AAA Detective Story - Looking for Francine - Part 3

 

As the streetcar gets closer to the waterfront, more men get on. Most dressed nicely but not fancy. Guys heading home or maybe looking to relax after a long day. Ken doesn’t want to guess one way or another. He just wants to ride it down the docks and go to ‘The Happy Clam’. The few women who had been on the trolley had gotten off before the tracks led to the warehouses and docks. They looked like domestics. Ken shakes his head. “It’s always the same. The wealthy can afford staff and cars, but they won’t drive them home or pay them enough to afford their own cars.” He mutters in a low tone.

A man in a rumpled tan suit, sitting on a nearby bench, reading the afternoon paper glances over the top, and knowingly nods.

Ken nods back then looks out the window. There are a lot less people on the street. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the cold, the time of night, or both. “Or it could be that it’s a Wednesday.” He mutters to himself.

Most of what he sees in the glow of the streetlights are warehouses, office buildings, and a few shops and restaurants, and the majority closed up for the night. Eventually the trolley stops where Ken needs to get off. A number of men, including the tan suit guy also exit the tram. Like moths drawn to a flame they all head to the neon sign of “The Happy Clam”.

Inside he removes his hat and coat. It’s almost as busy at night as it was with the noon-day crowd. A faint hint of Mediterranean cooking is still in the air, mixed with the smell of beer and cigarettes.

A woman in a slinky dress is singing along to a record. “I want to be loved by you” she sings in time with the vinyl 78. Some of the men in the bar are watching her, some are dancing together, and some are talking with or dancing with a few ‘working girls’.

Ken goes to the bar, noticing that it’s a different guy from earlier today, and hands him his business card. “Ken Cooper. When you have a few minutes, I have a few questions about the missing singers.”

The bartender shakes his head. “I got nothin’ to say. Wanna drink?”

The room is warm but he still feels a chill in his bones. As much as a Cuba Libre would go good, he answers “A cup a Joe, black.”

The bartender brings him a thick ceramic mug. “That’ll be Thirty cents.”

Reaching into his pocket he pulls a dollar. “Keep the change. If you feel like talking, I got more of these.”

Shaking his head the bartender says “Thanks, but I ain’t talkin’. Don’t know you.” Holding up the business card, which he returns, “And I ain’t heard a no ‘AAA Detective Agency’. If you need another cup, just ask.” He then turns and talks to another customer.

The song ends. The singers bows, saying her “Thank You’s” to the crowd and puts on another record. “Let’s slow things down a bit.” She says and starts singing “It Never Entered My Mind.”

The guy from the streetcar, in the tan suit, walks up. “Would you like to dance?”

“No thanks pal. I’m working.” Ken responds handing him one of his business cards. “Care to answer a few questions?”

Nervously he returns the card, “Um, No thank you.”

“It’s not like that. I’m here looking for a missing singer.” Ken tries to reassure him. “Francine’s cousin hired me to try to find her.”

Tan suit guy continues shaking his head “I hope you find her but I don’t have anything to say.” He then goes to find someone else to spend time with.

Then it hit him. Of course no one wants to talk. He’s a PI in a gay club. He could be gathering info that could cost these guys their jobs, land them in jail, or worse.

Taking his coffee cup, he tries one of the working girls. A lightly tanned woman in a skirt and blouse is sitting by herself. Ken goes over, “Can I join you?”

“Buy me a drink, and we can see where things go.” She replies, her eyes bright with the promise of companionship.

Sitting down, Ken hands her a dollar. “Order what you want and come back.”

She smiles and goes to the bar for a drink. She comes back wiggling her hips in an exaggerated motion. She’s skinny, which reminds Ken of so many of the ‘working girls’ during the war. People just trying to earn enough to eat.

She sits down, a Mai Tai in her hand. She places her other hand on his. “I’m Annabelle, who are you?”

“Ken Cooper” he hands her his business card. “Can you answer a few questions?”

She reads his card and looks around. “It depends. What about?” Unlike everyone else who handed the card back, she tucks in her blouse.

“I was hired by Ramon to find his cousin Francine. What can you tell me about her?”

Her expression changes. Ken can’t tell if it’s relief or just a different type of caution. “Francine is a good girl. She just sings. She’s not a frill.”

Ken pulls his notepad from his pocket. “Are you sure? Have you seen her this week?”

Annabelle takes a sip of her drink. “No, the last I saw her was Saturday night.” She nods towards the singer, “She and Maxine were doing duets and trading solos.”

Ken writes down a few notes. “Thanks. I should talk to Maxine then.”

Annabelle puts her hand on his again. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk some more? I have a room upstairs if you want someplace quiet?”

Ken shakes his head and smiles “Do you charge by the hour?”

She gives him a weak smile but the lights in her eyes goes out. “We can do by the hour or all night, if that’s what you want.”

Ken hands her another dollar. “Keep it. I’m just here for information. Be careful.”

“I always am.” She replies with another soft smile.

As he walks towards the singer who is switching records, Ken feels the money clip in his pocket. Not too many pieces of paper left. He might have to trade in a sawbuck for ones. Stopping at the bar, he gets a refill of his coffee, and hands the bartender a ten.

“I need the change back this time.” He says with a smile. The bartender nods, fills the cup and hands him the change, including the dimes. Ken hands him back three dimes. “Get yourself a cup too if you want.”

Maxine sings “It’s Only a Paper Moon”.

Ken sips his coffee and waits for the song to end. The coffee smell goes well with cigarette smoke and lingering kitchen aromas. He notices that the men are all giving him a wide berth, and watching him from the corners of their eyes. He glances towards Annabelle. She is talking with a couple more ‘working girls’, pointing to him and then his business card.

The song ends and Maxine mentions she needs to take a break. As she removes the record from the turntable, Ken walks closer. “You have a lovely voice. Can I ask you a few questions?” He starts off.

“I’m sorry, I need to pee. I’m here to sing and entertain. You should talk to the other girls to get what you’re looking for.” She says sliding the record into its paper sleeve and heading towards the back stairs.

“I’m trying to find Francine.” He quickly says.

She stops and turns. “I haven’t seen her. I really need to go.”

Ken nods, catching up to her. “When you finish, is there somewhere we can talk?” He hands her a business card and a couple of ones.

She bounces from one leg to the other as she takes them, and heads to a door marked “Ladies”.

Ken leans against the wall and waits. In a few minutes she comes back out. “What’s with the dough?” She asks holding up the money.

“I have a number of questions, and I’ll pay for your time.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.

She looks at the clock on the wall. “Let me tell them I’m ending my set early tonight.” Then she walks back into the main room and talks to the bartender. He glances to Ken and makes a resigned sigh. As Maxine returns to Ken, the bartender walks over to the turn table and puts on a bebop number, then announces, “Guys and Dolls, Maxine is done for the night, but enjoy the music.”

“Follow me” Maxine says to Ken as she goes up the stairs.

On the second floor, she enters a room. It’s a dressing room. It sort of reminds Ken of the one at the Coconut Club that Julie Schmidt uses, except this one is larger with multiple vanities and wardrobes, with a few chairs and a couch.

