From mcsuth@pacbell.net Tue Aug 12 03:14:42 1997 Path: news.alt.net!news1.alt.net!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!news.pbi.net!news.pacbell.net!not-for-mail From: The ScriptPro 2000 System <mcsuth@pacbell.net> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: STORY: "Too Hot To Think" by Buck Naked Date: Tue, 12 Aug 1997 00:14:42 -0700 Organization: Pacific Bell Internet Services Lines: 515 Message-ID: <33F00D62.551@pacbell.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: ppp-206-170-217-16.nhwd02.pacbell.net Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=iso-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-Mailer: Mozilla 2.02E (Win95; I) Hi, all... This is a first posting to the group. Hope it's worth de-lurking. You be the judge. And, of course, this is my official psuedonym for the group... Buck Naked. "Too Hot To Think" Jake tried everything -- pacing, stretching, rocking back and forth... but nothing could take his mind off how much his legs hurt. It wasn’t even a particular problem spot that he could work on, since the dull ache kept moving. First it was in his ankles, then his calves, then the fronts of his thighs. He knew the answer to the problem, but it was the one thing he couldn’t do. Jake needed a new job. For the past six months, he’d been working as a petitioner outside grocery stores all over Southern California. He was carrying four different issues, all of which paid out at seventy-five cents per signature. They were all pretty good issues... the medical use of marijuana for AIDS patients, raising the minimum wage, creating term limits for members of Senate and the House, and creating a job program that would replace welfare in the state. Jake felt good about carrying them and getting people to sign for them. In the end, though, feeling good didn’t pay the bills, and Jake would have carried a petition to kill all third born children in the state if it earned him $3.00 for every person he stopped. With an average of 120 people per day, the money was almost worth all the constant little aches and pains. Almost. The things that really wore on him were the store managers who tried to make his job even harder, or the eight hours of direct sunlight every day, or the mind numbing tedium of it all. He was smarter than the job ever let him be. He knew it. He just had no ambition at the moment, no specific drive in any direction. Jake had drifted into this job like he drifted into everything else. Now he was feeling that urge to drift again, and fighting it was only making him miserable. It wasn’t quite so bad when he was moving from store to store, working a new location every day. For three straight weeks, though, six days a week, he’d been outside the same damn Ralph’s, staring out at the same damn parking lot, eating his lunch at the same damn McDonald’s across the same damn street. He was sick of it, but his pleas for change fell on deaf ears (as usual) with his boss Angelo, and Jake was beginning to go a little crazy. He hated the fact that he was starting to know the store’s rhythms and recognize the regular customers. There was one old guy who showed up every day at noon, always dressed exactly the same in a tweed jacket that might have been nice at one point in its very long and evidently very hard life. The old guy would plant himself on a bench by the door and carry on a running conversation with absolutely no one, broken only by short spells in which he would frantically fiddle with his crotch. Jake had a hell of a time stopping customers once they’d gotten a glimpse of the old guy in full fiddle mode, and did his best to divert people’s attention before it became a problem. There was another regular, a sweet-faced semi-retarded kid in his late teens who came by every afternoon. Jake hadn’t figured out yet how the kid got there or where his money came from, since he was always dressed in the same filthy clothes, but it was obvious that the staff of the store had adopted him. The deli sandwiches he bought were always piled extra high, the fruit he selected (or which was selected for him) was always picture perfect, ripe and just the right size. They would always refill his drinks for free. Jake kind of liked the kid, too, since people were always more willing to stop when he was out front, that day’s lunch still fresh on his face and his shirt, his permanent glowing smile fixed in place. It wasn’t the kid or the old man or the toothless couple with the grubby kids or the hippy looking guy with the pet wolf or the leathery looking Mexican bum that bothered him. It was the fact that he felt attached, part of a schedule. Jake had never been good at standing still. Especially in heat. Jake had left Arizona, where he’d grown up, to get away from heat. For a while, he’d lived in Seattle and other small towns along the Canadian border, desperate to stay away from heat. Gradually, though, California had exerted some mysterious pull on him, and he’d found himself drifting down the Pacific coast. San Francisco, Santa Cruz, Santa Barbara, and finally Los Angeles itself. He’d timed it wrong, though, starting the petition drive just in time to catch the full brunt of a brutal heat wave that kept daily temperatures in the low 100’s. With Jake stuck on an asphalt anvil, the sun beating on him without mercy on a daily