A HELPING HAND
by
Penelope Cage
*****
Copyright 2012 Penelope Cage
Smashwords Edition
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*****
I
don’t know how it happened. One bump at a party turned into a bump
every couple hours. That turned into a bump when I woke up and when I
went to sleep. I lost my job, my girlfriend, and my apartment in
quick succession after that. What can I say? Cocaine has done worse
to many more. The problem comes when you end up on the street, a bag
of random items to your name, and no money to buy coke. That’s when
you get desperate.
But this story isn’t about that. This
story is about the day that I met Celeste.
It was a normal
Wednesday morning. I woke up, rolled out from under the low awning I
had slept under the night before, and went and talked to Eddie. He
was one of the good ones, a Rock Hudson kind of guy who, like me, had
made some bad choices along the way. He was looking down the street
at a van unloading mattresses.
“What’s that?” I asked,
gesturing down the street and casually brushing my teeth with the
ratty brush I had been using for the past six months.
“New
group of college kids,” he said, “giving shit out. You know the
type. Go get your freebies. I’ll watch your stuff.”
I
nodded and thanked him. I stretched as I walked, my leg muscles taunt
from having slept all night curled in a ball. I could hear the people
yelling as I got closer, trying to get what they wanted before the
supply van ran out. I stood close by, but not too close, and watched
the students unload the van. A couple weird looking guys and one
beautiful girl. I couldn’t see her face, but her shape was all I
needed to know.
Small, not tall, but also lithe. Her long
legs sprouted out of short orange shorts, and when she bent over I
could almost see the alluring place between her thighs. Her long
black hair swirled back and forth as she turned to hand things to the
other students. She even jumped a little and clapped when someone
thanked her, her tits heaving up and down in her thin tank top. I
knew then that I wanted to have her, and the only question was
how.
At this point, you might be incredulous. You might say,
“There’s no way this homeless deadbeat could ever get college
pussy like that?” But you would be surprised what kind of action I
have gotten. I’ve been deepthroated by welcoming housewives, eager
to please after being fucked by their tiny-dicked banker husbands for
the past ten years. I’ve fucked waitresses behind restaurants,
their wet mixing with mine as I pulled their hair and listened to
them come against a brick wall. Not having a house isn’t as big a
deal when you have a ten inch, rock- hard cock.
While I was
watching the girl move, I saw a sign mounted on the back of the van.
Halfway
House Open,
it said, Apply
Here.
I walked up to one of the guys lifting a mattress and pointed to the
sign. “Is that right?” I asked, and he nodded at me. “Who do I
talk to about it?”
“That girl over there,” he said as he
dropped the mattress on the sidewalk. “Her name’s Celeste.” He
extended his hand. “I’m Roger. Nice to meet you.” I wiped my
own hand on my pant leg and shook his. “What’s your name?” he
asked.
“Jack,” I answered. “I’m going to go talk to
her about the halfway house. Thanks for the info.” He nodded and I
walked away. The supplies were running low already, and Celeste was
packing card tables into the van. I watched her pick one up, her ass
poking out when she squatted to get it, and then standing straight
up, the muscles in her legs defined under her pale skin. I approached
her from behind, careful not to scare her.
“Excuse me,” I
said in my best sad
homeless guy
voice. “I read your sign there, and that guy said I needed to talk
to you about it.”
She turned and I was stunned. She flashed
an amazing smile framed by jet black locks that fell down her
shoulders. Her lips were full, and I immediately thought about how
they would look wrapped around my dick, which sent a tingle through
me. She extended her hand and smiled even bigger.
“I’m
Celeste,” she said cheerfully. I shook her hand and told her my
name. “Jack,” she said, “that’s a great name. You actually
don’t hear it that often. Anyway, Jack, there’s an interview
process. After that, you are in based on a trial basis, and after
four weeks, you can list it as a permanent residence.”
“Amazing,”
I smiled. “When can I get an interview?” By “when can I get an
interview,” of course, I meant “when can I bend you over a
counter top and fuck you,” but she didn’t know that.
“I’m
free tomorrow afternoon,” she said and dug around in the back
pocket of her tight shorts. It pulled them taunt in the front,
pushing into her pussy and around the tops of her thighs. I wanted to
dive in, hard, but I knew I just had to wait. To bide my time. She
produced a card that had her name and an address on it. “You show
up here after noon tomorrow, okay? We’ll get you an interview, but
you seem pretty put together.” I nodded.
“I’ve just made
a few bad choices, you know?” I said.
“I do know,” she
said. She put her hand on my shoulder, to comfort me I guess. “I
think you’ll make a great fit.”
“Me too.” I grinned.
“Me too.”