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Message-ID: <48819asstr$1092391805@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Lazlo Zalezac <lzalezac@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Barter (MF Oral)
Lines: 205
Date: Fri, 13 Aug 2004 06:10:05 -0400
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=====
Lazlo Zalezac
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Lazlo_Zalezac
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Lazlo_Zalezac


		
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<1st attachment, "Barter.txt" begin>

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. If you are offended by 
sexually explicit material or are under the age of 18, stop reading 
now. This material cannot be reproduced for commercial purposes 
without the consent of the author.

Barter
By
Lazlo Zalezac
Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezac, 2004

Glass shards, green in color, were scattered randomly on the dark 
gray concrete. Light reflected off them from the only functional 
streetlight on the road giving them the appearance of emeralds on 
black velvet. Standing in the dark, he said aloud, "Imported beer. I 
wonder who around here drinks imported beer."

He pushed, with the toe of his shoe, the neck of the broken bottle 
on top of a used condom lying in the gutter. The used condom 
belonged in this neighborhood; the bottle didn't. Sighing, he 
stepped up the crumbling curb to the cracked sidewalk. Six feet 
away were the steps to the dilapidated house. He sat down on the 
second step ignoring the creak that it made as the wood flexed 
under his weight.

Across the street, bored hookers plied their wares under the 
streetlight. It was impossible to mistake their reason for loitering 
along the road. They advertised their occupation by the clothes 
they wore - skirts that didn't cover their asses and tube tops that 
could be pulled down to show their goods. High heels pushed their 
asses out and caused their stomachs to bulge forward giving them a 
slightly pregnant look. They were caricatures of sexy women. 

The women strutted on parade, talked to each other, and tried to 
wave down the cars that cruised past. Cars slowed down as the 
drivers checked out the talent standing in the gutter under the 
streetlight. For every twenty cars that went by, one would pull over 
to the curb. The hookers always knew which of them the driver 
was interested in picking up.

An old brown Impala pulled up, stopping where the light of the 
streetlight barely reached. A black hooker, wearing a white frilly 
skirt that didn't cover her white thong walked up to the car and 
bent down to talk through the open window. Her large ass stuck 
out while she pulled her white tube top down, giving the driver a 
good view of her tits. The tits were large, but had lost the war 
against gravity years ago. She turned and shook her ass in the 
window of the car in a clear indication of what she thought was her 
best selling feature.

 From the curb, he watched the drama play itself out to its usual 
conclusion. Too far away to hear what was said, he didn't need to 
hear it to know what was being said. It was always the same patter, 
say whatever was needed to interest the guy and then negotiate the 
price. Two minutes, that's all it usually took.

The hooker got into the car making sure to bring her little handbag. 
The handbag contained her supply of condoms for the night and a 
few crinkled bills from previous customers. In the morning, there'd 
be fewer condoms and more money in it. By noon, the money 
would be gone and more condoms added.

The Impala pulled away and turned down a side street where it was 
much darker. The taillights disappeared behind the abandoned gas 
station on the corner. Based on the location selected by the driver, 
odds were good that the hooker would end up giving him a 
blowjob. Another condom would join the hundreds on the ground 
behind the gas station.

A skinny white girl came out of the house next to the gas station. 
She was barely able to navigate the way to the sidewalk. Wobbling 
as she tried to walk in a sexy fashion, her ankles were unable to 
control the high heel sandals. She wore black panties, fishnet 
stockings, and a garter belt. Her top was a solid black bra. The 
cops would pick her up without a second thought if they saw her. 
She wasn't worried about that. The police only came when there 
was a violent crime and then only if it was reported. No one came 
when a hooker was beaten.

He noticed that her black stockings were torn, leaving a patch of 
bare skin that marred the effect of the fishnet. It only made her 
look even cheaper. She stumbled as she tried to walk and light a 
cigarette. Stoned on crack, she couldn't do two things at the same 
time and had to stop to light her smoke. Sallow skin, sunken 
cheeks, and missing teeth spoke of too much time spent with the 
crack pipe. She looked forty and was maybe seventeen.

