Up For Review:
Trick Pussy
Two guys sitting in a den watching an Indians game.
"What you need is one of those sluts with a nasty mouth and a trick pussy," Bortko said, dropping his cigarette in the beer can with a hiss.
"A nasty mouth and a trick pussy," said Hank.
"That's what I said. One of those girls that can blow smoke-rings with her pussy. That can get you off, no hands. You were in the Navy. The kind you used to find in Times Square. On Rush Street."
"I need a trick pussy."
"A trick pussy!" Bortko thought a moment. "Not you! I mean, you do, but we all do. All guys do every once in a while."
"A trick pussy. Hm." Omar Vizquel reeled in an infield pop-up and led the team trotting to the dugout.
"You know, like Pinky Tuscadero. Or Ginger."
Hank shook his head. "Wilma Flintstone."
Bortko laughed. "That frigid bitch! You mean Betty."
"Nope. I'm telling you. Plus Wilma had cute feet."
"What!"
"When they order the brontosaurus ribs at the drive-in and their car flips upside-down," Hank said. "Cute feet."
Bortko threw his head back laughing. "You are one sick fuck."
The folding vinyl door slid open and Dina entered, rattling the cans arrayed on the table, checking for empties. "How are you guys doing? Bort, honey, use the ashtray next time, because the cans go in recycling."
"Sorry, angel." He stood and kissed her on the temple, then stretched until his fingertips touched drop-ceiling. "Time for me to mosey. Another day of work tomorrow."
"Is the game over?" she said.
"Ah, for all intensive purposes," he grimaced and pointed at Hank, still seated. "And keep an eye on this one. He's disturbed."
Hank wiggled three fingers in toodle-doo.
"You think about what I said," Bortko said to his friend and mounted the steps to let himself out. "I'll catch you guys next week or something."
"Bye," Dina answered. "What's he going on about?"
Hank shrugged. "He's just Bortko."
"Well, I'm going to go grab a shower."
"I'll be up in a couple," he said, waiting for the last few outs. "I'll get that window, too."
The shower splashed loudly as Hank entered the bedroom. Against the rich vibrato of her humming, so resonant in the cavern of the bathroom, he undressed and pulled on a loose pair of cut-off sweats, then turned on Letterman before he slipped into bed.
When his eyes again squinted open, the cut-offs were around his thighs and the crook of her finger stroked between his balls and beneath his shy mons.
"Shhh," she breathed, "he's a cautious little fella."
Hank groaned a tired protest.
"Don't move, you'll scare him away," she whispered in her best Australian accent. "There, the little ripper senses our presence."
"Dina," he whined.
"Oh, he's a beauty," she cut in. "See the brilliant coloration, the striations here? He's gorgeous! An absolute beauty. I just want to him on the lips!"
Her fingertips traveled along his shaft.
"See the way he stands on end and his head flanges. He's saying, You're on my territory, by my sheila, and I'm going to bite you. You're a naughty little snake, aren't you? But he's not little at all, by cry-kee, he's a beautiful big boy!"
Hank chuckled and moaned between his teeth.
"Yes! you're a good boy," Dina said to his erection, "and I don't want any of you to try this at home, because I'm a trained herpetologist ..." and her mouth slid over him, her nose tickling the very base.
Affectionately, he scratched the back of her bobbing head. "You can muck with me any time you like, mate."
With a sucking shudder-sound, Dina raised her head, lips glistening. Straddling him, she lifted her satin nightshirt and guided his prick between her legs, damp from bathing or otherwise. Sinking part-way, she gripped him in place, hungry eyes fixed on her prey below.
Biting the corner of her mouth, she growled, "Yabba-dubba-doo."
"Ahhhhhhh!" he cried, white knuckles grabbing the side of the mattress, her knees squeezing his torso and her wild body riding his.
"So did you guys have a good time tonight?" Her fingers lightly clutched the tufts of hair on his stomach.
"Yeah, fine," Bortko said, shifting his head to see the screen, "we just watched the game, that's all."
"What's new by them?"
He snickered. "What's ever new by them!"
She tossed her lustrous blond hair. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"With that fishwife? I mean, face it, Dina can throw together a decent casserole, but come on. I'll stick with what I've got at home, thank you very much."
"You will, huh?" Her manicured fingernail traced the circle of his nipple.
"Yeah, sure." He patted her hip and rolled away to his side. "'Night."
"Good night," she said at Letterman.