Whose hand is it?

Admonition: If you're not suppose to read this then do what you will. Though you're not supposed to copy this I can't stop you so at least give me credit for it and half the money you earn on it.

All complaints and praises can be sent to blbobby2@hotmail.com

I am blbobby, and this is my story, well at least one of them.

Incidentally, though I've taken a little poetic license--the acrobatics weren't as great in real life, and the effects of the booze were more prominent--it's essentially true.

Now, read and enjoy.

The music was less than hot (more like lukewarm), and so was the beer. My head felt like it was about to burst and my frail stomach wasn't far behind. I wondered for the fifty-fifth time why I let Jack talk me into playing this gig. I'm not a real musician--I work as a database analyst in the real world, but like to take these occasional flights into fantasy just to validate my subsistence in middle-class America. Like I said, I'm not a real musician, but neither were any of the other players in the band. Jack was probably the best. He played drums, and he even played them like he enjoyed playing them. I, on the other hand, played keyboard, and I played it like I was participating in my first sixth grade recital. Bang, bang, bang! There, that's another Hank Thompson beer drinkin' song. But, the locals weren't too particular; and the more they drank, the less particular they were. So, I guess we were all okay with it. We were playing "everybody must get stoned" for the hundredth time, when my foggy brain awoke to the fact that we were out of rhythm. Rhythm hell, there wasn't the sound of drums at all. What the hell was Jack doing now? Whatever it was, it didn't involve drumsticks: at least not in a legal manner. Where in the hell was that sonovabitch, I thought, beginning to get angry. But, I thought, nobody else had noticed. Shit, why should I give a damn.

After the song and, incidentally, the gig had petered out, so to speak, I went looking for Jack. I found him where I thought I would, out in the parking lot smoking a joint with some of the locals. "Hey, Bobby," he slurred, "where the fuck you think you're going?"

"Thought I'd go get some drum lessons and take up the slack," I said a little peevishly. "Oh, come on, asshole, I'm tryin' to get us laid tonight," Jack slurred. "Now, don't blow it." Well, getting laid, now that was another thing. I guess I liked being laid better than playing "everybody must get stoned" with rhythm. "Oh? Now you're talking," I said. "We gona fuck each other? Or do you have a victim in mind."

"I want you to meet Cindy. She works at the seven eleven down the street."

"Hi Cindy," I said.

"You asshole," Jack laughed, "she's way over yonder." Now that's the problem with being blind, people insist on not being where you think they ought to be, and you wind up looking stupid for it.

"Well, let's go meet Miss America," I said, trying to cover my social flub-up.

"Hey, Cindy, come over here and meet fingers," Jack yelled.

"Did you call me, Jack?" a sweet young southern voice melted out of the darkness to my right.

"Yeah, here's the man who played that Floyd Kramer song you liked." That narrowed the choices down to two songs: "on the rebound" and "last date", if you didn't count "you've been talking in your sleep" a Crystal Gail ballad that I played in the Floyd Cramer style.

"Oh, which song did you like?" I asked.

"I loved `em all," honey-mouth drawled.

"Les all go get another drink," Jack said, or at least his tongue slid around reasonable approximations of those words. God, he's gonad pass out again, and I'll be left high and dry without a ride home, I thought. But I had to keep up appearances.

"Now you're talkin'," I hollered. Giving my best imitation of a rebel yell.

So, the three of us stumbled into the bar to pester the barman to "give us jus one more." But Frederico was in no mood to be pestered by these would-be rock stars. "Get the fuck out of here," were his kindest words. "You guys couldn't draw a crowd if I gave you an easel."

"What the fuck would we want with a weasel?" Jack muttered.

"Never mind," I said.

"Hey, I got it," WhatsHerName said. "If we can get some more booze, we can go to my place for a night cap." Wo! My mind perked up at this suggestion, as well as other parts of my anatomy. Maybe this was going to turn out all right after all.

