time. I grew up on that cove and am back staying with my folks while I'm in grad school. If you just moved in, you must be the dude with that sweet '69 Chevelle drop-top down in the end of the circle. Welcome to the neighborhood. My name's (Hornyman). What brings you over here?" I asked, extending my hand. Shaking it, he said, "I'm David, otherwise known as 'Jan's old boyfriend,' and I'm here to pick up a piece of my furniture. I moved out about a month ago and have been getting my stuff bit by bit. There's just one piece left, but it weighs a ton. Would you mind giving me a hand?" We stood chatting there in the driveway for several more minutes. There was something that I immediately liked about David. He was a good guy, sociable, talkative, an open-book kind of fellow. That would soon come in very handy when I picked his brain about Jan. Inside Jan's, though it was somewhat depleted looking since all of his stuff was gone, everything was quite tasteful and upper-end—the drapes, carpet, wallpaper, furniture, art, bric-a-brac, you name it. Hmm. Wonder what she did for a living? Jan looked great. It was the first time I'd seen her in casual clothes, and they did a much better job showing what she had going on. Her slim legs and round rump were poured into form-fitting Calvin Klein jeans, and a tight red turtleneck hugged an impossibly narrow waist and, of course, those magnificent mammaries. Though it was apparent she had on a bra, it was losing the battle to restrain those bullet-like nipples from boring breathtaking blips in the sweater. It was warm inside, not cold like it was when I'd met her and noticed them before, so she had what I call—and love—perma-pokies. The three of us yacked amicably inside for a while where I learned, among other things, that Jan worked for a well-known local travel agency that her mother owned. Jan was the agent who handled all the luxury cruises and such, a lucrative segment of the business, which explained how she was able to afford all that finer stuff. She owned the house, too, one of the nicest and biggest in the lower-middle-class neighborhood near campus. I could just tell from their non-verbal behavior that Jan was quite obviously not over David while he seemed to be completely past her. So, I figured he was the one who broke up with her, but why would he leave such a seemingly pleasant, great-looking woman with her own house and a good job, after such a lengthy relationship? With considerable effort, we got his massive chest of drawers out of the house and into the bed of the El Camino. With a drink in one hand, smoke in the other, Jan followed us out, so I had no opportunity to ask him about her. With his business done there and his ex behaving rather clingy, I could see he was ready to split right away. But I really wanted to get the lowdown on Jan. Think of something before he gets away, Hornyman, and think fast! "You need help to move this monolith into your place, David?" "As a matter of fact, yes. I'd really appreciate that. What are you, a saint? My buddy lent me his 'truck-car,' and had promised to help, but then disappeared with his girlfriend. Of course you know my new place isn't far, so I'll have you back here in half an hour, maybe 45 minutes—provided we don't break our backs going up the steps. Yep, you heard right: 'steps' and 'up,' no less. Hop in before you come to your senses and change your mind." In his driveway was his mint '69 Chevelle convertible I'd seen going by. Woe, Nellie! 400 cubes of V-8 power, dual exhaust, four in the floor, full instrumentation, loaded with every available option, white bucket seats, original yellow exterior paint, white canvas top. But for the re-covered seats, carpet, top, and tires, it was all-original. "Where'd you find such a clean ride, David?" "In Dad's driveway. He bought it new for me when I turned 16, but, being a car nut, he enjoyed it as much or more than me. It's the only car I've ever had. That "38,000" showing on the odometer is actually 238,000 miles, but it's been maintained scrupulously—I never let even the smallest thing go before fixing it—and so it still runs and drives like a top." "I was tempted to jack it up, slap on huge mag wheels and headers, bore the cylinders for more HP, and all the rest to make it into a street rod like so many of my buddies did their muscle cars, but now I'm so glad I kept it factory-original." "I've treated my Buick likewise but was never tempted to change anything. Dad special-ordered it, so it is a true one-of-a-kind car. I'm so anal about originality that I only recently broke down and switched from bias-ply to radial tires! Stop by sometime and and I'll give you the complete tour." I said, forcing myself to cut short one of my favorite topics to get on with the business at hand. A love of cars was just one of many things we had in common; girls were another. Thirty minutes before, David and I were