The Appalling Ones
by
Byron Gordon
Copyright ©2011, Byron Gordon
All rights reserved
Cover design by Byron Gordon
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the permission of the author. All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Published by SmashWords
The Appalling Ones
By Byron Gordon
Chapter One: Some Girls
It was a hot humid summer day when Anne showed up at Mason’s Belmont apartment. Mason and I had been rooming together for a month. Anne and Mason were engaging in what was a daily ritual from what I could tell. Anne had brought over two six packs of Budweiser tallboys. On Mason’s stereo The Rolling Stone’s “Some girls” was playing. Though I had only lived at Mason’s apartment for a few months we had been friends for over twenty-five years. Mason, Anne and I had known each other since our twenties. We all went to college together in the late eighties. A lot had changed in the world since then. The three of us had developed an easy and comfortable friendship. We had remained friends through easy times and hard times over thousands of drinks and many sexual partners.
It was 3 pm and we were engaged in fast heavy drinking. Anne and Mason had a true talent for it. We had been honing our drinking skills for many years. Though for Anne’s part there was little physical evidence of it. Anne was a petite black haired girl with pale porcelain skin, full lips, an easy sunny smile and dark brown eyes. She was in her late thirties and lean but she could put away an amazing amount of beer. Mason was a man in his early forties. He was on his third tall boy since he had gotten off work as a professor and he was just tuning up. I kept up as best I could. The conversation shifted from nostalgia to sex.
I was eying Anne’s lean body. Mason began telling the story of his latest S&M escapade. Dr. Richard Mason had a taste for the chocolate bdsm. Apparently he had recently visited a black dominatrix who had tied his junk up so tightly that it left his penis with zebra stripe bruises. When he finished Anne shared a story about having a fling with a wealthy financial analyst, who had been hit with a hefty paternity suit. He was so paranoid he insisted on pulling out during sex with Anne even though she had a tubal ligation. I shared a story about a friend who was an Avon lady. She would drop by during her lunch breaks and give me the most intense handjobs in her smart business suits. I told them it was like getting jacked off by Sarah Palin. She would try out the latest hand creams on my cock each week.
Our behavior had often challenged the world around us especially when we were young and horny in our twenties. We chalked up others judgmental reactions to the conservative character of the Reagan era. In our thirties, their seemed to be some expectation we should settled down and enjoy lives of marriage, homes in the suburbs and children, however our continued reveling seemed to be tolerated by our peers, friends, parents and strangers. Our forties were becoming a different story however.
The conversation continued on the topic of sex and after a few hours of drinking I found myself in a threesome with Mason and Anne. Mason and I took turns having sex with Anne while the other watched. I took Anne from behind while she sucked Mason’s Zebra striped dick. In the middle of this a friend of Mason’s called. The friend was a woman named Fran, who had once been Mason’s high school sweet heart. He had lost his virginity to her years ago. She was now married and had two special needs children. Mason tried to cajole her into coming over and joining us. Mason only succeeded in getting her to go to her bedroom and masturbate while her husband and children watched “Barney” on the TV. Mason yelled at Anne “Yeah baby, suck my cock!” then he yelled into the phone, “Fran sweetie don’t you wish you were here sucking my dick too!” About five minutes later the woman on the other end of the line had a loud orgasm and hung up immediately. Mason yelled, “You selfish bitch!” and threw the phone down. Sometime later Mason came. He got up to get another beer. Anne and I finished shortly after and she got dressed. It was exasperating to watch her cover up her beautiful body.
She was supposed to meet a girl friend later that night. She said goodbye to Mason and I then left.
Yes, it was definitely becoming harder to have fun and be sexually liberated in our forties. Despite popular thinking encouraging people to live diverse lifestyles and to “be themselves” a middle age person with a lust for life seemed to be an appalling animal to most. As freedom seeking individuals we felt shortchanged. I supposed the lesson is, if society is selling understanding and liberation the policy is “caveat emptor”, buyer beware. Unspokenly we had decided the seller (a disingenuous society) should also beware. Mason and I discussed our plans for further late afternoon reveling.