Maxine sits in front of one of the vanities and motions for Ken to take a chair. “What do you want to know?” She asks as she pulls off her brunette wig and places it on a papier-mache head. Ken watches as she pulls off the silk wig cap and scratches her head, fluffing her short-cut natural light brown hair.

“Should I still call you Maxine?” He asks politely with his notepad in hand.

She nods. “I’m as much Maxine as I am Max, or Francine is Francisco.” Turning and facing him, she crosses her shapely legs.

Ken focuses on her face instead of her body which is more attractive sitting like that than he anticipated. “When is the last time you saw Francine?”

Slowly Maxine removes her stockings. “Saturday night. I had expected to see her tonight. We do duets on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Especially since Patty and Laverne went missing.” Ken checks the names against his earlier notes “What about Lois?”

“She was a real flake. Patty, Laverne, and I did Andrew’s sister’s songs. Lois never fit with us three. She’d sometimes sing with Francine.”

Ken nods. “But you said she was a ‘real flake’ why?”

Maxine after removing her fake eyelashes, she pulls a pack of cigarettes from a drawer in her vanity. Ken pulls his Zippo from his pocket and lights it. She places the tip against the flame and draws in the smoke. She offers one to Ken. Exhaling she asks “Want a fag?”

Taking one from the pack, he lights it. “It would be rude to turn down a lady.” Exhaling a cloud into the air, he comments “I thought singers didn’t smoke. It hurt your voice?”

She smiles, “Naw, after facing kraut guns and bitter winds, these just help me relax, now.”

“You were a WAC?” Ken asks, jotting down more notes.

Maxine smiles broadly, “No, I was a Joe. A skinny little kid in the 38th.”

“In December of ‘44?” Ken asks with a tone of awe in his voice.

She slowly nods, gets a faraway look in her eyes and takes another drag.

“Damn. When we finish let me buy you a drink.” Ken says extending his hand.

She shakes it. “Who were you with?”

“Fifth Army, working for the Provost Marshal.” He answers still shaking her hand.

“Sounds warmer than France in the winter.”

“You’d think so, but Italy gets cold and wet too.” Ken smiles, then glances at his notes. “Back to Lois. Where is she?”

Maxine leans back in her chair, stretching out her bare legs. “I don’t know. I’m not too surprised I haven’t seen her. Aside from singing, she’d also turn a trick or two. Haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks now.”

“I thought you ladies were the entertainment and the working girls handled things like that?” Ken asks writing, his cigarette dangling from his lips.

“They do. But Lois was always trying to earn a buck. Her stuff is over there, next to Francine’s” She says pointing to a pair of vanities on the other wall.

Ken gets up and starts looking thought one of them.

“I’m gonna wash up and change. I’ll be back.” She says standing, grabbing a robe, a toiletries bag, and a towel.

Ken nods as he opens the drawers. He finds makeup, false lashes, fake nails, and all the rest of the things needed to make these ladies look like pin-ups.

It’s similar to what was in Francisco’s apartment except for here are the various cosmetics that Joan said wasn’t there. Searching the other vanity it’s similar except for a worn business card ‘Waterfront Records’. Ken copies down the information on it. The address is close by, but he doesn’t remember hearing them on the radio.

Maxine returns, wearing only a robe, carrying her underwear, along with her toiletries bag and towel. “Did you find anything, Mister Cooper?” she asks, but her voice is a little harder now, as she closes the door.

“I found a card, ‘Waterfront Records’.” Ken says, looking at his notes.

Maxine pulls off the robe. Ken’s a little surprised to see a well shaved, naked man. He shouldn’t be, but with the dress, wig, and makeup, she is a very attractive woman. Ken turns and looks distractedly at the items on the vanities while Max dresses.

“My, how gallant. Not staring and watching the ‘nancy boy’ get dressed.” Maxine teases.

“It’s not that..”

“It’s okay. You’re a good lookin’ fella, just not my type.”

Ken turns as Max buttons his shirt and tucks it into a pair of grey slacks. After a few more minutes, with a tie, and sport coat, Max looks like any other guy downstairs.

“About ‘Waterfront Records’..” Ken starts again, more confidently.

Max sits down and ties his oxfords. “There is a guy who comes around Fridays. He keeps asking us ladies to make a record or two for him. He brings a few that he pressed, asking us to play them and sing along. Tell you the truth, Mister Cooper, he’s a bit of a creep.”

“Why’s that?” Ken asks.

Max stands up, his dress in a travel bag, “You said something about a drink? Let’s go downstairs and we can talk before I catch the last streetcar home.”

AAA Detective Story - Looking for Francine - Part 2

 

After finishing lunch, Ken and Joan ask questions of a few more people. Not a lot to be learned so they will be back later. The icy rain still falls from the sky as Ken pulls his coat tighter around him and adjusts his fedora.

“Wanna stand under my umbrella, Boss?” Joan offers.

There is a ding of a streetcar as it comes down the street and stops near the “Happy Clam”.

“I thought the mayor said that the were going to switch this area to busses.” Ken comments as he makes a note about the streetcar.

“Maybe they’re cheaper to operate down here?” Joan offers.

“Maybe.” He responds as he goes to his car.

“Where to now, Boss?” Joan asks.

Looking at his watch, “It’s too early to meet Mulrooney. Let’s go back to the office. I think I need to call Mister Raymond Martin.”

As they drive Ken asks “Oh by the way, I forgot to ask, why did you offer ‘Congratulations’ when he was on the phone?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, it looks like Misses Huddler is in the family way again.” She smiles. “We should send over some flowers or chocolates.”

“Really? That’s interesting. ‘Teddy’ and Karen made a little brother or sister for little Teddy Junior.” He focuses on driving. “Yeah, we can send them a little something.”

When they get back to the office, Ken calls Ramon. Unfortunately he doesn’t know where Francisco was living. He only saw him when he visited his Tia Barbara. Ken copies down the address. It’s one of those tenements in the old part of downtown. “Can you call her and tell her I have a few questions for her?”

“I can. But how good is your Spanish? Her English isn’t that good.” Ramon responds.

Ken sighs “I can muddle through. My Italian is better.”

“Do your best. Maybe one of my other cousins will be there to help. Is there anything else?”

“Oh, yeah, did you guys pay the city to make sure the streetcars were still running down there?”

There is a moment of silence. “Mister Cooper, Huddler Trucking and Shipping is in the transportation business. If we asked the City to continue running the streetcars in area for the benefit of our employees, what’s the harm?”

“None. I thought the City was changing things over to buses. Do you know if Francisco took the streetcar to the “Happy Clam”?”

“I don’t know. As I said, I don’t know where he was living. Now if you have no further questions, I need to get back to work.” Ramon says in a clipped tone.

“That’ll do for now. Thanks.” Ken hangs up his phone and looks at the painting on the wall. It is a lamp with a fish for a lightbulb. He lights a cigarette. “Things aren’t what you expect.” He says as blows a cloud of smoke into the air.

“Joan, how good’s your Spanish?” Ken yells.

“Asi-asi. Yo solo hablo pequito Espanol.” She responds.

“Is that from being with Pete?” He asks with a sly grin.

“Naw Boss, he don’t speak it. Besides I got a better uses for his mouth.”

