Dreaming of Jizzy (2 page)

“Broken in? What am I, a fucking horse?” Rick blurted out, finding the whole argument absurd.

“No, it's true, Rick. Cindy is right. Most women your age that are single have probably already had a marriage or two and probably have some kids too. They will want someone who will just seamlessly slip into the routines of family life, not someone that needs to be shown the ropes, so to speak,” Ginger explained.

“Yep, looks like you're just screwed,” Cindy added with her crabby voice, always a ray a sunshine in the office.

“Well, looks like I will just have bear the cross of dating hot twenty-something-year-olds then,” Rick replied with a devilish grin and a helpless shrug.

“I can't believe what I'm hearing!” breathed Cathy incredulously, her fingers hammering away on her keyboard with more vigor than before.

Glancing over at Cathy's head leaning in close to her screen, Rick then watched her maneuver her email onto her other screen, so he couldn't see what she was typing.

“Oh, here comes one now!” Ginger whispered encouragingly, immediately seizing Rick's attention.

Turning to Ginger, Rick followed her eyes, and wanting to be the first one out the door and with her sporty black purse swinging over her shoulder was the latest new-hire in the department, Candace. With her hip-hugging black skirt and loose white blouse, Candace was one smoking hot twenty-something year old, that was for sure. Rick had heard that the stunning brunette had recently graduated from a prestigious Ivy League college, and as this was Candace's first real job, she already had to be spoken to once by management because
someone
in the department, and Rick could guess who, emailed management that her skirts were too revealing and a 'distraction'.

With her round hips swaying back and forth as she hurried along, Candace fiddled through her tiny purse, turned the corner, and stomped right towards Rick's cubicle. Instantly excited, Rick realized that she would be passing him in a few seconds on her way out. It wasn't often she passed by his cube, and he definitely had his eye on her the last month or so. The problem was, whenever he had the random opportunity to strike up a conversation in passing, she was always rather cold and abrupt with him. Watching her hurry along, Rick's eyes couldn't help but notice her blouse bouncing and shifting, and he could only imagine how fat and meaty her breasts had to be underneath her blouse for it to move so much. There was simply too much jello jiggling underneath for her not to have enormous tits, and Rick loved a woman with a nice, full rack. Admittedly, Rick had jerked off thinking about Candace more than a few times, and he licked his lips nervously and tried to put on his best I-am-the-man pose in preparation.

Just as Candace got to where she was right next to Ginger's cubical, right in front of him, Rick then made his move.

“Oh, hi Candace!” Rick offered an upbeat greeting as he casually cocked an eyebrow and tried to appear as dashing as possible.

“Oh, hi,” Candace meekly rifled back in reply and barely looked over at him as she just kept on marching right down the aisle past him.

Shaking his head but watching her nice little ass turn the corner behind his row of cubicles and disappear out of sight, Rick exhaled deeply and locked his computer for the night. Everyone around him was quickly packing up their things now and making for the exit. If someone didn't work there and didn't know it was five o'clock, they might have thought the fire alarm had just gone off, as quickly and efficiently as everyone moved.

“Better luck next time,” Ginger whispered and winked at him as she leaned into his cubical on her way out.

At her words, Rick heard Cathy in the cubical next to him snicker, and he determined then and there that he would, in fact, stop at the store on the way home and pick up some of that nuclear hot sauce.

Closing the door to his tiny condo and locking it securely behind him, Rick put down his bundle of mail and the hot sauce he had just purchased on the table next to his door. Then, taking his cellphone and keys out of his pocket, he put his cell on the magnetic charger and his keys in the ornate bowl on the table. Taking his black wool jacket and scarf off, Rick hung them both on the coat-rack attached to the wall over the table, and finally, he put his hand over his stomach and let out a discomforting sigh.

“I knew I shouldn't have ate at Big Wow Burgers,” Rick grunted to himself, while feeling an acute burning sensation deep in the pit of his stomach.

Though he said these words, Rick immediately knew that he'd rather spend the money and, yes, have the tummy ache, than deal with all the trouble of cooking at night. The truth was, the kind of lifestyle he lived, Rick almost always sided with convenience over what was probably best for his health anyway, and it was starting to show up in his burgeoning waistline the last couple years. Just this year alone, he had already moved up two more inches in pant size, and even the newer pants he had purchased only a few months back felt tight on him now. The question at this point wasn't should he move up two more inches in pant size, it was really how many more months were left in the year. As long as he didn't have to move up two more inches this year, he could go on with the fairy tale in his head that he wasn't getting as fat as he in fact knew he was, therefore he wouldn't need to do anything about it, not that he had the willpower or energy to do anything about it anyway.