Our beer buzzes were waning, so we decided to go over to The Neighborhood Pub on Elliston Place and correct this problem. We climbed into Mason’s red Cadillac, El Dorado convertible and put the top down. The cooling wind blew in our faces as the mid-summer sky began to darken.
Chapter Two: You Look Like You Could Use Five Dollars.
The Neighborhood Pub is a medium size three-story bar with pool tables near Vanderbilt University. We had been hanging out for about thirty minutes when we started up a conversation with a couple of girls. One was a petite blond in her late thirties in a Rolling Stones, “Black and Blue” concert shirt and tight pre-faded jeans. The other girl was a dumpy brunette in her late twenties named Nikki in a flowered sundress. Doc Mason was having an enthusiastic conversation with the blond about the band that played the sound track to his life, The Rolling Stones. I was conversing easily and trading shots of whiskey with Nikki. Nikki was a drop out from Lipscomb University and she was sharing her tale of woe with me. The blond suddenly excused herself to the bar across the street to buy some cocaine. Nikki and I continued to talk while Mason got a few words in edgewise. After five shots I excused myself to the bathroom.
“How do I know you will come back?” joked Nikki looking intoxicated.
I reached into my wallet, pulled out a dollar bill and tore it in half. I gave Nikki half of it.
I said, “The next time I see you we will spend all this money.” Nikki laughed.
I smiled, walked up the stairs and into the bathroom. I took a long piss. I stood in front of the mirror afterwards. I had definitely regained the buzz that I had lost earlier. I looked at my cell phone. It was 8:24 pm; still early. I thought about the humid Nashville night outside. I put the cellphone back in my pocket and went back down the stairs. As I approached the table I noticed Mason was laughing and seemed to have recaptured his buzz as well. Nikki look frustrated and confused as I sat down next to her.
“Now looky-here.” Mason said, pulled out his wallet, removed a crumple five-dollar bill, placed it on the table and slid it towards Nikki.
“What’s that for?” She said distrustfully.
“I will give you five dollars to eat your pussy.” Mason offered.
“Do I really look like I need my pussy eaten that bad?” Nikki sneered.
“No, but you look like you desperately need five dollars.” Mason said smiling.
Nikki’s face turned red with shame and anger. She continued to talk to me, but would not acknowledge Mason. After a few minutes Mason got on his cell phone. Mason called an ex-girlfriend named Wendy. Wendy was a model thin black girl, who he had lived with a few years back. I had met her once before. After Mason got off the phone I asked him whom he was talking to.
He said in his best southern gentry, “That was Miss Wendy Jackson. I asked the beautiful dusky Miss Jackson to join us for tonight’s festivities. She said she will be here forthwith.”
“Is that your girlfriend?” Nikki said venomously.
“An ex, I am afraid.” Mason continued in this southern plantation owner’s voice. “We stopped seeing each other after she aborted my eighth child. However, she had many redeeming qualities. One of our favorite sexual activities involved the ebony princess pretending to be an antebellum slave, while I pretended to be Confederate Colonel Nathan Bedford Forrest. Miss Jackson especially enjoyed those sultry sessions of rutting, when I threaten to sell her niggah children at auction during intercourse. You see, this scenario excited her greatly, thus it would force her over the edge into a massive orgasm.”
“You do realize I am half black right?’’ Nikki asked accusingly.
After a short eternity Mason said in mock ignorance, “So then you would like to accompany us to the lesbian bar then?
Chapter Threer: Blowjob at a Dyke Bar
Nikki declined Mason’s gracious invitation and left in a huff. About 10 minutes and a beer later Wendy showed up. Wendy had dark skin and a pencil think figure most women would envy.
“Hi Mason!” Wendy said excitedly and hugged him. She winked at me over his shoulder.
Mason turned to me and said to Wendy “You remember Mr. Gordon.”
“Of course.” Wendy said and shook my hand.
We got in Mason’s convertible, put the top down and Mason began to drive through the humid southern night towards the east side of Nashville. Wendy sat next to Mason. I could tell they were still close friends.