Ken laughs. “I remember. Grab your coat and hat. We need to pay a visit to Tia Barbara.”

The rain stopped but things are still wet and cloudy as they drive to the old Downtown.

The tenements always remind Ken of the end of the War, when people were trying to pull their shattered lives and broken buildings back together. Neighbors helping neighbors but there’s never enough for everyone. It doesn’t help that the landlords charge just enough in rent to give people a place to stay, but not enough to replace things or make more than the most necessary of repairs. But at least there aren’t any UXBs lying in the trash and piles of broken furniture. He sees the address and parks by an open lot where kids are playing stick-ball.

“Hey Kids.” He yells as he gets out of the car. Joan looks curiously at him.

The children stop their game and come over “Wha’cha wan’ mis’er?” one of the larger ones asks, chewing something as he talks.

Ken pulls out a few bills. “While you’re playing, why don’t you keep an eye on my clunker here. It’s not much but I like it.” He hands a couple of ones to him. “When I’m done, if everything’s still there, I’ll give you a fin to split among yourselves.”

Their eyes get wide at the idea of five dollars split among the eight of them.

“Does I hav’ t’ split dese too?” The large kid asks as he looks at the dollars.

“I’ll leave that up to you. I bet you could get malteds and funny books and still have some scratch. But I’ll leave that to you.” Ken straightens his hat. “I just need my old crate to still be here when I come back.” He says with a smile and wink.

“You got it Mister.” Says one of the others. “Yeah!” says a third.

Joan takes his hand as they cross the street and look at the building numbers. The voices and languages spoken are a mix of folks who came from Europe and the Americas. His rudimentary Italian and Spanish might be needed more than he thought.

Walking past street venders and stalls, they find her building and go up to the apartment. Knocking on the door, Joan says “Senoria Barbara, Puedo hablar contigo. Somos amigos de Ramon.” The door opens and a stocky woman wearing a plain dress and an apron fills the doorway.

“Ramon? No esta aqui.”

“Si, Tia Barbara, Stiamo cercando Francisco.” Ken interjects.

Joan shakes her head and says “Estamos trantando de encontrar a Francisco, Tia Barbara.”

“Si, Si.” Aunt Barbara responds and invites them in, quickly having them sit down and offering coffee. They both politely decline as Joan explains that they were hired by Ramon to find Francisco. Ken asks in Italian, if she knows where Francisco lived, which Joan quickly repeats in Spanish. At that point Ken keeps quiet and takes notes. The more he listens to Barbara and Joan, the more he realizes he understands Spanish but really can’t speak it.

After a few more minutes of discussion and getting the apartment number to Francisco’s place in the next building, along with a key, they all stand. Ken pulls out a couple of bills and presses them into her hand. In English he says “Here is a little something to get a ‘fatted calf’ for when Francisco comes home.” Aunt Barbara looks confused. Joan tells her “Es dinero para una fiesta de bienvenida para Francisco.”

Tears well up in the corners of her eyes. She wipes them with the corner of her apron, then hugs Ken. “Find him please.” She says in heavily accented English.

He places his arms around her. “I’ll do my best Tia Barbara.”

As they walk to the next building, Ken glances down towards his car. The kids stopped playing ball but there are two of them watching it from the edge of the lot. He smiles, “The others must have gone to the corner shop.”

They enter the brownstone building and climb up the stairs until they find the right door. Joan puts the key in and turns the knob. Ken stands ready for anything. Anything except for what they find.

Dresses. The small apartment is full of different dresses, shoes, and wigs. There are multiple wardrobe bags hanging up, next to a few suits. A few well-traveled hat boxes are by the window. It’s cluttered but organized and cared for. Ken looks around to see if he can find when someone was last there.

“There’s no makeup.” Joan says looking at the top of the dresser.

“What’s that?” Ken asks.

Joan opens a few drawers. “I see stockings, bras, panties, boxers, but..” she motions around the small apartment “No makeup.” Don’t these female impersonators do the heavy makeup to hide their looks?”

Ken opens a couple of hat boxes, which contain hats and shoes. He then goes to the clothing rack. There are a few empty hangers. He jots down a few notes.

“You’re right. We’re still missing something.” Ken makes sure that he puts everything back where it was. “Let’s return the key to Aunt Barbara.”

As they get to the street Ken hears a familiar Ding-Ding as the streetcar stops at the corner of the block.

He checks his watch. “I’ve got time.” He mutters. Quickly, he hands Joan the keys to his car and a five dollar bill. “Pay the kids and drive the car back to the office. I’m going to see where this line goes.”

With a shocked expression Joan says “Ok, Boss.”

As he briskly walks to catch the streetcar before it gets going again, he hears voices yell. “Hey Mister, what about your jalopy?”

He yells back “My dame will take it. She’s got your moolah too.”

Riding the streetcar, Ken looks at the people. Folks just trying to get from one place to another. He looks at a blank spot where the “Colored Seated in Rear” sign used to be. He smiles “I bet that was one of the conditions Teddy gave the City fathers, with his donation to keep the streetcars running.”

At the next stop he asks the Conductor “Where does this line run?”

“This is the old Downtown to Waterfront line. We go all the way to the docks.” He responds without looking.

Ken nods. “How many cars on the line?”

“Oh I don’t know, we got enough to hit a stop every half hour or so.”

Ken writes it down. “Last question. When do they stop running?”

“We have them back to the yard by midnight, then start again at seven.” The conductor answers, then says “Take your seat.” As he closes the doors.

The sound of the metal wheels on the tracks and the electric pop as the contactor hits where wires cross. Ken sits on a seat and looks out the window. “This is probably what Francisco did.” He notices that they’re coming near Maple Street. He looks at his watch. If he gets off and walks up Maple, he can make it to the ‘Stick and Hook pub’ around the time that Brian Mulrooney gets off of work. The trolley stops and Ken gets off and starts walking towards Uptown.

It’s a few blocks farther than he thought, but by the time he gets there, he needs a beer to take care of his thirst. Walking through the door, his coat feels too warm, so he pulls it off along with his hat. Multiple pairs of eyes watch him as he scans the room and takes an empty stool at the bar. The barman is a big burly ex-fireman, with a big, waxed mustache and beard. “What’ll ya’ have?” he asks with a Celtic brogue.

Ken puts a couple of quarters on the bar. “Just a beer.” He points to tap marked ‘Gulstead’, the local brewery. “One of those.”

The barman nods, fills a mug, then quickly sweeps up the four bits.

Ken sips and looks at the oversized nightstick on the wall crossed with a fireman’s hook. ‘The Stick and Hook Pub’ are written above them in a beautiful fluid script. On the walls are photos of the City’s old police stations and fire houses. As Ken looks around, a number of people are still watching him. He smiles and nods, holding up his mug. Most look away without responding. “Such is the glamorous life of a private dick.” He mutters to himself as he slowly sips and waits for Brian to show up.

He doesn’t have to wait too long before he sees his friend walk in, still in uniform. “What’s goin’ on here?” his voice booms in that authoritative tone.

“Beer, Sergent.” A voice responds.

“Good, Carry on.” He responds with a smile as his coworkers laugh and return to their drinking and talking.

