Author’s Note: First of all, thank you for the positive reception of my story. I am so overwhelmed by everyone’s compliments. Secondly, thank you for your criticism, I hope it helps me become a better writer. A common complaint I’ve seen is that my stories have “storybook” endings. I can only admit the truth of that complaint. Considering the personal losses and tragedies I’ve suffered throughout my life, I think I’ve earned this privilege. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story.
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“Fuck me!” she cried, clinging to me over and over again. I reached for her beautiful big breasts and pinched the nipples that stood out proudly. The painful feeling made her arch her back and ride me like a cowgirl. Her moans of pleasure turned me on so much that I felt my groin start to twitch.
Without warning I suddenly pushed her off of me and kept the action moving until I was fucking her missionary style without missing a beat. I ignored her soft pleas and fucked her mercilessly. My cock was sliding in and out of her tight pussy.
She showed her approval by wrapping her long muscular legs around me, holding my body. Her hands were around my neck and she kept looking into my eyes as I kept fucking her. Those big sensual brown eyes were staring into my soul as we were fucking away. It’s almost enough to make me forget the lies of those beautiful eyes.
Trying not to think about it, I close my eyes and pound into her, my testicles slapping her ass faster. Her moans of pleasure float towards me. This is another motivation to follow the laws of nature and climax. Spilling my seed into this lovely creature and impregnating her. Let this woman be my helper, my companion, my lover, my wife, the mother of my children. All the changes of life are reduced to a simple equation: a man, a woman and life.
This fantasy was exciting me as I entered the final stage of our lovemaking. A few more thrusts and I was done. She knew I had come, her screams grew louder and she urged me to come inside. Her voice also started getting louder.
Then, in a gradual manner, I reached my peak and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I roared as I rammed into her for the last time, cum spurting out of my cock. I kept my word, and another stream followed, and then another. She let out an orgasmic scream as her body convulsed. I kept cumming until I couldn’t anymore and collapsed on top of her.
I didn’t want to crush her, so I rolled to one side and gently pushed her on top of me. As we calmed down from our efforts, I stroked her gently, feeling her warmth and heartbeat. We remained silent. It seemed there was no need to speak. I continued to caress her delicate body with my hands in appreciation.
Finally, when we calmed down, I felt her hand reach my cheek. This was the expression of my efforts. Then she left me and went to the bathroom. Soon I heard the sound of the shower and I tried to imagine what her body would look like when the water fell on it.
For a moment the thought of joining her crossed my mind, but instead I lay on the bed, gathering my thoughts. Then the shower turned off, and a moment later the door opened and steam billowed out, announcing her arrival. She came out, the towel almost covering her, looking like a goddess from Greek mythology.
She came back to the bed, smiled at me and touched my cheek with her hand again. I enjoyed the feeling of her fingers caressing mine before she pushed me aside. She threw down the towel without any shame and started to put on the clothes that were scattered on the floor. I watched silently as her lovely body started to hide under her clothes. Then she came and sat down beside me, straightening her socks and tying the slingbacks on her delicate feet.
Pleased with her efforts, she looked at me and smiled. “That’s great. When can I see you again?” I promised her and told her I had her phone number and would call her soon. She then leaned toward me, walked past me, and picked up ten hundred dollar bills that were on the headstand. She hesitated for a moment when she saw a small stack of five $100 bills that were stacked separately. She looked at me and I told her to consider it a tip.
As she collected the second pile, a big smile spread on her face. After thanking me again, she tried to break the rules and kiss my lips. At the last second, her lips turned towards mine and she got a chaste kiss on my cheek.
I watched her walk to the door. She opened the door and walked out. Before closing the door, she leaned back in her chair and said, “Merry Christmas!” The emotionless look on her face destroyed any remaining illusions I had.
Then I was alone in the room. I pulled the condom off my flaccid penis and threw it in the trash. No love, no affection, no notions, no friends, no partner, no wife. It was an expensive night’s rest as I sat on a dirty bed in a dirty hotel room in a Las Vegas casino.
“Merry Christmas,” I said sadly to myself as I turned over in my sleep.
When I woke up I took stock of the weekend’s activities. Despite succumbing to physical needs the previous night, I made a profit of $3500 in two days at the blackjack table. My goal is to make $5,000 by this weekend. Obviously, given the basic rules I’ve set, this will be a little more difficult to achieve now.
Every trip to Las Vegas means following a systematic and precise set of protocols to achieve predetermined goals. The first rule is to only play blackjack. The second rule is to never drink while gambling and never play when tired. Rule number three, never draw attention to yourself. The fourth rule is to spread out the action in the casino. Rule number five, once you reach your goal, leave.
There are a few strategies that have helped me. One of them is to change my look every time I go. Another way is to randomly decide what to aim for each visit. One time, it might be $300; the next time you go, it might be $2,500. I’ve never played at the big tables. I usually prefer a minimum of $10 and a maximum of $500. This kept me under the radar. Often, I would not meet my goals, order drinks and act stupidly under the influence. When I left the table everyone thought I was a loser.
