Summary of this Story:

Steve slipped from bed at five-thirty in Julie’s dim apartment, clattering mugs for black coffee in the kitchenette. He confronted her calmly about her cheating, voice flat as glass, no yelling. She sighed, twisted off her engagement ring; he refused it. He left his spare key on the coffee table, door clicking shut soft behind him. His rattling Ford belched black exhaust through empty downtown streets to the warehouse office. Jim, stumbling drunk from Mel’s after-hours spot with buddy Russ, ditched two giggling girls for Ted’s diner. Dawn broke as Julie Nair-ed her bush smooth, then phoned hungover Jim. Bare pussy tempted him. He caved, called in sick for raw tights-fuck promises.

Here is your Story: Silent Endings Spark Morning Heat

Chapter 2 Pt 3

Steve stretched, stopped, rolled carefully away from the body next to him, and eased out of bed. He yawned as quiet as he could manage. He sat dead still on the bed’s edge for a minute before standing. He crept from the bed slow and silent in the dark, hands groping for the dresser, the chair, the doorframe. He tried not to wake Julie. Something tipped her off anyway. Her eyes snapped open.

‘Shh,’ Steve said. ‘Not time yet.’

‘I’m up now,’ she yawned. ‘Cup of coffee?’

‘Yeah. Black, please.’

Steve clattered mugs and spoons around the kitchenette. He hummed an old Stones riff under his breath.

‘Gotta be so damn loud?’

‘Sorry. Didn’t realize.’

‘You are. What time is it?’

‘Five-thirty.’

‘Five-thirty what?’

‘Told you, go back to sleep, right?’

‘What the hell you doing up this early anyway?’

‘Couldn’t sleep. Got a stack of deadlines for the zine. Figured I’d knock it out now.’

‘Fine.’

‘Look,’ he said, voice catching sharp. ‘I know what’s been going on, okay?’ The words jumped out before he could reel them back.

‘O-kay…’ Julie said, cagey. ‘Wish I did, what the f…’

‘I just know. So skip the drama, the bullshit stories.’

‘What the…’

‘Julie.’ Calm as glass. ‘Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Please?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Bullshit. You know. I know.’

‘That’s it? You know. Know what? Jesus.’

‘Want me to spell it out? Really want that?’

Julie paused, thinking it through. She was poking the bear on purpose. But what good would a fight do? Did she want her fiancé laying out her cheating in black and white? He knew something, clear as day. Did she need the yelling, the blame? None of it mattered. This was done, she got that.

Quiet Break

‘Nah, guess not,’ she sighed.

‘There you go,’ Steve said. Flat tone, no heat. Weird, kinda chilling. They both stared at the floor. Julie kept her eyes down. She spotted her engagement ring, still there on her finger. Right hand fingers brushed it. She wanted tears but nothing came.

Steve hovered by the door. He stepped toward it, hesitated. Wasn’t sure if it was time to bolt yet. Or what he was hanging around for.

She twisted the ring off, held it out. He just said ‘No.’

Didn’t know what else, so she slid it back on.

‘My crap’s in the car.’

‘The car?’

‘Yeah. Packed most yesterday. Dump it at the office for now.’

‘Oh. Didn’t notice. You gonna just split if I was out cold? No note, nothing?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh. No goodbye?’

‘What’s the point? Can’t recall our last real talk, honest.’

‘No…’ She stopped. ‘Me neither.’

He tipped back the last of his coffee. ‘Alright. I’m out.’

‘Uh, yeah. Okay.’

She braced for a slam. Door just clicked shut soft behind him.

That was it. His spare key sat on the coffee table. Hit her then, he wasn’t coming back. What floored her more? She didn’t give much of a damn. Tears started, she sucked in a breath to kill them, headed for the shower.

Outside, Steve cranked his beater Ford. It coughed to life, belched black exhaust. Engine rattled like loose gravel as he gunned it. Finally lurched forward. He tooled through empty downtown streets to the office.