strangers; now we were interacting like old friends. Of course, my original motive for helping David with the chest was to find out more about Jan, and he was more than forthcoming about her. "Fundamentally, she's a really sweet girl, but you might be surprised to know she'll knock your fucking socks off in the sack. I taught her everything she knows, and I mean EVERYTHING. She'll do anything, ANYTHING. I popped her cherry and have been her one-and-only lover. OK, that's the good. Wanna hear the rest?" "On the Universal Clint Eastwood Good Bad Ugly Scale, that would be the bad and the ugly, right?" I asked. "Correctamundo, mi amigo. Though she's absolutely great at sex, she has a hang-up about it. You see, I'm three years older than her—she's 27 now—and started seeing her when she was just in the eighth grade. Why would a junior date a 14-year-old? Well, because she was really sweet, outgoing like me, and had an early-blooming bombshell body that made her appear older, so it wasn't the least bit awkward to be seen together." "Her dad evaporated when she was still a little child, and she never had much of a relationship with her much older siblings who were, by the time I met her, all out of the house on their own. Her mom, busy building the travel agency and going through men like Lay's potato chips, paid little mind to her accidental girl and had no problem at all with the age difference. She was just glad someone was giving Jan attention." "All right, so she's got a dysfunctional family, but what about the sex problem?" I redirected. "The problem was that she didn't do sex. I mean we kissed and made out, but that's it, first base. I figured she was just young and needed time to mature into it. So, I was cool with her non-put-outance—I had one of the best-looking chicks in school, we got along great, and I was proud to be her boyfriend. By the time she was in the 10th grade and still saying, 'David, I love you, but I'm just not ready,' I was a freshman in college and still a virgin!" "When I pledged SAE and told the fraternity brothers my predicament, and then showed them a picture of Jan in a bikini, they were astounded that I'd hung with her so long and still not boinked her. Well, the simple reason was because I was in love with Jan and knew she'd eventually come around." "I was in a frat, too, so I know that scene. The brothers made sure you got some pussy ASAP, right?" "Exactly. My being a pledge, they designed a 'scavenger hunt' just for me in which I HAD to find and fuck a certain quota of girls each month, then give a full accounting to the officers. I was told that was to ensure I wasn't fibbing, but giving them the blow-by-blow details of every sexual encounter was surely as much for their enjoyment as mine. Of course, the "Es' specialized in knowing who the easy and at-least-decent-looking girls were, so they made it a cinch by directing me to them." "I exceeded my quota—screwing a total of 54! Talk about a college education! Of course, I was still dating Jan steady during all that. Because of our age difference, it was not that difficult to keep my college and her high school social circles separate, so Jan never even suspected all the side action I was getting." "Dude, it's not 'side action' when you're getting no central action. So, how'd you finally get into Jan's pants?" I inquired. "Well, all those college girls no doubt relieved some of the 'pressure,' but I felt guilty because I was truly in love with Jan, and a man's gotta make love with the girl he's in love with, you know? She was about to turn 18 in the spring of her senior year in high school, and, of course, I was almost finished with my junior year in college." "One's eighteenth is perhaps the most significant of all birthdays, and I planned to make the most of Jan's. At that juncture, I'd dated her for four years, FOUR FUCKING YEARS, my friend, with not so much as a nibble on those pencil erasers." "Correction, four NON-fucking years. Go on." I prodded. "Jan's 18th birthday fell conveniently on a Friday, and with no dad around, and a mother and older siblings who pretty much ignored her, I was able to carry out a carefully laid plan with no interference. First, I took her downtown to the election commission to get her registered to vote. Then we got really dressed up, something we rarely did, and I took her out to a fancy, older-crowd restaurant for a romantic dinner." "Afterwards, I took her to a package store and gave her some money to get a couple bottles of champagne so that she could go in by herself and buy it by showing her REAL license—not the usual fake ID she used—18 being the legal drinking age back then." "I see, so the idea behind all that was to reinforce that she was an adult, to get her in that frame of mind. Smart, very smart, David. You mentioned her pencil erasers. Can we please get to those?" Jan--The Good, The Bad & The Ugly "Sure, but let's