Nis 14


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The only customer on a drowsy Sunday afternoon, the tall man in the cowboy hat and Western shirt was idly lagging the cue-ball up and down the table at “Redsticks”, a billiards lounge on the Airline in Baton Rouge, when she came in and strolled over to the bar. A voluptuous woman, dressed much better than the pool-chickies who generally frequented this place, which had admittedly seen better days. He let his eyes follow her on her way, but turned back to the table as the bartender placed a cocktail-napkin in front of her to take her order. Shoving the cue-ball out of the way, he placed the diamond-shaped nine-ball rack on the red baize and began to circle the table, retrieving balls from the six woven-leather pockets and depositing them into the rack, in no particular order. Then, he stepped to the rack end and began to array the balls properly for a break. This done, he reached for his cue, a house model in trademark red, and chalked it, glancing casually over toward the bar. The woman had swiveled around on her stool and was watching him. She raised her tall tulip glass to him and smiled.

He waved distractedly to her and took his stance at the break end of the table, setting the ball behind the break line and drawing a bead on it with the cue. After a few slow, preparatory strokes, he drew the cue back and let fly. CRACK! The sharply-struck cue-ball rocketed toward the racked object balls, simultaneously hitting the one- and three-ball. The tightly packed balls exploded out of their positions and began to rebound madly off the cushions. Gradually they slowed, and just before all motion ceased, the one- and four-ball found welcoming pockets. He nodded in satisfaction and rounded the corner of the table to line up his next shot, on the deuce.

It would have to be either a difficult cut-shot, or a bank, his particular nemesis. Shaking his head once, he set up behind the cue and, shifting slightly, lined up for the fine cut. He smoothly stroked the cue; the cue-ball merely glanced off the deuce before proceeding on its way up-table – but the deuce, barely moving, trickled into the side pocket.

He smiled tightly at his continued good fortune, leaned the cue against the side of the table and returned to his table to take a swig of his beer. Taking the last barely cool gulp, he drained the bottle and stepped forward to get another at the bar. He halted suddenly when he saw the woman was right in front of him!

“Hi, Cowboy!” she said. “Mind if I watch?”

He looked her over quickly but thoroughly. She wore a shiny light-blue silk blouse with a plunging neck-line, and a pendik escort very short navy skirt. His mouth suddenly going dry, he blurted, “Tell you what: if you’ll let me know what you’re drinking, I’ll bring us each one!”

“Why, thank you, sir!” she replied. “And it’s white Zinfandel….”

Shortly, he returned with another bottle of Coors Light and a tall, stemmed glass of wine. They did the clink, wink and drink together and sat for a moment at the tiny cocktail table, introducing themselves and making small talk. She repeatedly batted her eyes coquettishly at him. He thought, this could be my lucky day – and if you can’t get lucky on your lucky day, when can you?

After awhile, they coincidentally both looked over at the pool-table. She asked, “Do you mind if we have a game? I like to watch – but I really like to play!” This with a long, slow wink….

Once again, he had to swallow to re-moisten his dry, cottony mouth. He croaked, “Sure!” with a huge smile, which was returned in kind.

He made the rounds of the pockets, setting the balls on the table, then took the triangular eight-ball rack from the hanger under the table and racked the balls. Rolling the cue-ball toward her at the break end, he stepped back to await her break.

She crouched over the cue, lining up the break shot, and exposing her large, creamy breasts, which framed her deep cleavage. Looking up, she smiled saucily at his enthralled stare, then turned her attention to the break, which she made quite well – in fact, she sank one high ball and one low, giving her the choice. Sauntering over to his side, she looked over the table, then took a half-step to her right and drew a bead on a low ball. She said over her shoulder with a smile, “Do you mind standing on the other side? I have no panties on, and we’ve really just met!”

Woodenly, he tottered around the table, a bulge appearing along the inside of his left trouser-leg and protruding more as it traveled upward. He looked up toward the bar and saw the bartender studiously reading the Sunday Advocate. Good, he thought.

He gazed as unobtrusively as possible at her breasts, watching them press against the filmy silk, then withdraw as she breathed, and was almost startled out of his reverie when she finally made her shot, dropping a low-number in the side pocket right next to him. She then proceeded to make three more in rapid-fire fashion before miscuing. She actually curtsied before saying, “Your shot, Cowboy!”

