[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]
“You ever see her before?”
“Yeah, last week; she was here for playoffs.”
“Do you know her?”
“No, but she was with Jodie, and Jodie's all right.”
“I'm doing it, man. I'm in.”
She had dark red hair straight out of a bottle–nobody is that red with that tan. He walked up to the bar and threw her a smile. He wasn't a douche. He was cool–a man's man. He had no problem pulling chicks.
]
“My buddy says you were here with Jodie. Are you guys friends? Is she coming tonight?”
The redhead looked him over. He was tall and good-looking and had great teeth. She had nowhere else to be.
“Yeah,” she replied. “I know Jodie, but I came alone.” She held out a hand that was smooth and strong. “I'm Erin.” She squeezed hard. He shook her off.
“What's up with the grip, doll?” he asked. “Name's Trent. I used to work with Jodie.”
“Trent.” she repeated, digesting his name. “You look like fun. Do you wanna go outside and 'bang one out'?”
Trent spit up his beer. “Ha! You're fucking nuts.”
“No,” she said, “I'm not. And I ain't easy, either, but I know what I like, and we could sit around wasting time or we could be 'getting it on.'” She ran her hands down her hips.
“Do you want it, or do you want to go back to your buddy and jerk off?”
“Yeah, I, uh . . .”
She stood up, downed her drink and pulled him by the hand. She led him out the back door to the parking lot. She spread her legs and pushed him against a car.
“You ready, baby?” she cooed.
She kneed Trent in the balls. He doubled over, and she followed with a vicious uppercut toward the chin. He turned in time to save his teeth; the intended blow glanced his ear. He retaliated with an open-handed slap that caught her brutally above the left eye. She backed off and squared up.
“How are those balls, bitch?” she hissed. They hurt, but Trent wasn't going to give her the pleasure of knowing he'd be pissing blood.
[
Erin moved closer and pulled his hair with both hands. Trent spit in her mouth. The combatants slow danced over the pavement.
“Yeah,” she said. “Show me what you got.”
He punched her in the tit. She used a hammer fist on his nose.
“Fuck!” Erin gouged Trent's left eye with her thumb.
“Okay, bitch.” He was hot.
He worked her body–hard gut shots that softened her up. She swept his leg, taking him to the ground. He climbed on top. It was close combat now: hair pulling, biting, spitting.
Trent felt himself about to come.
Erin was closer.
“Oh, yeah,” she moaned. “I'm coming, baby! I'm coming!”
As she came, Trent ejaculated in his pants.
Afterward, the couple sat on the pavement, spent, both of them feeling good about the exchange. Both of them banged one out.
See also
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