basis. He’d burned his first day out, so bad he blistered and got the shivers. He needed the money, though, and had to stay out in it, letting the blisters burn off the second and third days, finally letting it all mellow into something between a burn and a tan, a sort of weathering that left his skin dark and tough. He felt himself leave his body some days, the heat got to be so bad, and he would go into autopilot as his mind did its best to focus on mountain streams, icy from snow runoff, himself up to the waist in the frigid rushing current. It worked some days. Some days it didn’t. Either way, it bordered on the intolerable. There was one thing that made it all worth while, though. One thing besides the money. One thing that kept him from turning in all his petitions one night, hopping in his Jeep, and simply getting on the nearest freeway. Jake had been trying his damnedest to deny that he was hooked, but all his efforts came up short. He had to admit it to himself and simply deal with the consequences. He kept coming back for her. She was one of the cashiers, a pretty girl in her early twenties. Short hair, the most inviting shade of strawberry blonde. She carried herself like she had no faith in the warmth of her smile or the curves of her body or the secret invitation in her eyes. The first time Jake saw her, though, he knew. He read her name, “RENE,” off her nametag, and a private thrill raced through him. Jake had been with women before, enough that it didn’t seem terribly important to him one way or another, but he’d never made the effort to be with one. When he looked at Rene, though, he felt the urge to finally make that effort stab at him, sharp and sudden. As weeks went by, it got stronger, until he knew he had to do something about it. Knowing you have to do something and actually doing that thing are very separate issues, though. Jake had no idea how to approach her. His few feeble attempts at flirting with her while in line never seemed to pay off. She was friendly to every customer in that same detached, impersonal way. Jake didn’t believe she even really saw him when he spoke to her. He was another face, just another handful of items to ring up. He knew in his rational mind that he should just add her face to the catalog of minor heartbreaks that he, like every man, carried around. But somehing kept him from completely giving up. After twenty solid minutes of people saying “no” to him, and after realizing how much wandering his mind was doing, Jake decided to take a break. He set his backpack, with his petitions and his pens and the newspaper all tucked inside, on one of the tables around the side of the store, the onaly oasis of shade to be seen, then ducked inside to buy a drink. Jake was a Coke man. To him, there was nothing finer than that first ice cold sweet caffiene rush when he cracked a new bottle open. While paying, he looked at every checkout line, hoping for a glimpse of Rene. No luck, though. He walked out of the store, sure she wasn’t working that day. She was sitting at the table he’d left his bag on, eating ice cream directly from a Ben and Jerry’s container. Jake picked up his bookbag, mumbled a half apology for no good reason, then started to walk away. “You don’t have to move,” she said, not even looking up. That stopped him in his tracks. “Excuse me?” “You don’t have to move your bag. There’s enough shade for both of us.” He set his bag back down as she put the top back on her ice cream. “Besides, your bag was here before I was. If anyone has to move, it’s me.” “No,” said Jake, finally daring to drop into a chair across from her. “You’re fine where you are.” She smiled and something seemed to tighten in his chest as he recognized her real smile, a thousand times brighter than the polite one she spared for customers all day. “I’m Rene,” she said, holding out her hand to him. Jake shook it, fighting off his impulse to kiss it instead. “Jake.” “You’ve been here a lot recently, haven’t you?” “Yes...” “I’ve noticed.” As easily as that, they fell into a conversation, a long one, the kind people customarily have on first dates, in which both parties catalog likes and dislikes, compare life experiences, and generally determine if the person staring across that overpriced meal at them is one that they want to spend more time with or not. Jake had been part of enough of those conversations to know a good one from a bad. What impressed him most about that conversation with Rene was how much better it was than even the best of the others. It was like they had a script they were following for some perfect Hollywood version of a chance encounter. Her fifteen minute break stretched to a half hour, then a whole hour. Finally, her manager came out to find her, his irritation only enhanced by the fact that she was talking to a petitoner. “Ray, relax...” “I would, Rene, but I missed my break since someone selfishly abandoned her post all day.” “Fine. I’m coming in now.” Rene stood as Ray, evidently placated, went back inside. She watched him go, then turned back to Jake. Picking up one of his pens, she took his hand and turned it palm up. “I’m sorry about that...” “Don’t be. You’re working.” “That’s right. Rub it in.” She laughed as she scribbled a phone number on Jake’s suddenly damp palm. “I’ll be off tonight after seven. Call me?” He was