get this behemoth chest inside, first, OK?" Though we were both strong, athletic guys, it took everything we had to get that sombitch up seven steps, through the tiny kitchen, down the narrow hall, and back into his bedroom. With sweat pouring down our faces, David popped a couple beers, and I twisted a bone. We sipped and smoked leisurely inside as David continued the Jan saga: "From the liquor store, I took Jan to a party at the SAE house. She'd always wanted to go there, but I'd been able to keep her at bay with the story that minors weren't allowed because of all the drinking. So, now that she was of majority, it worked out perfectly. It was still a calculated risk, for some inebriated, loose-lipped brother could spill the beans about my sexual dalliances." "But by then I was an officer—the treasurer—and the next-year fraternity president-designate, so I had the power to enforce a strict code of silence. This was a semi-formal mixer with Chi Omega, with which the SAE chapter on this campus had a special relationship. "Chi Os, eh? I've banged a few of them," I tossed in. Yeah, but the Chi Os at State were reputable girls a guy had to go steady with before they'd put out. Accordingly, I'd never been to bed with any of those sisters and so didn't have to worry about one of them leaking my unfaithfulness to Jan." "Since they ran in a totally different circle from all the slutty chicks I'd fucked, they had no clue about that. In fact, they'd heard me talk about Jan and considered me the paragon of virtue. A dozen or so of our most respectable brothers were dating them." "And so, in accordance with your master plan, this dressy party of somewhat older people would further make Jan feel 'grown up.' Clever, but let's get to the sex part," I prodded. "Hold your horses, cowboy. The critical piece was for Jan to witness those nice, well-dressed, respectable brothers going up to their rooms with their nice, well-dressed, respectable steady girlfriends to have sex. Guys like me; girls like her. I wanted her to see first hand that such activity was perfectly normal." "Later, when I took Jan upstairs to my room, I purposefully had a 'problem' with the lock on the door so we'd be stuck in the hall for several minutes. That guaranteed she could not help but hear what was obvious sexual activity going on behind the closed doors of rooms nearby." "David, I appreciate all the details, but, dude, the anticipation is killing me!" I exclaimed, choking back a lung full of funny smoke and passing the number back to him. He continued, "OK, OK, OK. I popped the cork on the last bottle of bubbly and sat her down on my bed for a serious heart-to-heart, saying, 'Honey, you're 18, a woman, and I'm 21, a man. I love you, and you love me. Normal men and women who love one another express it in many ways, an important one being sexual relations—that's why they call it making love. We're not making love, which is not normal. Now is the time to start being normal. Trust me, sweetheart, you're ready to make love.'" "Then what?" I coughed. "Well, she just sat there, atypically silent, but attentive. She had on a long, black velvet evening dress with a plunging v-neck; a strand of pearls and a matching pair of ear rings she'd borrowed from her mom; hair up; and black, patent leather high heel shoes. I'd never seen her—or any woman, for that matter—more beautiful. Passionately French-kissing her, I worked my way down her neck, slid the straps off her shoulders, stood her up to let the dress drop to the floor, then peeled her panties down to her ankles." "While she didn't help, neither did she resist in the least. Oh my god! After four years, for the first time, I was seeing Jan totally naked! Those big, nice tits with the ideal down, out, and up swoop! Those dark, pointy mega-nipples! That perfect apple-shaped bottom! And what a pleasant surprise, an incredibly lippy pussy! She was a goddess." "So, did you finally jump her bones?" I inquired. "Not exactly 'jumped.' First, I used up a whole bottle of lotion massaging her body, both sides, head to foot. That accounted for at least an hour. Then I fondled and nibbled and sucked her boobs. She liked that—a lot—purring like a kitten while running her long slender fingers through my hair." "It was hard to leave those tits, but the wonderful aroma of her pussy beckoned, so I eventually kissed my way south across her tiny waist to lick-suck that gigantic clit and slurp around on those huge, sopping-wet pussy lips. She loved it and, surprisingly, came right away, then came again when I introduced a couple fingers into her virgin-tight love tunnel." "OK, David, did you fuck her or not?" I prompted, my jeans becoming uncomfortably tight. "I'm getting there, sport. Swabbing my raging hard cock up and down between her extra-extra-large labia, I parked it at the entrance ramp to the ecstasy expressway. Wanting to make absolutely sure she