orange avenger
25+ Posts
She wasn't the kind of dame you'd take home, at least not if her place was closer. As she sat there in front of me, crossing and uncrossing my eyes with a pair of stems that'd put Waterford out of business, I was glad that I had a seat, because I had a pup tent going that was headed for the Big Top.
I had to find out what her angle was. Why would a dame that could take market share from Viagra hire a guy like me to go to a football practice? At least the check had cleared, even if the picture hadn't.
It was hot enough to weld the balls back onto the provervial brass monkey, and so humid I was starting a mushroom farm in my asscrack. She was wearing a burnt orange tank top that strained everything except my imagination.
"You see Derrick Johnson?" she asked, pointing at the field. I nodded. "When we play the dirt burglars, he's going to hit Jason White so hard his teeth are going to clatter to the turf like a pair of loaded dice. And Tubbs? He's gonna yank little Quentin Griffin's spine out and play Kitten on the Keys on it." She swung her arm to the other end of the field, and I ducked in order to avoid a double D concussion. "Simms? Forget about wideouts, I'm talking wide-on...and Vasher's gonna be by people quicker than it takes me to separate an elderly banker from a thousand clams."
But something didn't add up. For one thing, she didn't know who James Street was. For another, I spotted a box of Gold Bond Medicated Powder in her purse. Then it all made sense: the maroon undies that I'd chalked up to a 'visit from her cousin,' the fact that she'd claimed to have slept with only eleven men, the Little Bo Peep fantasy she hinted at for Mack Brown. There was no time to lose. Risking a public indecency charge, and, quite possibly, a People's Elbow Award, I did the only thing I could think of: I dropped trou and slapped her, hard. "Ever see one of THESE on a dead collie?" She went to pieces on the spot. "They put me up to it," she sobbed, "they promised me I could be a cheerleader if I would give them the inside scoop on tu practices".
"But practice is open to the public," I said, "why hire me to take you somewhere that RC and staff could go without any problem?" She could only mutter something about having gone to Blinn and not knowing any better.
After I explained everything to the cops, it was all copascetic. Lieutenant Bradshaw wan't too happy about it, either. "I don't get it, OA...just when I think I got you solid on a morals beef, you wiggle out of it."
One of these days, Bradshaw'll figure out that you just can't poor mouth a hard bitten dick.
By the way, after I got a few Stolie Kamikazes in her we figured out just where I really fit in.
HOOK THEM, HEAD THEM, DRAG THEM THROUGH THE DIRT.
I had to find out what her angle was. Why would a dame that could take market share from Viagra hire a guy like me to go to a football practice? At least the check had cleared, even if the picture hadn't.
It was hot enough to weld the balls back onto the provervial brass monkey, and so humid I was starting a mushroom farm in my asscrack. She was wearing a burnt orange tank top that strained everything except my imagination.
"You see Derrick Johnson?" she asked, pointing at the field. I nodded. "When we play the dirt burglars, he's going to hit Jason White so hard his teeth are going to clatter to the turf like a pair of loaded dice. And Tubbs? He's gonna yank little Quentin Griffin's spine out and play Kitten on the Keys on it." She swung her arm to the other end of the field, and I ducked in order to avoid a double D concussion. "Simms? Forget about wideouts, I'm talking wide-on...and Vasher's gonna be by people quicker than it takes me to separate an elderly banker from a thousand clams."
But something didn't add up. For one thing, she didn't know who James Street was. For another, I spotted a box of Gold Bond Medicated Powder in her purse. Then it all made sense: the maroon undies that I'd chalked up to a 'visit from her cousin,' the fact that she'd claimed to have slept with only eleven men, the Little Bo Peep fantasy she hinted at for Mack Brown. There was no time to lose. Risking a public indecency charge, and, quite possibly, a People's Elbow Award, I did the only thing I could think of: I dropped trou and slapped her, hard. "Ever see one of THESE on a dead collie?" She went to pieces on the spot. "They put me up to it," she sobbed, "they promised me I could be a cheerleader if I would give them the inside scoop on tu practices".
"But practice is open to the public," I said, "why hire me to take you somewhere that RC and staff could go without any problem?" She could only mutter something about having gone to Blinn and not knowing any better.
After I explained everything to the cops, it was all copascetic. Lieutenant Bradshaw wan't too happy about it, either. "I don't get it, OA...just when I think I got you solid on a morals beef, you wiggle out of it."
One of these days, Bradshaw'll figure out that you just can't poor mouth a hard bitten dick.
By the way, after I got a few Stolie Kamikazes in her we figured out just where I really fit in.
HOOK THEM, HEAD THEM, DRAG THEM THROUGH THE DIRT.
