Tails of Slammies: Dave and Marie

I confess, I was in serious decompression mode from the events of the last year or two. I had lost everything but myself. But try as I could I couldn't shake me. Not only was I operating on a serious chill-axin deficit, I was in the throes of beloved withdrawal with no recourse but to keep my dear one in my thoughts, prayers, and dreams. Neither one of us had the space to share in our lives as we had once enjoyed.


As had happened at certain points in my life, even though I now lived crosstown, I returned to the scene of, while not crimes, questionable choices and activities at best. That would be an understatement. Many inexplicably joyous moments. So much uncalled for and unnecessary hurt both inflicted and received within the corridor like walls of this once dive bar. Now reborn and expanded into twenty first century sports venue drinking and watching splendor. 

Perhaps a bit disappointed with Reginald tending to the bar today without a JoJo in sight I was undeterred. But Reginald was a hoot and took his role as daytime follies master of ceremony job seriously. Once the pomp was swept under the carpet and the circumstances of the afternoon pint were dispensed with I could settle in with some reverie of Slammies days of yore.


I could see Skinny Red dancing feverishly to the platter spinning jukebox in the corner, while J.B. the wizened old failed businessman drank at the bar. I could hear the chimes, bells, and whistles echoing from the long-gone pinball machine that was a resident of this bars back room for years. It lurked just behind the pool table still in place at Slammies back egress.


None of us young bucks understood the old man and the ever-frisky Skinny Red chemistry, but like all inevitable and undeniable chemical reactions it was apparent to all. After all, failed businessman or not, J.B. was always ready to buy us a round or two.


Today my ghostly muse zeroes in on a rerun of the Dave and Marie show. That is my Mind's Eye TV program schedule this day as Reginald presides over Slammies.

It was very late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. It was very apparent all through the evening that Marie did not want to be there. It was a dimly lit neighborhood shot and a beer joint at the time. Not a sparkly club where a woman of Marie’s caliber and beauty would be admired and properly pandered to. Yet here she was on the wrong side of one am in Slammies. Dave and Marie were early adopters of that adult institution know as marriage. It was clear why Dave took that long walk. Marie was all well placed soft twenty year old baby fat, curvey, dark, sultry, and possibly only just realizing the sway she could hold over men with a pout of her lips and a show of cleavage that would pave streets with broken dreams. Dave on the other hand was prematurely balding, fit, and maybe not the sharpest tool in the shed. Still he had a good job for the time and his age. They tried to play the grown up host bit at their place with us, but being the first married pair with only a few other couples available for the dinner party circuit that social outlet faltered quickly. None of us other couples were married. I also use the designation “couples” loosely. At that age, and in that time, there was a big difference.





But tonight in this seedy saloon while Dave and Eddie the G were about the business of solving drunk history, Marie was bored. B-O-R-E-D. I had strolled in an hour before for a night cap, but stayed for the air conditioning on this hot early July night. Other than Dave and Marie the cast for this night was the usual pre last call suspects. J.B was at the bar talking to Ann, the owner of this humble establishment. Skinny Red was working out the jukebox and herself to all the tunes available at the back of the bar. J.B. drank. Skinny Red danced. I was lost in an edit that had me visually flummoxed as a sproutling assistant editor.





Marie decided that she needed some amusement, grabbed my hand and challenged my to some pinball. Since I had no good excuse I went to the back of the barroom with her and being a gentleman fed the quarters into the slot to let the game begin. This sudden traffic in her space seemed to perk Skinny Red up . She began to dance with more enthusiasm. Nobody at the front of the establishment paid any of us in the rear any mind. Skinny Red was flapping her arms like some demented chicken to some old timey rock and roll that always seemed to mollify J.B. into recumbent drinking.


Skinny Red was dancing according to some pagan rite acolyte handbook at a stonehenge party, except with Marie and I playing pinball at the center of this circle. Marie was working up a bit of a sweat and I swear she started to glisten in the low bar room light. She was working the flippers with slender fingers, shaking the machine from time to time. Bumping and grinding the machine into submission with her hips gyrating obscenely, then jumping up and down exuberantly with big point totals. Needless to say her baby fat became very enticing with gravities help. She was at the age where gravity was still her friend. She was winning splendidly. The shoulderless embroidery trimmed peasant blouse exposed ample jiggling bosom, and her raven hued hair flounced about her soft bare shoulders. The long flowing skirt outdid itself with hidden promises given how it perched complacently on her behind.





