Fuck Buddy

by Scott Hildreth

  I nodded my head. “Sure am. What can I do for you?”

  “Well…” she said.

  Roughly thirty blowjobs, a dozen or so good solid fuckings, and an afternoon of fucking Tyler and me simultaneously, she paid for her tattoo, and the three of us were pleased with everything. Since completing the tattoo, I hadn’t seen her, but that was typical for the women who chose to trade sex for tattoos. It seemed after it was all over, most of them felt like nothing but a whore, and were embarrassed about what they had chosen to do.

  I wondered how many of them regretted it later, as I would expect every time they looked at the tattoo, it would act as a reminder of their willingness to trade their bodies for sex.

  “I was thinking about getting a back piece, one almost exactly like Sandy’s,” she said as she twisted her hips from side to side.

  “Oh really?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but maybe like a big dragon instead of the peacock she got. But the same size and everything,” she said.

  “I see. It’d be a pretty intricate piece. It could be free-handed, and I could start on it today, or I could draw something up and see what you thought about it, maybe make an appointment for this weekend. Turn around and let me see the width of your back,” I said.

  She turned around, hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her shorts, and bent slightly at the waist. There was no doubt she was attractive, and in her altered state she was built for one thing and one thing only: fucking. My interest, however, remained solely with Riley. After a quick study of her back, I asked her to turn around.

  “You have any scars, birthmarks, or imperfections on your back?” I asked.

  She turned her head, peered over her shoulder toward the window. After feeling satisfied no one was passing by, she reached down and pulled off her shirt in one quick yank. Her two cantaloupe sized tits held firm and high on her size two frame. Her nipples looked much worse in the flesh than they did hidden by the thin fabric of her shirt.

  “I don’t know, you tell me,” she said as she slowly turned around.

  “You wanting to suck a little cock and maybe give up that little pussy for this tat?” I asked flatly.

  She peered over her shoulder. “I’d like to.”

  “Tyler,” I hollered, “This one’s for you.”

  As he hurried toward the front of the shop, I turned away and got my cigarettes. Instead of walking past them again and being forced to see her dumb naked self again, I walked out the back door, sat down on my motorcycle, and lit a cigarette.

  Halfway through the cigarette, I took my phone from my front pocket, scrolled to Riley’s number, and typed a simple text.

  Thinking of you

  After reading and rereading it a few times, I decided it was perfect.

  I pressed send, grinned at the thought of her reading it, and wondered what would go through her mind when she did. It was actually the first text message I had sent her, and my first step toward anything with her that was beyond total professionalism. As I pushed the phone into my pocket, it beeped.

  I bit the butt of the cigarette in my teeth, pulled the phone from my pocket and opened the text message.

  I’ve never stopped

  Reading the text caused me to smile from ear to ear. The thought of her thinking of me provided me with an odd sense of satisfaction that everything I was feeling wasn’t all for not. As I pursed my lips around the cigarette and inhaled a long drag, I pressed the buttons on the screen.

  Coffee?

  I pressed send, flicked the cigarette butt into the alley, and exhaled the smoke into the humid evening air. Before the smoke dissipated, the phone beeped again.

  Thought you’d never ask

  I quickly typed my next message.

  Pick you up on the bike?

  The response was immediate.

  Can’t wait 12721 Birchwood. When?

  I gazed at the back door and thought of Tyler and the MILF with off centered nipples.

  Now?

  I pressed send.

  Her response caused me to once again grin from ear to ear.

  I’ll be sitting on the porch waiting

  I turned on the key, started the motor, and allowed it to warm up to temperature before pulling out of the alley. As I rode past the front of the shop, I slowed to an almost stop and peered inside. Although the blinds were pulled, the east blind wasn’t shut completely. The shadows were clear, at least to me, but I knew what I was looking for.

  Candee Diamond was bent over Tyler’s chair, and he was behind her fucking her like a mad man. I turned to face the street ahead of me and prepared to accelerate. I realized the further away from that nasty bitch I could make myself, the better off I would be. As I gripped the throttle, I couldn’t help myself. Similar to passing a terrible accident on the highway, I had to take one last look.

  As Tyler continued to pound away he glanced in my direction. Realizing the sound of my exhaust must have gathered his attention, I raised my left hand and waved. He released her hip, raised his right hand, and waved in return. Slightly humored, but even more disgusted, I twisted back on the throttle with my right hand and separated myself from him and Candee as quickly as I was able.

  As I rode up the street, my only focus was Tyler’s having traded sex for the tattoo. The ride to Riley’s house was about ten miles, and took almost twenty minutes in traffic. The entire trip, the MILF being in the shop bothered me. In considering my life’s concerns, I realized changing things would only come from making a change within me.

  I pulled up in front of her house and she was right where she said she would be, sitting on the porch in her jean shorts, Chuck’s, and a worn tee shirt.

  As I watched her stand and walk my direction, I decided I would implement a new company policy starting the next day.

  Blurred Lines would be a cash only establishment. Trading sex for tattoos would be a thing of the past.

  Even for Tyler.