surprised she bothered phrasing it as a question. * * * Looking up at her apartment building, Jake wondered again if he was caught in some sort of hyperrealistic dream. It was a cool evening out, startlingly so after the oppressive heat of the afternoon, and Jake was dressed in new clothes, freshly shaved and showered. He half expected the phone number she gave him to be a fake. When she’d answered on the second ring, he’d almost cheered. She invited him to drop by that evening, and this time he was sure the address would be no good. However, when he rang up to apartment 309, it was her voice that answered. She invited him up and buzzed him in. It took all of his self-restraint not to run. She answered the door wearing shorts and a sweater. She was barefoot, her hair still wet from a shower. Jake caught a whiff of a peach scent as he moved past her. Was it his imagination or did she stand so close on purpose, making him brush past her to get in? He took a quick inventory of her place as she locked up behind him. Nice. Subtle taste, even if it wasn’t expensive. Ikea everywhere. He approved. “You sure got here quick,” she said, her voice coming so close to him that he could feel warm breath on his ear. A tiny shiver of arousal raced up his spine and he made himself step away from her as he turned to answer. He thought that he saw her smile to herself as he did. “It was closer than I thought. I just hopped on the 101, and pow, here I am.” “I’m glad.” She motioned at her couch, a deep leather sectional with room for five. “Sit down. Can I get you a drink?” “Whatever you’re having.” He sank down into the sofa, watching her vanish into the kitchen. There was a large rotating CD rack next to the couch, so he scanned some of the titles. Some of them, he would have guessed just by talking to her... Van Morrison, Counting Crows, Sting, Sarah McLachlan, Enya. Other titles surprised him and hinted at mysteries to be unravelled within Rene... Tool, John Zorn, early Sonic Youth, some German industrial bands he’d never heard of. And blues. Lots of Billie Holiday. Some Edith Piaf. Patsy Cline. Sad ladies, sad songs. He was so engrossed he didn’t hear her come back into the room. She put an ice cold glass against the back of his neck, just brushing him with it. He jumped, almost knocking it out of her hands. The sweet sound of her laughter diffused his momentary flare of anger before it could even get started. “I’m sorry,” she managed amidst the laughs. “You were just so intent... you looked so serious...” She handed over the drink. A Coke, on ice. She hadn’t even asked. She’d just known. Jake had no idea what to say, so he took a sip of the drink, creating a moment of silence so he could collect himself, come up with some pithy something to set the mood. He needn’t have bothered. “You know, I’m not in the habit of bringing home strange men from the grocery store,” Rene said. “How do you know I’m strange?” “The same way I knew you drank Coke. I pay attention. I remember details. I’m a great observer.” “Really? Me, too. I get a lot of chance to practice standing in front of that store... I get to watch people coming and going, listen in on snippets of conversation... you learn a lot about people.” “You remember everything, or just the things that interest you?” “Everything.” She licked her lips, leaned in closer. “Okay, then... tell me what you remember about the Brinks’ truck.” Immediately, an alarm went off internally for Jake. Brinks Security was one of the big name security companies that made pickups at grocery stores. He saw them in front of every store he worked, normally at the midpoint of the day. Two guys would get out of the truck, each from a separate door. They would enter the store, each of them resting one hand on the butt of a gun. They’d make the pickup from the manager’s office, only one of them actually going in while the other watched for trouble. Then they’d return to the truck, always keeping those guns at the ready. The guy with the money would get in the truck first, and then the other one would resnap his holster and climb in the truck as well. During all of this, there were two other Brinks guys who never even got out of the truck, a driver and a guy in the back. Jake knew better than to appear too interested in the comings and goings of the Brinks guys, since they obviously weren’t kidding around. He was greatly disturbed to hear Rene bring them up. “Why?” She moved closer to him on the couch, that million watt smile practically hypnotizing him. He could feel a net closing around him, and he made no effort to escape. “I’m curious.” “I... I don’t think that’s the kind of thing it pays to be curious about.” Rene’s hand was on his leg. He could feel it, even through his pants, as if she were burning. She moved the hand up the inside of his leg, and he could feel every place she touched, marking her passage by coming alive. Her eyes never lost his as she brushed her hand against the outline of his stiffening cock. “I think it just might pay. I think that’s what makes it interesting, Ray.” Angel’s fingers on his zipper, Ray felt his brain spinning away from him. A sudden tug, the hand inside, and there was blue fire racing up his spine, electric signals sending panicked messages to his brain as a feather touch slides along his full length, freeing him to the cool