Timing is Everything
Watching porn was something I seldom did but I watched the DVD with rapt attention.
I didn’t attempt to analyze the emotions the disk produced in me.
The woman, a petite little thing, was being fucked by black men. One at a time, two
at a time, and once a full blown gang-bang. From what I could tell she loved the
experiences and she seemed willing to take everything they could dish out.
It was a raw production. There was no, or at least little, attempt to have a plot
and the theme, if there was one, was to see how many black cocks the tiny woman could
take.
The camera operator zoomed in close on the meeting of cock and pussy, cock and ass,
and cock and mouth many times during the sixty minutes the disk used. I didn’t make it
through the entire disk.
***
It’s true that timing is everything. I offer these examples as proof.
My name is Sam Crawford. My law practice was just beginning to make money. My wife
left me, and my grandmother called me to her bedside to inform me she was leaving
everything to some charity I never heard of.
My wife leaving had nothing to do with granny changing her will and Granny losing
her feeble mind had nothing to do with Suzi leaving me. The fact that finally my practice
started doing well had nothing to do with anything.
I came home from the office one afternoon about a year ago to find a note from Suzi
that said she was leaving me. It went on to say it had nothing to do with me but she felt
suffocated by marriage and wanted out. The divorce was conducted by mail and that has both
an upside and a downside. The downside is the lack of face-to-face closure.
Suzi and I met while we were in college and we married right after I finished law
school. We celebrated our third anniversary the month she departed my home and hearth. I
had no idea where she went or where she might be.
Suzi worked for a while then her company went belly-up and she was unemployed. She
had applications in everywhere within a fifty mile radius to no avail. I knew she was
depressed and discouraged but I thought she would snap out of it.
Granny called for me about the same time my divorce became final to tell me she had
gone crazy. She didn’t put it that way but that’s what it amounted to. She told me she was
going to leave all her money and estate to some ‘save the cat’ foundation. I told her that
was fine, patted her old wrinkled hand, and left. It was fine because at the time I had no
idea just how rich the old bag actually was.
I found out a few days later when I was notified she had died and I had inherited
her estate. Granny may have wanted homeless cats and dogs in upstate New York to get her
money but she didn’t get the will changed in time. See, timing is everything.
When her attorney told me what I inherited, I nearly passed-out. The old bag was
loaded. She owned property all over the country as well as several businesses. Her bank
accounts were staggering. Fifty million and change in just one of ten or twelve accounts.
Thank you Granny, you old bag of bones…make that, you old RICH bag of bones.
I paid the bill for a nice but inexpensive funeral. Not many people showed up
because she outlived most of the people she knew. I aspire to that, myself.
Because I was suddenly too rich to work, I closed my law practice and spent my days
taking care of the business of being in business. When my ex-wife crossed my mind, which
was fairly often, I missed her. Suzi would love being rich. Me, not so much.
I suppose my problem is I am common. I like ordinary things. I could not care less
if my suit cost fifty dollars off the rack at J.C. Penny’s or fifty thousand
hand-tailored. A car to me is just transportation and not a status symbol. My
twelve-dollar wristwatch works fine and does exactly what a ten thousand dollar timepiece
does…tell time. I like plain food. A nice hamburger is preferable over rich fancy French
fare. Well, except French fries. My point is I didn’t enjoy being rich as much as Suzi
would have.
One afternoon I was on my way to one of the companies I owned across town when my
old Toyota broke down. While I waited on Triple A to send someone, I looked around. I
spotted an adult bookstore a few doors down and went in it.
I suppose I’m like a lot of men and some women. I like porn but only in moderation.
My attention span for porn is only about fifteen or twenty minutes, tops. Anyway, I looked
over the thousands of DVD’s, magazines, and the like. I had been in the store for about
fifteen minutes when something on the cover of a DVD caught my eye. It was the picture of
a woman who looked remarkably like my ex-wife. This Suzi look-alike was standing between
two large black men and she was holding both of their cocks.
The title of the disk was “Suzi in Wonderland”. Someone who looked like Suzi that
was named Suzi? A coincidence? I found it hard to believe so I bought the disk.
“That flick is one of our top sellers,” the old man behind the counter told me.
“Almost as good as her first one.”
“She has another movie?” I asked and he directed me back down the row of shelves
and I eventually found the disk. It was titled, “Suzi and the Boys”. The photo on the
front showed the look-a-like with three black men all of them were naked and she was
sandwiched between two of the men. The third appeared to be waiting his turn.
