How I Became the California Kid
Marty was vaselining my eyebrow after the Seventh, when he passed me a note. “This’ll put some fire in your belly, Kid.”
In florid loops, it read –
I’ll meet you, but I’m not staying for 9.
~ Mamie Denver
When the bell rang, I spotted her. Third row, all white. I went in and put a hurting on that dago.
Later, came the knocking on the locker room door. Marty answered.
It was her, Mamie, slipping in the door. “Why don’t you go get my car.” She greased Marty’s palm, and slid the bolt shut behind him.
“Nice hands, Kid.” In she sways, her heels somewhere under that long gown clicking on the cold cement. “Why did you let him hang around so long?”
In person, you can’t take your eyes off her. White-blond, with skin to match. Out of place in a locker room, that’s for sure. In the dank air, she floated on her own cloud of perfume and mink.
I says, “I thought he was getting your car.”
“My car’s taking a little tour.” Up close, she really was very small. Delicate. I guess onscreen they all look huge. “Around Manhattan.”
She landed like a porcelain angel in my lunchhooks. Drew near enough I could feel her breath on my cheek. Made me more lightheaded than any right hook ever did.
I tried speaking, something nice – while her lips skimmed my swollen nose, my throbbing brow, my bum ear. While her hands sized up my arms and chest, while she sucked my sweaty shoulder. “You’re dainty,” was what I come up with.
She smirked. “I’m plenty big for you, slugger.” The glittering dress fell around her ankles. She stepped out in the world’s highest heels, her feet almost vertical like a dancer’s. She shrugged out of her corset, showing off her ivory breasts and pale nipples. She brought my calloused hands to them. “Huh?” she purred.
She dropped between my knees, jerked down my trunks and jockstrap. My cock stood, thicker than it’s ever been. She smelled me from balls to tip.
Then, she devoured me. I’d never seen anything like it. Such a little woman, tiny mouth, but she took it all. She knew her way around, knew my hot buttons. This lady knew cocks, and loved them.
My surprise disappeared in nothing flat. In seconds I was groaning, and pumped and pumped inside her.
When I opened my eyes, she was plucking her gum from my belly button. (I hadn’t even noticed it there.) She fixed her lips and gown in the mirror. “When you’re in California, come up. I want to see you fight again.” She popped her gum. “I’ve got a mirror over my bed.”
Then this goddess walks through the showers, past the old mops and stacks of boxes, her stilettos echoing all the way. There’s a back door only a handful of the older boxers use. I heard it shut. The clicking faded down the alley.
Copyright © 2006 by PleaseCain. All rights reserved.
PleaseCain writes in a number of genres. That he succeeds at any is thanks to the Fish Tank and Mat Twassel, a generous writer who has taught me more than words.
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