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*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
*Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
“Oh, piece of cake,” AJ Petitjean smiled tightly as his boss laid out the problem and told AJ to come up with a solution.
99.5 K.L.R.V, the Leader in Rock was being killed in the ratings by 92.9 K.I.T.N, The Kitten That Roars. Prior to Honey Bee joining K.I.T.N, and launching The Lunch Box during the 10 am to 2 pm broadcast, K.L.R.V had dominated. There morning drive time featured a flamboyantly gay man and his straight sidekick, who played straight man to the gay man’s innuendos, puns and faux pas. Having the FCC actually fine the station for inappropriate skits the pair had performed only added to the draw; people wanted to hear what outrageous thing they would say next.
K.L.R.V’s lunch time was aided by the morning drive lead-in, and David Straughter, the radio personality on K.I.T.N helped K.L.R.V. solidify their lead. Or, radio Lack Of personality as many at K.L.R.V liked to joke.
K.L.R.V’s Rush Hour time slot did sag slightly; K.I.T.N had Ben and Jerry, two men that had been friends since high school, and their on-air personalities were of two frat brothers that had never grown up. They mocked local and national political figures, commented on the latest celebrity gossip.
Then, K.I.T.N fired David Straughter, the lunch time dead weight and installed a fresh voice. Honey Bee had a lively, personable charm, gave recipes and cooking instructions, along with a sprinkling current and previous Alternative and Hard Rock hits. Honey Bee was warm, personable, and exuded happiness. K.L.R.V’s market share plummeted thirty nine percent after Honey Bee’s first month on the air. Now, K.L.R.V was holding a dismal twelve percent of the Clarkston County market share. Customers don’t like paying premium prices for twelve percent market share.
“You’re the God damned program manager,” AJ wanted to tell his boss. “Isn’t this YOUR job? Shouldn’t YOU be the one fixing this?”
At the end of his shift, AJ had no solutions. He didn’t even have the germ of a solution. He was dry.
Dry; AJ decided to stop off at Hunter’s Cabin, have a few Gratchley’s draft beers while admiring the nude women that danced for a few bucks. Maybe while watching some nubile young women shimmying and thrusting and gyrating, he might come up with a solution.
“Meeting Monday morning, David Davis reminded AJ. “Solution at that meeting, or I’ll find someone that can solve it. Good to go?”
“This isn’t the fucking Marines, ass wipe,” AJ muttered as he walked past his boss’s office.
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Hannah Durst sat heavily at her cubicle, staring at nothing. Her computer monitor was black; Norton, Turner, Bloomberg Candy had already boxed up her things.
The three cardboard boxes were sitting on Candy’s screened in front porch, just inside the enclosed area. Hannah walked past the boxes and inserted her key into the bottom knob of the front door. It did unlock the bottom knob, but Candy had locked the deadbolt; Hannah did not have a key to the deadbolt.
Hannah turned and sat on Candy’s padded porch swing. ON this late summer, early autumn afternoon, the air was scented with the smells of flowers. Hannah could hear some children screaming and laughing; Candy’s next door neighbor had an above-ground swimming pool in their back yard. The neighboring woman’s four, ugly, obese children seemed to live in the pool.
Praying, even though she didn’t believe in any deity living in the clouds that answered prayers, Hannah again tried to call her father’s cell phone. As if to prove that there was no mythical being, deity, creator that would answer prayers, Shaquisha answered Brandon Durst’s cell phone. Hannah just sighed and terminated the call. She then thought to call Robin, her younger sister.
A few moments after Robin reported that she too had been unable to get their father on the phone, Candy drove up. Hannah felt truly defeated as Candy pulled into the garage and lowered the door. Counting Etiler escort to ten, Hannah got to her feet and approached the front door.
“Yeah?” Candy asked, standing in the doorway.
“I, listen, I, I really need…” Hannah tried to talk.
“Hannah, you signed the lease. You read it and signed it,” Candy said.