I paid for the two disks and got back to my car in time to meet the mechanic AAA
sent. He was shaking his head sorrowfully while looking at my car.
“I guess you want me to haul it on to the junkyard,” the man said. “Ain’t worth
fixin’ up.”
I told him to do that but I hated to see the old car go. It had been my source of
transportation since I started college. It had well over two hundred thousand miles on it
but it had been a good one. “So long old paint,” I said as the wrecker hauled it away. I
called Ruben to come get me.
This is a good time to tell about Ruben Jones. I met Ruben Jones by accident just
after I started law school. Suzi and I were bar-hopping one night and happened to go to a
seedy bar in a seedy part of town. Our meeting was not auspicious by any means.
Frankly I was more than a little drunk and I accidently backed into Jones and
spilled his beer all over him. I should have apologized profusely but drunks don’t use
good judgment. His vast size should have been a warning but I ignored the warning my brain
was trying to send.
“What’s the matter?” I said looking up at his face. Yes, I said looking up. He was
six feet and eight inches tall and damned near that wide. “Can’t you see where you are
going, fool?” Suzi was pulling on my arm trying to get me to shut the fuck up and leave. I
stood my ground.
“Who the fuck you callin’ fool, fool?” he growled and advanced closer. If we had
been outside in the daylight he would have blocked out the sun. He doubled his hands into
fists that were as big as whole hams. I doubled my hands into puny fists and swung one of
them at his massive head.
By rights, he should have killed me. One blow would have done it but he never
landed one. The only blow I threw hit him high up on the left side of his head right where
the jaw hinged. I put my full one hundred seventy-five pounds into the blow.
When the huge man fell to the floor, out cold, everyone in the bar was shocked and
none as much as I was. I discovered that Ruben Jones had a glass jaw. He called it a sweet
spot. By dumb luck I hit that exact spot and knocked him cold.
I sobered quickly and let Suzi pull me away to the bar. When I backed up to the bar
the bartender sat a draft beer down by me.
“What did you say your name was?’ the beer tender asked me.
“They call me Killer,” I said. To this day, I don’t know where that came from. No
one had ever called me Killer.
“Right,” the man said. “That there man, beginning to come to is Ruben Jones and
he’s likely to kill you when he gets up. Drink this free beer and haul ass, Killer.”
I should have drank that beer faster or left it on the bar and high-tailed it out
of there but I was too slow. The big man slowly got to his feet. He stood swaying and
shaking his massive head for a few seconds then came to the bar. He stopped in front of
me.
“Why didn’t you finish it?” he asked me. “I was down and you could have stomped me
so why didn’t you?”
“Truthfully I didn’t really mean to take a swing at you,” I told him fully
expecting him to tear my head off. “I had no reason to even hit you let along stomp on
you. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” he said after looking at me closely for a moment. “You are the second man
to ever put me on the floor. The first man was my daddy and I was twelve. Are you some
kind of Jap fighting man?”
“No, I’m a lucky man,” I admitted. “Let me buy you a beer.” He grunted and nodded.
I ran across Ruben a few times after that. When I started my practice, he was one
of my first clients. When Suzi divorced me, Ruben spent two days and nights with me while
I drank myself into a stupor. When I became a wealthy man, I looked up Ruben and offered
him a job.
“Doin’ what?” he asked.
“This and that,” I told him being vague because I didn’t know. “Making a lot more
than tossing drunks out of a strip joint,” I said.
Little did I know how valuable Ruben would become. I made him an executive
assistant. Ruben got things done and I never inquired how he did it. Something you don’t
want to know. Applying the principal that no problem is too great if you throw enough
money at it, I got him a concealed-weapon carrying permit in spite of his arrest record.
I liked the idea of having someone close to me that was armed. Often I carry large
amounts of money and if Ruben’s size didn’t scare them off his big-ass gun would.
I used Ruben as a fixer. If there was a problem I’d send Ruben to fix the problem.
He had not failed yet. Ruben was also a getter. If I wanted theater tickets that were
impossible to get, Ruben got them for me. If I wanted a hooker, Ruben would get one for
me. You name it and Ruben could produce it.
“That old wreck finally died, huh?’ Ruben said when I got into the new Lincoln the
company owned and he drove. “Bout damned time.”
“Do not speak ill of the dead, Ruben,” I said. I laid the two DVD’s on the seat and
he glanced down and then took a longer look.
“Is that who I think it is, boss?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Sure looks a lot like her, but I don’t know if it’s Suzi
or not.”
“Can’t be,” he said. “She’s too much of a prude to ever pose like that, ain’t
she?”
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