I haven’t seen the Texan in a month! We haven’t gone this long in ages. He’s champing at the bit. This was supposed to be a two-night trip, but I made a promise to myself. That promise lasted a month. I’m broke as fuck, so I’ll have to go back to the regularly scheduled program after this trip. My travel day went without a hitch—other than the fact that I couldn’t seem to catch a buzz to save my life. Which only means I’m killing my liver. I arrived at the destination airport. He was waiting for my text at the hotel nearby. I decided not to tell him I had landed yet so I could run to the bathroom. He’s such a fucking vulture the minute I get within a hundred miles of him. It gives me hives. He probably thinks I like it. In his warped mind, he thinks his “I want to eat your eyeballs and skull-fuck you” texts make me feel desired and loved, but they only double the acid in my stomach.
I did some drugs in the bathroom and applied a little makeup. I text him as I was walking out to the curb. Minutes later, he came barreling up in his truck. I threw my small roller bag in the backseat and hopped in the front. We said our usual hello’s and I kissed him. He gave me the lowdown on his recent wife drama, and informed me that he’s cut back on the drinking due to an incident. He didn’t have any booze in the truck, so we stopped at a liquor store. We got two mini bottles of fireball for him and a small Woodford for me. I took a swig the minute we got back in the truck.
At the hotel, I changed into something a little dressier (but comfortable) and we went to a beautiful restaurant relatively close by. God forbid we stray too far from the hotel. The restaurant was gorgeous; an old plantation style house with beautiful grounds and a jazz band playing outside. Not having a reservation, we sat at a table in one of the bar areas. This works out for him because he’s always on a time crunch. Although the room was less desirous than other areas in the restaurant, it was fine. I’m far less picky when I go out with him in order to ease his stress. I’m not there for myself, so I forego my preferred leisurely dinner attitude. And my finicky nature when it comes to location. Although eating out is preferable to room service, I’m still working, and it doesn’t behoove me if he gets in trouble.
Back at the hotel: His niece was with his wife and wanted to Facetime him, so I went to the hotel bar. I still wasn’t in a big drinking mood, but I ordered a vodka martini. I’m generally happy to have time to myself, but for some reason, my good mood was slipping.
I sat at the bar for nearly thirty-minutes when he texts me aggressively about getting my ass upstairs. It didn’t land well. Tell me you’re off the phone but don’t bark at me to get there ASAP. I responded, “I just love being rushed.”
“Then don’t give me one night trips. But if it really bothers you, take your time. I’m here.”
“I’m coming up. I just hate being given orders, especially when I’m kicked out of the room because you need to call your wife.”
“Ok. That’s helpful.”
I didn’t reply. He does so many insane things that are unhelpful to our time together. I took a deep breath instead. By the time I reached the room, I had turned it around. Because I’m a pro. And why men pay me. No matter what, they are guaranteed a good time. Thankfully, like myself, he’s not a major grudge-holder. We picked up right where we left off. Unfortunately, he was ready to fuck pretty much right away and I was not. He made a show of standing in front of me with his stiff cock while I sat on the bed removing my shoes.
“Yum, so thick” I said, giving it a squeeze, “give me a minute, babe.”
“Yeah, yeah. I need to fire up my laptop for the porn.”
I changed into a “Texan tee”. I have a drawer full of shirts/tops I wear while we party and have sex. Then I snuck off to the bathroom. I brought my zip lock bag with toiletries with me. In it, a new item: special weed oil for lady bits a friend recently donated to help my cause: due to his antics, my pussy has been on a Texan strike. I don’t last nearly as long as I used to before I’m sore. But, and here’s the hilarious part, because I’m drunk and high nine times out of ten when I see him, every time I skip to the bathroom to pee, I slather more drops up there. I have the “Cheech” Marin of snatches by the time we’re done!
I jumped back on the bed. Took a swig from my cute bottle, grabbed my pink vibrator, and made myself cozy propped up with pillows next to him. We watched porn on his laptop. Fucked a bit. The usual Groundhog Day routine. Then, somewhere in the middle of this, I can’t remember exactly what sparked it—maybe it was my stoned vagina—we started laughing our asses off over who knows what.
“This right here. These are the times I live for” he said.
“I know. This is the best.”
“I don’t even care if I come. This is what I look forward to.”
I laughed, “That’s adorable. If only it were true.”
I was lying with my head draped on his thigh near his dick region. He sat up and slapped my ass in a playful manner.
“You’re gonna get it!” I yelped as I mounted him and tried to pin his arms.
“Now that’s adorable.”
He flipped me over with ease.
“Okay okay! I give up.” I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Let’s fuck again” he said.
“Aye aye, captain.”
I assumed our position. After maybe ten minutes or so passed I could tell he wasn’t going to come yet. We both said as much. I jumped up to pee and add more twat goo. As I walked back he said, “Hey sheriff, let’s have more party stuff.”
“Of course, babe, but do you want to come first?”
“Okie dokie artichoke-y”
I mentally groaned. I was ready to take a sleeping pill and call it a night. He was ready to Fear and Loathe. I used my pen cap to scoop a little of the blow I brought with me and held it to his nose. I’m always the one to administer.
“I need more” he said.
“Just give it to me, ho.”
I laughed as I tried to shovel a small amount out of the capsule, causing a bunch of it to fall on the bed. This made me bust out.
“You waster!” he said.
“Snort it off my thigh. I see a chunk.”
I was dying. Wasting drugs is hilarious to me; always has been. On our very first out of town trip, many moons ago, we were high as fuck—this was way before our salad days (before I sheriff’d him)—I was sitting on the toilet with a baggie and ended up spilling almost the entire contents on the floor between my feet. It’s always unintentional, but a long-running joke between us.
Every time he does some, he wants me to partake, but with drinking less, my jaw was tight. That’s not the way I like to do uppers. I manage them specifically so I don’t feel that way. I took half a Valium.
“That’s not going to put you to sleep, is it?” he asked.
We commenced with the porn. I came on the down-low. We fucked again for a while (I’m sure our neighbors hated us; he likes it when I’m comically loud), but I could tell he was too high to ejaculate. All we were doing was abusing my pussy. I knew he was minutes away from begging for the butt. He already did something back there with his damn thumbnail. I suggested we break. On our backs again, I slid my face down one of his long, lanky legs and settled in by his nutsack. I can usually get him to come using my tongue while he jacks off. I’ve never been shy about a man’s ball/taint area. Thankfully, his balls aren’t very hairy and he always smells like soap. The only bummer is that my cheeks get a full lube facial, but I’ll take lube-y skin over getting reamed until dawn. I was right. It did the trick. I sighed in relief and went to the bathroom to wash up. I brought him a warm soapy towel. He was catatonic. I put the towel on his belly, changed into my PJ’s, and turned out the light on my side of the bed. I was finito. I think he may have slept like that. I’m not sure. Once I put an earplug in my ear and a pillow in between us, he doesn’t exist.