The barman fills a mug and watches where Mulrooney is going. When he sees him sit next to Ken, he sets down the beer.

“Thanks, Bobby. He’s paying tonight.” He says as he takes a sip and nods towards Ken.

Ken pulls out a couple of dollars. “I said the drinks are on me. But I thought we were only having a couple.” Smiling as he hands the tender a dollar and his now empty mug.

Brian smiles. “I’ll go easy on you tonight.” He stands up, takes his beer and walks to an empty table near the rear. “Bobby, I’ll be at my table.”

The bartender nods as Ken grabs his newly refilled drink and follows.

They quietly talk for a while, and Brian has a few shots of Irish whiskey, along with a pitcher of beer.

Brian confirms that the police are not raiding the “Happy Clam” because they’ve been paid not to. But they also don’t really patrol down there either. Those aren’t their kind of people. Brian then starts asking questions. His voice is quiet but heavily accented from the drink. “Kenny, I know yu’re workin’ a case, but d’ ya’ haf ta work for pansies?”

“Brian, they’re as good as anyone. And their money’s good too.” Ken replies glancing at the time. He knows if he wants to make it to the Happy Clam tonight, he’ll either have to call a taxi or walk back down to the streetcar line.

“But they do thin’s tha’ ‘re agin th’ Church. Dressin’ like gals and playin’ wif their bollocks.” He takes a shot and then a deep drink of his beer.

“I can’t explain it in any way that makes sense to you Brian, but they’re good people and they need my help.” Ken looks at his watch. “I need to go, if I’m going to catch the streetcar. I’ll see you later.” He pulls out a couple more dollars and a hand full of change, placing them on the table. “That should cover the rest of it.”

Pulling on his coat and hat he looks to the bartender. “Goodnight.” They nod at each other as he leaves out the door.

The night air is cold and damp as he hustles down the street to catch the streetcar. Between the cold and quick walk, the effects of the couple of beers he drank are gone by the time he boards the electric trolley. “Off to the Happy Clam” he says to himself.

AAA Detective Story - Looking for Francine - Part 1

 

The icy rain pats against the window in the grey, late winter morning. Ken Cooper pours himself another cup of dark roasted coffee. “I hate when it’s cold.” He mutters to himself.

Joan enters the outer office, and he hears her hanging up her umbrella and hat. “You made a pot o’ mud, Boss?” She asks as she enters his office with her cup in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. She sets it down on his desk and walks to the percolator. She sniffs the air, then glances to the rain splattered window. “You made that I-talian style brew, again?”

Ken picks up the paper and puts his feet up on his desk, slowly sipping from his mug. “Uh-huh” he grunts, focusing on the headlines.

She pours half a cup and waters it down, then adds sugar. She shakes her head muttering to herself. “I shoulda come in early just to make decent pot of joe.”

Ken doesn’t move, reading about a body found down by the docks. He’s not a copper so he shouldn’t care, but there seems like there’s been a lot more killings in that part of town. He sips his cup, then sets it down. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a cigarette and lights it up.

“I thought you quit again, Boss.” Joan comments.

“I’ll quit when it’s warm again.” He responds, nodding to the window.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear you say that all the time.” She says with a smirk.

The phone rings and Joan goes to the outer office to pick it up. “AAA Detective Agency. Oh, Hi Ramon. How are the Huddlers doing?”

Ken listens a bit, moving the newspaper so he can see the outer office clearly. “Oh, really! Congratulations. We’ll have to send something over….. Ok. Yeah he’s here.”

She puts her hand over the receiver, “Boss, Pick up, it’s Mister Huddler’s man, Ramon. He needs to talk to you.”

Ken sets down the newspaper and picks up the phone. “I got it Joan. Come take the paper, and hang up.” He says in a direct tone. She puts the phone on the cradle and walks in for the newspaper. Ken motions for her to sit and grab a notepad. “Ramon, Ken Cooper. What can I do for Mister Theodore Huddler today?”

Ken expected to hear the professional prep-school accent that Ramon usually speaks in, but this time there’s a pained tone to his voice. “Mister Cooper, I’m calling for myself or rather my family.”

Ken sits up, grabs another notepad and pen, with his cigarette in his mouth. “Ok, what’s going on?”

“My primo, Francisco. He’s missing.” The tone of loss is tangible.

“What can you tell me about him.” Ken asks.

There is a long pause on the line. “He’s been singing down at the ‘Happy Clam’. His stage name is Francine.”

Ken writes “The Happy Clam” and shows Joan, he then points to the newspaper headlines about the body down by the docks. She takes the morning rag and starts reading the headlines.

“Ramon, the ‘Happy Clam’. Doesn’t Mister Huddler own that place?”

“Yes” there is another long pause. “After Oscar died, Mister Huddler gained full control of it. Upon my recommendation, he cleaned it up, changed the name, and we have some mutual friends run it as a place where our kind can have a good time.”

Ken writes down “Used to be the ‘Wet Whistle’”, and “gay nightclub”.

“Okay Ramon, I need a few more details about Francisco or Francine. Was he a female impersonator or just singing with an Anglo name?”

There is silence again, until Ramon answers, “I really don’t know. When with mi familia, he was always normal.”

“But then again so are you, Right?”

Ken hears a sad sigh. “Si. It brings shame on our family to be less of a man than they expect. As Mister Huddler’s personal secretary, I have a position of prestige and importance.”

“Of course.” Ken replies while biting his tongue to not make a comment about what other positions he does for “Teddy” in his bedroom. “When did you last hear from Francisco?”

“Last week, but my Tia is worried. She said that some of Francisco’s friends have recently gone missing.”

Ken writes down a couple more notes and shows them to Joan. Joan is circling a couple of articles in the paper.

Ken asks a few more questions but Ramon doesn’t have anymore answers.

“That’ll do for now, Ramon. By the way, who do I make the bill out on this one?”

There is another long pause. “Mister Cooper, please only talk to me about this. I’ll pay whatever you ask if you can find him. Double if you find him safe.”

Ken nods and crushes out his cigarette. “Understood. Good doing business with you Mister…”

“Martin. Make the bill out to Raymond Martin.” Ramon says back in his prep-school accent.

“Of course Mister Martin.” Ken replies and hangs up.

Joan hands you the newspaper. “Boss, I think there’s something goin’ down by the piers. A couple of articles mentioned bodies found. One pulled up in a fishing net, and another found in an alleyway.”

He picks up the phone and calls his friend Sergent Mulrooney. A voice answers “Third Precinct.”

“Yes, I’d like to speak to Sergent Brian Mulrooney. It’s Ken Cooper.” He says in his most professional tone.

“Let me transfer your call.” The switchboard operator responds.

The line rings and picks up. “Sergent Mulrooney”

“Brian, It’s Ken, Ken Cooper. What can you tell me about the killings down by the waterfront?”

There is a pause. “Mister Cooper, it is a police matter that is still under investigation. We don’t need any PI snoopers gettin’ in the way.” He says in an official tone almost too loudly. Then he drops the tone of his voice. “Kenny, if you meet me after shift, I’ll tell ya’ what I can.” His accented brogue thicker than normal.

“Thanks Brian. I’ll see you later. The drinks are on me.”

Ken hangs up the phone.