  RILEY

  My life was a book. The chapters had been my experiences, and although I couldn’t alter the portion that had been written, I was prepared to change the tone of the book from the dramatic mess it had been to a love story with a happy ending.

  “So what did you think? You enjoy riding?” he asked as he pulled the motorcycle into to the driveway.

  “I loved it,” I responded. “It was much more fun than I expected.”

  He flipped a switch beside his right hand and stopped the engine. Feeling a slight bit awkward sitting on the back of the motorcycle and gripping his waist in my hands with the engine off and the motorcycle stationary in the driveway, I released my grip and stared down at my empty hands. I leaned forward until my chin touched the back of his shoulder.

  “You want to come in?” I asked.

  “I should probably get home. Busy day tomorrow,” he responded as he leaned over the left side of the motorcycle.

  After he lowered the kickstand, I got off the motorcycle and turned to face him. He relaxed into the seat and rubbed his hands together as frantically as he had in the tattoo shop. As he shifted his eyes from the porch to me and around the yard, his hands never stopped moving. I decided as I watched him that it was a nervous habit, and something about being around me and not having an agenda made him nervous.

  “Well…” he began as he turned his head to face me.

  “Just for a little bit?” I asked.

  His hands stopped moving and he clenched his right hand into a fist. As he raised his hand to his mouth, he exhaled and glanced toward the porch.

  While he gazed blankly at the porch, I realized Blake was truthfully only the second man I had spent time with in my adult life; or at least time alone with. Although I had spent my entire life in the presence of a man, that man had been Stephen, and I had no experience beyond him. Being with Blake and doing nothing to speak of was more enjoyable than being with Stephen and doing anything. With Blake, for whatever reason, I felt I was able to relax. Maybe it was that he didn’t question me, make de
mands of me, or require an explanation of my whereabouts while he was at work.

  In the time we had spent at the coffee shop I realized I had no idea who I really was or what I enjoyed doing with a man. If someone were to ask me the question, I couldn’t accurately respond. Being in Blake’s presence was simple and required very little on my part. He seemed satisfied with me, my actions, and my responses to his simple questions. Even though I understood any man who was attentive to my needs would probably be perceived as being worthy of reciprocation on my part, Blake was different.

  Or at least I told myself so.

  He seemed mysterious to me. In hindsight, it was quite possible anyone would have seemed to be a mystery; but at the time, I was convinced Blake was someone I needed to figure out, and doing so appeared to consume me. The mysterious element combined with his expressed interest in me and his handsome looks were all I needed to convince myself prying further into his life was what I needed to do with all of my available time. And, as I was living off of Stephen’s money and didn’t have a job, time was something I had plenty of.

  “Maybe like ten minutes,” he responded as he lowered his hand.

  For me to hide my excitement was impossible.

  “Ten minutes is great,” I said excitedly.

  Without warning or excuse, I began walking toward the porch. After stepping onto the first step, I paused and turned toward the driveway. Blake was still sitting on his motorcycle. Once again rubbing his hands together, but much less aggressively this time, he gazed in my direction.

  He seemed confused.

  Based on what I was able to see, and only on what I was able to see, I would have expected Blake to be an aggressive man who possessed a take-charge attitude. He sat nervously on his motorcycle as proof that judging someone based on their looks alone wasn’t an intelligent decision. His appearance made him attractive to me, but his many nervous actions and uncertainty of how to proceed made him even more so.

  “Come on, the clock’s ticking away,” I said playfully.

  He stepped off of the bike and glanced around the yard.

  “Nice place,” he said as he slowly walked up the drive.

  “Thanks, I’m just leasing it,” I responded.

  “Still pretty nice,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said as I stood on the bottom step and waited for him.

  As I reached into my pocket and fished for my keys, he stood on the back side of the porch, as far away from me as he was physically able. After opening the door and stepping inside, I waited as he glanced around at his surroundings and proceeded to slowly walk into the house. After raking his fingers through his hair, he peered into the living room and seemed to survey the furniture.

  “Where do you want me to sit?” he asked.

  I waved my hand toward the living room. “Wherever, it doesn’t matter.”

  His eyes shifted nervously around the room. “Are we going to sit together?”

  “If you want,” I said.

  “I wasn’t sure,” he shrugged.

  “I mean, if you want to, I’d like to,” I said.

  “You want something to drink?” I asked.

  “I’m good,” he responded as he stepped in front of the couch.

  I walked past him, sat on the far side of the couch, and patted the cushion beside me. “Sit down, I promise, I won’t bite.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” he said as he sat down a few feet from me.

  “I was just joking. So, what are your policies about your clients? You know, like hanging out with your clients?” I asked.

  As soon as I spoke, I felt like maybe I should have waited to ask the question. As I sat feeling somewhat foolish for blurting it out without much thought, he responded.

  He shook his head. “No policies about that.”

  “So, we’re good?” I asked.

  He nodded his head as he crossed his legs. “Yeah, we’re good.”

  I twisted to the side and turned to face him. “You remember I told you’d I’d only been with one guy in my life?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” he responded as he uncrossed his legs and pressed the palms of his hands onto his thighs.