air of the apartment. Rene leaned in, kissed him fiercely. Ray couldn’t breathe, and that swimming feeling threatened to simply overwhelm him, drag him down. He felt an animal moan rise up, burst like a bubble, and he heard himself, heard the drunk-force lust in his voice. Her grip tightened around him as he pulled her against him, her soft giving way to his hard. His hands raced over her, trying to memorize every inch, trying to find some sweet place to simply sink in and take grip. He felt fine muscles pulled taut in her back as she slipped her shirt off. Her tight heart-shaped ass fit perfectly into his hands, allowing him to lift her onto his lap. She rubbed against his exposed shaft with some tricky hip twitch that almost made him buck her off again. This whole time, she kept kissing him, practically inhaling him. He was dizzy, and felt like everything was moving too fast, like he’d missed some scene, but the sensations that surrounded him submerged those apprehensions, and he simply gave himself over to her. Tossing her back onto the couch, he stood up. The smile was gone from her face now, replaced by something much more intense. She had lost her lavender-laced bra, and her small pert breasts were exposed to him. Pale, topped with tiny pink-bud nipples, they were enough to give him pause. He dropped his pants, then fell to his knees, sucking one of those nipples into his mouth, taking it between his teeth, biting gently and drawing it further in at the same time. He could feel the bud stiffen under his tongue’s quick flicks, and he kissed the swell of her breast, kissing around it, trying to take the whole thing in at once. Rene grabbed his hair, hard, and pulled his head back, pressing him down again to her other breast. He continued to bite and suck, his aim rewarded by tiny shudders that ran up Rene, shaking her enough that Ray had to smile. He reached down and started to undo her shorts, but she pushed his hand away. “No, no... you’re already undressed. Why don’t you just sit back?” She pushed Ray back, onto the couch, and looked down at him, a wicked new smile on her face. This smile was Ray’s favorite so far, since it promised something carnal. The promise was quickly delivered on when Rene moved down and kissed the tip of Ray’s cock. Her single kiss was followed by another, her mouth open slightly wider. Her third bob and she actually let the head of Ray’s prick pass her lips, where she held it. Ray marvelled at the light heat of her tongue as it tickled him, the slightest sensation made more intense due to his total focus on it. Slowly, Rene opened her mouth wider, a little at a time, letting Ray ease in, until she finally was holding his entire length in her mouth, her tongue still busy, still working, the sensation almost too much for him to bear. Rene lifted her head, and Ray slid from her mouth, a choked sound of disappointment squeaking out of him involuntarily. “You like that, Ray?” “Oh, god... yes...” “I like it, too.” And just like that, she went back to work on him, with energy this time, nothing subtle about the vigor with which she sucked him, licking his balls between pumps of her head. Ray could barely take ten full deep strokes before he felt his sack tighten and Rene’s mouth was suddenly filled with the most jizz Ray could remember producing. She never missed a beat, though, catching his whole load with no problem. She looked up as she did it, too, her eye contact the final thing that sent him up, out of his body, once and for all. * * * And he continued to be with her. Every night for two weeks, they got together for dinner at her house. Some nights they watched TV, some nights they played music and talked. Other nights, it was simply that pure, simple animalistic fucking that did something permanent to Jake, that rearranged him in some crucial way, finally throwing open some breaker he didn’t even know existed, rewiring him to work better, to feel better, to simply be better. Jake called it love before she did, but she said it soon enough, and it felt real. Jake was happy. Jake was able to put out of his mind the question she’d asked him that first night so completely that when she finally brought it up again weeks later, he had no recall of the first hesitant moment they’d shared discussing it. They were in her bed, still basking in each other’s glow, when she rolled over, cupping him and idly stroking him with one hand, looking him in the eyes. “Jake... are you happy here?” “What do you think?” “I think you are. I know I am. I love this... this time we’ve had here. It’s been special, hasn’t it?” “As special as anything I’ve ever had.” “If there was a way for us to make sure that we could have this forever, would you do it?” He took a moment before answering, checking to see if there was a joke behind those green eyes, seeing none. “Depends on what it is.” “So there are limits to how much you love me, then...” He could feel her pull away, the space between their bodies seeming suddenly larger, cooler. “No... there aren’t.” “Then why does it depend? If there are no limits to your love, then there should be no limits to what you’d do for me.” He felt impaled, trapped, and knew that he’d sooner chew his leg off give up five minutes with her. He knew full well what it would cost him to answer, but he did anyway. “There are no limits. It