was good to go because she was sort of semi-stiff-arming my hips, I looked her straight in the eyes and asked, 'Are you ready to make love, Jan?' With a simultaneously eager but reluctant look, she whispered, 'I'm really not sure, honey.'" "Goddamn, David, what the hell did you do then?" I screamed, feeling his frustration. "I had to make a decision, and quick. Back off, and I might regret it the rest of my life. Forge ahead, and she could freak out. Either way, it could be four years down the drain. So I took her by the wrists, held them down against the bed, and plunged in her pussy all the way to the hilt." "'Oh, David, that feels so good, but I don't know, I just don't know,' she kept saying. It was like the old joke, 'Don't! Stop! Don't! Stop! Don't ...Stop! Don't stop!' but there was nothing funny about this situation. Fortunately, in just a few minutes, she got into it, I mean REALLY got into a rhythm with me, and orgasmed several times. For me, even after having visited pussyland with lots of college hotties, Jan was unquestionably the best ever." "Wow, after all that time, you finally poked her. Thanks for sharing," I said, feeling nearly as exhausted as I would have had I been through all that myself. "There's more. Amazingly, after all that reluctance and total lack of experience, she took to sex like a bird to air. Before the evening was over, I'd showed her everything in the book, and she quickly became expert at giving head, licking balls, titty-fucking, rimming, even anal, the whole nine yards." " I came four times, first in her pussy, next between her boobs, then in her mouth—yes, for her very first blow-job she swallowed every drop of cum like it was nectar—and finally in her super-tight little butthole. The whole time, she kept saying, 'Oh, David, why didn't we do this years ago?' I chose to ignore that question, as the plain and simple answer was because she'd always said, 'I'm just not ready yet,' and I was the patient-as-Job boyfriend." "And that's the BAD component?" I asked, somewhat confused. "Well, in a way, yes, because even in the ensuing nine years of dating and thousands of fucks, she never has gotten over her sexual hang-up. You see, every time we did it, EVERY TIME, it was like starting from point zero again: lots of drinks, the long message, hours of foreplay." "Then, when it came down to the old dick-in-the-hole, she'd start that I-don't-know routine, so I'd hold her down, fuck her silly, and she'd suddenly bloom into an uninhibited sexual tigress once again. It's the damnedest thing." "How strange. So, you've covered the good--that she's an exceptional lover--and the bad---that she's still always reticent at first--but where does the ugly figure in?" I wondered. "The booze and drugs. Her mom had a full bar and a medicine cabinet overflowing with get-fucked-up pills. The completely unsupervised Jan started sampling the stuff in her early teens, about the time I started dating her. Said she learned which drugs to take from Health class at school—ha! No big deal; most of our generation experimented with drugs." "By the time she was in the 11th grade, though, when I was a sophomore in college and only saw her about once a week, she'd developed a substance-abuse problem I didn't realize was so serious. Then, when I graduated and moved in with her, I discovered that she was a real addict." "Jan has what amounts to an in-house liquor store and veritable home pharmacy of every kind of prescription anti-anxiety, pain, sedative, sleep aid, and muscle-relaxant pill manufactured—all prescribed and legal. She doesn't smoke dope, though, because it's not!" "Ugly, for sure" I said. David wrapped up, "I'm giving you fair warning, my friend: proceed with caution. Jan is seriously addicted to alcohol and narcotics. We were going to get married, but because she doesn't think she even has a problem and refuses to get help, I broke up with her after an astounding thirteen years together." "I wouldn't have gone splitsky unless I thought it thoroughly through, and though we're still friends, I've moved on. Jan's an essentially sweet girl, a fantastic if perennially reluctant lover, but she's a real mess, man." And with that, David cranked the mint Chevelle to burbling life. I hopped in, he put the pedal to the metal, and we made the trip from our street to Russell and Vickie's in record time. David rumbled off, and I stood there on the sidewalk pondering what to do. OK, I had the complete scoop on Jan. She was a great-looking gal, friendly and extroverted, sweet and tasteful, with a good job, easy to talk to, superb in the sack, but a train wreck. Good judgement said avoid her, but it would be impossible to forget about her because there she was 30 yards from my best friends, twisting her fine self to and fro every day. And I was horny. As usual, horniness trumped good judgement. I told my friends I was going to beg off for the