Mayıs 28, 2021

Sex is Best in Key West

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INTRODUCTION — All people in this story are over the age of 18 and all sex is described as it happened unless I’ve forgotten something. I can remember most of the sex but there were a few times I was too drunk to be sure. Oh yeah, there is a lot of dialectic slang thrown in here in so please don’t ask me if I was born in China or if I am a native speaker. Ok, I ain’t had much book learn’n and no doubt there’ll be a bunch of typos also. Oh, yeah there is some mention of young whores in Cuba, well they are all over 18 so please don’t send the story back on account of that comment.

*****

My Dad’s real name is Richard Hattiesburg but he goes by the abbreviation Dick Hat, that’s how he signs all his paintings. You might a heard of Pop, he’s mentioned in all the tourist brochures that the city gives out at the airport. Maybe you didn’t know we had an Airport here in the Keys? Well, we do. Truth be told, it’s not much of one, the runway is so short that they only allow a few fat people on the plane or the flight would end up in the ocean.

I’m Richard Hattiesburg II, but since I was around 12 years old Pop just called me Big Dick. You can imagine why. When we’d pee off the dock trying to hit those big mosquitoes folks would stare and point, not at Dad but at me.

Having a big dick makes most men envious and most girls are easily attracted to you if your wang fills out the overstuffed front of your jeans. But when they get you alone and you get it out, she says she is too afraid to let you use it.

I learned long ago to keep my big dick in my pants until the ladies were into their 3rd or 4th beer. At that point they have their eyes half closed and only afterwards do they realize what is happening when they are on their backs, with their panties hanging down on one leg and their skirt folded back over their bellies. If they get a prevision they may well say,

“No!” or “You are too big for me.”

But the fact is most vaginas are of the ‘one size fits all category’ but sometime you just gotta stretch it a little to fit.

When you get the first 6 or 8 inches inside them they start to squirm and say, “Stop!” At that moment you just gotta flick your hips to get the rest of your dick inside, balls deep, before the gal can take off and leave ya with two swollen blue balls.

After a few tear drenched minutes the gals acclimate and Jesus, these pussies are yours for the rest of time. I’ve even had one timers cut me off on the highway to get another fast fuck off on the sides of those bridges that link this miniature archipelago that is Key West. And, that’s a good six months after the first time I’d fucked ’em.

These girls will even drop by the studio with their friends who they want you to open all the way up, especially if they don’t like their friend’s boyfriend. Those last few inches kind of seals the eventual rupture of what was but ain’t going to be no more. And the bitches want to watch you do their friend! But I don’t care, if there are only two of ’em I just fuck them both.

The heat in Key West is enough to suffocate you. You literally pray for the wind to pick up with its strong smell of seaweed and sea urchins, mussels and jelly fish. Sometimes the man-o-war are so thick you can hardly steer a boat through them out to the open blue waters where the flying fish will jump over your boat as if they were birds.

I live in a small house on the western shore, my dad’s family have lived there since the 2nd World War ended. My Grandma said the place was teeming with sailors back then. She was alway a little unclear as to who Grandaddy was, she says she’s pretty sure which of the three sailors it was that night but she can’t be sure. Anyway, we’ve never seen hide nor hair of the scalawag. She’s in her 90’s now and kind of lives in the past, she can’t remember Grandad’s name or his face but,

“He sure had a big dick,” she says.

I was just a kid born out of a young woman who had no place to go. Dad, who is now in his early 70’s but could pass for 50, all muscled and tan, moved her into his home some twenty years ago with the deftness of fitting a size 6 shoe on a woman with a size 8 foot. It’s never going to fit but it’s the illusion that keeps you trying. She became his model and muse, with those long legs, big tits and flaming red hair. Went by the name Tangerine O’Malley.

My mom disappeared some time after I was 8 years old. It didn’t happen overnight, little by little she just sort of drifted away, leaving me behind. Dad said she was heavy into cocaine and who ever was supplying it to her was also fucking her, so we just wrote her off as bad baggage.

Someone told Dad they’d seen her down in a Havana bar with a bunch of middle aged prostitutes but who knows if it was really her. Dad thought that sounded right because she was hanging around a Cuban coke smuggler back then and he shook his head at the thought of her trying to compete with the younger whores.

