Memphis Love

It’s no damn secret; I’m a dirty dog. The foundation of my childhood sculpted me along with the path Mom carved out for me. The woman put a roof over our head, filled my belly, and made sure I had everything I needed and more importantly, wanted. Our world centered around the two of us.

Like Momma like son, the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree, and whatever else the judgmental fucks in small towns have to say. The irony that I’m still in my hometown and have endured all the stares and hushed whispers that float up and down the main street is not lost on me. The most entertaining ones are the elite businessmen, political office holders, and the good old boys club. Their curious stares and quick aversion once we make eye contact are downright comedic.

See, my mom was a whore, plain and straightforward. God blessed her with the full package from beauty to being a downright genius. She didn’t waste an ounce of it. People are quick to judge her for relying on her sex appeal rather than brain power. The fact is her dedication is like no other and with a work ethic that would put most to shame. It wasn't until my freshman year of high school that I grasped why the men in the town made fools out of themselves to garner her attention and why the women would much rather run her down in a crosswalk in their fancy, overpriced SUVs.

I’m the living, breathing, walking, talking stigma of the town. My presence makes the men question if I’m their son. It pisses off their wives, reminding them of their husband’s infidelities. It ain’t easy being the poster child for a mom who did her job to perfection.

Even though she’s long fled this shit hole, the stigma is alive and kicking. The men are now protecting their daughters from the prodigy child. It’s quite amusing. I strip for cash and now will be adding fucking to that list. It’s my one-way ticket out of here.

Mom landed herself an oil tycoon straight from Texas and has been jet-setting ever since. Shit, the last year she’s been tropical island hopping with Lawrence. The both of them have offered over and over again to pad my pockets to the point of overflowing with money, and this town would never be another worry of mine. I’ve got my pride. It’s the one thing my mom instilled in me. She never let the disrespect get to her. I’d rather use my dick to make the extra cash.

A construction worker by day, professional dick enticing dancer at The Blue Iron Club by night. Both jobs pay damn good and are slowly building up that savings account. Adios, motherfuckers, once it’s padded enough to travel the world.

Day and night, I work side-by-side with loyal dickheads. It was always Rhett, Zane, and myself growing up and giving our teachers and local police hell. After graduation, we parted ways for a bit when I left for college. That grand adventure lasted a whole whopping handful of semesters and when I returned nothing has been the same. Life went on while I was gone and it’s been a bitch adjusting back.

Things are about to change big time. A CEO position landed right on my dick today thanks to Zane. He’s all sorts of pussy whipped now a days since he found his happily ever after. That’s the shit that stings like a bitch. Everyone is moving on and forward except me. And when it hurts, I brush it off and chalk it up to being a pussy.

None of that shit matters because Zane handed over the throne and now it’s time to rule the land of pussy and women with way too much money for their own good. Zane made damn bank off the after-hour clients back in the day. It’s the underground railroad of MILF and cougar fucking that pays the bills.

Rhett lasted a little less than a month working after-hour gigs. He has his sacks all tied up in knots over a woman. The woman he’s trying to hand his nuts over to, Darby, is more likely to chop off the family gems and feed them to him at room temperature. Rhett’s always been a risk taker. Aka crazy motherfucker.

It’s against policy at The Blue Iron Club, but then again we all have the same mindset. What happens after-hours, or in the alleys, stays there.

There are three things in life I’m an expert in. Money, sex, and women. They call me Dr. Love up on the stage and God in the sheets. It’s time for my good looks, rock hard cock, and overtime to start paying off. Failure is not an option.

* * *

The massive, intricate carved door swings open to the mansion. My palms are sweaty and my blood is pumping with excitement. Much better than a dirty alleyway or the backseat of my limo for the first time.

Zane and Rhett were shit when it came to filling me in on what to expect. Small talk? Strip for her? Talk dirty? I feel like an acne riddled, teen virgin right now.

“Dr. Love?” One perfect sculpted dark brow flares up.

I nod. “Sure am.”

“I’m Iris.” She reaches out her hand.

I notice her bright, cherry red fingernails.

I step into the foyer of her impressive home, realizing she hasn’t let go of my hand.

“You’re much, much bigger than Zane or Rhett.” She runs her fingernail down the length of my bicep.

It does creep me out for a split second that my best friends have been balls deep in this. Dollar signs. Money. Escaping this town. I repeat it over and over again to corral my nerves.

Iris taps her chin with a finger like she’s deep in thought. “I’m wondering if you’re bigger everywhere else.”

My body tenses as she trails her finger down my chest, going lower and lower until she’s cupping my dick. The combination of the excitement of the new and unexpected, Iris’s eagerness, and the thought of making one grand tonight makes me hard as a rock. My dick fights to punch through my jeans. Iris’s grip is hard and torturing me further.

Then she drops down to her knees. The sound of a zipper going down fills the foyer then her gel filled lips wrap around the head of my dick. I throw back my head, smile, and know that I’m the damn king of the world. Fucking and making the Benjamins…life is good.