“Anything Boss?” Joan asks.

“Why don’t you and I take a trip down to “The Happy Clam”. I’ll see Sergent Mulrooney later tonight. Let’s see what we can find before then.”

Ken grabs his coat and hat, tossing his notepad in his shirt pocket. Joan grabs her coat, hat, and umbrella.

The black sedan makes its way down the rain slicked streets. Once they get down by the docks, they find a place to park and walk towards the brick building with a neon sign reading “The Happy Clam”. The sign glows through the mid-day rain.

Inside Ken shakes off his wet coat while Joan folds her umbrella. The place smells different than last time. A seafood spicy smell fills the air, and various dock workers and longshoremen are eating. A slim man with an apron asks “Are you hear for the ‘Lunch Time Special’. Or would you like a menu?”

“It smells really good, can we get some?” Joan asks.

Ken nods. “Ok. Find us a table and we’ll have two of the lunch specials. Can I speak with the manager?”

The waiter looks nervous. “Why? Is there a problem?”

Ken pulls out one of his business cards. “No. I’m working a case and have a few questions. Tell him, Ramon sent me.”

They sit down and soon a couple of bowls filled with spicy seafood stew arrive. Ken sniffs it and swirls it around with his spoon before taking a bite.

“What is it Boss?” Joan asks doing a similar thing with her spoon.

A wide smile crosses his face. “I think its their version of ‘Zuppa di Pesce’. Italian fish stew.”

She takes a bite. “Is it supposed to have all those different things in it?”

Ken smiles broadly, “When I was in Italy, the locals made it from what they caught. Muscles, shrimp, octopus, or whatever, all mixed with a tomato sauce.” He takes another spoonful. “A perfect dish for a cold rainy day.”

A man in a suit walks up to the table. “Mister Cooper, I’m Mister Costa, the manager. Would you please come with me?”

Ken gets up and follows him to the back and up the stairway. Nice light fixtures along he wall and the peeling wallpaper has been replaced with a nautical themed pattern. On the 2nd floor they enter a room. The door has ‘Manager’ painted on it.

Mister Costa sits behind a desk and motions for Ken to take a seat.

“Mister Cooper, What’s this about?” He asks in accented English.

Ken pulls out his notepad and a pen. “First, Mister Costa, I want to compliment you on your club. Not what I expected. And second, the food is delicious.”

“Gracias, my cook is a friend who emigrated after the war, like me.” He says as he leans back and steeples his fingers. “You are a friend of Ramon’s? But you’ve not been here before?”

“No sir. He hired me. His cousin Francisco is missing. To tell you the truth I thought this was a Fruit Stand.” Ken says.

Mister Costa smiles, “Oh it is. At night it is a place for men to come and enjoy themselves. But we are also on the waterfront, and sailors get hungry, so during the day we’re a restaurant.”

Ken writes down a few notes and nods. “At night, do you have performers to entertain your guests?”

“Si, claro. We have a few ‘ladies’ who sing and dance.”

“And by ‘ladies’ you mean female impersonators?”

Mister Costa is quiet for a moment. “Si. But that isn’t how we think of them. They show up as women, so they are women. Everyone is happy.”

Ken nods. “Are there any of these ladies who are missing?”

“Si, we told La Guardia. But they haven’t helped. We pay but they don’t protect.”

Ken nods. The managers of many gay clubs pay the cops to not bust the place for ‘indecency’ or ‘promoting lewd behavior’. He’ll have to talk to Brian and ask what he’s heard. “How many of the ladies are missing? Are there any men missing too?”

Mister Costa starts counting off names. “Francine, Lois, Patty, and Laverne. So four performers haven’t shown up.”

Ken leans forward and in a low voice asks, “Were any of them ‘Joy girls’. I’m not looking to bust anyone but I got to know if they were working, or maybe picking up a sugar daddy.”

“Mister Cooper, we have some ‘working girls’ here too, but these were singers. Come back tonight and you can see Maxine. She performs with Lavern or Patty but has been solo since they went missing.”

Ken writes down a few more notes. “What do you know about the bodies that were found recently?”

“Nada. I haven’t heard anything and the newspapers don’t say much.”

Standing up, Ken extends his hand. “Thank you for your time, Mister Costa. I might have some more questions later, but I want to finish my bowl of zuppa di pesce. I’ll come back tonight.”

“Gracias. Enjoy your soup and I’ll see you tonight.” He then pulls out an envelope of receipts, a ledger, and continues yesterday’s totals.

Ken heads to the stairs. Looking up the stairwell, he notices that what had been storage rooms last time he was here, now look to be private apartments or rooms. He makes a note of it, but will ask about it later. There is fish stew that is getting cold.

Sex with the Boss

 

“Those cock-sucking sons a bitches.” You hear her yell.

Grabbing your notepad and a pen you enter her office to see what’s up.

She is standing in front of the monitor which is raised up on her “sit/stand” desk. She is furiously scrolling thought emails and DMs.

“Can I help, Boss?” you ask quietly. She is so angry and excited that the nipples of her large round breasts are visible through her lacy bra and silk shirt.

“Those fuckers down in contracting used last year’s language and conditions on the Alyssum LLC contract.” She says on the verge of yelling.

“Oh shit.” You quietly respond. Alyssum LLC is one of your company’s most important clients. A year ago, when you were hired, going from an intern to an employee, it was that contract she landed. She had been so angry and stressed then, but you helped her calm down and relax. Seeing her hard nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her top, you try to focus on work and try to forget that time you licked her pussy as a stress reliever.

“If I could find that damn email, I think there’s time to fix this.” She continues angrily.

“Do you mean the version of the contract with your changes?” you ask calmly.

She turns and looks at you. “Of course. Do you still have it?”

You want to give her a quippy answer like ‘Of course, it’s what you pay me for’ or ‘that’s why you pay me the big bucks’ but you know the more direct answer of “Yes Ma’am. I have it in our ‘Contract Drafts’ folder. May I?”

She steps back and lets you use her computer. Quickly, on the Collaborative Work program, you find the ‘Contracts’ channel and the ‘Drafts’ folder. You pull up the document. “If you want, Ma’am, I can share it with them right now.”

She looks at the clock, picks up the phone and punches buttons. “Yes, share it with them. I’m calling their supervisor to make sure they know.” You back away as she steps in, lowers her monitor and sits in her chair. You watch her stretch out her toned legs as she says “Ryan, Yeah it’s me. Your people screwed up Alyssum.”

You close her door and go back to your desk. Most days you can focus on the work and think of her as “the Boss” but today is one of those days, where her top is so tight and her skirt hugs her hips. When you go home tonight, you’ll fantasize about her, again.

As the day goes on, she keeps her door closed. You check her status. “Busy-On the Phone”, pops up a few times. At one point, you hear her through the door “That motherfucker and his bitch wife can eat my cunt. They got the house in the divorce. They don’t get anything else.”

You put on your headphones. She must be talking with her divorce lawyer. You know it was a very messy divorce and put a lot of stress on her. She’ll probably leave early and go to the gym to work out. She exercises most days and you enjoy seeing how her yoga pants and sports bra accent her curves. Thinking about it makes your dick tingle. You close your eyes and remind yourself that you’re still at work. Wait until you get home to masturbate.