“How have you been?” Mason asked Wendy over the radio and wind.
“Fine. I am back on my crazy pills.” She replied smiling.
I noticed she had full lips, which were emphasized nicely by her bright red lipstick.
“You are not supposed to drink alcohol while you are on those are you little girl?” Mason teased.
I leaned forward over the back seat to hear the conversation better.
“Why no, sir” she said rolling her eyes.
She was wearing a black and blue floral pattern dress, which was quite short. She ran her hand over her dark firm thighs to reveal more of her legs.
“Well then you are going to have to do double shots to catch up with us.” Mason said laughingly.
“How much have you guys been drinking?” she asked with mock worry.
“Don’t worry you are safe with me. I’m a doctor!”, reassured Mason.
Soon we were pulling up in front of The Feral Kitty. We parked by the curb.
We walked in the front door and paid the cover charge. It was karaoke night and a stocky woman was singing “Honky Tonk Women” The bar was quite crowded, but we found a seat and ordered. A cute waitress with a red 1920’s style Bob haircut took our order.
“I shall have a PBR tallboy and whatever these fine people want.” “Colonel” Mason said.
I ordered a dirty martini and Wendy ordered a Michelob Ultra Light. We watched two women do the Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton duet “Islands in the Stream”. Mason and Wendy inhaled their beers and I followed suit with my martini. Our waitress returned and we ordered another round. I ordered a PBR this time.
I was getting hammered and I was beginning to fade. Though Mason was a smaller man than I he could drink about twice as much. I often had a hard time keeping up with Mason’s drinking, so to compensate some times I took some ephedrine to match his drinking. Tonight was going to be one of those nights. I took a pill out of my pocket and surreptitiously took it. I bit down on it so it would go to work faster. It tasted bitter. The beer came and I washed the taste out of my mouth with the PBR.
We watched a small man with longish blond hair sing Elton John’s “Rocket Man”. Mason said the guy looked like a compact version of Owen Wilson. We laughed for a minute, then Mason got up to sign on to the Karaoke list. Wendy moved to Mason’s chair and sat next to me.
“Wow, this is really fun huh?” I asked.
I notice Mason talking to a woman who looked like Ellen Degeneres as they both leafed through the karaoke songbook.
“Yes, are you going to sing?” she asked making lots of eye contact with me.
“No. I don’t sing.” I said smilingly.
“Oh you should. We should do a duet singing “Don’t You Want Me Baby?” by the Human League.” Wendy said putting her hand on my thigh.
“Yeah, it’s a great tune.” I smiled, agreeing with her subtext at least.
Mason returned and Wendy switched back to her seat.
“What are you going to sing for karaoke?” Wendy asked him.
“The Worst by the great Keith Richards.” Mason replied.
I excused myself to the restroom and waded through the crowd. Most of them were women. The bar’s patrons’ age average varied between early twenties to mid forties. Some of the women dressed quite stylish and were cute, but most were in couples. I went down a corridor to where the bathrooms were. At the end of the hallway was a door leading to a fenced in patio. I looked outside for a moment. A few people were outside. I went into the men’s bathroom and pissed. I stopped in front of the mirror for my usual inspection. You only are as fucked up as you look was my philosophy. I looked at my eyes. My pupils were very dilated. I could feel the ephedrine quite strongly now. My heart beat was faster than normal. I could hear the heavy bass beat of a song through the walls. I pulled my self together. I left the bathroom and started back toward our table. I began to elbow my way into the crowd. Wendy stopped me. She put her hand on my chest.
“Where is Mason?” I asked.
“He is getting up to sing Karaoke.” She said.
“Good. Where are you going then?” I laughed.
“I was looking for you,” Wendy said and smiled back at me.
“Yeah?” I asked.
Wendy moved her thin body against mine. She said over the music with a smile. “Look Gordon it’s probably the alcohol mixing with my medication but I really want to suck your dick.”