evening and spend it with Jan, instead. Screwing up my courage, I stomped across the street and knocked on her front door. "Hey, what a pleasant surprise! Come on in. That was really nice of you to help David with the big chest." It was HER big chest that I wanted to help, I thought, my eyes darting back and forth between nipples. Then her pretty, smiling face. Then that very large mouth with its full lips. Then that slim but fleshy bottom. Then those slender, mile-long legs. Then her thick, shiny brown hair. Damn, she was so fine, the whole package. If I followed David's playbook just right, I would fuck Jan that very night, I resolved. "Jan, would you like to go out for that 'drink or five' tonight?" "Oh, you're such a dear, but no thanks. I'm feeling real stay-at-home tonight. But I'd love your company, so, please, have a seat and make yourself at home," she invited. She lit a cigarette and disappeared into the kitchen. "I'm drinking Vodka gimlets...over Valium and Percoset—doctor's orders, hee-hee. What a perfect combo! What'll you have?" she asked, obviously well ahead of me. "Same drink, hold the pharmaceuticals. Mind if I roll a doobie?" I said, being as forthcoming about my drug of choice as she was of hers. "No prob. Only I don't smoke pot. My doctors wouldn't like that. By the way, I couldn't let you have Vals or Percs even if you did want them. You have to have a physician's prescription for those," she explained over the clink-clink of ice. Making quick judgements, I analyzed her words. "Doctors,"—plural. How many docs did she have? "Vals" and "Percs?" Did she have pet names for all her beloved drugs? "What's your doc's name? Mine's Maria Wanna, a bit green, but she's good-looking—nice large buds and slender stems," I kidded, hoping Jan both got the corny joke and made the connection with her own big boobs and slim legs. Reappearing with a huge glass in each hand, she didn't "get" the joke until I explained it to her, but then she broke up in genuine laughter, saying, "Ha-ha-ha—that is fun-NEE! I like a guy with a sense of humor. Sounds like you like girls with big breasts and skinny legs?" "Absolutely. Let's see, who around here has those features?" I teased as she sat down beside me on the couch. Obviously, things were off to a great start and got even better. Over the next few hours, we drank and talked and smoked our respective leaf of choice and got ever cozier until we were kissing and groping like teenagers on prom night. That brings the timeline up to where I left the story in the beginning: Jan nude on the floor with my cock in her hand, having just given me awesome head, telling me she wasn't positive she wanted to go any further. Just like David said, she was vacillating when the moment of erect-penis-in-wet-vagina arrived. This was Jan's "bad" on the UCEGBUS, the Universal Clint Eastwood Good Bad Ugly Scale. Now, according to David's play book, at this point, I should get on top of her, pin her arms to the floor, and screw the holy shit out of her. And that's what I'd intended to do until that moment actually arrived. You see, there is an ethical compass deep within me that points at forcing sex on a girl as WRONG. Unless a girl gives you a verbal go-ahead or physically guides you inside her, she's not indicating it's OK. Jan was doing neither, yet she wasn't saying "no," either. In fact, her "I'm not positive I want to go any further," and "We dated for years before I let David make love with me" bit and neither pulling me in nor pushing me away was essentially meaningless—for me, the GUY, that is. On the other hand, for Jan, it was her way of transferring The Intercourse Decision from her to the guy and therefore absolving herself of all moral responsibility while enjoying every bit of the pleasure should he decide to screw her. Realizing this, it's enough to make a man angry enough to, well, pin her arms down and fuck her silly. So, I did. At first, lying flat of her back spread eagle, she froze and just stared straight up into my eyes with a blank expression as I slowly pumped her warm, wet pussy. In two minutes, she was beginning to relax, move a bit, and make soft pleasure whimpers. In another three, eyes trained like lasers on mine, she was rocking her hips stroke for stroke with me, mouthing a rhythmic "yeah, yeah, yeah," and her pussy was fever-hot. I had to look away from her eyes, though, because her grapefruit-size boobs were sloshing so beautifully up and down. I realized that if I altered my fuck on the in-stroke just a bit to the left, then withdrew it slightly to the right, it made her titties gyrate in a clockwise circle. Reverse the stroke, and they started going around and around counterclockwise. How wonderful! As I've always said, "Big tits do not an attractive girl make." It's their overall shape, consistency, where they're situated on the chest, how they coordinate with the rest of her body, and