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It was the end of a busy day and I was pulling out of an underground garage and onto Michigan Ave when I saw it happen. Now, I don’t have a lot of sympathy for bicycle messengers since I need to share the road with them but they think they own it, but I had to for her.
She was sitting on her bike waiting to cross the street when the cab clipped her front tire. The collision spun her around and she fell out into the street. Luckily there was not another car following the cab or she would have been killed. The cab kept going and I quickly jotted the name and number of the cab on the back of my business card and then drove the short distance to where she the accident occurred. She was obviously not injured too badly.
“YOU FUCKIN’ ASSHOLE!” she screamed as she flipped her finger at the shrinking back end of the cab.
“Are you OK?” I asked offering my hand to help her up. Her arm was bloody from the road rash she had received and she had apparently bit her lip in the fall since a small amount of blood trickled from her mouth.
“Yeah,” she replied. “Did you see that asshole?”
“Sure did,” I answered handing her the cab info I had written down. “Here’s his information.”
“Thanks. I’m gonna sue the bastard,” she snarled. Then she turned and looked at her bike.
“SHIT!” she screamed. “Look at my bike.”
Actually the bike did not look too bad, but I have ridden bikes long enough to know that the front wheel should not bend at a 90 degree angle.
“I don’t think you’ll be doing much riding on that,” I joked.
“Yeah, well I was finished for the day anyway,” she said picking the bike up. “I just need to drag this home and fix it.”
“Where’s ‘home’? Maybe I can give you a lift,” I said pointing to my Escalade.
“I live out by Garfield Park. Take the train in and out of Chicago”
“No problem,” I replied. “I take the ‘Ike’ back out of the city. I can drop you off. By the way, I’m Bill Walters”
“Zelda Jean,” she said extending her hand, “but my friends call me ‘Zeej’.”
“Well, Zeej, let’s go.” With that we loaded the wounded bike in the back of the SUV and the wounded biker in the front and drove off.
While we were driving making small talk I had a good opportunity to check her out. She was the king of girl that I hoped my daughter would not grow up to be. Black eyeliner and lipstick, short (shorter than mine) black spiked hair, four earrings in each ear plus one in her eyebrow and one through the side of her nose. I could tell from the tight fitting jersey that she wore that at least her left nipple was pierced.
Maybe if I was younger I might have liked her type. If it wasn’t for the hair, eyeliner, lipstick and piercing, she was probably an attractive girl. Not more than 20, athletically built but slim, she could have been attractive to someone like me, 25 years her senior. But she was too “punky” for my tastes.
On her arm was the tattoo of a snake. The head of the snake started at her wrist and it circled around her arm and disappeared under her jersey at her shoulder. God only knew where it ended.
“How’s the snake?” I asked as she examined the scrapes on her arm.
“Good thing he didn’t get damaged. I’d hunt that cabby bastard down and kill him,” she laughed, although I didn’t think she was joking.
We continued chatting as we drove along the highway towards her house and eventually reached her place. I pulled the bike out of the back of my Escalade and looked at Zeej.
“Around back,” she said and led me along a path to the back of the house. “Up there,” she pointed.
Zeej lived on the third floor and the only way up was a narrow outdoor staircase.
“Come on,” she said pushing me towards the stairs. “I do it every day.”
With a little effort, I carried the bike up the stairs and she led me into the small apartment that she called home. I would call it a clubhouse. Posters of punk groups hung from the walls and racks of CD’s and tapes littered the place.
“Sorry, the maid didn’t show up today,” she said kicking a path to the living room.
“No problem,” I replied. “I had a place like this in college. There were three of us living there…” I turned and realized that I had been talking to myself but in a minute Zeej reappeared in the doorway with a couple of beers.
“Here,” she said offering a bottle to me. “This should make up for the stairs. Grab a seat”
“Thanks,” I replied and clinked my bottle into hers and sat on the couch.
“Well, how can I thank you for your help?” she asked swigging her beer.
“No thanks necessary. Glad I was there to help you.”
Zeej got up and walked over to the couch and stood in front of me.
“I said, ‘how can I thank you’?” She looked straight into my eyes as if she knew the answer already. And with that she got on the couch facing me with her knees straddling my legs and planted a hard, deep kiss on my lips. Her tongue probed my mouth and by reflex probed back with mine. Regaining control I broke off and held her back.