I never cash out all my chips. I always withdraw an amount that will not attract the attention of the IRS or the casino. I also use many other protective measures. Still, I knew I would definitely get caught. The casinos have too much experience and technology. When I get caught, my name is written in the black book of the Las Vegas giants. I will be banned from playing there again.’
I have always had a knack for numbers. I can instantly calculate the odds of a particular card being dealt at any given time. With a photographic memory, I can actually turn the odds in my favour in any situation.
Las Vegas has a term for this called card counting, which is tantamount to cheating in the eyes of the casino and is therefore not allowed. Card counters are discouraged from playing cards and will be banned from playing if they continue to do so. If they still tried to play ball, there were rumors of dismembered bodies and unmarked graves in the Nevada desert.
I am not a particularly brave person. Nobody thinks I am brave. It just so happened that when I was in dire need of money, I found that my abilities were at the lowest point in my life. What was once a matter of survival was now merely a temporary measure to replenish what had been lost.
It’s ironic to think I could put it all together. Some things would never be the same. My job, my reputation, but most of all the core of my existence, Lola, was now gone, leaving behind a devastated man.
How could I have gone from being the pinnacle of academia to a leading player in such a short time? I remember my days as a math professor in college. How arrogant, how egotistical, how conceited. I was a rising star at creating new theorems for great thinkers to analyze and debate. Now, the only question I debate is whether to stand or take the beating.
All the embarrassment, all the humiliation, all of it would have been bearable if it hadn’t been for Laura’s betrayal. Why did she do it? I never got a satisfactory answer. The only thing that was certain was that she was now lying in the arms of another man. A man plotted my downfall and went above and beyond all expectations to destroy me.
Maybe me and my beloved rival will meet at some crucial moment in our lives, no matter what the changes are, it’s fate. The only certainty is how events play out over time, the only guess now is how the hands will work out.
I remember the first day the university hired me as an assistant professor. I was walking around campus looking for the mathematics department. A student took pity on me and directed me to the right building. I then had to go through a maze of offices to find the head of the unit, Dr. Ben Stevens.
I finally found Dr. Stevens’ door number and knocked tentatively. My timid knock was answered by a shout ordering me to come in. When I looked in, I saw an older gentleman sitting behind a desk with a stack of papers. “Ah, you must be Reed. We’ve been waiting for you! Are you hungry? I’m hungry, and I know a place that serves delicious food and room temperature Guinness! Well that would be very welcome!”
That machine gun speech was my introduction to Dr. Stevens. The meal was exactly as he described and the Guinness was flowing. By the second drink, he insisted I call him Ben. By the third day, he was busy gathering everyone in the department to meet the latest genius.
I was overwhelmed by the barrage of introductions, and although I have a good memory, the noise, confusion, and beer at the table made me worried I was forgetting someone. When I woke up the next morning with a hangover, I wasn’t sure who I was. Somehow I made it back to Ben’s office, and without mercy, began loudly discussing my class assignments for the next semester. After he made sure I had a time and place for each class, he began discussing the specifics of the school. For three full hours he fought off the various factions in the school.
The English and Spanish departments were locked in a life and death struggle. Nobody likes the French department, and very few people can find the German department. The rising stars are the Oriental language departments and they will take over the world one day. Chemistry gets along well with Biology, but not with Botany. Astronomy was kept quiet and caused no trouble. History speaks for itself and Poly Sci is fueling a revolution every day. The various sports teams are inefficient and take up a disproportionate share of their budget.
Eventually, Ben stopped, announced it was lunch time and here’s my treat, and took me to the worst biker bar I’ve ever been to. A Harley model. It turns out he’s a respected repairman of vintage motorcycles. Currently, he’s restoring a 1940s statue of an Indian chief, and everyone wants to know when the big unveiling will be.
They held court at the bar for the rest of the afternoon and I listened, in order of importance, to stories about cyclists and their bikes and their old ladies. When I asked which bike, Ben came to my rescue and said that I had tasked him with repairing a bike, however, we would not discuss it until it was done.
After leaving the bar Ben and I shared a cab and I staggered back to my apartment again. As it rolled around, I collapsed on the bed wondering how long my kidneys and liver could hold out. When the alarm went off, I stood up unsteadily and fell into the shower to wash the alcohol fumes off me. Once again I found myself standing outside Ben’s door and ordered in again.
“Well, Reed, it’s a 50/50 decision as to whether or not you’ll come in with a tattoo today!” he said, laughing.
“Ben, I can’t say that, my body is still numb.”
He then smiled and we began to converse in a more relaxed way. I began to enjoy his company, even though he drank more than I would have liked. We discussed the student orientation programs that began the following week for the fall semester. He then explained his management style for the department. I was impressed by the degree of autonomy each professor had under his leadership. He simply wishes that we do our best to educate our students and continue to educate ourselves in our chosen fields.
“Come on, I’ll show you where your office is. Then we’ll have lunch, your treat.”
As I followed her down the hallway, she began making comments about the pros and cons of each classroom, such as the classroom I was assigned to teach, which had poor acoustics in most of the classrooms, but she assured me that everything was fine. The weather was warm and the students in my classes stayed awake.
