The Real Soccer Moms of Beaver County (12 page)

S
ingle and Horny

I swear to the drag queen Gods if I have to hear Blanche and Clancy bumping uglies one more time; I’m going to jump off a cliff. My luck, I’d live and be a paralyzed horny gay man in the butt crack of the USA.

What’s even worse?
I’m pretty sure Luna’s already knocked up considering I’ve caught her and Brady in her office, on the taxidermy counter, and even in the damn chapel. I guess the old saying rings true. “If momma ain’t happy, nobody’s happy.” Luna’s had an absolute glow about her since the night she found out Brady’s secret little project. That’s the shit I dream of and want to experience.

“Shit,” I throw down the ratting brush and try to place Mrs. Stanley’s hair in the perfect position. I told the damn old bat that store bought hair dye would catch up to her sooner or later.

The thing about Mrs. Stanley, she really didn’t give two fucks and had a cackle you could hear counties away. Her only wish was to be buried in her damn favorite leggings and to have her hair curled into ringlets. Only problem is, her fucking hair keeps burning off because it’s so damn dry.

I’m not sure if it’s my pent-up horniness raging out or the fact I’m stuck doing her damn hair while everyone else is humping. I’m pretty sure the thumping sound upstairs in the funeral parlor is Moira and Coach Miles, or Moira is really banging the shit out of Mr. Czermak’s poodle she’s been working on. Now he’s one fine piece of eye candy I could ride into next Tuesday, but wait…he’s taken.

The old hag’s hair finally falls into perfect ringlets around her face, and I tuck the burnt pieces under her body in the casket knowing it was her prized possession. My hands craved for the hair back in Miami where there was no limit to creativity and one hundred percent of the people were alive, but I’ll admit there is something about giving a person perfect hair for their last appearance here on Earth.

Walking up the creaky old stairs, I’m relieved to hear the thumping has ceased. Brady is standing at the top, stretching out his back, and pops a boner. Yep, pops a goddamn boner like a thirteen-year-old boy when the breeze hits wrong.

“All done, Queenie?” He asks, stretching a bit higher revealing a slice of his abs.

Not even close to being finished.

“Yep, I’m off. Bye.” I race out the door and the short half block to my salon, and lock myself in the dark, quiet salon.

Annie is staying over at the Morningwood’s. It’s the weekly slumber party where Mrs. Morningwood gathers all the kids and throws a party with tea, all night movie marathon, and lots of candy. She lives to spoil the kids. And even though Moira’s children and Annie aren’t blood, she doesn’t mind a bit.

The alert tone of my phone goes off and I know it’s the stupid dating app I’m on. My only luck around here has been married men who want to get their kicks with me and nothing else, but I want so much more.

SoFonda Cox, or Dan Cox, has real potential but we live hours away and both have our own baggage. I have Annie and my job, and he’s starting his own line of sex toys. It leaves little time for us to interact, be intimate, or even fuck and go. It came really close one time, but of course someone barged into his dressing room. I grow hard thinking about our hot-ass make out session and stroking him through his jeans, if only we had a few more minutes...I shake the thought away as my dick stirs in my pants.

And if things couldn’t get any worse, I’m sitting in my dark salon with a raging hard on for Dan Cox who is miles away. I finally check the dating app and was spot on. Just another lonely husband wanting to be pleased in the ways his wife can’t.

“Fuck this,” I mutter into the darkness. “Might as well add some alcohol to this lethal combination.”

Beaver Bar is only a few blocks down from the salon. The crisp night air feels good hitting my cheeks. I hunger for the neon lights of Miami and the buzzing crowds full of different people from every walk of life, but I’m stuck with corn, one-track minds, and lots and lots of corn.

The bar is loitered with the norms. The hometown hussy that’s one step below Moira, the few husbands avoiding their bitchy wives, and some farmers who are fresh off their tractors, and to my dismay not one single candidate that I could even get my kicks off with.

By my third round of Crown Royal on the rocks, I can barely see straight, I’m pretty sure my dick is still raging hard, but at least the booze is helping mute my horny urges. I know I’m drunk when I stare at a set of perfect boobs and feel my dick stir. I could possibly titty fuck her and then….