I was a bit shocked but I asked, “Really?” and moved my hand to her ass pulling her against me. The small guy with blond hair who had been singing earlier brushed pass me going to the bathroom. I became aware at this moment that a stocky woman with a Titan’s ball cap was giving me an evil stare. Her girlfriend, a pale brunette with Bettie Page hair, whispered something in her ear. I winked at the butch one. I took Wendy by the hand and walked her down the corridor. Wendy smiled back at the couple. Let the floorshow begin, I thought and laugh a little. I was felt giddy.
I pushed Wendy against the wall, embraced her body and kissed her deeply. Normally, when I take this much ephedrine I am not very sexual. However, with Wendy’s tongue in my mouth and her body against mine, I had become aroused quickly. I put my hands firmly around the back of her small neck, looked into her eyes and asked, “So you want to suck my dick, little girl?”
“Yeah, really bad too.” Wendy pouted and brushed her hand against my hard cock.
I took her by the hand and looked out the door at the back patio. A woman was out there smoking a clove cigarette. I pushed the door open to the men’s bathroom. No luck; the mini Owen Wilson dude was talking on his cell phone. I peeked into the women’s bathroom. It was empty. Yes!
“A small breach in etiquette…” I said to myself walking into the women’s room bringing Wendy in by the hand.
Wendy said, “Wait this is the Women’s bathroom.”
“Shut up.” I said and pushed her into the stall, then shut the door and latched it. She giggled as I push against the wall. We began making out as she unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants. She slid down to her knees, pulled my dick into her mouth and went to work. She took my cock deep into her mouth and I began to moan. She took my cock deeper into her throat, then slowly slid it back out and teased its head with her tongue. I shoved her head forward and my dick into her throat again. She began to rapidly move her mouth over my hardness. My paranoia of getting caught receiving a blowjob in a lesbian bar’s bathroom was enhanced by the ephedrine buzz. This trepidation was starting to cut through the haze of lust and alcohol, which swirled through my mind and body. This only served to delay my orgasm and drew things out further. Wendy was holding my balls and I could feel I was close to coming.
“Fuck yeah, Wendy!” I moaned, then I heard the bathroom door open.
My lust abated slightly and Wendy slowed down a bit. I heard the door shut and I spied through the small opening in the stall at the butch woman in the Titan’s hat. She moved into the stall next to us. I placed my hand on the back of Wendy’s head to make her move faster. My awareness of my surroundings was diminished again. I began to feel near orgasm, then I came very hard.
“Fuck!” I moaned and banged by fist against the stall as Wendy coaxed the semen out of my sensitive post orgasm cock.
“Hey, what the fuck?” I heard the woman in the next stall say as she let loose a loud fart.
I pulled Wendy up and kissed her. I opened the stall door and stepped out zipping up my pants.
“You’re not supposed to be in here!” The butch woman pointed at me, livid with anger.
“Look, I am a post-opt transsexual and I forgot. Don’t judge me!” I said pulling Wendy out of the stall.
“…or her either.” I pulled Wendy out of the door behind me.
I felt a little sweaty and hot. We politely, but quickly moved through the crowd back to the table. An overweight man resembling Liza Minnelli more than he rightfully should have was belting out “New York, New York”. Mason was sitting at the table surrounded by four or five empty beer cans. He was staring at something across the room and he looked quite intoxicated.
“…well Mason, this place is great fun, but I think we need to leave…quickly.” I said.
“Hold on, I am watching these hot lesbians.” Mason said.
Mason had been keeping himself entertained by watching a couple make out who looked like Melissa Etheridge and Kathy Bates. I looked back.
“So you are ok? Ready to go somewhere else? …Now?” I said winking at Wendy.
“Yeah, let’s go Mason.” Wendy said
“Okay..Fine! I just was watching some sex-o shit.” Mason said annoyed.
“Right, well let us go to “Joxxxx’s Sports Bar” maybe you can watch more old men neck there.” I said.
“Sounds good.” Mason laughed, giving up. He got up and put a few dollars on the table.
I looked back toward the bathroom and noticed the butch woman talking to her girlfriend and looking around the bar. Mason was moving in their direction toward the front door.