He chalked his cue contemplatively, thinking he wasn’t even going to have to let her win; she had him five maltepe escort balls to one. Time to go to work. He’d been a much more serious pool-player when he lived in Texas, where it was almost a religion, but had slacked off somewhat after moving back home, and now he was in a tiny bit of trouble….

Three balls went without much difficulty, but then he found himself with nothing but a long bank. He carefully lined it up, but the object ball glanced off the near-side cushion and came to rest snuggled-up by the opposite rail, a foot from the pocket. Five to four.

The woman made another ball, then whiffed unexplainably on her next shot. What the fuck, he thought, is she trying to let me win? He studied the table, finally concluding the duck he’d left on his last try was all he had. He dinked it and brought the cue-ball toward the center of the table with reverse English, leaving him a gimme in the side, which he dropped. Six-up. Aiming carefully, he tried a long cut to the far corner but missed.

She clucked twice and took aim on her next shot. Casually, he reached out with his stick and very gently and slowly lifted the hem of her skirt. His pulse raced momentarily as he saw she was, in fact, bare down there! She looked back and, laying the cue on the table’s edge, extended a forefinger and drew the other across it several times. He began to color, but then thought, what the hell, there’s nothing shy about her! To his amazement, she recovered her cue and, while still smiling reprovingly over her shoulder, drilled her remaining ball into the corner pocket!

He’d returned to the cocktail table after his near-embarrassment earlier. She returned there, and, chalking her cue, leaned up against him, nestling his knee between her legs, and said, “Can we agree this game is for a piece of ass?” He raised his knee a fraction of an inch and said, “You bet we can!” He saw her eyes widen involuntarily as the pressure sent a wave of pleasure through her, then she said, “Done!” and returned to the table. She called the eight-ball cross-sides – and missed it!

Given new life, and the prospect of further rewards to come, he almost leapt off of his stool and strode over to the table. Chalking his cue yet again, he lined up the last stripe and rolled it slowly into the far side. He was left with a four-foot shot on the eight, maybe a fifteen-degree angle, an easy shot, really. As calmly as he could manage, he struck the cue-ball and saw it roll over to the eight and knock it in the far corner, where he’d called it. He stood erect (in more ways than one) and blew her kartal escort a kiss with a little tongue for lagniappe….

The woman sashayed around the table and eased herself up on the edge, one thigh on each side of him, and, placing her hands on his shoulders, said, “I want a better kiss than that!” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with increasing passion, crushing her bountiful breasts against his chest. She returned the kiss with plenty of her own ardor, their tongues meeting, dueling briefly, then joining in a joyous pas-de-deux between their gaping lips. His hands went behind her bottom and began to knead her round, firm cheeks rhythmically, pulling her forward against the hardness of his manhood. Keeping their kiss intact, she reached down and unzipped his trousers, his cock bursting forth eagerly.

She murmured happy little sounds into his throat as she began to stroke it expertly, rubbing her thumb across the head at the top of each. Reluctantly breaking their kiss, he eased her back onto the table-top and placed his face between her legs, drawing her fleshy thighs warm against his ears, and slathered her slit with the flat of his tongue, lolling it side-to-side. Then he sharpened it and lanced it into her, twirling it around her inner walls, reaching as far inside her as it would go. He withdrew it and formed it into a “U”, working it along the sides of her throbbing clitoris, encapsulating it, digging deep into her sub-structure.

He absent-mindedly heard her gasp with unrestrained delight, then felt her violent shudders as she wrapped her legs around his head and came explosively! He reduced his tonguing to a light flicking as she recovered her breath, then drew her upright and pulled her bottom forward to the table rail. He entered her slowly, wanting them both to feel the first stroke at leisure, then, his passions enraged by her fluid snugness, began to drive his cock up into her hard, fast and deep, wanting her to climax again, and to join her there. Fucking her like a runaway locomotive, his wrinkled balls slapping hard against the backs of her lower lips, he finally reached the point of inevitability of orgasm. Covering her mouth with his own, he whispered into her throat, “Come, baby, come….”

The head of his cock swelled twice its size to seal his juices deep inside her as he jetted his warm, gelid come high into her womb. She exhaled a long, satisfied sigh and wrapped her legs behind his back, pulling him even farther into her, holding him tightly as their spasms slowly subsided.

When their breaths raggedly returned to normal, she pulled his head down between her breasts and held him, then glanced over at the oblivious bartender and asked, “Well, Cowboy, are you still young enough to play second games of double-headers?”

He winked wearily and asked, “Your face or mine?”

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