  “Well, just so you know, I’m nervous,” I said, even though for some reason I wasn’t.

  He turned to face me, crossed his legs again, and folded his arms in front of his chest. I glanced at his tattooed knuckles, held my gaze for a moment, and shifted my eyes upward slightly, trying not to focus directly on his face, but well beyond him.

  I felt a need to make Blake comfortable, as he was obviously uncomfortable, and was expressing it outwardly. I was sure he was no newcomer to being in the presence of women, and I wondered if my lack of experience with men was exactly what might have been making him uncomfortable, or if it was my age. Although I felt immature at times with Stephen, I felt in the short time I had been away from him I had matured considerably, and was now equal to or beyond other women my age in regard to my level of maturity.

  After an extended period of silence, the majority of which I spent gazing at my faux fern and a book case full of books I hadn’t read, I shifted my eyes to Blake and decided my repeated explanations of only being with one man were more than likely the driving force of his nervous behavior.

  In short, I suspected he didn’t know how to proceed with me for fear of causing me to feel uncomfortable.

  “It shows,” he responded.

  I leaned into the arm of the couch and widened my eyes slightly.

  “Does it?” I asked.

  He nodded his head. “Your body language.”

  Although I took exception to his statement, I said nothing. After a short pause, I opted to change the subject slightly.

  “You know, I like being around you. Even though I may act nervous, you make me feel comfortable. It’s nice being around someone who doesn’t demand things of me or push me around. I just might get used to this if you’re not careful,” I said.

  He uncrossed his legs and turned to face me. “Oh really? Get used to it, huh?”

  I nodded my head and grinned. He glanced down at the cushion between us.

  He intertwined his fingers and cracked his knuckles. After inhaling a slow breath through his nose, he exhaled and glanced upward.

  “Wait. Push you around, what do you mean?” he asked.

  “My ex, he used to get kind of rough with me sometimes,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, he was just a mean person.”

  “Well, what do you mean? Define rough,” he said.

  I shrugged again and considered what to tell him. After a short moment, I decided there was no harm in telling him the truth.

  “Well, I already told you we got together when I was young,” I paused, exhaled, and adjusted my position on the couch.

  “He uhhm. After a year or so, he’d get mad at me and shove me or slap me, and he…”

  He uncrossed his arms and his eyes went wide.

  “He’d slap you?” he asked.

  I nodded my head.

  He stood from his seat and faced the far wall. After a moment, he turned around and glared down at me.

  “Seriously?” he asked.

  I thought I had already shared my stories of Stephen’s violent behavior with Blake when I was at the tattoo parlor. Based on his reaction, it was apparent I had not. I fixed my eyes on his, pursed my lips, and nodded my head.

  “I don’t like that. Not at all,” he said.

  “I didn’t like it either. That’s why I left,” I responded.

  He lowered himself onto the couch, this time right beside me with his leg almost touching mine. I glanced at his leg, making note of his close proximity, and he immediately began to reposition himself. I placed my hand on his thigh, leaned to the side, and as awkward as it seemed doing so, kissed him lightly on the lips. Although it was apparent by his expression the kiss caught him off guard, I continued. I kissed him again, thi
s time fully on the lips and with a little more aggression.

  He kissed me in return, and after a few seconds, the awkwardness of it all diminished. Almost immediately, we were making out on the couch like a couple of prepubescent unknowing teens. The excitement of it all was beyond what I would have imagined, and far more than I expected kissing anyone would ever be. Be it the fact I initiated it, or because it was with someone I really enjoyed spending time with, I didn’t know nor did I care. At that moment, kissing Blake was more satisfying than anything I could ever remember experiencing. As we continued, his hands eventually found their resting place, one on my waist, and one on my right bicep.

  When I was young, I was an avid movie watcher, and always chose a romance over any other movie. Love Actually, The Notebook, The Proposal, When Harry Met Sally, Pretty Woman, Dear John, and Say Anything were among my favorites. After countless movies and much anticipation, I expected my first kiss to resemble what the movies depicted. I was surprised to find that, at least for me, kissing wasn’t as enjoyable in person as it was expressed in the movies.

  Until now.

  Kissing Blake was something completely different. With my head spinning and my mind grasping at the new sensation and attempting to identify it, I continued to kiss him, not wanting the newfound pleasure to stop. As my stomach began to swirl in circles from the escalating sexual tension, I reluctantly paused for a much needed breath.

  As our lips parted, I glanced down and into his lap. His excitement was apparent, as his cock had his jeans stretched to a point of ripping through the denim if we continued. It was pretty obvious he was well-endowed, and after my having caught a glimpse of his level of arousal, I decided to let him know my thoughts.

  I was so far beyond being sexually aroused that I really would have had a difficult time explaining to anyone other than myself how I felt. Sometimes, I decided, actions are better than the spoken word. I leaned forward, pressed my lips to his, and reached for the denim tent he was pitching. As soon as my hand encompassed his swollen rod, I squeezed lightly, and he instantly jumped from the couch.

  “I really need to get,” he said as he jumped up.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I asked as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.