“Let’s use the back door.” I suggested.
“Why? Were parked out front.” Mason replied over the music.
“The back door is closer. We don’t have to deal with walking through the crowd.” I insisted.
“Good point sir!” Mason said
I noticed the butch woman pushing her way through the crowd toward us. She looked angry. You would think lesbians would appreciate sexual freedom more, I thought silently. We slipped out the back door, down the porch steps and came around the front of the bar. As we got into the car I heard some women yelling in the back of the Feral Kitty. Mason began to drive. I sighed and laughed to myself. My heart beat fast with thoughts of lust and mischief. We drove down the dark street and into the night again.
Chapter Four: The Shouting Match
We pulled into the Joxxx’s Sports Bar black top parking lot. Mason parked his convertible out front by the bar’s bay windows. As we entered the bar I was glad to see it was not crowded. I needed to relax. In the corner there was a riser. Many nights it served as a stage for live bands. A sofa, two chairs flanking it and a coffee table were set up on it now, which looked perfectly comfortable. Mason and Wendy sat on the sofa. I went to the bar for draft beers. I ordered from the Arabic bartender, who was eyeing Wendy then I joined my friends.
We sat together and began to drink. Mason was beginning to look a little tired, but I was still amped from the ephedrine and excitement from earlier. We were beginning to relax. The bar was smoky and the jukebox began playing “Sympathy for the Devil”. I noticed the Owen Wilson look a like from the lesbian bar walking towards us.
“Hi, you guys were at the Feral Kitty earlier, right?” said Owen Wilson
“Yes, sir we were.” Said Mason.
Wendy smiled at Owen Wilson.
“Yes, it was quite fun. You sang “Rocket Man” right?” Wendy asked the blond man.
“I did.” He replied.
“You did a great job at “The Worst” at karaoke.” Owen Wilson complimented Mason.
“Thank you sir.” Mason replied.
Owen Wilson introduced himself as Tracy then joined us. He sat across from Mason in a chair. We talked for a while and had a few more beers.
I noticed a tall woman sitting alone at a table. She looked like Kathy Griffin.
I looked over at Wendy’s long shapely legs, which were nicely on display. She was wearing black leather high heel sandals and her toenails were painted red.
I smiled at Wendy and said, “Nice shoes, baby.”
“Thank you.” She replied
“And beautiful feet.” Tracy, our new acquaintance chimed in.
“Thank you but they are no where as beautiful as Mason’s feet”. Wendy replied laughing.
“Yes, it’s true. They are what turned Neil Patrick Harris gay.” Mason joked.
I looked at Tracy and concurred, “It’s true. Granted Harris’s heterosexuality was just hanging by a thread.”
“…but then he saw these.” Mason put his feet on the coffee table. “After that it was just dick, dick, dick, dick for Neil.”
Wendy and I laughed.
“Really?” Tracy asked credulously.
“Oh you have to show him!” Wendy gushed.
“Yes, see if our new friend can pass the test.” I added.
Mason removed his black leather loafers and dress socks to reveal his feet. He displayed his white porcelain feet on the black coffee table.
Mason rolled his toes lasciviously and looked at Tracy and said, “These are “The Toes of Justice””.
“Oh… those are very nice indeed!” Owen Wilson gushed moving from the sofa to sit on his knees in front of the coffee table.
“Can I touch them?” He dared.
“Sure, go ahead.” Mason said raising an eyebrow. Mason was intoxicated with both alcohol and amusement. Wendy and I laughed loudly.
Owen Wilson began to massage Mason’s right foot expertly. Mason moaned with pleasure.
“Oooh, that feels great.” Mason said.
“Me next, me next!” said Wendy excitedly.
I excused myself to the bathroom. On the way back I noticed the tall girl still sitting alone. I stopped, introduced by self and bought her a drink. Her name was Tiffany. I looked back toward my friends. Wendy now had her feet on the table with her shoes off too. Owen Wilson was massaging Mason’s other foot. I noticed the Arabic bartender watching them with stern disapproval. I thought he would start to gag soon.