As we walked down the hall, he explained that the main focus of office politics is location and position. The further away we are from his office, the more translations will be assigned based on our order of priority. I observed, in such a situation, he must have started hating me as we walked past. He smiled, reminding me that I was new to the block. If I don’t like it, publish some articles, bring some prestige to the department, and see how quickly I get rewarded.
When we reached the end of the hall, I saw a maintenance worker busy painting something on the door. Ben looked confused and asked in a low voice: “What the fuck?”
As we approached, Ben became excited when he read the newly painted inscription “Doctor’s Attached Office.” Jason Feder. He said to the maintenance man, “Tom, you know what I told you to do last week. What happened?”
The concerned maintenance man replied, “Dr. Stevens, they told me you changed your mind. So I’m busy replacing all the furniture and equipment in this office. The last thing I want to do is change the locks and take the keys.” and give it to Dr. Feder.
Ben whispered, “Tell me what, Tom, unlock the office so I can see what’s going on.”
Tom complied and opened the door for Ben to review. The offices were filled with new luxury furniture, eye-catching art decor and new equipment, including gleaming state-of-the-art computer systems. I basically walked around and studied the entire layout.
Then he turned to me and said, “It looks like Dr. Feder has spent his entire budget this year updating your office, Reed. Congratulations!” He then turned to Tom and told him to change the locks as ordered, but under no circumstances will he nor any of the maintenance staff give Dr. Feder the keys. No one is allowed to take anything out of the office without Dr. Stevens’s express permission, and eventually, the sign on the door will be changed to Dr. James Reed.
As we left, Ben turned to me and said, “I’m afraid I’ve put you in the middle of a power struggle with our associate professor. But, God, I’ll have to teach him a lesson!”
I frowned, “I don’t remember seeing him on Monday.”
Ben laughed, “You didn’t. He ignored my invitation. Probably just to see how stupid he is.”
We went to the local pizza place and to my surprise, many of the students who had arrived early came over to our table to chat with their old professors. The joy and energy that Ben gets from interacting with students is equally impressive.
I had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Jason Feder on Thursday. As I sat quietly in my new office working on lesson plans, I heard the rattle of the door handle, then a knock. I went to open the door and was standing in front of a very disappointed man.
“What the hell are you doing with my contract?”
“Good morning, I assume you are Dr. Feder. I’m James Reed, the new assistant professor.” I reached out to shake his hand, but he ignored me.
“I asked you why you came into my office!”
I took a deep breath and told him that Dr. Stevens had assigned me an office and furniture. When I told him this, he became angry and raged in the wide corridor for five minutes. I tried to stay calm as he hurled one insult after another at Ben.
“Well, I don’t care about that old fool. Just go away!”
I looked him in the eye and told him I would not leave until Dr. Stevens told me to. After hearing this he angrily assured me that I would be furious in ten minutes. After saying that, he walked off to Ben’s office. One of the witnesses to Fedor’s words in the hallway was Ben’s secretary, Mary, so I knew Ben had warned me when Fedor went into his office.
I went back to preparing my lesson plans when I heard another knock on the door thirty minutes later. I sighed, stood up and opened the door, facing a beet red Jason Feder. He told me through gritted teeth that he was here to move his furniture out of my office. I looked him in the eye again and told him that Dr. Stevens had given specific orders and only he could allow any furniture to be moved.
This brought my anger back to life, but I still firmly believe that Jason Feder should have Dr. Stevens’ permission. Finally, I told him it was lunch time and I was going to eat with Dr. Stevens. I suggested that perhaps he would consider joining us and trying to convince Dr. Stevens to return the furniture.
Fedor told me to go fuck myself. Instead of retaliating, I just closed my office and headed to Ben’s office. Ben promised to show me the best burger joint in town…and I gave him that.
As I bit into the huge cheeseburger, I had to admit that it was the best burger I had ever tasted. I took a swig of beer to swallow it down while Ben kept telling me the details about Fedor’s visit. As we compared notes, it became clear that none of us would be getting a Christmas card from Fedor in the near future.
Saturday came and Ben hosted a party for the staff at his home. I arrived early and met his beautiful wife, Terri. Like the charming Southern lady she is, she graciously accepted the bottle of wine I bought for them, took my arm and introduced me to everyone.
When we weren’t talking to other people, Terri was telling me stories about Ben. Every detail made me like him more. She told me that they had discovered early in their marriage that they were unable to conceive. This tragedy created an unbreakable commitment between them. But they are still horrified by what could have been. Then Terri gave me a great compliment. She said that Ben treated me like a son. I felt humbled and choked by this confession as I began to wipe away tears.
“Damn it, kid! I thought I was the only person Terry could cry about!”
I was surprised to see Ben behind us and he told Terry he wanted to show me his shop. I left Terry and we walked to the building. When we entered, I was amazed at how spotless and pristine the shop was. It was a stark contrast to the chaos in his office.
In the middle of the floor is an old Indian motorcycle in showroom condition. Ben begins to explain how he found the body and engine in a junkyard, bought it for next to nothing, and slowly brought the bike back to life.
“Something this beautiful deserves a second chance,” he explains.
I would have to agree with him.