It’s almost quitting time so you pull off your headphones. Checking her status, she is “Available”. That’s strange. She should be powering down and heading to the gym. You start closing up the office. Locking cabinets, ensuring the coffee pot is off, and turning off lights. Checking the time, it’s 20 minutes past time to go. You check her status one last time before you power off your workstation. It stills says “Available”.

Turning the knob on her door you quietly open it. You see her leaned back in her chair, her pantyhose is on her desk along with one leg. Her blouse is open and her nipples poke over the top of her bra. Her eyes are closed as you see her working a glass dildo in and out of her wet cunt and using a small buzzing toy on her clit.

That pussy. That tasty pussy. It’s been a year since you licked it. “Oh God I want it.” You say aloud. Her eyes pop open as she sits up, the glass toy still in her. You quickly close the door. “I’m sorry Ma’am. It’s time to go and I just wanted to see if you’re all right.”

“Lock the door.” She commands. Silently you nod. “Get over here.”

Walking to her desk, your dick hardens in your slacks. On a chair you see her gym bag, open with her workout clothes, and a towel. “Getting ready to go to the gym?” you ask.

“I want a different workout. Do you still jerk off thinking about me?” she asks in a seductive tone. She turns off the buzzing toy and removes the glass dildo, placing them both on her desk, but her legs are still wide open, giving you a clear view of her wet, open pussy.

Licking your lips, you slowly nod. “Yes Ma’am.” You rub your hard member through your slacks.

“Show me what you have.” She commands. Last time, you licked her pussy with your clothes on. This time you undo your belt, and pull your dick out for her. “Mmmmm. I like it. Stand there and stroke it for me.” She tells you. You lick your palm and rub saliva around the tip. 

Slowly you stroke from tip to base. Your other hand lightly squeezes your balls. “Like this, Ma’am?” you ask.

Taking her dildo she rubs it along her wet pussy lips. You imagine your dick moving in it’s place. “Tell me how badly you want to fuck me.” Her voice is still low and seductive.

“Very badly Ma’am. You taste so good. I want to be in you.”

“You’re such a good boy. I’ve got a reward for you.” She rotates her chair and motions for you to come around her desk. She leans forward, and licks your hard shaft, before taking it all in her mouth. Her mouth is so warm and wet as she lightly sucks. You’ve fantasized about her sucking you but you never imagined it felt this good. She pulls you out and strokes up and down. “Not a bad flavor. But I remember you’re better with your mouth. Get on your knees.”

Doing as she asks, you get down. Your hard cock bounces. Placing her legs on your shoulders, you get your mouth right up to her sweet cunt. It smells like last time, a smell you’ve fantasized about. Slowly you lick up and down her folds.

“Yes. Take your time. Give me what I want.” Her voice is softer yet full of desire. You taste her excitement. After going up and down, around and across, you thrust your tongue as deeply as it goes. Your nose rubs her clit as her hands grab your hair. “Yes. Like that.” You then lick up again and around her clit. Then you suck it. Gently. Your lips covered in her moisture as you suck her nub. “Harder.” She commands as she pulls your hair with one hand as her other moves up and pulls one of her nipples. 

She tastes so good but you want your dick inside her so badly. “I want to fuck you.” You mumble around her clit. She pulls your head tighter against her.

“Suck harder. Make me cum. Now.” She humps your mouth. You slide two fingers into her open pussy. Twisting and thrusting as you suck and lick her clit. She hold you tightly as you feel her orgasm against your face. Her pussy pulses. Your cock is so hard you want to cum for her too.

She releases you. “Get up.” She grabs your shirt and pull your face right in front of hers. “We’ll do something, I rarely do. If anyone ever hears we did it, I’ll know it was you and you’ll be gone.” There’s an underlying tone of threat mixed with lust.

“Ma’am, your secrets are safe with me.” You quietly reassure her.

“Grab the lube from my bag.” She directs you. Lifting the towel, you see a bottle of personal lubricant. You carry it over as she raises her skirt and bends over her desk. “Lube my asshole and then fuck me hard.” Her tone is still low but just as commanding as before.

“Yes Ma’am.” You respond. Only in your wildest fantasies have you imagined your hard cock buried in her firm ass.

Dripping some of the thick liquid on the crack of her ass, you massage and rub it on her skin. She spreads her cheeks. “Lube me good.” She directs.

“Yes, Ma’am”. You squirt some into your hand and rub it directly around her puckered hole. You slide a slick finger into her. She relaxes and lets out a light moan. 

She releases her cheeks and hands you the glass dildo. “Use this to prepare me for you.”

“Of Course, Ma’am.” You respond as you lube it then press it against her tightest hole. Slowly you work it in and out, going deeper with each twisting thrust.

“God. That feels so good.” She pants. You hear her turn on her clit buzzer and move it between her legs. “Put it in me. Fuck me. Now.” Her use of coarse language turns you on so much. Dropping your pants to the ground, you rub lubricant on your hard cock. You are so aroused you don’t know how long you’ll last. Placing the mushroom tip against her starfish hole, you gently press. She moans as she relaxes and takes you in. You go deeper than you expected but she feels so warm and tight. Grabbing her hips, you thrust in and out. “Harder. Deeper.” She commands.

You bite your lower lip as you pull her harder into you. Her skin slapping against yours makes a noise you’ve only heard in porn videos. She starts moaning and you feel the vibrations from the buzzer. She is so tight. You thrust and hold it. Your cock throbs and pulses as you fill her with your semen. She breathes harder as she presses the buzzer against her and you feel her ass tighten around you as she cums again.

You take moment and slide your softening dick from her. Drips of lube and cum follow. “Lick me clean.” She commands. Without thinking, you drop to your knees and your tongue goes into her recently used hole. You lick and suck until she is clean. She then straightens up. “Use the towel.” You nod, get up, grab her towel and wipe her clean. She turns, takes the towel, wipes your soft member, and then your mouth. “You are a very good boy. That’s the kind of workout I needed after a stressful day”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank You.” You reply as you pull up your pants and fasten your belt. “Is there anything else you need before I leave?”

She shakes her head as she pulls down, adjusts her skirt, and re-buttons her top. “If you continue to do such good work for me, maybe I’ll fulfill more of your fantasies.”

“Of course, Ma’am. Good night.” You say as you leave her office. When you get home you jerk off again, remembering how good it felt to cum in her ass.

Another Snow Day

 

“More Snow.” You say to yourself as you take a sip of coffee and stare out the back window. You watch the snow fall, illuminated by the back porch light and the early morning sky. The previous snow had mostly melted and now you are getting a couple more inches.

The local TV news is rotating between weather, school closings, and traffic updates.

“Mommy, is there school?” your daughter asks as she walks into the kitchen wearing pajamas and still clutching her stuffed dog.

“No Baby. No school. It’s still snowing. I don’t have to go into work either.” You say as you bend down and give her a hug.

“Snow?” she asks and then runs to the sliding glass door to look out the back porch.

Fresh snow covers where the previous paths had been cleared and everything is covered with a fresh white blanket.

“Mommy, what’re the birds and squirrels gonna eat? The feeder’s covered again.” She says with a tone of actual concern.