Meanwhile, Jim was stumbling out of Mel’s, his after-hours dive. Pool table, burgers, Buds, a little weed, chats with the old Jamaican guys from the neighborhood. Stayed open, off the books, till six when Mel hit his sack upstairs. Mel kept it tight, no fights, so cops looked the other way. One slow night, just them, Mel spilled his story from Kingston to Philly, years back. Jim never shook that tale.

Jim stuck with his buddy Russ, the Rascal. They were trashed. Two young women trailed them out the door.

‘Jimbo!’ Russ bellowed, voice like a foghorn, nailing some Motown wail.

‘Shut it, asshole. Wanna bottle to the dome or piss bucket from a window?’ Jim hissed loud.

Row houses lined the block, front steps right on the sidewalk. Paper-thin walls to crashers inside.

Russ halted, swayed. ‘Do, you, know,’ he drawled dead slow. ‘I’ve mulled it, real hard, and I don’t want no piss bucket on me, thanks.’ He cracked up barking.

‘We hitting yours for coffee? And, and… you got breakfast stuff?’

‘Ugh, food,’ one girl groaned.

‘Zilch at my place,’ Jim said.

‘Not a scrap!’ Russ hooted. Jim cracked up too.

Girls swapped looks. One asked, ‘Your spot nearby?’

‘Nah,’ Jim said. ‘Miles out, other side of town.’ To Russ: ‘Ted’s if you’re starving.’

Diner Dawn

‘Ted’s! Man, ain’t hit Ted’s in ages!’

‘Let’s roll! Night, ladies, good times!’

‘Ditching us here?’ the other girl said.

‘Where else you wanna get dropped?’ Jim shot back.

‘Night, girls.’ He waved off, no glance back.

Rascal eyed them soft. ‘Time comes. Time comes.’

Girls traded looks, giggled edgy.

Ted’s was the all-night joint. Run by Ted, full-on greaser holdout. They wobbled to the avenue, snagged a yellow cab heading in. Young Pakistani driver eyed Russ wary.

‘He’s good, cabbie too, no hassle,’ Jim said. ‘Little lit. Cash upfront?’ He fished a wad from his jeans.

That settled it. Driver flew them cross town to Ted’s.

‘Morning, boys!’ Ted beamed real. ‘Look like you owned the night! Here, Jim, where’s Baz? Kid’s MIA weeks.’

‘He’s good,’ Jim said. ‘Vacation stint but back, tan and all soon.’

‘Where to?’

‘Uh, Miami? Keys maybe. Bahamas? Mexico? Fuck if I know.’ Jim quit guessing.

‘Usual? Double stacks?’ Ted asked.

‘You bet!’ Jim said. They slumped in a booth.

Rascal was fading fast, eyes drooping. Food hit, bam, alert like nothing. Jim went the other way, green around the gills.

‘Gotta crash home,’ he mumbled. ‘Wrecked.’

‘Cab’s on me, drop you first.’

Jim fought puke the whole ride. Face slick with sweat, pale as paste. Cab stopped across from his rowhouse. He bailed, tripped into the boxwoods screening the old church, heaved hard. Daylight now. Feet shuffled past his sneakers.

Finally up, he staggered the busy street, fumbled his key in the lock. Thick green door thudded shut. He flinched. Hall echoed hollow; he clutched the banister, hauled ass up the stairs step by dragging step, freezing each time.

Meanwhile, Steve nursed his rattling rust-bucket Chevy through the warehouse district to the hidden office lot. Unlocked the chain-link gate. Engine quit mid-turn, dead. Pushed the damn thing over gravel onto cracked asphalt. Locked gate, popped the building door, hauled boxes and duffels from the back seat inside. Dumped them in a bare corner.

Two trips in, he quit though crap remained. Locked the car, hit the office, fired up the PC. Screen flickered slow to life. He launched Doom.

Meanwhile, the girls linked arms, heels clicking, scraping concrete as they trailed the guys’ path. No clue where.

‘Kinda rude, right?’

‘Yeah. You think?’

‘Totally. Figured we’d hit their place.’

‘Knew you did, slut.’

They snorted laughing.

‘Which one you’d pick?’

‘Either, both cute! Brothers maybe?’

