Houston

I was having a good day to myself but I was beat to the core. He is taking so much out of me these days. Minutes before I was set to get my ass out of bed—with the book I was happily reading—I get a text from him: “Blondie Pop is in and the video is a go!”. He’d mentioned that we might see her while I was on my layover and I suggested our second night being better; that I’d have more energy, but that’s not really the case these days. I’m in a much better mood the first night. Maybe I was thinking she could do the heavy lifting, who knows. I wasn’t super thrilled with this update. I felt like a broken old dog. Not in the mood to fuck a twenty-something. I posted something funny asking my followers to remind me not to do all the work like last time. As far as the video goes…he’s been trying to get me to record him fucking one of his baby ho’s for years and I’ve been refusing. I’ve taken his camera and pretended it was on when it wasn’t and other times I’ve either flat out said no or hidden it. I don’t want my hands involved in something I’d never do.

I got up, moving like a ninety-year-old, forcing myself into the dreaded shower. I wish I could have a break night on these trips. The second night is brutal. Let’s be real: I wish I could fucking retire.

I thought we’d have dinner somewhere decent but via text he said we’d eat at the hotel because she didn’t have much time. He suggested room service but I put the kibosh on that idea. I deserve to leave the room. He said she was arriving at 6:30 p.m. Which wasn’t much notice. Why so god damn early?

They got to the room at the same time—probably met downstairs. To add to my misery, The Texan was dark-place drunk. I hate when he’s in that state. Dick out of his pants. Pulling her hair on the violent side. Over-the-top. The whole thing made me want to jump out of the window. Sure, I’m happy it wasn’t directed at me (he knows better) but still, it’s never a good sign for the night. Seeing him like that makes me want to shoot whiskey directly into my brain. It’s a shit show.

He’d snuck one of his good bottles of wine out of the cellar of his house. I wish he’d knock that off. I’m rarely in a wine mood around him and you know how I feel about his bullshit surrounding wine.

Downstairs: it was too bright but at that point I was beyond caring. Blondie liked the top I was wearing. Normally a fuck shirt, but with my currently feeling like an old hag, I turned it into a dinner top. I really am too old for this shit.

We got a table with a big round booth on one side. I sat opposite them. No way I wanted to be the fixings in that crazy burrito. After ordering two cocktails for myself, I got up to use the restroom to take a deep breath and do some of my party stash. Back at the big tent, we ordered food. He called a decanter a “vase”. His phone rang, while he stepped out to talk to the wife, we talked about him. She had less than an hour and couldn’t party. I was suddenly annoyed because with his current state, I didn’t feel like dealing with him solo. However, being the house mom and knowing she owes him sex for money wired, I suggested she take him upstairs for a quick fuck. I figured he’d exercise some aggression and then I’d finish him off. It didn’t go down like that. Oh, before they went up, the three of us talked about the Millennial. Shit, that’s right, he wasn’t on the phone with the wife, he was talking to her. She was mad at him for who knows what. Sad when a fifty-something has so much in common with a twenty-three-year-old. Blondie Pop asked if I’d met her, I said yes. That she was sweet but didn’t consider herself a whore, that she struggles with it and I think that’s why she tries to control him so much. I don’t know why he’s bringing all of us together. Why can’t we keep it separate like we did for years? Why can’t he see Blondie Pop when I’m not there? Apparently, the Millennial asked if she should email me about the LA schedule in three weeks. To his credit, he said no. It’s all too much.

We told him our plan. He said ok. She took him up. He asked if I was coming and I said no. I’d stay with all our food and drinks. She came downstairs forty-minutes later (maybe less). She was alone. She said he came. I was surprised but I guess not too much. We hugged and said our goodbyes. I continued to drink and leisurely asked for the tab. I got a text from him saying he was naked and not coming back downstairs. I was in no rush. It was so early. Plus, if he’d just come, he’d want to go again and I know it would take some time. He could sit up there, watch porn and jack off.


I got another text at 6:50 p.m. “Waiting on you”. Ugh. I said I was waiting on the check and dealing with a friend going through a hard time. He could fuck himself.


During this downtime I was thinking about the fact that he knows we don’t want to fuck him, that we want his money. We fake orgasms and I realized it’s the ultimate fantasy: coming against our will. That his dick is so good our bodies betray our minds. Yeah, right. A ho’s body is her temple. She’s in complete control of it.


When I got to the room with the half bottle of wine in tow he said he hadn’t ejaculated. This was new.


“Why would she say you had?”


“I don’t know. I didn’t.”


“Are you saying that because it’s what you think I want to hear? I don’t care, babe. Just tell me the truth.”


“I am. I never lie to you. I didn’t come.”


“Well, I’m dumbfounded and I really don’t know what to think.”


I got undressed. I asked him if he made noises like he had come and that’s why she thought he had; I don’t remember what he said. His dick was soft but didn’t smell like a condom or come. Yes, I investigated. Mostly as a joke, but also for his benefit. That soft dick signified a post jizz situation but I didn’t give him any further guff on the matter. We watched porn and did our usual but he dick wasn’t doing shit and I have to tell you, I wasn’t in the mood to do a lot of BS to jumpstart that fucker. We never fucked. We must have done something for that time period. Oh, I know! I made a video in the bathroom and posted it. I gave up on the whole thing at some point and called it a night. He never slept. He jacked-off all night. I tried to get him to take a sleeping pill, he declined. That’s where my responsibility ends.





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