When It was my turn Marie would try distracting me: talking about how my plunger work was a delight to behold. Asking for lessons coquettishly. As if on cue my ball dropped way too soon and I turn around to Marie who was now very close behind me. Full lips smiling, dark eyes twinkling, and full curly head of strawberry scented black hair wafting. She was leading with her boobs. Tits which no man could ever deny anything. She boldly did a summary full fingered check on my plunger.





“ A little bird has been chirping about this. May I?”





Marie continues to admire my plunger with her hands and even gasps a bit when she finds the enormous knob which now is growing and rolling it’s way down my trouser leg given it had nowhere else to go at present. Marie fixed that issue in a jiffy by undoing my fly and freeing me to allow her soft fleshy hands to do a tactile assessment of what could be done about this situation.





Skinny Red is twisting again like she did last summer behind Marie and when she twists up again she proudly displayed Maries panties which she had stealthily removed from under Marie’s immaculate peasant dress and blouse combo. Skinny Red looked victorious and continued with the Wah Watusi of feverish abandon.





Resolutely Marie turns to the machine and flips her skirt up. “Let’s go.”





My knob finds its place between her thighs and rising perfectly to meet a clearly wet, waiting , and wanton snatch. She leans forward and we line up to perfection. I reach around to feel those full glorious breasts, one for each hand. Cupping. Kneading.





Skinny Red is doing the Mash Potato with abandon.





Not finding taut nipples for encouragement, but reassured by the sopping thighs my bulbous knob is being cradled in; I enjoy the spreading of her lips round me as she leans further forward over the pinball machine. I hear her grunt from the stretching apparently Dave has been neglecting, and detect the glee of a conquering woman’s giggle as I slid deep into her. Balls deep in Marie, spread out with naked white shoulders accented by flowing black tresses splayed above poofy peasant blouse elastic trimming. I begin the pummeling in earnest while she and I haphazardly try to work the flippers together, separately, apart, and completely at odds with reality

Skinny Red does the Boogaloo.





Curvy and voluptuous. Sopping wet and dripping. It was a still a tight squeeze with every stroke to stuff the prominent business end of my cock into this sexy married lady. She seemed to find the half pull out spreading she received quite gratifying before every inevitable deep thrust. Her clenching and quaking combo was bordering on unconsolable.





Skinny Red was doing The Locomotion and so were we.





“Again.” she would bark into the saliva, lipstick, and make-up slathered pinball machine glass after each deep thrust.





Skinny Red was in full Ubangi Stomp mode.





The ball dropped again. I pulled the plunger out of the machine, my cock out of Marie to that special point where the knob of me spread her tight little cunt to the edge of either popping me out like a popp gun, or clutching at me intently sucking me back deep into her snatch. I pushed the plunger delivering the ball to the table, and delivered the full measure of my prick once more deep into Marie.





Skinny Red was taking The Swim.





I saw sparks around me. For the first time noticed the fireworks motif of the pinball machine. Heard bells ringing, felt balls smacking, flippers whacking, hips meeting ass with gloriously squishy reports, counters whirling, head spinning, spurting down my spine and trickling up my toes. Pinwheeled sparks flitted all around my balls and delivered a fiery sparkly load of heat squirting deep into the gasping gurgling Marie.





Skinny Reds arms were over her head writhing to Grand Funk Railroad’s version of “Some Kinda Wonderful” to the point where I deluded myself into thinking she was cumming too.

“Big plans for the fourth?” Reginald interjected himself into my view as he stood behind the present day Slammies bar.


Like a thief returning to the scene of the crime I mumbled, “Not really. But I think it may be time to try and make some new memories anyway.”


I realized I was sitting about where Dave and Eddie the G were sitting on that distant night in the past. Glancing over from where I sat now I could see where the pinball machine had once clattered and pinged. Allowing for lack of lighting and alcohol fueled tunnel vision it is possible that with Eddie the G filling the space inbetween, Dave may have been unawares. I never saw Dave or Marie again either together or alone after that hot July 3rd night.


Eddie the G on the other hand is a kind of the six degrees of separation sort of story. He shows up all over the place when least expected. It would not surprise me if he lumbered in right now. Skinny Red danced on to somewhere else after J.B.s heart gave out. If Ann the owner, Eddie the G, J.B. or Dave noticed anything that night; nothing was ever said. For once I was on the right side of revenge sex.


As for how well, if at all, Skinny Red knew Marie will just be another notch in my haven’t got a clue for life column. But Skinny Red was a beacon of the possibility that an energetic young woman may want to fuck a grizzled failed businessman to death. Such was a glimmer of irrational exuberance to keep me going these days. So with no JoJo to hold my muse here tonight I walked out of Slammies to the sounds of fireworks.


On the night of July 4th, of all nights, those sounds on Chicago streets were more than likely not gun fire.