‘Looked it, but accents off. Jim sounded… off.’

‘Mysterious vibe.’

‘Rascal was funnier.’

‘Rascal, dumbass! Gotta be Black for Rasta!’

They howled.

‘Who you calling dumbass, bitch? Jim seemed intense.’

‘Dangerous? Hot though.’

‘Yeah. Dangerous.’

‘You into him?’

‘Kinda.’

‘Full on.’

‘Yeah, full on.’

They giggled.

‘You’d do him?’

‘Fuck yeah. You and Rascal?’

‘Hell yes!’

‘He was older.’

‘Knows tricks.’

They giggled.

‘Suck him off?’

‘Yeah, you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Dude eyed my ass.’

‘Pig.’

‘Yeah.’

Meanwhile, Julie sat frozen on the bed, staring blank. Single again, older, no closer to that ring she craved. She blew out a tired breath, stood, shucked her nightshirt. Eyed her bare skin.

Shed pounds hard this year. Lost it from her tits, worst spot. Gut, ass, thighs, hips, plenty to go. Tits? Flat as boards.

She crossed to the full-length mirror propped on the wall. Hated the pale skin. Hated tiny tits, pinhead nipples. Hated the pooch gut. Hated the bush.

Next to it, short dresser. Top drawer held her vibe. Brown paper sack with two boxes too. Nair for bikini zones, cocoa butter tube after.

Stashed one for Jimmy, saucy note later. Took the other to the john. Perched on the tub edge under the buzzing fluorescent, scanned directions.

Uncapped the tube, squirted lotion in her palm, worked it into the thick patch. Spread legs, hit the sides of her pussy lips. Finger down the ass crack, dodging clit and hole.

Fifteen minutes, showered it off. Hair sloughed free, jammed the drain. Yanked the wet glob, flushed it. Full rinse in the tub.

Back at the mirror, she grinned. Ignored flat chest, gut, fat ass. Just saw smooth bare pussy. Hell yes.

Been itching since spotting Dotty’s that night they… whatever happened. Still fuzzy. Bet Dotty was too.

Grabbed her cell.

Meanwhile, Jim clawed up four-plus flights, one eye squinted, key finally in his apartment lock. Phone buzzed as the door swung. He lunged for it, snatched the cordless, answered blind. Tripped ass-over as he grabbed it. Hoped it was one of those girls…

‘Hey Jim, Julie.’

Fuck.

‘Hey, how you d-‘

‘Steve’s gone. Says he knows.’

‘Uh.’

‘No yelling, no fight, just packed and split.’

‘Uh.’

Needed a pivot. ‘Shaved it. Well, Nair, that cream stuff.’ Sounded lame.

‘Oh!’

‘Feels so ni…’

‘Lemme see it. Feel it. Fuck it.’

‘Got some for you. You try?’

‘Hell yeah. Get over here.’

‘Can’t…’

‘Call in sick.’

‘No, can’t…’

‘Fuck that bare pussy.’

‘Only if your dick’s bare too.’

‘Come. Over. Call. Sick. Fuck.’

‘No, I…’

‘Fuck your ass too.’

Bare cock. Balls deep in her ass. Every goddamn inch. Stretching her shithole…

‘Okay.’

‘Okay?’

‘Call in, head over. You’ll get me canned.’

‘Suck my bare dick.’

‘Yeah, okay, suck your bare dick.’

‘Bust in your mouth.’

‘No mouth. On my tits.’

‘In your ass.’

‘Ass fine. Gotta call work, then yours. Going before I bail.’

Jim hung up, paused, dialed back. Voicemail. Calling the office, he figured.

‘Babe. When you come, tights only. No panties, just tights. Tights, not hose. Rub your pussy raw through ’em. Short skirt, flash me coming up. Colored if you got, blue ones I saw? Next-level perv. Browns work. Three quick buzzes, nah, I’ll buzz you up, ogle that skirt. What a sick fuck, huh? You love it. Later.’

Jim dropped the receiver. Eyed the brown paper sack on the nightstand. Nair box label gleamed in the grimy window’s first sun.