how they "behave" when in motion. But in Jan's case, her ta-tas were very big AND perfectly shaped AND extremely well-behaved. I had to gather them up, squeeze them together, and nibble-suck those rubbery, finger-tip size nipples—left one, right one, left one, right one. I squeezed them forcefully together and got both nips in my mouth at the same time. Slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp. Then Jan shuddered, her skin flushed all over, and she came with a long "oooooooooooooo, thaaaaaaaaat's soooooooooooo gooooooooood," lips half open, back arched, fingernails dug into to the carpet. Isn't it wonderful when there's no doubt whatsoever that you made the girl you're making love to orgasm? The waist is an often-overlooked erogenous zone, and Jan's was simply divine. The first thing you noticed was how tiny it was, remarkable in itself but all the more so given that she was a 5'10" 125- to 130-pound woman. I don't know what it measured, and, yes, I do have large hands, but I could compress them around her midriff and actually touch my thumbs and middle fingers together. Amazing! Centered in it was a wide, "outie" belly button she just loved me to kiss and tongue. Of course, that her waist was so slim just made her already generous boobs seem even bigger. If you're a leg-man, Jan's would have you shouting "hallelujah." A yard long and satin-smooth, her legs were like a ballet dancer's, downright skinny, yet not bony or knob-kneed. Creamy soft thighs connected to muscular, elongated calves. Narrow, dramatically arched size 10 feet terminated in long, fingerlike toes. She enjoyed me messaging and sucking them. I enjoyed how she could use them with hand-like dexterity to jack my cock. Feeling suddenly deprived of her ass, I asked, "You like to do it doggie-style, Jan?" "If it's sex, I like it, period! I'll do anything any way you like," she said with her usual enthusiasm, turning over to get on all fours and hike her butt up high. Ass-men, pay attention, because Jan's was fantastic, in a most unusual way. As soon as I saw her bottom from this angle, the term "pillow-top" came to mind. It's a term mattress manufactures use to describe a certain type of high-end bedding that features a thin but lofty pad attached to the top of the mattress itself. Jan's buns were constructed just like that—an extra layer of cushy butt flesh atop the musculature below, with a defined, visible "seam" in between when she tightened her derriere muscles. So you get the benefit of both a pad of soft, jiggley stuff as well as the firm butt flesh on which it rides. I sank my hands into those buns, peeled them apart, swabbed my cock between her prodigious pussy lips, and plunged it into the sopping, warm wetness. Because they felt so good, it was a while before I let go of her buns, but when I did, their unique make-up was a visual delight: Every time my hips would contact them on the in-stroke, the flesh would ripple in a forward-and-back wave. Getting in the right rhythm kept them in constant motion, just like her big boobs, swaying like bell clappers, their pronounced nipples kissing the carpet fuzz. "Look, ma, no hands!" I shouted. Despite the corny expression, she laughed anyway. "Uh, uh, uh," Jan moaned with each stroke, occasionally looking back over her shoulder at me with a sexed-up half-smile. I gave each bun a spank, and when she responded by fucking back more vigorously, I smacked them again, harder, then again harder still. She liked that—a lot—so I kept it up, making them rosy red and her pussy even wetter. Good thing, too, for I was about to cum, and the extra lube enabled me to bang her for another twenty minutes or so. Even though she'd had a bunch of mini-orgasms, when I reached around to seize those wonderful orbs, the meaty sensation along with erect nipples boring into my palms sent me over the edge, and I blasted over and over and over into her. As soon as I did, that must have taken Jan to the next level, too, as she shuddered with an ear-piercing climactic scream, fucking back in a furiously fast blur and milking every last drop of man-milk out of me until we gradually wound down to panting stillness. Un-fucking-believable! The male refractory period—when he's just ejaculated but is not yet ready to go again—is perhaps the only time in which a man can assess a woman truly objectively. So, that's precisely what I did with respect to Jan right after our first fuck. David said she was 27, but she looked about five years older. The booze, pills and three-pack-a-day habit had taken their toll: In the light of the 150-watt ceiling fixture, her fair skin was absent a healthy glow, the tiny "crow's feet" around her eyes were a few years premature, her teeth were a shade below bright white, and the taughtness of her body was a tad less than you'd expect for a woman in her late 20s. Nevertheless, Jan still looked great, a solid 9 on the old 