Chapter: Fifty-One Klaus And Amber
After I dropped the company van at Pro Tec, I cruised on home in my Camray. As I approached the big brick colonial, which served as the Bradley homestead, I saw a vintage red Corvette Stingray parked in the drive. I thought holy shit the Beach Boys or Jan and Dean must have stopped by. I pulled to a stop behind the red Vette. As I walked by, I glanced inside. Shades of Annette and Frankie, the fucking thing had red shag carpeting, a shag steering wheel cover, big dice hanging from the mirror, the original AM radio and an eight-track tape deck. I’ll bet there was a secret compartment for rubbers in the thing somewhere too. Damn, if this car could only talk! I wondered how many cherries had been popped in its cramped interior. Just thinking about a pair of shapely legs sticking out through the window and waving in the air was getting me hot. Now I began to contemplate how I could manage to fuck that cute chubby Christine Steele in this contraption. It would be a challenge, but I found the possibilities to be very intriguing.
I strolled on around to the patio and my system got another shock. Amber Connor was chatting with my mom. It seemed impossible, but she was sexier than ever. She was wearing white shorts that were so tight, I was certain she had to have a special tool to get them pulled down. I guessed it was something along the lines of a shoehorn, only a lot thinner. Her tanned shapely legs protruded beyond the skimpy shorts. Her long blonde hair was brushed to silky perfection. The classic lines of her beautiful face were mesmerizing. She was wearing a short top that was tied in a loose knot beneath her perky little tits. A good expanse of her flat tanned tummy was visible all the way down to her sexy little belly button. Did I mention that her shorts were tight? When she stood up to shake my hand, I saw her pussy lips snap closed under the thin white material. Amber said, in a fake sophisticated voice. “My goodness Bill, just how long has it been since we last saw each other?”
Oh God, I was so tempted to say, “Not since I popped your cherry,” or “The last time I saw you. Frank Armano had his monster cock rammed up your ass.” However, my mom was sitting right there, so I said in a fake faggoty voice, “Oh dear me, I guess it’s been way too long. I just can’t seem to remember.”
Amber said, “Bill I’d like you to meet my fiancée; Mr. Klaus Schneider. This was the first time I’d noticed the big blond palooka sprawled in a deck chair beside my mom. As Herr Schneider hoisted himself up from the deck chair, I thought she must have picked this asshole up at the last Oktoberfest. Klaus was at least 6′ 5′. His blond hair was close-cropped. His face looked like it was made of square blocks of granite. I expected his skull was as thick as a block of granite and whatever was inside was very likely just as dense. The son of a bitch was wearing a Banlon pullover shirt. Hell, they hadn’t made those things since 1970. He must shop for his clothes in the Twilight Zone. No wait, I was wrong! He was wearing white Dockers with a puffy pleated front. Only fags wore pants like those. He must have got them in San Francisco. I glanced down to his feet, Eddie Bauer loafers and white crew socks. Fuck I gave up, he must have found that getup at a Goodwill store in Palm Springs.
When Klaus held out his hand and said hello (with a faggoty lisp), I glanced around quickly. Good, none of the neighbors were watching. As I shook hands, I thought I sure hope John Wayne isn’t looking down at me from heaven right now. I made a mental note to soak my hand in disinfectant before I touched my tool the next time.
When Herr Schneider started to fold himself back into the deck chair, I decided to try a little experiment. I yelled Heil Hitler at the top of my lungs. He snapped to, clicked his heels together and gave me the stiff-armed salute. I had to duck. He almost knocked me over when his hand shot out. I pretended that the whole thing was a joke and so did Klaus. Then, we all had a laugh, but I wasn’t fooled! He probably had his SS uniform and Jack Boots in a secret compartment in the trunk of the Vette! What in the hell had Amber gotten herself into this time?
In a while, I offered to bring out some drinks and I asked Amber to help. When we got into the kitchen, I pulled her into my arms, squeezed her hot little ass cheeks and started kissing her. I tried to slip my hands into the back of her shorts, but they wouldn’t fit. Those God damned shorts were too tight. I had to content myself with bringing a hand around to massage between her legs. In seconds, Amber was rubbing her crotch against my fingers. Just as I was slipping my other hand up under her top to pull out one of her cute little tits, she stiffened and pulled away from me. Amber was panting and trembling all over. After she caught her breath she said, “Bill, you’re an animal! You make me sick!”
I said, “Bullshit Amber, something tells me that I’m just what the doctor ordered for what’s ailing you. How long has it been since your hot little pussy got some up close and personal attention? It’s obvious it needs some. I’ll bet that cute little ass is way overdue for a good spanking too. You can’t fool me Amber. I know what you really want. Those tight shorts must be cutting off the blood circulation to your brain. You’re not really going to marry that blockhead out there are you?”
Amber said, “Fuck you Bill! Klaus is a gentleman. He respects me. He’s not a Chauvinist pig like you are!”
I retorted, “Klaus is a fucking Nazi fag!”
Amber said, “You know Bill; I feel sorry for you.”
I thought oh no, not again! Half the people in the world must feel sorry for me. The United Nations should start a relief fund for me. Maybe some family in a third world country could adopt me. Once a month, I could send them a chapter from my sexual memoir to read by lantern light in their mud hut. Aloud, I asked, “Why do you feel sorry for me Amber?”
“Bill, you have no taste for the finer things in life…you know…the arts and culture.”
Now I was sure Amber didn’t know what she was talking about. I’d read every Stephen King novel that was ever published and I had the biggest collection of country music CDs this side of Nashville. Hell, I’d even been to Graceland.
Amber continued, “I’ve known you for a long time Bill and you haven’t changed. From the first, I knew you had a sick twisted mind. All you ever think about is sex. You don’t think of women as people with feelings and emotions. To you, they’re just another set of tits and a pussy. Face it. You’re sick. You need psychiatric help.”
What Amber said made me think for a little while. Then I noticed the curve of her cute little ass and I started thinking about spanking it. Then I had a great idea. I could play on Amber’s sympathy and maybe get a chance to fuck her before the night was over. I put a somber look on my face. I tried to work up some tears, but I wasn’t that good of an actor. The somber look would have to do. I said, “You’re right Amber. I know it. I don’t know what to do. I’m getting worse all the time and my life is a living hell. I need help. I need someone to talk to, but it has to be someone who knows me. I can’t bare my soul to a stranger. I have no right to ask this of you, but I will. It could be my only chance to lead a normal life. Please Amber, will you come over here later tonight and just talk with me?
Amber said, “Of course I will Bill. I want us to be friends. I want to help you.”
I said, “Thank you Amber. It means a lot to me.” Now I asked in a plaintive tone, “Amber would you do something else?”
“What is it Bill?”
“When you come over, don’t wear those shorts. I’d prefer a short skirt, blouse, pink satin panties, sheer black stockings and spike heel shoes.”