CV Rick

The Stripper Sex Chronicles - Part Four

Warning:  This story series will contain scenes of a sexual nature. If this offends you, please don't continue reading it. 

 Misty left three days before midterms. There wasn't a note or a message on our answering machine. There wasn't a kiss goodbye and there wasn't a tearful hug.

I got the call while working on my thesis.

“You've got to come right over.” . . . “She's gone. I'm there now, it's empty just trash on the floor.” . . . “No the door was open, I walked right in. She's fucking gone.” . . . “I'm going after her. I have to find her.” . . . “What if she's in trouble?”

Debbie waved at me as I jumped into my car. She wore tight jeans and an equally tight sweater. Her hair was tied into a pony tail and she looked ten years younger than she was – she looked my age. When I didn't call over to her she came out to the street.

“Where you going in such a hurry?” I still love that Oklahoman twang from a woman. When I man chops his words like that it just sounds like his mouth is full of shit but when it's a woman's voice I can close my eyes and envision the words coming out from a pretty smile.

“I have to stop Dylan from taking off after Misty. She left.”

“Oh I knew that girl was trouble. Let's go.” She ran around the car and jumped into the passenger seat. She smelled of sandalwood.

“What about Bob?” I asked.

“Honey, it's football season. We won't be seeing him until after the championships.”

He was the high school coach after all.

The Stripper Sex Chronicles - Part Three

Warning:  This story series will contain scenes of a sexual nature. If this offends you, please don't continue reading it.

Misty walked into the Math Lab on a Saturday afternoon, unannounced, unexpected. She stepped into the room and I was captivated. She had sparkling green eyes and straight brown hair that flowed across her face, down past her shoulders. She wore a white sun dress that contrasted her tanned skin. Her legs were muscular like a gymnast and she stepped gracefully in precipitously high heels.

Usually very smooth, Dylan was visibly shaken. He jumped up from the staff desk, spilling papers and pencils across the floor. Then he slipped on one of the pencils as he rushed around the desk catching himself before falling. He ran to her and hugged her desperately.

After several minutes of excited catching up he walked her over to the staff desk. He couldn't speak correctly when he motioned toward me.

“Misty, I'd guess,” I said holding out my hand. She nodded and took it, her bracelets tinkled musically as she squeezed. Her hands was soft and small; fragile even. “I'm Rick.”

“Nice to meet you.” Her voice was very soft, nearly inaudible.

“Visiting?” I asked.

Dylan found his voice and jumped in. “She's moving back here. She's enrolling in school again.”

“Which program?” I asked.

She looked at me and smiled. At least I think it was a smile because her mouth was framed by cute upturned corners favored in models and actresses.

“I'm not sure what I want to study. I'll start here at the Community College and get some general requirements out of the way.”

“Isn't that great?” Dylan asked.

“Yes, it's great.”

The Stripper Sex Chronicles - Part Two

Warning:  This story series will contain scenes of a sexual nature. If this offends you, please don't continue reading it.

She did wear a bikini while mowing her lawn; a yellow one.  Her name was Debbie. She had long, dark brown hair and she was addicted to working out. It showed.  Debbie was married to Bob, a local high school football coach.  He was a six-foot four-inch muscle with a gruff voice and a crushing handshake. 

Debbie and Bob came right over and introduced themselves with a tray of cookies and an invitation to a barbecue.  We got to know the neighbors all right away.  There were cookouts and beers in the front yards daily. Everyone was most interested in Dylan right from the outset because every time he'd ride up on his Harley there was a different girl riding behind him on the seat.  He wasn't discriminatory:  blonds, brunettes, redheads were all seen riding that motorcycle. 

“Doesn't Dylan getting tired of all these different girls,” Gretchen from down the street asked me one day.  She had a little catering business and her husband drove a tool truck. 

“He doesn't seem to.” 

“I think he should find a nice girl and settle down,” she said with a nod. 

“He's in love with this girl named Misty.  At least that's what he claims,” I said. 

“What's she like?”

“To tell you the truth, Gretchen, I've never met her.  But he talks about her all the time, even when these other girls are around.”

“That sounds like an excuse to me.  He's imagined a relationship to block any others from starting.” 

Gretchen might've been on to something.

The Stripper Sex Chronicles - Part One

Warning:  This story series will contain scenes of a sexual nature. If this offends you, please don't continue reading it.  (although this first episode is pretty tame)

I had more sex with more different women during my first year of grad school at the University of Oklahoma than at any other time of my life.  The reasons were varied but mostly hinged on my friend, Dylan. 

As part of the requirements for one of my scholarships I had to work in my field within the University Programs.  The U operated an outreach  for academic help to local junior colleges as part of a grant program and the Dean put me in charge of the Weekend Mathematics Laboratory at a local community college.  It was a great job.  I got to help students with everything from arithmetic to differentials and I had a small crew of talented undergrad students to assist me.  The student body had a range between high school kids picking up college credits to retirees returning to school in their free time, so I learned all the different ways of connecting to people and explaining what to them were very difficult concepts.

My best assistant was Dylan.  He was mentally quick enough but his real talent was in his patience.  He'd sit with someone and listen to how they thought things ought to work and then be able to explain in their way how to tackle problems differently.  He had this really cool way of gazing right at someone and making them feel as if they were the only person in the room. Oh, he was also a pretty attractive man. He had Hollywood hair, almost mussed, dark.  He always wore shorts to show off tattoos on his calves – a snake coiled around a dagger and a roses dripping blood.

More than one girl came into the lab just to sit next to Dylan.  Once, less than a week after I met him, he came running over to me.

“I have to go for a while.”

“You just started work,” I said. He'd been helping this thin brunette girl for less than ten minutes.

“I'll be back.  I just have to go. Now.”  He was nodding in the direction of the door.  The brunette was standing there with her book bag over her shoulder.