As she stumbled her way to the light pole, he speculated on her 
past. From her build it was clear that she had been pretty. It was 
easy to imagine that she might have been a cheerleader. He bet the 
boys watched her with desire in boring classes; many of them 
probably masturbated at the idea of sleeping with her. Considering 
her current appearance, he doubted that any of those boys would 
even touch her now. She leaned against the light post, allowing it 
to support her.

He heard the woman approaching before he saw her. She had 
tripped on the uneven sidewalk, unable to see in the darkness that 
reigned on his side of the street. It wasn't until she was nearly to 
the step that he could make her out. He grunted in 
acknowledgement of her presence and shifted to make room beside 
him on the step. 

She settled down beside him as the step protested the need to 
support even more weight. Her features were indistinct in the dull 
light, the darkness hid any expression on her face. After a minute, 
she asked, "What are you thinking about?"

Motioning across the street with his nose, he answered, "Trying to 
decide who is using who."

The woman shrugged, disinterested in the question as she watched 
the hookers across the street strut their stuff. After a minute, she 
answered, "It's an even exchange. The Johns want to get off with a 
blowjob. The Whores want to get off on some crack."

Surprised by her statement, he looked over at her, the dark 
obscuring her lack of interest. Trying to get some emotional 
reaction, he said, "That's a rather jaded view."

She shrugged and watched as another hooker climbed into a car. 
As far as she was concerned, nothing interesting was going on over 
there. "Ready to go in the house?"

"Sure," he answered as he stood. Unlocking the door, he flipped on 
the light and held the door open for her. She entered and turned to 
wait for him to close the door behind him. A bare forty-watt light 
bulb screwed into a bare ceramic fixture lit the room casting weak 
shadows of the pair on the bare wall stained yellow by years of 
neglect and exposure to cigarette smoke. Dirty dishes sat on a 
small table by a worn out chair that faced an old television. There 
wasn't any other furniture in the room. The windows were open 
allowing her to watch the action across the street. 

Turning to face her, he held out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill 
between two fingers. She grabbed the bill and stuffed it inside her 
bra. Kneeling, she unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. She 
gave it a few strokes to get it hard enough to accept a condom. 
When it had swelled under her touch, she slipped a condom over 
his erection without even looking at it. Her hands, tipped with 
bitten nails covered in chipped pink nail polish, went through the 
motions without requiring conscious thought. Speaking in an 
artificial tone of voice that rang hollow in the barren room, she 
said, "Oh. It's so big."

She sucked on the condom, tasting the latex and the cherry 
flavoring, pleased that there wasn't any spermicide on it. Her hand 
rubbed up and down the shaft while she made loud slurping 
sounds, forced with an artificial timber. Occasionally, she would 
pause with the cock in her mouth and make moaning sounds as if 
she were enjoying this experience. 

He didn't believe her act for a second, but that didn't matter. All 
that mattered to him were the sensations on his cock. Before long, 
the come boiled out to fill the end of the condom. Two minutes, 
that's all it took; that's all it ever took. She gave a few more strokes 
to his cock and then pulled off the condom. She rose off her knees 
and stepped over to the trashcan. Looking down at the trash, she 
dropped the used condom and watched it fall across an empty beer 
can. The sperm dribbled out the open end of the condom and ran 
down the side of the can.

As he zipped up his pants, she walked to the door. "I'll see you 
again."

He watched her leave and then stood in the dirty room for a minute 
remembering when she had been a pretty woman. Going outside, 
he sat on the step to watch the action across the street. The woman 
that had just been in his house was a silhouette in the dark as she 
crossed the street. Shaking his head in disgust, he watched her 
enter the crack house next to the gas station. 

The black hooker was back and trying to wave down another car. 
He sighed as a pickup truck pulled over to the curb and came to a 
stop. She showed off her tits to the driver from a distance, but he 
was talking to a different hooker. The skinny white hooker was 
still leaning against the light post smoking another cigarette. 

Bored, he watched the action thinking that at least this was better 
than television.
<1st attachment end>


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