“I know, but…” Hannah said
“No. Hannah, no buts. It says, very clearly, rent is one hundred a week. That’s it. It’s one hundred a week. You’re over a week late, I got the right put you and your stuff out,” Candy said.
“I know, but…” Hannah tried again.
“And you sat there and said you’d have my two hundred in my account this morning. You swore you would have the two weeks’ rent. Well, guess what? It never showed up,” Candy said, then closed the door in Hannah’s face.
Wearily, Hannah loaded the three boxes into the trunk of her car. Then, she pulled her cell phone out and began scrolling through her list of contacts.
Steeling herself, Hannah started calling her friends and acquaintances, trying to find someone, anyone that could help her. One after another name was crossed off of Hannah’s list of ‘Hopefuls.’ The few that were civil to Hannah let Hannah know they were simply unable to accommodate her. Most of her so-called friends, however, were not civil in the least.
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The half-pound burger was done to perfection, the bun had received a slathering of Hunter’s Cabin signature barbeque sauce, the lettuce, and tomato and red onion were crisp. The blue cheese French fries offered a good tangy compliment to the hamburger. The draft beer was ice cold, and came in a frosted mug.
AJ was enjoying the dinner as a truly stunning strawberry blonde was shimmying out of her thong, displaying a neat triangle of pink pubic hair. Turning, she again shook her well-rounded buttocks as the last notes of the song died down.
“Juliette, Hunter’s Cabin, put your hands together for Juliette,” the DJ intoned as the beautiful young lady gathered clothing and tips.
The DJ did not announce the next dancer, so AJ returned his attention to the sixty inch television. The television was displaying last year’s Cheerleading Championship; the Lady Jays had lost to the U.L.D. Storm and, as a transplant from DeGarde, Louisiana, AJ felt a twinge of home-town pride as he watched the girls of the University of Louisiana at DeGarde performing.
Suddenly, the television went dark. An odd song began to play as a mop of orange appeared on the black screen. Bright pink lips, and a rivulet of white appeared just below the short cap of orange; AJ realized the white streak was ‘semen.’
“Huh,” AJ said, watching as more and more of a dancer’s disembodied parts floated against the sea of black.
“I feel love,” AJ suddenly identified the song, but could not identify the performer.
“Huh!” AJ stammered, watching as a large green phallus sodomized the dancer.
The two girls that had danced had been attractive enough, but AJ had been more interested in his hamburger. Now, his erection tented the front of his khakis as he watched the vulgar action on the television screen.
“All right, all right, all right, Hunter’s Cabin, coming to the stage is Krystal!” the DJ announced as the television screen again returned to the Cheerleading competition.
A few moments later, AJ paid his tab and left Hunter’s Cabin. He gave one last look at the television screen and shook his head. The program had changed; they were now showing their predictions for tomorrow’s college games. The Myndee Blue Jays were travelling to Norwill, Tennessee to face the Norwill Cyclones. The Cyclones had a very formidable defense. Their last game, against the Missouri River State Pioneers, the Cyclone Defense held the Pioneers to seventeen total yards offense.
“And the way Jason James has been playing? I’d be surprised if he gets seven yards,” AJ said, nodding as the doorman wished him a good evening.
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“AJ, AJ, who the… Oh! Oh yeah, that was that geek,” Hannah muttered, getting close to the end of her list of contacts.
Hannah was still sitting in Candy Adams’s driveway. So far, Hannah Beşiktaş escort had not had any success finding anyone willing to help her. Some, it would seem, had actually been delighted to hear that Hannah was suffering a bit of a setback.
AJ Petit jean had been cute enough; his brown hair was long; he wore it in a ponytail and he had warm brown eyes and a cute smile. He wasn’t muscle-bound, but he was wiry, had strength in his hands and arms. He also possessed a wicked sense of humor.