"Hey, Freddy," I slurred, acting drunker than I felt. "Come over here, I've got a proposition for you."

"Shit, I've got whores that can do better than that without mussing their hair," Frederico said.

"Naw man, I'm talking money," I said. "How `bout letting us buy a bottle of hooch from you?" Pretty soon we negotiated a deal, a fifth of Freddy's worst, for twenty of my favorite bucks. But maybe it would pay off.

So, after a protracted discussion as to who was going to drive us to Cindy's house--I wasn't involved in the negotiations--and a few death defying minutes in Jack's car--we wound up seated in the living room of her somewhat efficiency apartment, sipping straight whisky from paper cups, listening to WFCC playing trucker songs from way back on Cindy's alarm clock radio. I was starting to get the "after the gig fucks up" blues, wishing I had just gone home and hoping my system could handle the onslaught of Frederico's finest hooch. I didn't think Cindy was going to put out, I wasn't sure I could rise to the occasion anyway, and I really didn't think I gave a damn either way. Cindy and I were making valiant efforts to carry on a mundane conversation, punctuated by occasional specious remarks from Jack. Crap, he was shit-eyed again, and it was going to be hours before I could get home. Oh well, I thought, I was just a couple of drinks away from shit faced myself. Might as well go all the way. I got up and fixed myself another drink. While I was at it, I refreshed Cindy's. "Does your friend always drink so much?" she asked. She said it like it was my fault Jack was pretty chronically drunk and probably wouldn't be able to fuck her tonight.

"No," I said. "He's just getting out of a shitty marriage, and he's trying to live out all those country and western songs he plays."

"Me too," she said. Oh fuck, I thought. Now I'm going to have to play analyst. Why was I always the one who listened to others tell about their problems, while I kept mine bottled up inside. Oh well, it couldn't be helped.

So, while Cindy, Jack and I sat next to each other on her threadbare sleeper sofa, she began to tell me about her early marriage--an alternative to attending high school for her--that had not been all she had hoped it would be. Then came the coke and pills (of course she didn't do it, well not much) and then came the other woman, (his, not hers) and so on until she was left all alone in the almost efficiency apartment with her sleeper sofa that wouldn't make into a bed any more, with her paper cups. And then came the tears. While Cindy spit out the butt-ends of her life, Jack punctuated the air with snores that became increasingly regular, and I was starting to get that feeling like I didn't want to drink any more, or I wanted to drink a whole lot more I wasn't exactly sure which I wanted to do. Whatever I did, I knew I'd better do it pretty damned quick. The evening/morning was about to define itself, and I really didn't like the way it was shaping up. So, I could either "seize the day" or "go with the flow" and I wasn't sure I had enough strength left to seize anything. I could at least make the effort.

So, I put my arm around Cindy's shoulders and pulled her close to me. "Jesus, life sucks sometimes," I pontificated. For the first time I got some sense of this girl's appearance, and I liked what I saw (or rather felt). Cindy was short and rather petite. She had shoulder length hair of undisclosed color. In short, I liked her appearance, and could easily imagine myself in her pants.

"Yeah, and sometimes it sucks the big one," she said. What the hell does that mean, I thought, but decided to let it go. Then, as I was wondering where to go with this thing--Cindy was sitting there with my arm around her shoulders neither responding nor resisting--when Jack made my decision for me.

Suddenly he jerked awake with a loud snore, and said "Shit, I've gotta take a piss bad."

Cindy jumped up and said, "let me show you where it is." There, I thought, go my chances. The two of them took off for the bathroom. It'd be my luck, I thought self-pityingly, that those two would wind up fucking each other in the bathroom, while I waited for Jack to sober up enough to take me home. Then, from the bathroom, I heard the sounds of loud heavy retching, and the splash of Frederico's worst booze somewhere near Cindy's toilet. Oh shit, I thought, my stomach doing it's own double flip in sympathy with Jack. I got off the couch and followed the sounds to Cindy's efficiency bathroom to see if I could help.