“Ewwww…God no.” I blurt out to myself. “I want to sport my own boobs on my chest not around my pecker. What is wrong with me?”

I toss a few bills down on the bar, turn around, and run right into Doug, as in Douchey Doug. He gives me a nod and then a wink, but again I’m drunk off my ass, so I’m guessing he has something in his eye.

“Quincy.” He winks again.

“It’s Queenie, and hey Doug.”

He follows me as I walk out of the bar and back to my salon.

“You know I’ve seen a few of your shows over in Dollywood.”

“Yeah.” I know he’s walking right next to me, but I don’t make eye contact.

“It’s true art.” The tone of his voice is full of honesty and respect.

I turn the key to my salon then reach for the door handle. “Thanks, Doug, that really means a lot.”

“You’re fucking hot as Summer.” He runs his hands through his thick, wavy hair, but it’s his pornstache I can’t quit staring at. Man, if he’d just shave that thing off, trim up his hair, and lose a few pounds, he’d halfway resemble the man he was in high school. The fucking football stud that ran the school and everyone wanted as their own. My cock stirs in my pants thinking of the once has been Doug from our high school years.

Lost in my thoughts while dealing with my raging horniness, I don’t realize Doug’s lips are crashing down on mine until I feel them. I freeze remaining still as can be while he kisses me with real passion. My body sways from side to side and I know it’s the effect of the alcohol mixed with Doug kissing me.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight and picture the Doug from high school. The one who tore apart Blanche and Moira. The one who all the women would pay to fuck back in the day. I grow harder and harder with each of his kisses. The sound of my zipper going down is deafening. Doug wraps his hand around my cock. I push open the door dragging him into the salon.

I open my eyes then quickly turn away, knowing what I’m about to do with Douchey Doug isn’t fucking right and may be the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done. But fuck Iowa, and Beaver Falls and their dismal pool of hot gay men.

Doug pushes me down on the couch when I’m about put a stop to all of this. His lips are around my dick before I can get a word out. In the dark salon with only a slice of moonlight peeking in, it’s Dan Cox’s lips wrapped around me. My fingers lace in his hair, then grip to the side of his head forcing him down harder and faster.

I try to ignore the fact that Doug has his own dick out and is jacking it off like a rabid rabbit. I focus on Dan and his lips sucking me off, fighting to ignore what is really happening. The man can suck a dick. The first moan escapes me and I’m so fucking close it’s insane. My hands force his head down faster and harder. He adds teeth making my eyes roll in the back of my head.

I don’t even mind that the tip of his dick is whipping my shin right now. In fact, I’m ready to bend him over this leather couch and fuck him. Oh, that thought…

“Oh, oh, fuck Dan, oh my God! I’m about to go.”

The suction on my dick intensifies sending me over the edge. I feel the first pulse and then blow in his mouth. My hips flex up into his mouth as he laps up all the cum off my dick. Doug lets out a moan and then I feel it. The fucker blows his wad all over my shin and new designer red patent leather boots. Cum and patent leather don’t mingle at all.

“What did you call me?” He asks, wiping the wetness from his lips.

Making eye contact with his greasy smile, my stomach flips, and I think I’m going to be sick.

D
ollywood Done Right

My dick itched even before I taped it back. I’m not sure if it’s from the fact I bleached the thing several times or the fact I let Douchey Doug suck me off. I’ll be the first to admit the man could suck start a Harley, but when his warm and very gross baby batter hit my shin and ruined my new boots, it was a fucking deal breaker.

I haven’t been able to look Blanche in the eye since. I’ve been avoiding her at practice and games with the excuse I’m slammed at work. I’m not any busier than typical, but don’t want the damn wrath of that woman on me. My poor dick, I hope it will forgive me one day.

“Summer.”

I flip my long blonde curls over my shoulder, swiveling in my heels to come face to face with SoFonda Cox. Getting an itchy hard on when taped down is the equivalent of fucking hell.

“Hey there, hot stuff.” I flirt back while running my palm down her silk corset.

“Want to grab dinner tonight after the show is over?”

“Really?” I should try to mask the shock on my face, but can’t.

“Yeah, really.” She sends me a wink.