After she disappeared, taking all her clothes in an old leather bahis firmaları suitcase, the old guy didn’t kick me out, he let me hang around and clean his brushes and stretch his canvases. He was a painter, you might say he was talented. The tourists bought his painting up like they were cotton candy. Mostly pictures of sand and cactus and small sailing boats, sometimes scenes of the shrimpers that sailed out into the open sea every day or the crowd of guys at the old Cannery, where the smelts were packaged in olive oil and salt for the short duration of their season. Every damn picture is a little different then the one before it, excepting that in the right hand corner it was signed ‘Dick Hat’ and there was always a date.

The only paintings he never offered up for sale were the nudes of my Mom. There was a series of them; naked on the bed, naked on the beach, legs spread wide on the kitchen table, the same table we still eat on and some rear views of her looking out the living room to the ocean beyond with the white clouds rolling up as if before a storm.

If you looked real closely there seemed to be someone standing in the shadows of the last ones he painted of her. You could tell the old ones from those that preceded by the dates. He kept all of them nudies up in his bedroom. Said they were too artistic to sell. I admit they were a lot more interesting then the tourist ones.A nude will cut more ice then a cactus thorn.

Pop tried to teach me to paint but I just wasn’t good at it. What I was good at was getting in trouble. I was always getting into fights at school and they’d suspend me even if it was the other guy’s fault. I wasn’t interested in school, so I dropped out. I had always been a reader, the place was littered with paperbacks and men’s magazines. I knew more then most dropouts and I could write more than my name as you can see. I was never into drugs although I did start smoking cigarettes at an early age.

Dad always offered me a cigarette when he was painting and I was in charge of bringing him fresh coffee. The place smelled awful, a mixture of stale coffee and cigarette smoke with oil paint and turpentine. I was in charge of making the frames out of native palm fronds or palmetto wood. When we put the finished paintings into the front room he called his ‘Gallery,’ the tourists bit like fish at a hooked squid.

I sure wouldn’t say we were wealthy, but we survived and we always had cold beer and Remy Martin cognac to drink. Pop would mix some of that liquorice flavored Anisette in with the brandy. He’d call that drink ‘the Stinger’ and he’d say,

“You didn’t need no vitamins if you drank a stinger once a day.”

Our car was an old Ford, so worn out that you could see the road below through the cracks in the floor boards but the engine still had plenty of pep. Must have been the sand that had a way of chewing up everything. On my 18th birthday, Pop bought me a BMW motorbike from a German tourist who had crossed most of America and ever made it north to the Alaskan highway. The bike had a motor that ran like a Swiss clock. When I spread my legs to sit on that leather saddle, my dick kinda centered in the middle, I felt like I was the king of my own little world.

That was when I met Dara. What kind of name is that? She said it was an Injun name. What do I know? She claimed she was part Seminole Injun and mostly Irish. Whatever the truth was, one thing was for certain, I don’t think there was a guy she hadn’t fucked or blown on the entire island but she made no bones about it. Her honesty was what saved her from being a whore in my eyes. You might say I’m not the judgmental type and I like girl outlaws.

That gal had a talent that must’a been passed down by the Lord above. She could give your cock a suck job like no other person on earth. Her tongue was like a trigger and when she was ready she’d flick that tongue in a magic sort of way and your cum load shoot out and like to hit the ceiling, less’n she was in the mood to suck it on down.

I’m not saying that she didn’t pick up a few extra bucks now and then by sucking off some of the old gents at the old guy’s home where she worked days doing cleanup and helping the old one’s eat, spoon’n the grub into their toothless old mouths. But so what? She made them old guys happy even if they couldn’t cum and that was usually the case, although some of them who hadn’t dropped a load in thirty years were able to cough up a tablespoon or two.

Hell’s bells, they got their pricks blown and probably got to suck Dara’s tit and I’m sure at that moment they believed all was right in the world. Sure, there’s a place for shrinks and counselors in an old guy’s home. But let me tell ya, a full fresh tit and two puckered lips on your cock can do you a lot better than Dr. Kilroy at his finest.

Oh yeah, if we two didn’t have money for a movie or a beer she’d walk up to some dude sit’n at the bar and they’d disappear for fifteen minutes and she’d come back with twenty or thirty dollars, enough kaçak iddaa to get us into the show and buy one of them huge paper baskets filled with buttered popcorn.

