Damn, she's got a fat ass.
Is this how they make them in the hood? Maybe I should come out here more often. I lick my lips as I watch the woman walk down the street, my eyes locked on the heavy switch of her behind, and only when the car doors open again do I look away.
My father and Michael get back inside, Michael behind the wheel of the Tesla, and my father in the front seat. They made me sit outside while they went inside to talk to Emory.
My father's words from last night echo in my mind.
"Rehab doesn't work. Facilities don't work. Me beating your ass doesn't work. What's it going to take for you to act right, Beckett? Do you want to cost me this election? I don't want my future to go down the drain like yours has." He barks at me as he paces around my bedroom.
I sit at the foot of the bed quietly, twiddling my thumbs, I'm still pretty drunk to be honest.
"I mean, I give you everything you could possibly ever want." My father continues on his rant. "I make sure you go to the best school, I make sure you always have plenty of money, and I let you be..." He trails off, and I finally look up at him, and it looks like a lightbulb go off in his head. "I don't let you be yourself."
What?
"I forced a part of you to disappear." My father continues, and it sounds more like he's thinking out loud instead of talking to me.
A part of me?
"That friend you had in high school. The one from the basketball team that I caught you with? What was his name?"
Tyler.
"Tyler." My father remembers himself, snapping his fingers. "You were forced out of the closet to me and your mother that night, and we forced you right back in. 'I'm bisexual, dad.' That's what you told me, and I told you that you couldn't be. That it would ruin my governor campaign.
"But that was four years ago. This is different now. Much different." My father snaps his fingers. "I know what we've got to do to clean up your image, to let you be yourself, and to help me win this upcoming election."
I blink at him. Most of what he's just said has gone over my head, but I'm sure I'll get another earful of it when I'm sobered up tomorrow morning.
"We're going to fix this, Beckett." With that, he turns on his heel and leaves my room, and I rush to the adjoining bathroom to throw up.
Even now, my head pounds as Michael drives away from the bar that Emory works at. I catch a glimpse of the alleyway that we were in last night. I remember him coming to my rescue and driving me back home. He didn't get anything out of it, but now he's going to find himself trapped in this mess.
"What did you think, Michael?" My father asks.
"He's a good candidate for sure." Michael replies. "However, if he agrees to this, he's going to have to quit at that bar. Say he works full time at the center. It'll look better."
"I agree. The bar scene isn't the right image." My father replies.
"It'll be difficult crafting the story of Beckett and Emory, too, how did they meet? All of that." Michael says. "Timing. Timing will be everything, too. We have to make it believable."
"We're going to make it work." My father replies.
"What makes you think Emory will agree to it?" I pipe up from the backseat. "You've has all of three conversations with him. He's headstrong. Likes to talk back. Very independent and he doesn't like me, and I don't like him."
"Liking each other has nothing to do with this, Beckett. I couldn't care less of you hated each other's guts." My father says, and that's not far off from the truth. "What I do care about it is cleaning you up, getting the LGBTQ vote, and winning this election."
"I don't think it will be that hard to get him to agree with." Michael says. "He's a family man. Will do anything to make sure they're well off. His mother's credit is terrible, his is practically nonexistent, and their house is being foreclosed on. Let him name his price, and I think he'll do whatever it takes."
"Even if that means marrying me for the rest of his life?" I question.
"Even if it means marrying your no good ass. Yes." My father says. "Have Gloria on standby ready to write up the contract."
Michal nods his head, pulling out his phone to call Gloria, and I sigh and press my forehead against the window, watching as a bird flies off of a power line. How I wish I could be that bird—fly away from this life.
But life sucks.
Oh how I hope I've pissed Emory off enough that he spits in my father's face.
⫷⫸
The country club is a place that my family frequents for lunch, and a place that I often find myself at alone—just so I can buy drinks and put them on my father's tab.
I walk up to the bar, smiling when I see Enrico, he's my favorite bartender that works here.
"Enrico, my man." I exclaim, slapping hands with him.
"How can I help you today, man?" Enrico asks, drying his hands off on white towel.
"Lemme get my usual, please." I reply.
Enrico purses his lips and sighs. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that."
A smile is frozen on my face as I knit my eyebrows together and look at him. "What?"
"Your father talked to my boss. Nobody here is allowed to serve you alcohol anymore." Enrico says, his tone apologetic.
