Money In My Pocket
We were both drunk out of our minds the first time it happened.
It was a party at Cindy Joiner's house. Cindy's always having parties and I was invited this time. Jack was invited too because he's popular that way. Everyone knows him and likewise. It's not a party, not really, if Jack Casey isn't there.
Jack Casey - for those not in the know - is a crazy motherfucker. He wears leather jackets to school, motorcycle boots even though he doesn't own a motorcycle and probably never will, and he's not afraid to mouth off to the teachers. And when I say mouth off, I totally mean he completely flips his shit and scares the hell out of everyone in the same room.
But despite his faults, Jack Casey can also be a pretty cool dude. I learned this in eighth grade when I didn't have a pencil to take my living environment test with. Jack Casey wasn't taking his test because he - and I quote - "Doesn't give two flying rats asses about this test anyway." and gave me his pencil. I thanked him and took my test.
That was the one and only time I had come into actual contact with Jack Casey.
Throughout the rest of middle school and up till now, Jack Casey was like a celebrity figure. He says cool shit, does cool shit, doesn't give a shit, and pretty much is the shit.
Jack Casey is the shit.
That's the general consensus anyway.
And he was there at Cindy Joiner's party. Leaning against a wall, trying not to fall, and talking loudly and obnoxiously to this girl next to him. I had a headache because I was beyond drunk at that point already and the music was starting to become a little much. My buddy Cole was off somewhere getting high or getting lucky, I didn't really remember, so I was all alone.
I was staring out at the crowd when Jack Casey laughed loudly at something the girl said to him and lost his footing. He fell into me, knocking my cup from my hands and splashing the amber liquid all over the carpet beneath our feet.
"Shit." I said at the same time Jack said, "Oops."
I glared at Jack as best I could under such heavy influence of alcohol and shoved his skinny frame away from me. I don't care if I'm drunk or not, I've got an image to keep up with. An image that quite clearly states in the caption that if you fuck with me, I'll fuck you up. I don't care if your name is Jack Casey and you have the nicest fucking eyes I've ever seen.
"Step off," I slur. Er, growl.
Jack scrunches up his face. "What?"
Jack leans in. "What?"
I lean in closer so he can hear me. "Step off."
"Oh!" he says, smiling all stupid and nodding like he fucking understands. Which I'm sure he doesn't. He's just scrawny and stupid and nodding because he's trying to get me to shut up.
I roll my eyes and try to turn away. Jack grabbed my arm. I was about to punch his lights out.
"Hey," he said. "Do you want to suck my dick?"
So, for three seconds there I seriously was going to cause him bodily harm. But then I thought about it. Like, we were both drunk. And everyone else here was drunk. And no one even saw the two of us together I found out later from Cole. And right when I was thinking that maybe that is so stupid I shouldn't have even considered it, Jack opened his fucking mouth.
"I'll give you twenty dollars."
"Alright." I had said.
Jack Casey positively beamed at me. So, alright. Shit wasn't going the way I thought it was, but that didn't matter. I was going to suck Jack Casey's dick and get twenty dollars out of the whole deal. That was marvelous as far as I was concerned.
I sucked Jack's cock in the closet across the hall from Cindy's bedroom. Jack grabbed my head and made these noises that made me a little hot while his dick was in my mouth and I ended up palming myself through my jeans. I'd never given anyone a blow job before because I don't swing that way, but I'd seen porn more than enough times (Seriously, my internet history could tell you that) and it didn't look that hard. Just, like, no teeth right?
Whatever. It didn't matter in the end anyway. Jack gave me my twenty, smacked me on the back, and left the closet. I spit his cum onto the floor and left the closet as well, wandering until I found an abandoned plastic cup and sipped from it to get Jack's flavor out of my mouth.
When I went home that night I felt pretty good about myself. I slept like a baby until Sunday night when I got up, ate three bowls of Lucky Charms, drank half a two-liter of Ginger Ale, jerked off once or twice, and went back to bed. It was a weekend well spent in my opinion.
I didn't dwell on the fact that I had Jack Casey's dick in my mouth on Saturday. Really, it wasn't even that big of a deal. It's not like I was gonna get a boner for Jack Casey any time soon (Except for in the closet but that's irony and I don't even want to go there), and I knew I sure as hell wasn't going to tell anybody about it.
Water under the bridge and all that.
It wasn't until that Monday, when Jack Casey got me alone after school, that I started to feel like maybe I was in way over my head.
I was waiting by the stop sign at the end of the road, thinking that Cole was about to stop messing around with that cunt Georgina and walk home with me. When I felt a tap at my shoulder, it wasn't Cole that was behind me.
Jack Casey in all of his psychopathic glory stood there looking like he belonged in a Twinks magazine or something with a cock in both hands and one in his ass. Maybe that's just me. He just looks like he could handle that.
Is that offensive? No. No, it's a compliment.
"What the fuck do you want?" I asked bluntly.
Jack shrugged. "Got a cigarette?"
"Do I fucking look like I have a cigarette?" I bit out. "Get out of here."
"Do you want to suck my dick again?"
I choked on spit. I glared. It was infinitely more impressive than the half assed one that I'd given him at the party. It's an art form, mother fucker.
"No. Stop asking me that."
"I only asked once. And you did."
"You gave me twenty dollars." I scoffed. "Do I look free to you?"
Jack Casey raises an eyebrow and I almost laugh because his eyebrows are brown and his hair is blond and clearly that shit is dyed.
"I did? Huh." he reaches into the pocket of his tight as skin jeans and pulls out a twenty. He hands it to me. "So. Suck my dick?"
Fuck anyone that judges me. I just made forty dollars in three days time. Jack Casey isn't exactly ugly, and he's cool around school, so even if people did find out (which I hope never fucking happens) it wouldn't be as bad as having sucked, like, David Reynolds' cock. Because that kid is greasy and weird and eats his own boogers. I've seen the little fucker do it too.
I could do a lot worse than Jack Casey.
So Jack and I walk the long trek up the hill to the football field, cross over the track, and get to it behind the bleachers. I don't get a hard-on this time because I'm kind of uncomfortable being in a place that is as public as this and I don't really get off on exhibitionism. I can tell Jack Casey does though because he's moaning like we're having full on sex and gripping the back of my head and thrusting really fucking hard.
I pull off and slip him into my hand instead. I glare up at him. "Can you not do it so hard? You're gonna bruise my throat."
Jack nods frantically, trying to guide my mouth back to his dick. "Yeah, whatever, just come back."
I roll my eyes but slip him back into my mouth anyway, finish him off, and let him cum into the air because under no circumstances is that nasty shit getting into my mouth again. It's just not happening, I don't care how much money he gives me.
Unless it's a fifty. I'll swallow for a fifty.
And that's how I sorta became Jack Casey's prostitute.
If nanna could see me now.