Big Girls Get the Blues

Big Girls Get the Blues

(#2 in the Big Girls Series, the sequel to Big Girls on Top)

Mercy Walker

This is an erotic short story, or episode. Big Girls Get the Blues is
19700
words (and
50
% longer than Big Girls on Top). Each episode stands alone, like a TV episode, but is part of a larger story.

WARNING: This story contains super-hot sex and erotic scenes, M/ F. For adults, 18 + only.

Big Girls Get the Blues

My bedroom smoldered with a fiery red glow, as if the world was on fire outside my bedroom window.
  My usual cool cotton sheets were a shimmering metallic gold, and they were burning my flesh as I lay on them.

But I didn’t care. 

Quinn was naked and on top of me, and wherever his bare flesh touched mine soothed the burning that raged
inside me
.  Every kiss quenched my hellish thirst.  And a storm of desire swelled deep inside me as his hard length opened me
;
stretching me and stoking that flaming desire, making me gasp and moan with every slow, powerful thrust of his hips.

Never leave me…

My eyes burned just thinking that indeed he would leave.  Quinn would leave me, and soon. 

I pulled myself away from those ice cold thoughts.  Those were the kind of thoughts that could kill you.  Freeze you to the core, to the spot, until you fr
o
ze solid and br
oke
into a million little pieces.

I kissed Quinn’s neck and pulled him closer, crushing my D cup breasts against his hard, muscular chest.  His breath hissed as the pressure of my flesh against his made the burn on his chest smart.  Just that little bit of pain made my desire for him grow.  That I could hurt him, and yet he still wanted me so damn desperately…

Mine…

Never leave me…

I r
ose
up, my lips grazing his ear.  I was about to tell him something earth shatteringly important…

But
a loud,
annoying buzzing cut me off.  There was a thudding too, and it wasn’t the deep, subtle beating of my heart.  This was the sound of King Kong banging against the front door of my apartment.

BUZZZZZZZZZZZ!

I shot upright in my bed, dragged so fast out of my
sinfully erotic dream by the rude ringing of my doorbell, and the violent beating someone was giving my front door, I just about fell out of bed.

I was covered in sweat, and my flesh felt painfully feverish.  Maybe I was coming down with something?
  I hauled myself out of
bed and
staggered as I fell over the empty bottle of Jim Beam I’d polished off after the Pirates game last night.

The jerk at the door rang the bell again, and my head started throbbing.  I was going to kill whoever it was. 
Then I’
d
tear their head off and hang it from my door bell, a subtle hint to any later door rattlers.

And then I was going back to bed.

Or maybe not…I didn’t want to be dreaming about Quinn.  All I wanted to do was forget about the sexy bastard.

I pulled
on
a fluffy pink robe my mother had bought me three Christmases ago, and moved slowly to the door.  Even though I was angry enough to commit homicide, I was still hung over.
Fast wasn’t on the menu.
 

I reached for the deadbolt and froze.

What if it was Quinn?

Shit…

After dreaming about him, seeing him in person would probably be lethal.

I hadn’t seen or heard from him since twenty minutes after I threw him out of my apartment…which was about five minutes after the best freaking sex I’d ever had in my life!

Focus…

Not that I wanted the arrogant prick to call me…no, I wanted him gone, out of my life forever.  But when he finally stopped calling for me to open the door and let him back in, I actually felt disappointment.  Well, I felt relief first.  But then there was disappointment.  And damn me to hell, I just couldn’t get myself to understand why.

I gulped… sucked in some air, and then yelled, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, you lazy coward,” Tammy Fay hollered back, her blunt alto seething.  “Open up before I set your apartment door on fire!”
   
 

Holy shit!
  I’d worked with Tammy Fay for nearly three years, and the one thing I knew for an absolute certainty was that Tammy Fay didn’t bluff.  She didn’t mints words, she didn’t exaggerate, and she didn’t threaten: she just did it.

“On the count of three!”  Tammy Fay called out.  “One…Two…”

When I yanked the door open I expected to see her holding a flaming
Molotov
cocktail.  But instead she had a casserole dish in one hand, a lit Virginia Slim in the other.

Tammy Fay’s cold blue eyes glowered at me
as
she looked
m
e up in down, just once, with contemp.  “You look like shit,” she said,
smoke coming out her lips like a dragon,
and then pushed past me
to
clomp down the hallway in her cork heeled platform shoes. 

She dropped the casserole dish on my kitchen counter
with a loud clatter
and flicked her cigarette ash in my sink.  She turned and gazed at me as I lagged behind, only now getting to the kitchen.

“You need to get your lazy, oversized butt back down to the club…pronto.”

Nice to know some things never changed.  I’d been visited by half the staff in the five days since I’d quit
Frisky Kittens
strip club.
  Each one of them had tried to play on my love and affection, even throwing in a little guilt for good measure.  That had been Shirley on Tuesday.  She’d said that Nadia (aka Crystal) had lost five pounds off her already emaciated
frame—the girl was on a new diet she read about in
Cosmo
.  No one had yet been able to get her to eat anything more than three oyster crackers a day.

That had made me waver…but I just threw it back in Shirley’s face.  “Just order a D’Carlos pizza from Brookline.  She’s from there, so she won’t be able to resist.”