Traveling less than a dozen steps through his claustrophobic living room, Rick walked into his closet-like kitchen, which was really only large enough for one person to stand in at a time without bumping into anyone else. Reaching above his refrigerator, Rick opened the cabinet overhead, and he pulled the first brightly-colored container of antacid tablets off the shelf that he could see from below. Unfortunately, he didn't even need to open the plastic container to know that it was empty, so he just set the bottle on the counter.

Exhaling, Rick looked up and saw the same bright yellow color of another of the peculiar containers up in the cabinet, so he reached up and pulled down that one too. As he shook the plastic container, like the other, it made no noise.

“Damn it! I don't want to go back out tonight,” Rick growled, as he reached up and groped for another plastic bottle of antacid tablets possibly out of view.

After pulling down two more empty bottles, Rick finally found one that had a handful of the pink chalky tablets inside, and he quickly popped two of them into his mouth. Then, opening his refrigerator, he sucked down a mouthful of milk to chase down the cherry-flavored tablets.

Rick knew he'd be blowing gas out of his asshole in a minute or two and that sour feeling in his gut would finally subside, at least for the time being. The good thing was, he still had six more tablets left, which he knew would last him at least till morning, but he'd have to stop at the convenience store on the way home from work tomorrow, or he'd be fucked tomorrow night.

After Rick took the empty antacid bottles and threw them into the waste recycle container next to his fridge, he walked back over to his bundle of mail, retrieved it, and then sat down in the black-leather rocking chair in his boxy little living room. When he had picked up his mail at the mailbox on his way home, Rick noticed that he had a couple magazines. One of them was the micro bikini swimsuit edition of his favorite sports magazine, and the other one was wrapped in black plastic, hiding the cover completely from view. He knew what that meant, but he privately wondered which of his raunchy girly mags had finally arrived?

Feeling the only tinge of excitement he had felt all day, with exception of seeing sweet-ass Candace strut by his cubicle at work, Rick found the plastic-bagged magazine and set all his other mail aside on the end table beside the rocking chair. Before opening the plastic though, Rick snatched up the remote control off the table, switched on his wall-mounted, forty-inch flat-screen television, and he immediately turned it to the local football game, which he had recorded from two nights prior. Seeing the local team, the Monarchs, were losing twenty-one to three in the third quarter, Rick shook his head and sighed again. The Monarchs were having about as good a season, as he was having a life, and in some weird way, that allowed Rick to root for them even harder, much harder than he ever rooted for himself in about anything.

As the kicker for the Monarchs missed an easy field goal and the game went to commercial, Rick kicked up the leg-rest on his rocking chair and looked back down at the plastic-covered magazine on the arm of the chair. Just staring at the plastic and thinking what was inside made his loins stir deep down in his pelvis, and Rick felt his penis start to stiffen in his black slacks almost instantly.

Picking up the magazine, Rick stared at it, and something inside him felt like a kid about to open a present on his birthday. This was a whole lot better than turning on his computer and just watching a porn video or throwing a porn movie on his television, though he did those things a lot too. There was something alluring about not knowing what was behind the mysterious blank plastic covering of the magazine which made him more excited than even looking at it. Just the not knowing was something, he noticed, that legitimately got him off. Unfortunately, like with so many other things in his life, Rick found that the anticipation and buildup was often a hell of a lot better than the actual thing too, so he just kind of sat there and enjoyed the excited feeling for a minute or two. Rick honestly felt these were the small pleasures which made his life worth living day-to-day for him.

For years now, Rick had been receiving a handful of nasty girly magazines, and he knew he was due for one of his favorites in the mail. Of course, he expected this to be it. Making sure not to bend the magazine and put a crease in it, Rick then carefully pulled the plastic bag open along the bottom and then, just as carefully, slid the magazine out from the plastic.

“Yes, Cum Bucket Whores!” Rick breathed, as he smiled and his eyes lit up.

On the front cover of the magazine and below the bubbly pink-and-white lettering was a beautiful blonde with a huge, and obviously fake, rack. Crouched on the floor, the slut was crowded around by four faceless men, whose limp cocks surrounded her face on all sides. With her cutesy face doused with semen and literally dripping cum onto her tits and chest, the woman's makeup was running down her cheeks from her eyes, indicating that she had choked all four of those spent cocks dry by deep-throating them to climax. Along the bottom of the front cover, it said, “Watch Suzi Melons get pasted inside!”

All in all, it was a great cover, and Rick felt his pecker continuing to slowly firm up in his pants. While the blonde had a couple bad tattoos, her tits were more saggy than he liked, and she appeared a little narrow around the hips, she admittedly had a pretty face and a cute smile to boot. He knew most of the sluts that were paid to do these low-class mags were not the high-class porn stars that did all the feature films and whatnot, but he liked these vixen's willingness to go the extra mile to please their audience.