doesn’t depend. Whatever it is, if it meant I’d be with you, I’d do it.” Her smile told him he’d answered correctly. Her body told him how correct. * * * Jake tried everything -- pacing, stretching, rocking back and forth... but nothing could take his mind off how much his legs hurt. It wasn’t even a particular problem spot that he could work on, since the dull ache kept moving. First it was in his ankles, then his calves, then the fronts of his thighs. He knew the answer to the problem, but it was the one thing he couldn’t do. Jake wanted the goddamn Brinks truck to arrive. It was a Monday morning, and the entire weekend’s take was going to be picked up. Jake knew his role in the job to come, and just wanted to be done with it. He figured that things would either be perfect or over afterwards, and the anticipation was going to kill him. He didn’t realize exactly how tense he was until he saw the truck pulling into the parking lot, pulling up to the front of the store, and he felt all his pent up energy boil to the surface. There was no turning back now. The truck pulled to a stop in front of the store, and Jake mopped a fresh sheen of sweat from his forehead. It was as hot right then as it had been that entire petition drive. Jake was sure at least part of that was his anxiety. Because of the heat, he was more than happy to tuck all his petitions into his backpack as he watched the guards in the truck get ready. He zipped the bag up, shrugged it onto his shoulder, and headed into the store. The first bracing blast of airconditioning took his breath away, the way it always did after a full day outside, and he walked back towards the juice coolers, which just happened to be right next to the manager’s office door. On his way in, he made brief eye contact with Rene, who stood at her register, ringing up a small Asian woman whose three children were racing in circles at the end of the checkout line. Rene smiled at him, and Jake’s courage swelled. He did his best to appear totally intent on the juice as the two Brinks guards walked right behind him, less than three feet away. One guard, a big hispanic guy with a remarkably thick neck, went into the office, while the other guard, a beefy football player type with a nametag that read, “DALE,” stopped outside, hand on his gun, totally intent on his surroundings. Jake felt himself trying to stare at the guy, but fought the desire, doing his best to keep his attention on the juice. Finally, he picked a carton, started towards the front of the store, opening the carton as he went, working at the mouth of the carton in such a way that no one would notice him doing it, even if they happened to stare right at him as he did it. He felt everything slowing down around him, heard the distortion on every sound, and realized that he’d crossed a line. He wasn’t just having an insane conversation in bed with a beautiful girl, playing a ‘what-if’ game to turn each other on. He was actually going to rob a Brinks truck, or die trying. The muscles in his abdomen began to twitch, as if trying to force him to run, as if demanding he reconsider. He caught sight of Rene across the sea of faces, and felt his last bit of free will ebb away. He heard the office door open behind him, then close again. He mouthed three words at Rene, and she nodded that she understood, then mouthed the same three back at him... “I love you.” Jake tilted the juice so it began to pour on the floor, then slipped in the spill and took a nasty, if deliberate, fall, managing to smash the carton upon landing, spraying juice everywhere, and especially into the path of the two Brinks guards. It was Dale who instinctively bent down to help Jake. When Jake put his hand up, Dale thought nothing of it and reached out to assist Jake to his feet. He was totally unprepared for Jake grabbing the butt of Dale’s gun, drawing it, and turning it on the guard, hammer back. The thing that caught the other guard unprepared, though, was the sight of the cashier, the pretty redhead, pulling a gun of her own, right out of her register, and pointing it at him before he had a chance to draw his own weapon. Thinking of his wife, thinking of his newborn, he simply raised his hands, as did Dale. And just like that, Jake grabbed the bag of money and took off for the back door of the store. Rene slipped out from behind her register and, keeping her gun trained on the guards, casually slipped into one of the aisles. Things moved like clockwork after that. Jake and Rene made their getaway clean, and found themselves in Mexico within three days. They were lying side by side on a long, quiet expanse of unbroken white sand. Jake had on a pair of simple blue swim trunks, and Rene was wearing the bottom half of a black bikini. The pair of them were already well on the way to baking into a golden brown, and they each sipped drinks that were refreshed every twenty minutes or so by a very grateful bartending staff who had fallen in love with the big tipping American and his wife. At least, everyone assumed she was his wife. There was an easy rapport between the two, and there was that aura about them that hangs around all great couples. They seemed to fit together. Yes, everyone who met them would swear that they were husband and wife. And thanks to their side trip to Vegas en route to Mexico, they were.