“Zeej, şahinbey escort what are you doing?” I asked. “I didn’t come up here to hit on you. I’m old enough to be your father.”
“So what,” she answered. “I just want to thank you.” She reached down and grabbed the bottom of her jersey and pulled it up and over her head. I had been half right. Her left nipple had been pierced, but so had her right one also. Her two breasts, probably size 32A, had pert little nipples with gold rings through them.
She leaned forward and pushed her lips into mine and sucked on my tongue. Reaching for my hands, she found them and guided them onto her tits and pressed them hard. I couldn’t resist grabbing at her tits and feeling the nipples and rings under my hands. My mouth moved away from her lips and down her neck, shoulders and finally to one of her nipples. I licked the nipple and ring and she reacted by pushing my face into her tit.
Zeej reached down and found my belt and loosened it. After opening my pants, she broke away and knelt down in front of me. Her hand stoked the length of my hard cock inside my pants for a few seconds before she reached in and pulled it out. Without hesitation she leaned over and slid it in her mouth.
Slowly at first she sucked my cock but then picked up the pace and pistoned it into her mouth. All I could see is the top of her head, with spiked black hair, bobbing up and down on my pole. With her other hand she was massaging my balls.
As quickly as she had started Zeej stopped and stood up. She slid her shorts and panties to the floor, kicked them away and climbed back on my lap. Grabbing my cock in her hand, she positioned herself and dropped her wet pussy on to it. Leaning forward, she wrapper her arms around my neck and started wildly humping my cock.
Zeej was like an animal in heat. She was driving my cock into herself and sweating like mad. Her scent, that worked all day smell, was not unpleasant. Rather, it acted like an aphrodisiac on me and aroused me further. It was only a matter of minutes before she let out a soft cry indicating that she was cumming. She stopped rocking on my and I could feel her pussy pulsing and twitching as her orgasm hit her. She grabbed my face and drove her tongue into my mouth.
When her orgasm had released her from its grasp, she slid off and looked at my cock, which stood up straight and wet. She went back to work on it sucking on it and jacking me with her hand. It did not take long before I could feel my balls tighten and my load shoot into her mouth. She continued to pump with her hand as if she was milking every drop of cum out of me and when she had, she lifted her head.
Zeej parted her lips slightly to show me that she still had my load in her mouth and with a smile, swallowed it while I watched. She then leaned over and kissed me deeply again.
“Thanks,” she said and she got up and put her shorts and jersey on. I pulled my pants up and turned to her.
“You’re welcome. Any time.”
“Look,” she said back to me, “I appreciate what you did for me. Let’s not get all mushy about it. You know where the door is.”
“No problem,” I said sticking my hand out. “Glad I could help.”
She shook my hand and I turned and walked out the door. I figured I would never see her again.
It had been about one week since I had met Zeej on the street. I had enjoyed our tryst at her place, but it appeared to be a one-time thing and had not heard from her. I did not want to show up at her house since when we parted it seemed like she had “thanked” me enough.
My phone buzzed and I picked it up. My receptionist was on the other end.
“Mr. Walters, there is a package delivery here for you. You need to sign for it personally.” she announced.
“Send the delivery guy in, Mary, and I’ll take care of it,” I replied and went back to my paperwork.
I heard the door open and Mary say, “Mr. Walters will take care of you,” and the door shut. I looked up and there stood Zelda Jean. My cock stirred at the sight of her. She was in full “punk” regalia: a black T-shirt that was cut off just below her breasts, black cargo pants hanging on her hips exposing the top of a black thong, black makeup and several piercings.
“Zeej,” I said, surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a delivery for you,” she replied and walked across the office to my desk.
“Well, it’s nice of you to deliver it personally,” I said to her. “What do you have?”
She walked over to my side and took her messenger bag off her shoulder and laid it on the floor.
“These,” she said and she pulled off her T-shirt and exposed her small, tight tits.
“Zeej, we can’t do this here,” I said getting up, but she pushed me back into my chair.
“Why not?” she asked as she wriggled out of her pants. My cock hardened quickly as I gazed on her standing in front of me wearing nothing but thong that consisted of a couple of small pieces of cloth sewn together.
