Place I come from seems like everybody got a story. Bullshit and lies most of them. Not worth a dime or a minute’s time. Fuckin’ mooks making themselves out ter be something they ain’t. Billy big-balls’ talkin’ a crock of shit. Fuckin flapdoodle motherfuckers.
Well, I got a story and at the end you judge whether I’m a mook or the real fuckin’ deal.
Starts in 1982 – with a fine piece of New Jersey ass dancin’ on a table….

Dolores was stood on the table, red kitten heels, net bodystocking, cascading blonde hair and a sexy pout –me? I was uncomfortable–hot as hell in that room and she was making it hotter.
Dolores was a fine piece of ass and she had certain attributes and abilities that went with the ass- hell, she could suck start a leaf blower and she’d give a proctolgist a run for his money. That girl’s got skills.
As she danced seductively on that table I didn’t know where to put my eyes for one second to the next–I was like a k** on Christmas morning when he sees the presents– this was one present you’d wanna find under the tree I’ll tell yer that fer nothin’.
She looked down to the pile of money she was tip-toeing through and smiled.
“Let’s take this party into the bedroom,” she said, voice a hot whisper. “I’ve got a surprise for you, Micky.”
My ass twitched. This was gonna be quite the night. And it was– just not quite how I had planned it.
Dolores– the doxy I was dumb enough to think was in love with me- she had other ideas….

So there I was ten minutes later thinking I was gonna get ass banged, go to sleep and ride into the sunset with my gal and a bag of cash. A big bag- only to find Dolores pointing a thirty-eight at me.
It got worse.
I know what yer thinking, how could that fucked up situation possibly get any worse?
It went like this-
“Yo, baby is he dead?”
What the fuck?
“I can’t do it,” said Dolores.
“For fuck’s sake, he’s gotta go,” said Jimmy Mason, walking into the room.
He stood, shaking his head and before I could do anything, he walked across the room, took the gun from Dolores’ hand and shot me two times in the chest.
Lights out.

Mason bent Dolores over the bed, tore the gusset of her bodystocking, spread her legs open, took his cock out and slid it between her pussy lips. She pushed her hips back meeting his every thrust and soon she was sopping wet and his balls were slapping against her ass as he pounded her cunt. He took her to the edge of orgasm, pulled out and threw her onto the bed. She spread her legs open, high and wide.
“Come on then, Jimmy,” she hissed. “Fuck me. Make me cum, baby.”
He did.
Not that I saw any of it- lay on the dirty carpet, bleeding out- but that rat bastard fucked the ever loving shit out of her. Gripping her kitten heels he punished that dirty cunt and moments later she came all over his cock. Her inner pussy muscles gripping his spurting shaft as he filled her with cum.
Gasping, she lay back and he slipped his cock out, his cum leaking from her pussy. She rolled over and lit a cigarette. She drew deeply on it and blew smoke to the ceiling.
“Is he dead?” she said, looking to my prone body.
“He’s dead, doll,” Mason replied, tucking his cock back into his trousers.
“Make sure,” Dolores said. “Make sure he’s dead, Jimmy.”
“Fuck’s sake, doll he’s gone,” replied Mason, taking the cigarette from her long fingers, taking a drag. “He’s dead as Dillinger.”
“Make sure,” she said. “Shoot him in the head.”
Mason got the thirty-eight, levelled it at my body, shielded his face with his other hand and shot me in the forehead.
“Now come over here,” ordered Dolores, opening her long legs. “And fuck me again.”
He did.