Venus

In their college afterlives Bobby was a sales rep for an athletic wear manufacturer and played music on the side; Carl was a manager for a firm that refurbished metro buses. But they were good friends, shared the same sense of humor, and made it a point to get together every few months for a night out. This story begins on one of those nights. Carl and Bobby were 26 and 25 years old, and it was a Friday night, the day after Thanksgiving. They decided to meet at one of their old hangouts, The Vous, a pub near the university campus where they’d gone to college. It was a place that had a beer and wine license, but sold no hard liquor. It was known for cheap pitchers, live music and a high threshold for craziness, at least back when they were in school. Bobby lived about forty-five minutes away from campus and Carl lived an hour away in the opposite direction so they drove separately and met out front of The Vous. They went inside to the bar, ordered two bottles of beer and a pitcher of Coke, and then found a small table off to the side and took seats. The beers were mostly for show. The pitcher of Coke was for the bottle of rum Carl had stuffed in his jacket. The place was dead for a Friday, which made sense since it was Thanksgiving weekend and most students had gone home for the holiday. Only two other tables were occupied in addition to a handful of regulars at the bar. There was a trio setting up on stage. While Carl surreptitiously stirred rum into the pitcher of Coke, Bobby went over to the band to introduce himself, as musicians are wont to do. He wanted to see if they had any mutual musical friends. Carl filled one of the tumblers the beertender had given them with Coke from the pitcher, then cradling the pitcher in his lap, emptied a third of the rum into it. Meanwhile Bobby talked to the guitarist and admired his instruments. As it turned out, they didn’t have any mutual acquaintances but they dug a lot of the same stuff. It was a blues-rock band, and Bobby had grown up on that. Bobby sat back down at the table with Carl and they commenced to shooting the shit, sipping beer and chasing it with Cuba Libres. They talked about the usual Indian Girls Fucking stuff they talked about when they got together: jobs, sports, women and college. Finally, after about twenty minutes the band kicked it into gear. Immediately Bobby could hear that the band was really tight and thankfully not ear-bleeding loud. That was good he thought, especially with the mostly-empty room. It looked like it was going to be a slow night at The Vous. Only a few more people had come into the place after Carl and Bobby. There was a table of four, two couples seated in a booth on the far side, and two girls at a deuce not far from their own table. Carl nudged Bobby when he noticed the two ladies and tilted his head in their direction. “Hey Buddy, check it out,” he said. “Hard left rudder, we got two hot ones.” The girls were fine looking and were sharing a carafe of wine. One was blonde, with shoulder-length frizzy curls, and looked to be in her early twenties. The other was a few years older but looked just as delectable, with the same frizzy hair, only she was brunette. Both were slim and sexy in tight jeans, Blondie with a snug red sweater and the older gal in a cream-colored blouse. Both looked good enough to eat, and somewhat out of place at this dump. I am going to put some on your eyes. But when my nightie fell to Indian Girls Fucking the floor and I was standing there in nothing but my panties, you were still wearing your jeans and heavy shirt and boots. Most knew far more about Shakespeare than Shankara. I shook my head, the dual memories warring in my mind for which one were the true ones. I’ve wanted to try it, and I hear that you love eating and fucking ass. I tried to evaluate my feelings about Sharon feeling of my husband's hard cock. After a few seconds of staring, I licked my lips as I moved towards his cock. She was dreaming it was her that got plowed by that huge cock. Seeing her peaceful smile as she lay against him, motivated him to relish the moment and let the poor girl sleep. For college his father had doubled it. For at least ten minutes I stood there holding on to the doorknob and listening to her shouts. “I needed that.” “Check your memory.” He interrupted. "Hi Cindy. “No, no, I’m only like that when you get me all worked-up.” Something cold, and sharp, “So if you know what’s good for you, Bound One, you’ll keep your fucking mouth shut, and come with me.” That club was started by her mother when it became obvious that she was never going to be invited to Friday nights. Meanwhile, on the TV screen, his fiancee was loosely surrounded by her hens, who found her predicament hilarious, as they watched Debbi flounder around with her bare arse hanging out. He said, locking eyes with me.