I stood up again. “I work here. I don’t think my boss would appreciate me fucking girls in my office”
“Tough shit,” she replied and pulled me close and pressed her lips against mine. She had that smell that I liked the day we met. I let my lips trace down to her neck and shoulder where I could taste the salty residue of her sweat. Looking down, I reached for the rings hanging from her nipples and tugged them gently.
“You remembered,” she gasped as a twinge of pain ran through her tits. “Harder.”
I tugged again this time holding the rings out away from her body and grotesquely stretching her nipples. I watched her expression as she winced in pain but refused to ask me to stop. When I did stop, she grabbed me around the neck are kissed me long and hard.
“Are you going to fuck me?” she asked.
Without answering I turned her around, bent her over my desk and quickly dropped my pants. Pulling her thong to one side, I slid my cock up to her pussy and thrust it in from behind her.
“Arggg…” she groaned as I buried myself deep into her pussy. She had been in my office for only a few minutes but her pussy was dripping with her juices and I easily slid in and out of her. My thighs slapped against her firm legs harder and harder as the pace quickened. She had reached underneath herself and was massaging her clit and I could feel her pussy tighten.
She cried softly as her orgasm pounded through her but I continued relentlessly. For another five minutes I rammed my cock while she played with herself. When she tightened up again and started to orgasm, my shaft exploded and I emptied my load into her.
I lay on her back for a minute while my cock slowly softened. I wanted to enjoy this since I don’t get laid at work everyday. OK, I never get laid at work. I guess the picture of Zeej and me would tell you why. Here is a 20 year old, at the most, lying face down on my desk. Here I am, a 45-year-old marketing executive, with my pants around my ankles and my cock buried in this punk-bike chick’s pussy. No, this doesn’t happen everyday to me.
I slowly got up and pulled my pants up. Zeej turned over, sat up on the desk and spread her legs.
“Want to clean me up?” she asked. How could I resist? Her pussy glistened with my cum and her juices and I dropped to my knees in front of her and slipped my tongue into her. She smiled as I licked her clean.
“That’s enough,” she said pushing me away getting dressed.
“So how did you find me?” I asked her as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
Zeej held up my business card that I had given her on the day of the accident.
“Oh, I forgot.”
“I didn’t,” she replied. Then she grabbed a piece of paper off my desk and wrote down a number. “Call me,” she said, and she handed it to me and walked out the door.
I knew I would never call her. Would I?
It had been three days since Zeej had visited me at my office and I sat there unfolding and folding the piece of paper with her phone number on it. I had retrieved it out of the trash twice, not knowing why I had thrown it away, but also not knowing why I pulled it back out.
Zeej was a walk on the wild side for me. She was a young, punk-style chick with a tight body and I was a middle-aged executive in a three-piece suit. Maybe I was a walk on the wild side for her, but I doubted it. Zeej impressed me as the type that had sex for fun and I was part of the fun. If I had not been in that day, she would have fucked my boss, the janitor or even Mary. She didn’t like me, she just used me.
But her scent, her smell and touch came back to me.
I picked up the phone and started to call her number but before the first ring hung it back up. I folded her number, tossed it in the trash and got up to leave stopping only to pull the number out of the trash once again and toss it into my desk drawer.
“You never know,” I thought to myself.
I took the elevator down to the garage below the building and headed to where my car was parked. There, sitting on top of the hood of my Escalade, was Zeej. She looked great. Still punky, but great. She had on a black halter-top, black skirt that hung loosely off of her hips and black makeup. Were those black combat boots? Black… always black.
“You never called,” she said with an attitude.
“Zeej, what do you want?” I asked. “Where do you think this is going to go?”
She slid off the hood, not doing any favor to my paint job, and walked over to me.
“Are you too good for me?” she asked annoyed. “Are you TOO FUCKIN’ GOOD FOR ME?”
Her voice echoed through the garage. I grabbed her arm, unlocked car and threw her in the back seat and climbed in after her.
“What is the matter with you?” I asked her. “What are you trying to do?”
“I just want to see you, that’s all,” she said in a somewhat calmer voice.
“See me?” I asked incredulously. “See me? We’ve only seen each other twice and we fucked both times.”
“So, don’t you think you would be happier fucking someone your age?”
I had no idea why that came out of my mouth. I sounded like Dr. Ruth or someone like that. “Now deary, don’t you think it would be better to play with kids your own age?” Here was a girl who wanted to have sex with me, was damn good at it and I was pushing her away.