But he seemed to be completely obsessed with music. Not just music, but how music was created, how it was recorded, how it was transmitted. Who cared about the difference between analog recording and digital recording? Who cared about sixteen track versus twenty four track, whatever a track meant?
AJ Petitjean had another strike against him; he wasn’t rich. Even worse, he lived in a trailer, in Gratchley, Arkansas. If Hannah wanted to live in a trailer, she would have gotten knocked up ten years ago. She would have moved in with her mother and her mother’s loser husband, the Reverend Douchebag or whatever the man’s name was.
“Some reverend,” Hannah scoffed, preparing to skip over AJ’s name.
The two times Hannah had lowered her standards enough to visit her mother in Stepping Stone, Louisiana, Reverend Roland Truesdale had kept his eyes firmly on Hannah’s large breasts and juicy rear end. His lips spewed Biblical quotes while his eyes, and the telltale tent in his trousers spewed lust.
Three more calls, three more rejections later, with Candy Adams yelling through Hannah’s car window for Hannah to ‘carry her ass anywhere but here,’ Hannah scrolled back up to AJ’s phone number.
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The trip to the Gentlemen’s club had not sparked a solution. AJ stopped at the Pak N’ Sak on Connor Drive and bought a case of Barley Terlings beer and a half gallon of Iron Barrel whiskey. As he stood in line behind a chubby teenager, AJ watched the girl giggle slightly to the radio station the cashier had tuned the store’s music system to. The station played the latest schlock that passed for music these days. Cookie cutter females and males and assorted androgynous singers warbling nonsensical lyrics over overly produced music aimed at a target audience.
The girl had a very chubby backside, though. AJ was enjoying watching her fleshy globes shimmy in her yoga pants. Through the stretchy material, he could make out a dark colored thong deliciously bisecting her cute ass.
AJ’s sister, Yvette, had a perfect ass. His younger sister constantly whined that it was too big, but in AJ’s mind, Yvette’s ass was the definition of ‘Perfect Ass,’ setting the bar of what a perfect ass should look like. This girl standing in front of AJ had a very nice, fat ass. Her ass was not as nice, as well proportioned, as well shaped as Yvette’s ass, but it was a nice ass nonetheless.
AJ felt guilty, felt like a total pervert for having those thoughts about his sister’s body, or any part of his sister’s body. As Yvette went from pudgy teenager to young woman, her fat and cellulite shifted from belly and thighs and arms to breasts and buttocks, giving her beautiful curves.
Once, AJ had found a pair of Yvette’s panties in the hamper, just after she’d returned from Kizzy’s School Of Dance. Bringing the panties to his nose, AJ was able to smell his sister’s sweaty pussy, her sweaty anus. He had frantically masturbated, but after his ejaculation, AJ had felt so guilty, he couldn’t even look his sister in the eye.
“Marlene, you know I know you ain’t old ‘nough buy that,” the cashier barked at the girl.
“Aw come on, Miss Patty,” the girl whined. “Shit, I be twenty one in just couple weeks, huh?”
“And when you twenty one then you come on back and buy that,” the cashier snapped. “Marlene, come on. Think I like being a bitch here?”
“Must. You pretty good at it,” Marlene snapped, slamming the bottle of cheap wine onto the counter.
“Hey, nuh uh, go put that back,” Patty demanded.
Muttering obscenities and threats under her breath, Marlene did return the bottle of wine to the cooler. With a final one fingered salute, Marlene Taksim escort left the small convenience store.
“ID?” Patty all but screamed at AJ as he put his beer and whiskey onto the counter.
“Yes ma’am,” AJ smiled and produced his ID.
Arriving home, if a rented trailer could be called home, AJ put one six pack into the small refrigerator and the other three into his pantry. He then grabbed two sixteen ounce bottles from the six pack and put them into the freezer, hoping to chill the slightly cool beer to a drinkable temperature.