Reaching down and adjusting his penis, which had caught on his boxer shorts and was uncomfortably trying to jab itself through his left pocket, Rick completely ignored the game on the television, and after studying Suzi's tiny, penny-sized nipples for a minute longer, he began turning the pages on his favorite magazine.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Instantly jumping at the unexpected rapping at his door, Rick pursed his lips and shook his head. Here he is surrounded by hundreds of people on the streets and subway on the way back and forth from work, then surrounded by people while at work, and now, even when he is trying to have a private little moment, he can't even see Suzi Melons choke on fat dicks without being interrupted by another human being. Sometimes Rick honestly thought to himself there were simply too many fucking people in this world, and he sometimes spent hours of his day fantasizing about how a biblical-like plague needs to descend on humanity and cull the mindless herd.

Rick's first instinct was actually to just ignore the knocking, but thinking twice, he knew the television was loud enough that anyone standing outside his door could hear it and know he was home. Shoving his magazine below the stash of mail to hide it, Rick stood and started towards the door.

“Coming,” he said just loud enough, though without much enthusiasm in his voice.

Making sure his erection had died down in his slacks so he wasn't standing at full attention while answering the door, Ricked paused a moment to check himself and then proceeded to open the door. Standing outside his condo was another blonde, but it definitely wasn't pretty-faced Suzi Melons.

“Hi, Rick! I hope I'm not bothering you?”

Staring at her with dull eyes as he cracked the door, Rick couldn't help but think to himself, “Like you honestly fucking care if you bothered me, Barbara? You do this shit all the time.”

With a wrinkled smoker's smile around her aged lips, Rick's sixty-plus year old neighbor, Barbara, stood outside his door holding one of her fluffy white dogs that looked like a snow-colored furball that had stuck its snout in an electrical socket. While Barbara was spunky and was probably pretty sporty in the sack in her heyday, that dirty old bastard called age had whipped her over pretty good and left her with tan, saggy skin and a grungy smoker's cough. Dressed in bright pink cargo pants and a flowery blouse, Barbara wore far more makeup than was probably advisable in an effort to cover her overly wrinkled features.

While she was admittedly pleasant and sociable, she was one of those single older women that didn't have any kids of her own, didn't have anything to do with her fading existence, and as far as Rick was concerned, wasn't exactly 'normal'. He wasn't sure if these women like Barbara were just a little wacky from being alone for so long, or possibly combined with that, they were on some kind of 'legitimate' medication which skewed their perception and reality. All he knew for certain was, there were a couple of these older women in his building, and Rick did the best he could to avoid these lonely haunts at all costs. Any conversation with them was usually laborious and far longer than it needed to be, and along with a not-connected-to-reality look in their eyes, Rick found that these women were always trying to recruit him to help with any number of personal projects. Staring at Barbara's smiling face outside his door, instead of being rude and saying what was really on his mind though, like always, Rick pasted a fake smile on his uninspired face and then pleasantly answered his neighbor.

“No, what's going on, Barbara?”

“Oh, you watching...
the game
?!” Barbara excitedly asked, trying to peek her head inside his condo.

“Yes, I am. Is, uh, there a problem?” Rick asked, standing his ground in his doorway and definitely not taking the bait to invite her in.

“Oh, no! No problem at all! I just wanted to stop by and remind you of the home-owners meeting tonight in about an hour in the common room downstairs. We're going to be voting on that fountain by the mailboxes and whether or not to paint it blue, which I personally think would be a lovely color for it, or that hideous gray color. Why paint it at all, if we are going to paint it gray, right? Might as well just leave it the way it is, you know what I mean?”

Sighing, Rick ran his hand over his mouth and inwardly restrained himself. Here he goes to work every single day and manages millions of dollars of his clients' assets at work, and he gets to come home to this bullshit. Life must be so glorious when all you have to fucking worry about all day is what color to paint a fucking fountain.

“You know... I think I'm going to miss this one. I think you guys should have enough votes on the blue color though,” Rick encouraged, nodding his head.

“Oh, I hope so! I
really
hope so. I mean, it would ruin all our property value if they painted that beautiful fountain gray. Have you actually seen the color? It isn't like it is a natural stone color or anything, it is like a dark, smokey gray. I mean, some potential buyers might actually think that there was some kind of fire here and this place isn't safe. Heaven forbid!...”

“I hear you...” Rick calmly replied, but Barbara interrupted him, steamrolled him, and just kept on talking.

“... Plus, you know that asshole, excuse my language, that asshole, Frank, has been going around door-to-door lobbying for that horrible gray color. Can you believe that?! Oh! Oh! And I didn't tell you!? Frank also wants to propose a measure to increase our dues, as if we don't pay enough already!? I mean, I know you have a swanky job and everything at that investment company and can afford a fee increase, but some of us here are living on a fixed income! How on Earth am I...”