Zeej just stared at me. I knew that couldn’t be a tear in her eye. She was a tough chick and a tear would never fall from her eye.
“Look, Zeej,” I continued, “you’re a nice kid and all but what do you see in me?”
She was looking deep into my eyes and I sensed she was ready to turn and climb out of the car. I was hoping she would. I was hoping she wouldn’t. I didn’t know what I hoped for.
Zeej was less ambiguous. She lifted her leg over my legs, sat on my lap facing me, grabbed the sides of my head and pulled my mouth to hers. Our tongues met twisting and dancing inside her mouth. She was leaning forward now, my head was pushed up against the headrest, kissing me hard and long. All the while, she was driving herself into my lap.
She broke off the kiss, reached down and unbuckled my pants freeing my cock in the process. She squeezed it hard and pre-cum squirted from the top. With her finger she scooped up a drop, lifted it to her mouth and slipped it in her mouth seductively. Her eyes never left mine.
Pulling up her skirt, she lifted herself onto my cock and dropped hard onto it. It slid into her comfortably and an expression of satisfaction spread across her face. Grabbing the headrest behind me, Zeej started lifting and dropping, driving my cock in and out of her pussy.
“Oh… fuck… yeah,” she moaned as she rode me hard. She clenched her muscles on the up stroke and it felt like she was trying to pull my cock off my body. She was bending at her hips angling my cock into her to get the most satisfaction for herself.
Zeej continued controlling her movements with me along for the ride. The interior of the car was heating up and sweat was rolling off her face as she rode me like a bronco. Her scent hit me and I couldn’t take anymore and my cock exploded inside her.
“Shit, not yet,” she said pounding faster on me.
My cock had finished its spasms and was super sensitive but Zeej continued bouncing on it. I grimaced as my pleasure turned to pain and I grabbed her hips to try to get her to stop but she knocked my hands aside. She reached down and started to stroke herself and within seconds her orgasm her like a punch. She gave out a high-pitch wail and collapsed on me, her vaginal muscles twitching around my cock.
Her head rested on my shoulder and I held her tightly hoping she would not move. For one reason, the sensitivity in my cock had not subsided. But more importantly, she felt good and smelled good pressing tightly against my body. There was something between us. I knew it for sure; well I thought it for sure. Zeej, on the other hand, didn’t. She flipped over and sat next to me.
“Got a handkerchief or something?” she asked. I reached down to my pants, which were around my ankles, pulled out a handkerchief and handed it too her. She reached between her legs and dabbed at my cum leaking from between her legs.
“Thanks,” she said tossing it back to me as she opened the door and jumped out. “Later.”
And she walked away leaving me sitting in the car wondering what had hit me, and whether it would hit me again.
I had not seen her. I had not called her. But in my mind I saw her and talked to her everyday. She had not shown up at my office and whenever I was out on the street I looked for her on her bike. There were plenty of bike messengers, but none like Zeej.
Maybe she was out of business. Her bike was in bad shape after the accident, but doesn’t she have a spare? After all, it is her business. You can’t pay the bills if you aren’t working. Maybe that was it. He didn’t remember seeing her bike in the garage the other day. That had to be it. She had no wheels.
I grabbed the yellow pages and looked up “Bicycles” and found there was only one store in the downtown area. I guess not many executives ride their bikes downtown. After work, I’d headed over there and check out some bikes. The place was wall-to-wall bikes and a rather pleasant, non-messenger type of guy greeted me.
“I was wondering if you could help me with something,” I started off with. “Do you do a lot of work with bike messengers in this area?”
“Yeah, a few,” he replied.
“Would you happen to know a girl by the name of Zelda Jean?” I asked. “They call her Zeej.”
The salesman eyed me suspiciously.
“You a cop?” he asked. I guess a guy in a suit asking about Zeej would make anyone suspicious.
“No, I witnessed an accident she had and I haven’t seen her on the street in a while,” I lied.
“Yeah, she wrecked her bike. She needed a new wheel but I didn’t have one in stock and needed to order one for her. She rides one of these.” He walked over to a bike hanging from a rack. “It’s a Sirrus Elite.”
I walked over to the bike and looked at it, not knowing what made a bike elite or not elite. I turned the price tag over.
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