"Are you serious?"
"I can get you some orange juice though. I can put it in a champagne flute and you can pretend it's a mimosa." Enrico offers.
"Nah, it's okay. Thanks though." I say with a sigh, stepping away from the bar and walking over to the windows that overlook the tennis courts. My father continues to control my life. Every single aspect. And now he's planning to force me into a relationship and a marriage. What year is this? 1792?
"I thought you would be trying your hardest not to drop the soap on prison right about now." A familiar voice says to me, and I turn around to see Anna Porter standing behind me.
Anna is Michael's trophy wife, a past Miss America who now runs a successful dance studio, and her body has remained right and tight despite her being almost fifty years old. She's always been a presence in my life, after all, Michael and my father are practically conjoined at the hip. As I got older though, Annie's matronly touches turned into more sexual touches. No longer would she touch my shoulders, but it would be my chest, my arms, my stomach, and then one day when I was sixteen years old, she finally groped my dick.
We've been secretly having an affair since then.
"Come on now, you know I'm invincible." I say with a smirk, licking my lips as I take in the too short tennis skirt that she wears. "The police nor the justice system could ever touch me. Besides, you'd miss me too much if I got locked up."
"I don't know if I would miss you per say," She says, licking her lips and looking around to make sure no one is watching before she steps up to whisper lowly, "or if I'd miss what's hanging between your legs."
I lick my lips with a smirk. "Buy me a drink from the bar and then you can show me just how badly you'd miss it."
Anna turns her face up to look at me through her eyelashes, smirking before walking over to the bar to order a drink, and she makes sure to lean against it so that the back of her skirt rises up a bit more.
Oh, she's definitely about to get all of this dick.
⫷⫸
"Oh, baby..." Anna moans lewdly, nails scraping down my chest, her other hand squeezing my broad shoulder as she rises and falls on my dick, her gushing pussy squelching as she slams her hips down on mine.
Her lips find my own, biting down on my bottom one as she moans out, tightening around me and riding it faster.
We sit in the front seat of her car, which doesn't give us a lot of room, but we make it work. My pants and underwear are around my ankles, my shirt unbuttoned and hanging open, and her panties are slide to the aide and her skirt bunches around her hips. Her breasts, which she definitely had work done on, are hanging out of her bra and I attach my lips to one of her pink nipples—suckling on it as he throws her head back to moan even louder.
We're still in the parking lot of the country club. Her windows are tinted pretty dark, but if anyone were to look through the windshield, they'd definitely see us. Over the years we've gotten more and more reckless. We like the thrill and very real threat of what could happen if we got caught.
"Oh, shit, baby you're gonna make me cum. You and that big dick." Anna moans even louder, her voice rising in octaves as she nearly starts to scream. She's always sounded like a porn star when we fuck. I wonder if she does the same thing with Michael. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
Her pussy gushes again as she cums on my dick, rutting her hips against mine, and I grab her and fuck up into her—screwing her through her orgasm as her eyes practically roll into the back of her head.
"Beckett!" She screams out, nails digging into my chest.
"Oh, fuck," I groan, pulling out at the last second to cum on her, stroking every last drop out of my dick.
"Yes, baby, give mama that nut." Anna moans, reaching down to gather some of my cum on her fingers, and then sucking it off of them. Like I said. Porn Star.
Her lips find mine again as we come down from our highs, and I give her pert ass a smack. She giggles against my lips, gasping as I tap the head of my dick against her clit, and she spasms a bit before rolling over the console to the passenger seat breathlessly.
"Fuck, you're the only person that's ever been able to make me cum that fast and that hard." Anna says, searching for napkins to wipe my cum off of her as I pull my pants back up.
"You're the only person that I know who can take my dick like that." I say with a smirk. It's a lie, but she doesn't have to know that.
"That dick is why I'm keeping you around." Anna says, taking another deep breath and fixing her blond ponytail. "I have to go. I agreed to a late lunch with your mother today, so she should be arriving at any moment now."
I nod my head, leaning over the console to give her one last, parting kiss. "I'll see you later."
"Not if you end up in jail first." She teases.
"Never." I reply with a wink, and then I get out of the car and walk to my own with a permanent smirk on my face. I can feel her eyes on me.
All eyes are always one me.