The gods help them who help themselves
“Well, are you going to tell us about it?”
“You know, what happens on girls’ night stays on girls’ night.”
“Thornton has already told us what happened so it is only fair to let you tell your side of the incident.”
“Well, Thornton should have kept his hands off the honey pot. Though perhaps a better metaphor would be to comparing him to the waggoner stuck in the mud and mire putting his shoulder to the wheel as Hercules advised..”
Thornton’s flaw is his boastful virile youth. The boy has a good enough face, nothing particularly glorious, not like his body. He works on his body, if you need to talk to him and he ain’t answering his phone, then the place to look is the gym. School had been his glory days. He was admired for his sporting prowess, on the pitch he was confident and commanding and backed up with the other c of competent made him the captain of both sports and hearts. Then it was over, exams and university - academia had not been his forte so while his acolytes were off to greater things he was on the fast track to playing the role of the once-was-quarterback-now-small-town-alcoholic in the oh-so-witty american sitcom that is oh-so-trendy now with those middle aged men who watch it for the social commentary. Ironically, of course.
Thornton’s boastful virile youth got him in the mess that was girls’ night.
“He told a tale of desperate, disturbed, older, old, um, how shall I put it?”
“OK, just so you know it is just to put the record straight.”
“For a moment I thought you were not going to tell us.”
Martha pretended she hadn’t heard James’ comment and continued.
“The upstairs room is not as big as you think when it comes to a performance. Most of the women went up early. As you know I was one of the last to go up and there was only one seat at the back next to Thornton’s sister. You might think it would be a bit awkward for her so I asked her didn’t she think she would be embarrassed. She told me Thornton had come home in despair on that evening when his bravado had been called out and he was challenged to do a striptease sexshow a week later at Upstairs@Playground. He had sounded so sad, so un-Thornton and she couldn’t stand seeing him defeated so she said she would help him. They had already done the awkward bits, first with the internet searches then with practising moves. She said it had actually been funny critiquing the way he swung his tackle in her face.
“We waited about five minutes while Aesop brought drinks to the women who had none, then it was music, action. The lighting was a bit dim so the few women who took out their phones soon put them away, so this is all you have: my telling you what happened. Thornton came out with a bear mask and a fluffy onesie. I laughed at the sight but my laughter was drowned out by the whoops. The spirit in the room was boisterous. It must have been intimidating to Thornton but he carried on. A little stiffly to begin with, to be honest, none of the moves were graceful or fluent, no one would have scored his dancing above a 3. I don’t know if he realised it but if he hadn’t started stepping out of the fluffy onesie when he did he probably would have lost his audience. But he did and the sight of his fine physique was so much more exciting than it is in the gym.
“It is funny how that works, get two dozen women anticipating a show and the mundane can become thrilling. In the gym, the sight of Thornton in his shorts is, well, mundane. But in front of a the girls it was a different story. This story. The story of whoops and whistles, of hands reaching out to him like he is royalty or even our deity. Down it goes all the way and all he is wearing is a g-string enclosing a sizable package. It was definitely going to be a show even from my seat at the back.
“His sister said afterwards they had thought hard about ensuring the women dropped their inhibitions and crossed that barrier of sexual touch. In the videos the strippers use foamy cream on first their body then their cocks, or towels to create an illusion of privacy. They had decided on the body lotion. He dribbled baby oil on his body and the women spread it about. He needn't have worried about inhibitions, the women had no reluctance in touching his body, all over his body. His pouch was down and cock out before you could say big boy.
“I think he was a little flustered by having moved so quickly to the next part of his routine. The swinging the cock bit. He obviously loved this bit, hands behind his head, hips swinging wildly and cock tracing little circles in the air. I don’t know how far his plan went but the next thing Bea has hold of his hips and his cock is slipping in and out of her mouth. Five, maybe six bobs and she pulls back and slaps his arse. The women were all excited and he shouldn’t have reacted: he slapped her hand. Every single woman in that room took it as a rebuke and every single woman slapped his arse after sucking his cock. First Rose guided him in front of her, his cock for a moment seemed a little softer but it got hard when Rose took his cock deep into her mouth, right to the back of the throat. Then she passed him along to Grace with a slap on the bum, a sharp slap, not an erotic tickle. The same thing happened all the way down the line and all the way along until I was next.
“Finish him off, will you?
“I guess his sister wasn’t too keen on his cock coming to her next so I figure I should do my best. So I took it in my mouth, just so the head is in my mouth. It tasted nice, a combination of all the mouths that it had been through, I guess. I rub my hand on his belly to get the oil he put there earlier and I stroke him as rapidly as I can. Sucking hard on the top, stroking fast but it didn’t feel like I was bringing him any closer to orgasm. That is until his sister jams her finger into his bum hole. First his body tenses, then his cock gets fuller and fuller as her finger probes and he squirted into my mouth. Salty, bitter. I kept it in my mouth until I could subtly spit it into my beer. It didn’t matter, I had nearly finished it.
“So, yes, poor lad, he is bound to be scared by the voracity of the unrestrained lust of the older woman.”
“So yours was the Herculean effort?”
“No, I was playing the role of Hercules in this drama, and Thornton was the waggoner putting his shoulder to the wheel when extra effort was needed.”
James smiled at Martha’s reply to my question.
“The gods help those who help themselves.”
We sat in silence, I was contemplating Martha and Sally playing sex gods with Thornton while I am sure James was contemplating higher things, as he had clearly understood Martha’s references and Martha was probably just idly casting her gaze over the female patrons of the pub who had all come down fifteen minutes before.