“We’ll put some seeds and nuts on the top of the snow. But they are hiding while it’s still snowing. Wait until the snow stops falling and we’ll do it then.” You reassure her.

“You gonna make breakfast?” she asks.

You smile at her, “Of course, what are you hungry for?”

She goes to the refrigerator and pulls out the tube of ‘easy bake cinnamon rolls’. “Make these Mommy. It makes the kitchen smell so good.”

“Ok. Do you want to help?” You ask. 

“Uh-huh”, She says nodding.

You warm up the oven as she gets the small round pan out of the cupboard for you. In a few minutes you have the greased pan full of doughy curls and ready to go in.

“Can I spread the frosting?” she asks as she holds the cold plastic cup of sugary goo.

“You have to wait until these are done.” You say, “Why don’t you put it on the counter for now?” She smiles and does as you ask. You put the pan in the oven and set the timer. “While that bakes, why don’t you get dressed. If you put something warm, you’ll be ready to go outside and play in the snow.”

“Ok.” She says, taking her stuffed dog from the counter and goes to her bedroom.

“I have the laptops set up in the den.” Your husband says as he enters the kitchen, an empty coffee mug in his hand.

“Thanks Dear”, you reply. “I’m glad we can telework but hate that it’s expected that we will telework every time there’s bad weather.”

He kisses you and refills his mug. “It only makes sense. Keeping people off the road, but still getting emails answered and office work done.” He looks out the window. “Look at that come down. I’m glad the schools and offices are closed.”

You walk up behind him, kissing his neck and wrapping your arms around him. “If the kids were asleep still, I’d say we head to the bedroom and enjoy some time under the blankets.”

He turns, kisses and hugs you. “That is too tempting this morning.”

The timer for the cinnamon rolls goes off. He releases you, “Go pull ’em out. Do you want a hand?”

You shake your head. “No, I’ve already got help.” You say as your daughter returns, a pink sweatshirt with a cartoon dog on the front, and thick blue sweatpants. 

“Daddy! Are you gonna help make cinnamon rolls too?” 

He bends down and hugs her. “No, your mommy said you were going to do it.” He looks at you and winks.

Using the hot pads, you pull out the pan and flip the rolls onto an empty plate.

“Is it my turn?” your daughter asks. You nod and move the plate and frosting cup to the kitchen table as your daughter climbs into her chair. Using a butter knife she carefully spreads the white goo onto the circle of steaming hot buns.

“Mmmmm Those smell so good.” Your husband says. “Can I have one?”

“Not yet Daddy. Let me finish.” Your daughter says as she slathers the frosting on and scrapes the last of it from the plastic cup. “Ok. Now you can.” She says proudly.

Your husband grabs one, “I’m going to check morning emails. I’ll be in the den.”

“I’ll be down shortly” you tell him. “By the way, don’t you want to have on more than your robe?”

“Good idea. I’ll check emails then get dressed.” He responds and blows you a kiss.

Looking at your daughter you tell her, “Only have one, Baby. You have to leave enough for everyone, including your brother.” She smiles with bits of frosting and roll on her face as she takes the other rolls from her napkin and puts them back on the plate. You refill coffee and sit at the table with her, watching the TV on the wall.

Your son walks into the kitchen, yawning and his hair sticking up all directions. “What smells so good?” He then looks at the table and grabs a cinnamon roll.

“Mommy said only take one. Leave enuff for everyone.” Your daughter directs.

You smile at that. “No school today. Eat up and get dressed. You and your sister can play outside in the snow. Daddy and I have to work from home today.”

“Yay!” he says as he pulls a glass from the cupboard and fills it with milk. “Can we change the channel to cartoons?”

You nod as you pick up the serving plate and wrap up the remaining rolls. “Have some breakfast. I need to go and check emails.”

Your daughter gets off her chair and pulls the cereal box from the pantry. “Can we eat in the living room?”

You shake your head, “Not today. Eat at the table. Then clean up.” You carry your coffee in one hand and your warm roll in the other as you walk down to the den.

Your husband has your laptop set up on your desk, catty corner from his. He’s leaning back in his chair as he scrolls through the messages.

“Anything interesting?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “Most of it is just folks saying they are teleworking or using a day of leave.”

You set your coffee mug on your desk, log into your computer, with the cinnamon roll in your mouth.

He looks over at you and chuckles. “You look sexy with your mouth filled, but I’d like it to be with something else.”

Your home page comes up, and you take a bite of the roll. After you swallow, you smile at him. “I prefer it when your mouth is busy.”

He gets up, closes the door to the den. “Are the kids busy upstairs?”

You nod, “Eating cereal and watching TV.”

He walks over to you. “Are you serious about me using my mouth? Give you a little oral treat before I go upstairs and get cleaned up?”

“Do you want to get under my desk as I’m on my computer?” You ask, hinting to the time you roll played “Boss and Secretary”. He nods and gets under your desk as you stand up and pull down your yoga pants. With your pants around your ankles, you sit and spread your legs, as you focus on your computer screen. Pulling up emails you scroll through them. Most of them are just quick status updates. As you read, you feel your husband’s warm lips on your right thigh, and his hair rubbing against the left one.

HR has an email that asks for your status. You need to respond and CC your supervisor telling them that you are teleworking. As you start typing, you feel his lips at the edge of your panties. His breath is warm and the tip of his tongue is wet. You inhale through your nose as you try to focus on writing. You feel the crotch of your panties slide to the side and the tip of his tongue slowly licks up and down.

“I am teleworking today.” You type. You feel his hands grip your hips as he thrusts his tongue into you. You bite your lower lip to stifle a moan. Your husband is so good at this. Trying to focus on work, you reread your message, and ensure that your supervisor is CC’d.. Your husband’s mouth covers your clit and you feel his gentile suction.

“Oh God” you say in a low tone and then bite your lower lip again. You hit send and the status email goes out.

Moving your hands under the desk, you grab your husband’s head. “You want me to cum? Ok, Hold on.” You say in a low tone as you hump his mouth. He grips your hips tighter as he continues licking and sucking your clit. Part of your mind is telling you ‘finish up, the kids will need something’ and ‘keep checking on work, you don’t want to get distracted’. Then your husband starts humming. The suction, warmth, and vibrations all push you over the edge. Your hands and thighs tighten around his head as you cum. He keeps holding you as your pussy pulses against his mouth.

You are breathing hard as you unclench and let go. Rolling your chair back, you let your husband get out from under the desk. He kisses you and you taste yourself on him. His shorts are tented by his hard cock. “Damn. I’ll have to take care of that later.” You say.

“Mmmm, Pussy and cinnamon roll, two flavors that go together better than I thought.” He smiles. “I’ll hold you to that.” He wraps his robe around him tighter. “I’ll check on the kids and get dressed. You can pull your leggings up for now.”

You stand up and adjust yourself, “Leave the door open so I can hear the kids.” You tell him, then you check your office Messenger tool and your collaborative work program.

A message pops up, “I know you’re at home, but don’t forget to sign off on last week’s vouchers. They should all be in the system.” It’s your boss.