I can only manage a nod to him. And then I think to myself chuck it in the fuck it bucket, and take a page from Douchey Doug’s handbook, moving in and laying a kiss on SoFonda. This pains my cock even more. SoFonda cups my cheeks while deepening the kiss. She moans into my mouth and then pulls back.

“This. Us. Is going to happen.”

I stare at her ass as she stomps away in her wedges.

“Meow,” I whisper to myself, then relish the happiness coursing through my veins.

The bar is packed with locals, regulars, and even a few newbies. It’s hard to see the faces in the crowd due to the blinding shine of the spotlight. But it’s the spotlight that warms my heart and fuels my show.

SoFonda joins me near the end of my show increasing the heat factor. Our sexy song turns into a grinding dance. The cheers from the crowd are exuberant and intoxicating.

We take several bows, and I even nab a rose and bite down on the stem.

“Summer.”

I scan the audience to see where the familiar voice is stemming from.

“Summer.” A group of women scream.

My gaze finally lands on the rowdy bunch who are on their feet, screaming, applauding with huge smiles plastered across their faces. Luna, Moira, Blanche, and Kathy are all giddy with excitement. Tears prick at my eyes seeing their support and the fact they all came together as one group to support me.

“Do you know them?” SoFonda whispers.

I nod to him. “That’s my family.”

The word family typically cuts my tongue when I speak it, but not this time. I have a family and am finally finding a true balance in the butt crack of Iowa. Miami doesn’t have anything on Beaver Falls and my family.

“We got you flowers.” Luna bounds up to the stage, stands on her tiptoes, with a huge neon pink bouquet.

“I barely recognized you without a kid attached to your tit.”

“Watch it, Queenie, I’ll take those back and use them for the funeral tomorrow.”

I hop from the stage, careful not twist an ankle in these heels and envelope Luna in a hug.

“Thank you so much for coming. Means the world to me.”

“Oh my God,” she steps back and gropes at both of my boobs. “Those things are solid legit.”

I can’t help but laugh, immediately recognizing her tipsy nature. “Only the best, meow.”

“It was Blanche who brought us all together. We had no idea, Queenie.”

I peer up to see my Blanchey-Boo with her arms crossed and a very satisfied smile resting on her face. Hell may freeze over with Blanche letting go of some of her anger and hatred to bring the girls together. She’s the last to wrap me up in a hug.

“You deserve to be honored for who you are, Queenie,” she whispers in my ear. “I love you.”

I don’t let her go as quickly as I did the others. “Nice job putting aside your hatred and inviting Moira.”

“I need to do a flea dip when I get back from riding in the same car as Moira the whoira.”

“Baby steps, Blanche, baby steps.”

“Shots.” A screeching voice fills the air and we both turn to see Luna on top of the bar shaking her ass like she’s on scene for “Coyote Ugly”.

“Jesus,” Blanche mutters.

“Let the girl out of the cage and she’s gone.”

Luna downs three or four shots, before passing a shot glass around to all of us and is adamant we have to toast.

“Did you drink yours, Blanche?”

“Calm your tits, Luna, I just smelled it.”

Blanche kicks the tip of my shoe once, then again a bit harder and finally getting my attention by kicking the sensitive part of my shin. Yes, sensitive because I’ve bleaching it daily since the incident.

“Jesus, Blanche.”

She sends me a sideways glare and then eyes the shot glass.

“Oh shit,” I whisper, it took me several moments to figure out her dilemma. Thank God, Luna chose Vodka since it’s clear.

“Just a second ladies, I need to say good bye to a fan.”

I sneak behind the bar and pretend to lean over and talk to an old man sitting on the other side. I’m pretty sure he’s passed out or possibly dead. I dump out my shot glass and shoot some water in it under the bar. Luna continues to argue with the girls about who is toasting first, before she plops down on the bar sitting cross-legged.

“I’m back, loves.” Swiftly, I exchange shot glasses with Blanche.

In a circle, we all raise our shots with smiles beaming from all of us.

“To us. The mighty Beavers from Beaver Falls. We’re not perfect and hell some of us hate each other, but the important thing is we have each other,” Blanche says.

“And to my family,” I add.

Our shot glasses clink and we drink. Luna continues to drink and drink until she can’t even walk. She does about three somersaults out the door before finally giving in and letting me carry her to the car.