What did Dora look like? As you might expect long legged, she was tall, 5’9″. She had big jugs, a slender waist, a well curved ass, and her whole body was covered with technicolor tattoos. She used to date a tattoo artist named Rainy. His name was signed on her left tit with her nipple dotting the letter ‘i’. If you are thinking of Cher, you know, the singer, you are almost there, but Dara has bigger tits and a South Florida drawl. She also had a bit of a sexy overbite which probably helped make her a super cock sucker.

Shit, she’d even poke a hole in the popcorn basket and blow me right in the theater, make’n enough noise that half the people in the balcony would turn around. Sometimes the guys would line up thinking they were next but she’d always time it so the film was just about at the point when we’d come in. We’d jump up and she’d say, “Next time guys,” and we’ve run the hell down the stair and out the door laughing like two crazies.

Oh yes, she did have a silver bone that she’d wear in her nose after work and two silver skeleton skull earrings that she never took off. Yep, she was kind of wild looking. What I liked was the way she’d sit on the back of my motorbike and kind of dissolve her body into mine taking every lean on every curve as if we were Siamese twins.

She hardly ever wore a bra but her tits were so firm they still stood up pretty good and her nips just popped out of them armless tee-shirts she wore under her short leather motorcycle jacket. God I was in love with that Injun devil woman like there was no tomorrow.

She always wore tight spandex pants, so tight you knew she wasn’t a boy because of the big camel toe clit that she said was the sign of the Seminole women. She was proud of that. Some gay guy in the bar reached out to grab it one time and she cold cocked him with a right hook without putting down the beer bottle she was hold’n in her left hand.

He apologized after, said he didn’t have his glasses on and he thought she was a tranny and it was a cock she was showing off down there. Down here in the Keys we have our share of all variants of sexual behavior so we didn’t pay no never mind to perverts. She even kissed the guy on the lips after he explained himself and had stopped crying.

So Dara and I started hanging around that summer. Down in Florida sex is as natural as gator shit and few of us guy or gals were virgins unless we were born without them privates, I mean to say, cocks or cunts. The ladies down here are always agreeable, unless they were tourists down for Spring Break, party’n. Those wild college girls could drink you under the table and blow you as you lay there drunk as a skunk.

Now about the second week of August, Dara got this brilliant idea.

“Why don’t we rob the Key West Bank?”

“What? Rob the bank? Are you crazy?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be too hard.”

“How’s that?”

“See, the bank manager has a thing for me and I could keep him busy and you could take the night deposits that come through the bank door and fall right there on in the open safe canister. He always leaves that metal safe open when he’s down there on the last day of the month doing his monthly reports.”

“How do you know that?”

“Let’s just say I’m a bankable commodity”.

“I’ll agree to that.”

“So you’re in on it?”

“No, I was agreeing that your ass is a bankable…”

“Well, it’s yes or no, Big Dicky.”

And she reached out and grabbed my cock that swelled up like a balloon.

“I can’t quarrel when you do that stuff.”

Next thing I knew my dick was in her mouth and she’d hiked up her tee shirt so I could see her tits.

Just before she swallowed my cum load I agreed,

“Ok, ok, I’ll do it.”

She didn’t say nothing, she was too busy quaffing.

The next night she got down to brass tacks,

“Rudy Sims, that’s the asshole manager who stays late in the bank. He is the one we got a rip off. He’s waiting to include the late night deposits so the tally is as high as possible. He says it makes him look good. There’s a bunch of late deposits that show up; the bar cash, the two town restaurants and probably even some money from the Asian massage parlor. Who the fuck knows, maybe some small businesses and whatever else comes in.”

“Rudy just grabs them little locked deposit money bags, opens them, adds ’em up before 11:30 and throws them in the big safe. If I was to let you in and kept him busy, you could grab a bunch of them there bags. Must be a few thousand in them to be sure and no one would know what happened till we were long gone.”

“What is Rudy doing while I’m supposed to be stealing them bags?”

“Don’t you worry none about that. He’s gonna be in another world with his dick under my control. Think of him as an airplane and his dick as the joy stick? I will control his altitude and kaçak bahis his attitude with the simple grip of my hand and the clench of my teeth and you can be sure he will be flying high up in the clouds.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Big Dickey Bear, you just don’t make no noise and we will get away with it for sure.”

The she reaches out and grabs me by the cock.