"He's trying to put his head in my toilet," she wailed. I thought that I might help him, but didn't say so.

"Okay, old buddy," I said grabbing Jack under the shoulders, "You're finished, and now it's bedtime for Bonzo."

I lifted him into a standing/leaning position and walked/carried him back toward the living room. "Hey Bobby, where'd you come from," Jack mumbled, mystified.

"I'm the tooth fairy come to do a root canal on you," I responded.

"You know what," he said in a stage whisper, "I pissed my pants." In another minute he'll be on a crying jag, I thought.

"Well, let's get them off then," I said. "Can you make him a bed on the floor?" I asked Cindy. We were both pretty sober by then.

"Sure, I'll get him a blanket. Why don't I put him on the couch?" she asked.

"Fine with me," I said. So, while she made a cozy little bed for Jack in front of the couch, I managed to get him out of his clothes. Now, let me take a moment to explain that getting Jack out of his clothes wasn't exactly an unappealing task for me. You see, I'm bisexual and can get turned on by a guy's hard dick just as easily as I can by the feel of a nice wet pussy. This might be a way to find out what Jack had between his legs with no threat to my masculinity. Maybe the evening was going to turn out all right after all. I slipped Jack's shoes off, then pulled his wet smelly pants over his feet, careful not to touch him. But, as I slipped his underwear past his ass, I let my hand "accidentally" touch, then fondle his massive dick. It was huge! The guy was half horse, I thought. I knew I wanted it tonight, but wasn't sure how I was going to get it.

Cindy had the couch made into a cozy little bed by then, and we got Jack into it and he was snoring almost immediately. "You're really a good friend to him," Cindy said. We had seated ourselves in front of the couch leaning back on Jack's bed.

"Yeah," I said, "Jack's alright. He just drinks too much. But, we're buddies." Cindy almost shyly leaned against me, inviting me to put my arm around her again. So, being the Agreeable fellow I am, I complied. "I guess you know," I said, "that you've got some temporary lodgers. At least until Jack sobers up enough to take me home."

"Hey, it's okay," she said. "You're pretty cute, and I want Jack sober enough to clean up my bathroom floor."

"Sounds good to me," I said. We talked on like that for a few minutes, while Jack punctuated the flagging conversation with regular snores. Finally, our conversation began to run down. Nothing left to say. So, I turned Cindy's face toward me and kissed her. I could taste the booze on her lips, and thought, I wish I had a breath mint. To my amazement Cindy responded to my kiss hungrily. So, following her lead, I slid my tongue into her mouth and we tongue wrestled for a while, until finally we broke for air. As we caught our breath, we clung to each other and I began to cup her small firm breasts. Finally I said, "do you have another blanket?" "I think I'm going to piss my pants so you'll let me take them off."

"Why don't we skip the sloppy part, and I'll get the blanket," she said. So, while she got a blanket from a nearby closet, I clumsily stripped. Before she came back with the blanket I heard her clothes hitting the floor, and knew I was gonna get lucky tonight. After we covered ourselves with the blanket, we began to explore each other's body. I let her touch me first so I could gauge whether she liked what she found. She reached between my legs and took hold of my semi-erect penis and began to slowly jack it off. I reached between her legs and found her shaved pussy moist and willing. I immediately sprang to full attention.

"Oh my!" she breathed. "What a wonderful surprise."