“Can I get a foot massage too?” Tiffany asked
“Sure, I’ll give you one.” I said.
“Sweet.” Tiffany said smiling.
She lifted her left leg and placed her foot between my legs on the barstool. Her leg was bare and she wore red stiletto on her foot. As I removed her high heel shoe, Tiffany pulled her skirt up revealing more of her thigh. I ran my hand over her pale toned leg. I massaged her foot, while we made small talk for a while. She was attractive. She was large, but not fat. Though she was sitting I guessed her to be about the same height as myself. She was wearing a low cut red dress and her chest was quite ample.
I looked back over at my friends. Mason had his head leaned back on the sofa and Tracy was giving Wendy a foot rub now.
“These feet are wonderful, but this leg is what really needs a massage. May I?”, I ask Tiffany and smiled.
She said, “Please.” leaning forward to reveal more of her large breasts.
“So what do you think?”, she asked.
“Yes, I think I can help you.” I replied and smiled. I look to where my friends were.
Wendy and Owen Wilson were gone, but Mason was still there. His head was still lying on the back of the sofa. He might have been sleeping. A vigilant friend might have gone to check on him, but I was having too much fun with Tiffany.
Tiffany moved slightly forward in her chair. Sliding forward, she wrapped her toes around my cock as I continued to massage her leg.
“That feels so good. How is it for you?” Tiffany asked.
“I think we should go back to your place. There are other parts of your body I would like to massage.” I replied.
Suddenly Mason appeared and slammed his black loafer on the table.
“Stop talking to this transvestite! We’re leaving!” Mason barked. He slammed the shoe down again on the table spilling our beers, then walked towards the door.
“Excuse me. I believe my ride is leaving. Can I get your phone number?” I asked.
I looked over Tiffany’s shoulder, then noticed Mason was being escorted to the door by the bartender.
I quickly followed them outside. When I got outside Mason look livid. Mason and the bartender, who was a thin sized Arabic man, were engaged in a shouting match by Mason’s Cadillac convertible.
“You can not sleep in the bar sir! It’s against the fucking state law!” the Arabic bartender shouted spitting on Mason.
“You didn’t have to shove me so hard to wake me up, you fucking douche bag!” Mason yelled.
“Fuck you! You are the douche bag!” The bartender fired back.
“No God Dammit, you’re a douche bag!” Mason yelled and threw his loafer at the bartender hitting him in the center of his chest.
The Arabic bartender looked shocked for a moment then he grabbed Mason giving him a hard throw to the asphalt parking lot. The bartender tried to pounce on Mason, but Mason kept kicking at the man’s crouch from the ground. Things appeared to be at a stalemate when I said, “Well… Mason I think you made your point here.”
Mason got up and said loudly, “You’re god damn right I did!” and threw his one shoe in the car.
“Come on Gordon. Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Mason declared.
The Arabic bartender continued to glare at him hoping Mason would fight more. I began to walk around behind the car. Just then Wendy came running out of the back door and yelled from the steps, “Mason don’t go without me!”
“Then get in the god damn car Wendy!” Mason ordered her shaking his shoe at her.
“No! You’re too drunk to drive! I’m scared!” She screamed back.
Mason fired up the convertible and The Rolling Stone’s “When The Whip Comes Down” blared loudly from the stereo’s speakers.
Mason tried one last time, “Wendy get in this fucking car right now!”
I was barely in the passenger seat when Mason put the car in reverse.
Just then Owen Wilson slammed out of the back door breaking its glass. His mouth and nose were buried in Mason’s shoe as he huffed the odor from it deeply. He pulled his face away from it and yelled to Mason, “Don’t take your car! You’ll kiiill yourself!”
\Mason ignored him. Owen Wilson took a final longing huff from Mason’s leather loafer and lobbed it through the air into the backseat of Mason’s still moving convertible.
Mason shoved the car shifter into drive squealing tires out of the parking lot.
We drove into the darkness. Somewhere behind us I heard Tracy yell, “God damn you and your beautiful feet!”
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