1-to-10 scale, but not quite the beauty I'm sure she once was—or could have still been had she not had the drug and alcohol problem. Jan--The Good, The Bad & The Ugly Since she was virtually always fucked-up when not working, and I was always with her during her off time, it was hard to tell for sure whether the effect of those mind-altering substances was temporary or permanent. Either way, or perhaps for some other reason, it seemed her brain was somewhat compromised: Like my first Maria Wanna comment, some of my jokes and intentional double entendres sailed right past her, she'd forget things I'd told her, she spoke with a barely noticeable slur, and she did not walk in an exactly straight line. Even if perpetually inebriated, Jan was always upbeat, lively, and a great conversationalist—a real pleasure to be around. We went out only a few times because she usually preferred to stay in her lovely, comfortable home. She had a few old friends who'd occasionally stop by—all happily married except David—and, like him, they were good people whose company I enjoyed. Curiously, she always referred to me as her "friend," though she was quite openly affectionate with me when around others. It had been a while since I'd had a steady girlfriend, and, not dating anyone else, I regarded Jan as just that. Though we'd never made any promises of commitment, she wasn't dating other people, either. I was across the street with my friends so frequently, peering out the front window when I'd hear a car door shut, that it would have been easy to tell if she was. Jan was, for all intents and purposes, my steady girlfriend, if not officially so. That she was being that way was puzzling. Here's a great-looking 27-year-old gal who just broke up with her first and only boyfriend after a 13-year relationship. You'd think she'd want to do one of two things: Sew her wild oats and see several men, or settle down exclusively with one she called her steady boyfriend. Yet, though Jan and I got on swimmingly and fucked several times a week, I was just her "friend." Go figure. So, for approximately half a year, two or three times a week, it was the same routine: I'd come over to her place, we'd talk and laugh and drink like fish, go through the long rigmarole of making out, finally get naked, do the maxi-message, the extended foreplay, her inevitable balk. Then, I'd ultimately pin her arms down, screw her for a few minutes until her hesitancy quickly evaporated, and we'd fuck like rabbits. It was fantastic sex every time, but the whole deal was a five- or six-hour thing. One hot summer night, while I was across the street watching "Dynasty" with Russell and Vickie, we heard the god-awful sound of metal crunching metal outside, the unmistakable noise of a car wreck. I quickly twisted around and looked out the window in time to see Jan's Cutlass, with broken red and white plastic falling out of the tail light assembly, speeding away from my beloved black Buick. We ran outside to find a badly wrinkled fender. Parked in its usual place in the street parallel to the curb in front of Russell's, the car was driveable, but it had never had so much as a scratch before, and I was both bummed and pissed. Bummed because it was my convertible's first body damage ever. Pissed because Jan knew that it was my car, that I was certainly inside Russell and Vickie's, and she sped away anyway. It was a collector car with a substantial market value, but not yet old enough to be antique, so the book value was next to nothing. The least bit of damage, and insurance would total it out, so that's why I carried only liability coverage. Jan would have to be the one to pay up. I was ready to leave around midnight, but Jan had not returned by then. I was intimately familiar with her patterns and knew she never stayed out that late on a week night. Was she dodging me? Why? How long did she think she could do that? I wanted to work things out with her directly, but I waited another hour, and knew she had to be intentionally avoiding me. So, I called the cops! When they finally arrived, they said it was a hit-and-run, characterizing that as a pretty serious offense. I told them I knew who did it, Jan, and had two witnesses in addition to myself. I gave them her full name, date of birth, and, of course, her address across the street, plus the make, model, year, and color of her car. They made a full report, and told me how to swear out a warrant for her arrest. That would be the first thing on my agenda the next day. It was almost 2:00 in the morning before the policemen finished up, and they were already in their squad car about to leave when I spotted Jan's car coming up the street in the distance. She must have seen the cops, because she whipped down a side street and gunned it, obviously attempting to get away. "That's her, that's her in the Cutlass!" I shouted. "Go get her!" Cracking his window, the