You sigh. A nasty thought enters your mind. You are tempted to respond with something like “I’ll do them while my husband rails me from behind. Picture me getting fucked hard as I review your paperwork.” But as much as you’d love to have your old, conservative leaning boss turn red with embarrassment by your ‘filthy language’, you are a ‘good girl’ and so you respond instead with. “Of course. I’ll pull up the folder now and start working on them.” You take a sip of your coffee and focus on work.

After reviewing, and either approving or returning vouchers, you stand up and stretch. Your husband dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and typing a document so you don’t want to disturb him. Your coffee cup is empty, and you head back upstairs. The kids are in the living room watching TV, your son still in his pajamas. “Why don’t you get dressed. If it stopped snowing, you can go outside.”

As you rinse your cup, you look out the window. The snow stopped falling and the backyard looks so beautiful. You open the sliding glass door, and touch the snow. It’s not too dry or too wet. Perfect for snowball fights and snowmen. You grab a scoop full of bird seed and throw it as far as you can. Small seeds scatter over a small section of the snow covered porch. “That should help until I can refill the feeder.” You say to whatever birds are hiding up in the trees. After you close the door, you head back down to the den. 

You walk up behind your husband. “Are you almost done?” you whisper in his ear.

“Almost… Why?” he asks. You put your wet cold hand at the back of his neck. “What the..?” he says as he turns unexpectedly.

Laughing you back up “I just wanted to tell you that it stopped snowing.” He reaches for you and tickles you. You love and hate when he does that. You laugh uncontrollably and lie on your side.

“Be thankful my hands aren’t cold and wet.” He says with an evil tone while crouching over you and still tickling.

“We’re ready. Is Mommy all right?” says your daughter from the den doorway, her big puffy coat is zipped up and her pink fuzzy mittens are on her hands.

Your husband stops and stands up. “Yes baby, Mommy’s all right. She played a trick on Daddy so I was tickling her.” He makes sure that your daughter’s coat is fastened. “Is your brother ready too?”

At the top of the stairs your son yells down, “Yeah, Let’s go.”

Your husband kisses your daughter and then she goes up the stairs and follows her brother.

Your husband sighs, “Let me do a little more work, then I’ll go out with the kids and clear the driveway and sidewalks.”

You get up off the floor and straighten your shirt. “Do you want soup and sandwiches for lunch?”

He nods as he sits back at his desk “That sounds good.”

You let him focus, as you return to your desk. Messages and emails have popped up since you stepped away. “No rest for the wicked.” You mutter.

Lunch is a can of chicken noodle soup mixed with a can of country vegetable along with grilled cheese sandwiches. The kids made a couple of lumpy snowmen, which you took pictures of with your phone. Your husband cleared the driveway and sidewalks. 

Watching the “News at Noon” while you eat, you see that the weather will be warmer tomorrow and things should reopen. You look at your husband, “I guess I need to focus on work today, and be ready to be back in the office tomorrow.” You have the kids make sure their homework is done and their school bags are packed. 

The rest of the afternoon is spent teleworking. Your husband finishes before you, packs up his laptop, and then heats up leftover casserole for dinner. When you finish, you also power off, and put your laptop into your work bag, which you put in the living room. The kids already have their school bags lined up too. 

Dinner goes smoothly and everyone helps clean up. Then everyone goes to the living room to watch TV. You snuggle on the couch next to your husband, as you let the kids pick some shows on the cartoon and family channels. Resting your head against your husband, you comment “Not a bad day.”

He places your hand on his crotch and whispers “Once we get the kids to bed, let’s make it better.”

At bedtime, your husband reads to your daughter, as your son brushes his teeth. In your bedroom, you pull off your yoga pants and top. Looking in the mirror you see the curves that motherhood brought on. Your body is a canvas of marks from giving birth and recovering. Your skin feels a little dry so you sit on the bed and rub some lotion on it.

“Want some help?” your husband asks softly as he closes the bedroom door.

“Are the kids in bed?” you ask

He nods. “If we give them a few minutes then you can do what you said in the den earlier.”

“What did I say?” you ask in mock innocence.

He walks closer and undoes his jeans, pulling out his soft prick. “That you’d take care of this.”

“Awww it looks tired. Maybe I should let it rest.” You playfully respond.

He sees the skin lotion on the bed, then goes to the night stand for the lube. “Being you are already putting lotion on, maybe I need some lotion too?”

“If I do, no anal tonight. I didn’t prep for it.” You say in a soft but direct tone.

He smiles and nods. “No anal. I love your pussy more anyway.” He says.

Part of you knows it’s not the entire truth. Yes, he loves your pussy, but the times you’ve let him fuck your ass, he cums quickly. His word is good though, so you take the bottle of lube from him. “Do you want standing or on the bed?” you ask.

“If we do doggie style, then standing. Unless you feel like riding me tonight?” There is a glint in his eye and a slightly wicked grin on his face.

“Maybe next time Dear, I’m a little tired and don’t feel like doing all the work.” 

You drip some lube on his soft member and slowly stroke it. He hardens quickly. It looks tasty. Nice, thick, and veiny, with a tip that gets darker the more excited he gets. “Mmmm, You are enjoying this.” You purr, then you lick the tip. The familiar flavor of the lube mixes with his natural flavors. Slowly you lick along the firm shaft as you hold near the tip. Then you take him in your mouth. You feel the firm spongy tip at the back of your mouth. You relax your throat to take him a bit deeper. You feel his hands on your head as he thrusts into your mouth. Your pussy tingles. He’s so hard and excited. You move your head back and take him out as you stroke his slick cock. “I don’t think you’ll last long, so let’s fuck.”

Getting on your hands and knees on the bed, you position your ass at the edge. You feel him slide your panties to the side, then rub his slick shaft along your wet pussy lips. He’s teasing you. Then a hand is on your lower back and you feel him work the tip between your hungry lips. Once in, he grabs your hips and pulls you solidly against him. It’s a little harder than you expected but not unpleasant. He works it in and out of you at a steady pace. You reach down and rub your clit. He notices and slows his rhythm. Your nipples rub against the blanket as he continues to fuck you. Between his actions and your rubbing of your clit, you feel your orgasm building.

“You like me fucking you like this.” He says in a low tone through clenched teeth. “I’m gonna fill that cunt of yours.” He pulls you tightly and holds it. His hard cock fills you so well. You rub faster as you cum. He’s throbbing inside of you too. You love when you both cum together. After a moment you realize that your other hand was gripping the blanket hard, so you release your grip as you feel him slide out of you. His warm lips kiss the back of your neck. “I’ve been wanting to do that to you all day.”

You turn, lie on your back, and pull him on top of you. “I’ve been wanting that all day.”

He hugs you for a moment, then releases you. “Let me get ready for bed.” He says, as you realize he’s still wearing his t-shirt along with his socks.

“I’ll put on a nightie too.” You say as you get up, wipe yourself with your panties, then put on a fresh set and cotton nightshirt.

“Awww, I thought you’d wear the sheer one.” He jokingly comments as he pulls on his shorts.

You smile, “Not tonight. I want something a bit warmer.”

You both get into bed, as he hold you loosely and you rest your head on his chest. “Goodnight Honey.” He says

“Goodnight Dear.” You reply and soon you both drift off to sleep.