Excerpt for A Helping Hand by Penelope Cage, available in its entirety at Smashwords

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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.”


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