AJ had briefly dated a young woman, a law intern that, from the neck down, resembled Yvette. From the neck up, though, Hillary, Heather, no, no, Hannah did not resemble his sister at all. She was beautiful, true, with waist-length blonde hair, small nose, pouting lips. But Hannah’s ice-blue eyes were glacial. Those eyes had been cold, lifeless eyes. Hannah’s eyes had looked at AJ, judged him, then discarded him as beneath her, unworthy of her.
Stripping out of his khakis and button down light blue shirt, AJ found his old Def Leppard tee shirt and Northside High School gym shorts. As he dressed, AJ continued to mull over the problem at K.L.R.V.
From his khakis, AJ heard AC/DC’s ‘Back In Black’ and dug his phone out of his discarded trousers. He shook his head as the screen read ‘Hannah’ and thought briefly of declining the call. But thinking about Yvette’s, Hannah’s phenomenal rump had AJ swiping the screen of his phone.
“Hello?” AJ asked.
“Hey, um, hi, AJ? I, listen, I don’t know if you remember me?” Hannah’s syrupy sweet voice came through.
“Hannah? I sure do,” AJ responded in as syrupy a voice. “In fact, believe it or not? I was just thinking about you.”
“Oh really!” Hannah enthused.
“Yes! I was just thinking about who is the most stuck up cunt I know? And guess what? Your name was at the very top of the list,” AJ said, still affecting the saccharine sweet voice.
“Shit. Just. Shit,” Hannah mumbled, defeated.
“Why, Hannah, what you want?” AJ asked. “‘Cause sure as shit, I know you’re not calling for any other reason than you wanting something.”
Hannah spilled out her story of woe. AJ put the phone on speaker and put it on his table as he located his shot glass. He smiled; his younger brother Steven had given him a set of shot glasses for Christmas last year. Each small glass had the New Orleans Saints’ Fleur-de-lis emblem engraved in it.
“Uh huh, poor Hannah,” AJ interrupted Hannah’s spiel. “I’m hearing whole bunch of shit about Hannah, what Hannah needs, what Hannah wants. Know what I ain’t hearing? What’s in it for AJ? What does AJ Petitjean get out of this?”
OooO OooO OooO
“Well…I, what you want?” Hannah asked.
In her twenty or more phone calls, this was the farthest Hannah had progressed. None of her other calls had been willing to barter with Hannah.
Candy Adams was still yelling through the car window, telling Hannah to move, leave, go. Hannah scowled darkly at the woman and waved her hand impatiently.
“Don’t you wave that hand at me. Need be going. That’s it; I’m calling the cops,” Candy shrilled.
“God, whatever, bitch,” Hannah muttered.
“Uh, what? Bitch?” AJ’s voice snapped angrily.
“No, no, not you,” Hannah quickly, frantically assured AJ. “No, no, my landlord, my former landlord’s standing here, screaming at me.”
“Oh, uh huh,” AJ said flatly. “But, back to the question at hand. Say I let you come here, crash on my couch, wat’s in it for me?”
“Well, what you want?” Hannah asked.
“Come on, Hannah, you a smart girl,” AJ’s voice came through the car’s speakers as Hannah started her car. “I mean, shit, that’s all I heard out of you whole time at Lefty’s barbeque and at Geno’s, huh? How you this big bad lawyer, how you graduated one hundred and tenth out of one hundred and eleven.”
Hannah did not respond to AJ’s taunt; she’d graduated twenty fourth out of sixty four. Suddenly, she remembered, Sylvia Cox had graduated thirty ninth out of sixty four. This was yet another blow to Hannah’s ego.
“And, I know you don’t got no money, so…” AJ prompted.
“Fine, fine, I’ll, I’ll have sex with you,” Hannah sighed deeply, then almost screamed as her car beeped, letting her know she was low on gas.
“Jesus, really?” AJ scoffed. “Wow. My hand’s more enthusiastic than that and my hand don’t like me. Thinks it’s gay to touch my thingy”
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