“Maybe you need a taste yourself Dickie Bear.”

By now I was pretty far gone but I wasn’t so far gone that I forgot to say,

“Hold up a minute Dara babe, let me fuck you before I cum.”

And Dara, just like the good helper that Tanto was to the Lone Ranger, just lowered her tights and my dick like a homing missile popped under her big clit and split her vag as wide open as the Panama Canal. I left a lot of butter cream on the top of that Cinnabon.

So we’d decided to become Bonnie and Clyde, although I don’t think Clyde snuck into the bank while Bonnie was being screwed by the chief teller, but Bonnie wasn’t a retiring virgin either. So what the hell, I decided to give it the old college try even though I was a high school drop out.

It got me to thinking, about how we used to have a hefty tourist lady visiter at the gallery back when I was a kid. She was a real porker, all get up to go and dressed like grandma’s closet. Her name was Mrs. Methvin, I remember that cause she paid by check and I’d have to make the deposits.

Now, if you check me out you’ll see that her husband was one of the original Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow gang. His name was Henry, Henry Methuen and she told Pop that she’d met Bonnie on more than one occasion when her husband brought them home to hide them out when the heat from the feds was too much to allow for travel’n.

She confided that Clyde was turned a homo when he was in prison before the gang was even formed. Mrs. Methvin said a lot of the young pretty boys was raped in prison and turned into homos in those days and that the other gang members took nightly turns with Bonnie who was damn near a “nympho doll,” that’s what she called her. Naturally this all went on when Clyde was drunk and asleep. He may have been a homo but he had a quick trigger finger and he brooked no disrespect.

If that account is true, maybe Dara and Bonnie had more in common then we’da thought. And if that stuff about prison is true I sure don’t wanna go there cause although my dick is mighty, my ass hole is forever too tender for any of that kinda ass play. Although Dara’s been known to go knuckle deep on me more that once.

I spent the next day varnishing some of Pop’s painting which had dried when an old tourist customer came in just before we were going to close the shop. Pop was having a grand conversation about old times with this guy and it was a half hour past closing time. Pop could see I wanted to leave so he just glanced at me and with a hand signal, he pointed at the door, and I was gone.

I went over to the Green Parrot Bar, where I was supposed to meet Dara. As usual she was late, I’d already ordered a burger with an order of onion rings on the side. Of course once she arrived, she refused to let me order her anything but before I knew it, she’d eaten half my dinner.

She was in a sexy ripe mood,

“One of these nights you have to get an order of onion rings to go and I’ll eat them off your dick.”

“I don’t think they will fit.”

“No, I don’t mean to thread them on your nob, I mean to balance them on your shaft.”

“Ok, we can try that, of course you will smell like an onion afterwards.”

“And you won’t?”

“Ok, you got me on that one.”

That Dara sure was a fast thinker. We shared another beer and then Dara told me to check my phone.

“What for?”

“For the time, Jesus, did you forget we are going to rob the bank, dummy?”

“No, I didn’t forget. But what’s with the phone?”

“Tell me what the fuck time it is, Jesus.”

“Stop calling me Jesus.”

I opened the phone, “It’s 8:30.”

“Half past the cow’s ass,” said Dara.

“A quarter past his balls?” I added. We both laughed.

“I hope to hell you didn’t bring the motorcycle. It makes too much damn noise.”

“No, I got the old Ford outside.”

“Good. We go at 9:30, that’s when Rudy is expecting me.”

“Oh is he?”

“Yes, he is,” and she wrinkled her nose up at that.

It was the longest 45 minutes I’d remembered up to that point.

Finally the clock on the bar wall said 9:30.

“Dara, why’d you keep asking the time, there a clock over yonder on the bar wall.”

“Did you say a cock over yonder?”

“No, I said a clock.”

“Yeah, but who knows if it is the right time.”

“Oh yeah, good point.”

“Ok,” said Dara, “I’m a’going. You be at the back door of the bank in 25 minutes. I’ll open the door just a crack. Let yourself in.”

“Ok, see ya.”

And with that she was gone. Her ass looked real nice as she walked out the door. She was looking really sexy as I surveyed those tights she was wearing. No panty lines I could discern—probably no panties.

A few minutes before I was to leave, Sam Fuller, I guy I’d known all the way from elementary school walked into the bar and came over to sat next to me.

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