cop behind the wheel asked, "Are you absolutely sure?" "100% certain, sir." They took out in hot pursuit, lights flashing, siren screaming. I drove down to where they pulled her over to do the positive ID. "I'm breaking up with you effective right now!!!" Jan screamed. "How do you 'break up' with a guy you've never even called 'boyfriend?'" I asked. She reeked of booze and failed the field sobriety test miserably, so the cops called the DUI van. I hung out until it got there and left—with Jan inside at .27, nearly triple the legal blood alcohol limit. That was just the alcohol and did not account for all the pills she'd surely gobbled. I exercised restraint by not mentioning those to the men in blue. I'd seen the ugly consequences of Jan's ugly dimension. What she did shouldn't have been a surprise, but I was nevertheless astonished she bashed my car and then tried to get away with it. Her insurance wanted to total out my Buick, but I got an estimate on my own and told Jan if she paid me cash for the repair, I'd drop the hit-and-run charge, which carried a hefty fine AND jail time, as it was her SECOND OFFENSE. I just wanted my car fixed. When she tried to get bitchy with me and say she'd only pay me AFTER I dropped the charge, I really got pissed and added another condition—she'd have to have sex with me one more time. Facing time behind bars, she was seething but agreed to settle it that way. Yes, I'd seen the ugly side of Jan in a big way. However, when I came to collect the money and sex, she was, surprisingly, as nice as ever, so I figured it was just an act. After I carefully counted the cash twice and stuffed it deep in my front pocket, I told her there would be no "pre-game activities" for this final round of sex and stripped. Surprisingly, without even a hint, she quickly got completely naked, too. Damn, Jan was a fucking piece of ass! It had been almost a month since I'd had any nookie, so I was even hornier than usual. For the first time ever, I dived straight into sex with her for two solid hours of pure carnal pleasure, right there on the living room carpet in the very place we'd done it the first time. We fucked and sucked and licked and nibbled and kissed and spanked in every possible position, but I was careful to keep myself from cumming until the finale. Enjoying the sensual wobbling of her unique pillow-top buns, I'd been doing her doggie, but pulled out, hawked up a Louie, spat it out onto her pretty little asshole, and placed my titanium-hard cock against it. Reaching around to grasp the squishy wad of her pussy lips with one hand while using the other to forcefully grab a big boob and pull her upright, I repeatedly ram-rodded her rectum ball deep. Eyes bulging out, she screamed out in pleasure-pain loud enough to break window panes until I got a handful of hair, twisted her head around, and sucked her tongue down my throat. Then I came a lengthy, mind-bending orgasm, and with a four-week reserve of sperm in store, made a large, final deposit in Jan's bum bank. Of all the outstanding sex I had with Jan, that time was the best ever. Curiously, despite the fuck-or-go-to-jail deal, she seemed to enjoy it at least as much as I. I gave her a hard kiss and smack on the ass before leaving but could not resist looking back. Standing naked in the doorway, highball spilling over onto one hand, long-ashed Virginia Slim in the other, she was typically sloshed on booze and pills. That large, puffy-lipped mouth just made to suck cock. Those big, perfect natural tits with their bullet-like perma-pokies. The impossibly slim waist. Her humongous dark hanging labia and huge clitoris half-protruding from its meaty hood. Those loooong, smooth, and slender legs. The ungodly unique pillow-top ass I glimpsed as she turned to tap her cigarette. Damn, she was a fine piece of ass! As a rivulet of my cum snaked down a thigh from her just-reamed anus, Jan slurred, "No hard feelingsh here. You can come over and shcrew me anytime." To repair the existing fender, the pros that made the damage estimate said they'd have to use some Bondo, something that often develops an unsightly spider web pattern, especially in dark-colored cars. So, Dad and I set about doing the work ourselves. We eventually found a perfect entire front cap off a junkyard Electra 225, which fit but was slightly different—actually nicer since it had more chrome—and bolted it on my Wildcat. That cap was bronze, not black like my convertible, but cost only a couple hundred bucks, which left almost enough from the sizeable Jan fix-it fund to have the whole car re-painted by the best guy in town. Though no longer truly original, my old Buick was as good as the day it left the dealer, and from then on, I always parked it out of harm's way in Russell and Vickie's DRIVEWAY. Despite her enticing open invitation, I'd learned my lesson and was through with Jan—the good, the bad, and the ugly.