"It's your toy for the evening," I said. I was secretly hoping that I could stay balanced between excitement and orgasm. But, I've learned to control my orgasms pretty well. We began to fondle each other as I slowly fingered her, occasionally touching her clit, just to keep her interested. She lowered her head to my lap and put her mouth around my dick. It felt great, but I had other fish to fry. While she sucked me, I continued to finger her with my left hand while my right hand crept beneath the covers on the couch behind me. All the while Jack slept on, dead to the world. I slowly eased my right hand forward until I could feel that I was close to his dick. I first let the back of my hand touch it and then turned it over so that the limp form of Jack's dick fit snugly into my palm. I was amazed once more at the size of it. It was about as thick as my wrist and about eight inches long, soft. However, despite all the booze, Jack, always the trooper, was beginning to respond to my ministrations. The sleeping giant was beginning to awaken. I hoped it was only a part of him that awakened. However, my self control was beginning to wain. Cindy, a trooper in her own right, was doing her best to get me off with her mouth; and she was doing a damned good job of it too. I, on the other hand, was forgetting my other hand, and neglecting Cindy's pussy. So, figuring that Jack needed to be brought along slowly, withdrew my attentions from his flag pole, and began to savor the warm wet spot between Cindy's legs. Finally, I reluctantly pulled her head away from my frantic pecker, for fear that I would finish too soon. We both came up breatheing hard and loud. As Cindy began to sit up next to me, I quickly withdrew my right hand from the couch, and Jack's inviting lap. "Will you fuck me?" Cindy almost begged.

"You read my mind. Help me gather up these pillows," I said. So we gathered up the pillows that had come from the back of the sofa, and I built a little shelf with them. "What's that for?" Cindy asked.

"It's for your comfort, my dear" I replied. I had her lay face down with her face on the pillow shelf and spread her legs behind her. I was going to fuck her doggy style. As I said earlier, Cindy was pretty short. Therefore, she was quite comfortable with her face at the edge of the couch, I, on the other hand, had nowhere to put my own head except on the couch itself. What a real shame. Hmmmm. I mounted Cindy from the rear, pressing my raging dick against her willing pussy, until I felt it slowly enter her. God that was good, I thought. From this angle I could stimulate Cindy's clit at will; and I sure was willing. I began to fuck her, slowly at first, but gradually gathering speed. As my speed increased, so did her breatheing. Speaking of breatheing, Jack had resumed his motorboat snores as if there was nothing going on around him. I had plans to change all that, though. Deciding that the time for caution was over, I thrust my head beneath his blanket, and quickly found his now flaccid pecker with my mouth. I put the head of the monster in my mouth and began to move up and down on it with my thrusts into Cindy's pussy. Jack immediately responded, and I was rewarded with a lot more dick than I could easily handle, but I did my best. My body was being inundated with sensations. On one end my dick was sheathed in voluptuous warm moistness, and on the other end, my face was being fucked by the best cock I'd ever sucked. All the while, I could hear Cindy's whispered pleas for more. Jesus this was heaven: but it couldn't last.

Cindy was the first to go over the edge. She began to shout, "Fuck me. Fuck me faster!" and I felt my dick surrounded by liquid beautiful slime. As for me, I could feel my orgasm approaching like a run away train. No way I could stop it now. Then I heard a groan from Jack, and his dick began to pulse in my mouth. One, two, three squirts of beautiful spunk was shot down my waiting throat-- and I lost it, cumming over and over in Cindy's waiting pussy.

Fortunately, I was the first to recover, and remove Jack's limp dick from my mouth, and my head from beneath the covers. Cindy and I lay together for a long long time, savoring the moment and the togetherness. Finally, we rearranged the pillows placing them side by side, and we lay on the floor, naked beneath the blanket, and slept.

Jack was the first to awaken, about four hours later. Damn him, he was all cheeriness, no ill-effects from the night before. When Cindy and I grogily awoke, we made him clean up Cindy's bathroom floor: hoping to curb some of his cheeriness. It didn't work.

Shortly after that, we took our leave of Cindy, leaving her to her broken sofa, her almost efficient apartment, and a clean bathroom floor.

As Jack let me off at my own apartment, he said, "Hey, you know what?"

"What," I said.

"I think that chick gave me a blow job last night." "No, Jack," I said, smacking my lips. "I really don't think so."