Read Online Georgia Bottoms by Mark Childress - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mark Childress
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stuff with Gorgonzola and wrap in prosciutto before bedtime. She reached for his zipper and tugged.
“Wench!” he cried. “Can’t keep your hands off me? What is it you’re wanting?” His face was even pinker—the first flush of the medication. “You can’t even wait to get your—wait, no, let me—let me help you.”
A discreet glance at the clock told her she had given him exactly thirty-five minutes of top-quality foreplay. It had been a few Sundays since they went all the way, what with his sleepiness and the shoulder rubs and all, so he was really ready. Three or four minutes, tops. She yanked down his trousers and his baggy boxers, hauled out his stubby pink thing, rolled a rubber on it, and climbed aboard.
His tough little willy was not as significant a drawback as the garlic. Neither was it any sort of added attraction. Women who say size doesn’t matter are lying through their clenched, frustrated teeth. Even under the engorging influence of the blue pill, Georgia felt little more than a stirring down there, a kind of rhythmic poke-poke. She hipped and hollered and made the bedsprings squeak as if she’d never endured anything quite so splittingly huge.
Another! Satisfied! Client!
The judge bucked and wallowed around with a sloppy grin on his face. Georgia dragged the coverlet back and made sure his flabby butt was on the sheet where it belonged, then she tightened down on him, speeded up and brought him home, hey hey
BANG!
And then yep! There it was.
“Hooeee! Damn, woman! Yeah!” He threw his hands up as if he’d just crossed the goal line. “Oh yeah!”
She leaned down to kiss him. Garlic. “Mmmm, my goodness, Jackson,” she hummed into his mouth. “You are simply overpowering tonight.”
“Careful, careful—don’t—wait, my—” He groaned and shifted. She detached herself.
She slipped into the bathroom to perform a quick hygienic procedure, came back with towels and a steaming washcloth. She got him washed up, tucked away, purring like a happy old cat. This was his usual pattern—as soon as it was over, he turned into a sleepy kitty craving a nap and the comforting stroke of his mistress’s hand. Sometimes Georgia had to perform fancy tricks to get him dressed and out the door before he dozed off for good.
No man was ever allowed to spend the night. A steady rotation under cover of darkness was essential to the successful application of the system. Sometimes Georgia felt the passing urge to snuggle up and spend the whole night in the arms of one or the other. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself that. Her life was too complex. She had responsibilities. She had plates spinning on sticks.
“Time to go, Captain,” she said in a quiet voice. “Daddy’s on his way home, and if he finds us in this situation—there’s no telling.”
“Oh Georgia,” he said, buttoning his shirt. “What would I do without you?”
“Or I, you?” She kissed his pink cheek. “Will you excuse me? I’ll be back.”
Her second trip to the bathroom was a signal, as specific as the light in the alley, although Georgia had never discussed it with the judge. She closed the door, turned on the water in the sink,flushed the commode, hummed a little tune. She sat on the toilet lid, giving him time to remember that he needed to reach into his coat for the envelope and place it atop the highboy.
This was the only part of the game that made Georgia uncomfortable. There was no completely unembarrassing way to go about it. It helped to remember a few important facts:
She never asked anyone for money. Whatever happened to be left atop the highboy was a gift, freely given. Not a payment for anything.
She never asked for any money.
The money was a gift.
As long as everyone remembered these facts there could be no misunderstanding. What you had was a simple exchange of gifts. Georgia gave the gift of her time, her complete attention, her kisses, sometimes more. She gave these things
“Wench!” he cried. “Can’t keep your hands off me? What is it you’re wanting?” His face was even pinker—the first flush of the medication. “You can’t even wait to get your—wait, no, let me—let me help you.”
A discreet glance at the clock told her she had given him exactly thirty-five minutes of top-quality foreplay. It had been a few Sundays since they went all the way, what with his sleepiness and the shoulder rubs and all, so he was really ready. Three or four minutes, tops. She yanked down his trousers and his baggy boxers, hauled out his stubby pink thing, rolled a rubber on it, and climbed aboard.
His tough little willy was not as significant a drawback as the garlic. Neither was it any sort of added attraction. Women who say size doesn’t matter are lying through their clenched, frustrated teeth. Even under the engorging influence of the blue pill, Georgia felt little more than a stirring down there, a kind of rhythmic poke-poke. She hipped and hollered and made the bedsprings squeak as if she’d never endured anything quite so splittingly huge.
Another! Satisfied! Client!
The judge bucked and wallowed around with a sloppy grin on his face. Georgia dragged the coverlet back and made sure his flabby butt was on the sheet where it belonged, then she tightened down on him, speeded up and brought him home, hey hey
BANG!
And then yep! There it was.
“Hooeee! Damn, woman! Yeah!” He threw his hands up as if he’d just crossed the goal line. “Oh yeah!”
She leaned down to kiss him. Garlic. “Mmmm, my goodness, Jackson,” she hummed into his mouth. “You are simply overpowering tonight.”
“Careful, careful—don’t—wait, my—” He groaned and shifted. She detached herself.
She slipped into the bathroom to perform a quick hygienic procedure, came back with towels and a steaming washcloth. She got him washed up, tucked away, purring like a happy old cat. This was his usual pattern—as soon as it was over, he turned into a sleepy kitty craving a nap and the comforting stroke of his mistress’s hand. Sometimes Georgia had to perform fancy tricks to get him dressed and out the door before he dozed off for good.
No man was ever allowed to spend the night. A steady rotation under cover of darkness was essential to the successful application of the system. Sometimes Georgia felt the passing urge to snuggle up and spend the whole night in the arms of one or the other. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself that. Her life was too complex. She had responsibilities. She had plates spinning on sticks.
“Time to go, Captain,” she said in a quiet voice. “Daddy’s on his way home, and if he finds us in this situation—there’s no telling.”
“Oh Georgia,” he said, buttoning his shirt. “What would I do without you?”
“Or I, you?” She kissed his pink cheek. “Will you excuse me? I’ll be back.”
Her second trip to the bathroom was a signal, as specific as the light in the alley, although Georgia had never discussed it with the judge. She closed the door, turned on the water in the sink,flushed the commode, hummed a little tune. She sat on the toilet lid, giving him time to remember that he needed to reach into his coat for the envelope and place it atop the highboy.
This was the only part of the game that made Georgia uncomfortable. There was no completely unembarrassing way to go about it. It helped to remember a few important facts:
She never asked anyone for money. Whatever happened to be left atop the highboy was a gift, freely given. Not a payment for anything.
She never asked for any money.
The money was a gift.
As long as everyone remembered these facts there could be no misunderstanding. What you had was a simple exchange of gifts. Georgia gave the gift of her time, her complete attention, her kisses, sometimes more. She gave these things
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