But Tammy Fay was anything but tactful or subtle.  She was like a sledgehammer…or maybe one of those big wrecking balls they demolished buildings with.

“Did you hear me?” she yelled loud enough to wake the dead.  “You’ve gotta get back to work, and now!”

“I’m not deaf,” I said as I wobbled on over to my Mr. Coffee and started filling it with my favorite Columbian special roast.

“Well you look and move like a fucking corpse, I just thought you’d lost your hearing too.”

I turned and bared my teeth at her.  “Boy I’ve missed you.  So how the hell do I get you to leave my house?”

Tammy Fay looked around her and made a face like she smelled something rotting.  “Don’t worry, I’m not staying.”

“Thank go
d.”

She smiled at me, and her predatory baring of teeth was better than mine.  She really looked like she ate small, living animals for breakfast.

I felt a shiver roll up my spine.

“Mr. Magoo walked out last night.”

O
-o-o-o
h…so that was it
.  Mr. Magoo was Tammy Fay’s best tipper.  She walked out with a hundred bucks extra every night the bespeckled octogenarian sat in her section.  Hi
s
walking out had seriously cut into her tips.

“And I care why?”

Tammy put her cigarette out by dropping it in a cup I had in my sink.  It sizzled shortly as it met with the remnants of yesterday morning
’s
coffee.  I hadn’t done dishes in a few days.  A very not me thing, but I was busy
…l
ooking for a new job
…n
ursing a broken heart.

I shook that last thought out of my head and felt my headache stiffen to a migraine. 

“You care,” she said with a
n
uncomfortable certainty.

I looked up from my pounding headache and found her staring into my eyes.

“You’re a sap, and you’re going to regret it someday, but you care about everyone at the stupid shithole.”

I bristled when she called
Frisky Kittens
a shithole.  It had kept a roof over her head and food on her table for three years.  Where the hell did she get off
—?

Oh…

O-o-o-o-oh. 

“You’re good,” I said, leaning back against my well worn kitchen counter.  “You just about had me there.”

Tammy Fay took a step closer and the air in the room literally dropped about ten degrees. 
Creepy…

“I don’t need to get you, you moron.” She glared into my eyes as a nasty smirk curled her pink, glossy lips.  “You’ll be back by the end of the week.  We both know that.  I simply want you to speed it the hell up so I can keep my regulars, and lure Mr. Magoo back in.”

I had to ask.  “So what happened?”

Tammy huffed haughtily and leaned her hand on her hip.  “That beautiful dope, Quinn, didn’t know how to mix a bourbon old fashioned.  So Mr. Magoo got up and walked out.
”

“Shit…” I’d learned how to mix an old fashioned when I was twelve.  Even though they t
aught
it in most bartending courses, nobody ever ordered one, so you forgot it pretty quick. 

“Yeah,” Tammy said snarkily. “If this keeps up, we
’
ll only have drive by customers, and college jocks blowing th
r
ough some of Daddy’s allowance.”

That would be…terrible.  The tips would fall, and so would the morale. 
Frisky Kittens
would be deserted in no time.  Clubs closed their doors all the time.  Only repeat customers could keep a bar afloat.

But I didn’t care…right?

I gulped and felt a wave of guilt flutter up through my stomach.

Tammy Fay’s
glare softened, and her smirk turned to a knowing smile. 

The bitch…

“My work here is done.” She
flicked
the casserole dish with one of her lime colored fingernails.  “That’s from Shep…and don’t take too long getting back to the club.”  She turned and clomped towards my front door.

She stopped and turned back toward me before taking her leave.  “We’ve got a new dancer starting on
Saturday. 
I don’t think your boyfriend will be able to resist her.  I hear she’s all kinds of hotness.”

“He is
not
my boyfriend!”
I
shot back way too loudly.

Tammy Fay smiled with satisfaction as she pulled my door open and sauntered out into the hall, pulling
it
closed gently behind her.  She’d gotten me again.  The bitch knew how to push my buttons way too well.

Another reason not to go back.

And I already had a
nother
job I was going to start tonight.

Actually, I’d had four jobs in the last three days.  They…just weren’t me.

I guess I was pretty spoiled after working for Teddy for the last five years.

Gig number one was at a gay bar called
The
Hornet
: a four story former Polish Veterans club that sat under a huge, gothic stone train trestle—like a freaking troll under a bridge.  I’d been excited about the quick find…that was until my first night—Orgy Night.  And no, I’m not a prude, and seeing nearly two hundred men getting naked and t
h
rusty with each other wasn’t the problem.

The
problem was
that I was completely ignored by the clientele, and was asked by management to lug refill beer kegs not only to the first floor bar, but to the second floor bar as well…

Their muscle
-
bound bartenders didn’t want to
ruin
their manicures…

I quit on the spot
, but not before rolling a keg down the cramped space behind the first floor bar.  The delicate bar boys scattered like bowling pins, and I
majestically
wafted out of there like Angelina Jolie in
Salt
, when she killed and blew up everyone on that boat.

Job number two lasted exactly thirty seconds.  I’d gone in and talked to the manager at one of
Frisky Kittens’
primary competitors:
Temptations
on Bigelow Blvd
.

The interview went great, and I’d been promised the job.  But first I had to meet the owner.  He was young and cocky, and dressed like he’d fallen out of a VHS copy of
Scar Face
.