Bowling Alley Bang! - Lady Devreux - ebook
Opis

When Vanessa left New Jersey, she did not realize how much her life would change. The former waitress discovered a knack for real estate in the Volunteer State, even if she couldn't find the right man. When a client invites her to visit his new club in an old bowling alley, little did she know what she was getting into, or that her son was going to be getting into her! Excerpt I was in utter shock- I didn’t even know how to react. I had never brought my dates home when my son still lived in the house. Although my son is not an idiot, and he must have known that I was sleeping with the men I went on dates with, I still didn’t want to bring anyone that wasn’t an actual boyfriend into his life. Most of the time, when I met men, I went back to their place. It was safer that way, and it kept this personal part of my life private. Now, there was no doubt- my eighteen year old son stood in the doorway, like a deer caught in the headlights. My son is not a bad looking man- standing at an even six foot, he was taller like me, but slim built like his father. I could see why an older woman, especially one who was open enough with her own sexual desires to be at a swing club, would pick him for the evening’s pleasure. His tousled brown-blonde hair made him look something like a surfer, though the closest he had been to California was one disaster of a vacation we took to Colorado, and his tanned face was pretty and boyish in a way. In the blue jeans and t-shirt that he wore, he looked like any good looking young man who was about to enter college. What surprised me was how much his date looked like me. She was shorter than I am - about five foot six, which is the average height for a woman- and she had larger breasts, probably due to the fact that she carried an extra twenty pounds or so on her frame. Her face was that of someone who was pretty and in her forties- not perfect, and not free of a wrinkle here or there- but the darkness of her eyes still drew in my gaze. She was dressed in a cocktail dress, black like my own outfit, and she had gold pumps on her feet. Oh my god, she even dresses like I do! What was worse- the fact that I was caught in the act, or the fact that Kevin was obviously about to fuck a woman who resembled me? I was speechless, and so was he- what could we even say in a situation like this? “That does look tasty,” the other brunette said, “Nice, thick tasty cum. Do you mind?” “No,” I said- I wasn’t paying attention to her question, so much as the fact that I still had no idea how to diffuse this weirdest of situations! It isn’t like there is some sort of rulebook about what to do when you run into your son at a swingers club! The brunette walked in the room, and kneeling before me, her hand lifted my dress-

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Contents

CHAPTER ONE Jersey Girl Volunteers

CHAPTER TWO Real Estate Realist

CHAPTER THREE Renovations

CHAPTER FOUR Swingers Lanes

CHAPTER FIVE Safety Swing

CHAPTER SIX The Belly Of The Beast

CHAPTER SEVEN By Invitation Only

CHAPTER EIGHT Solutions

CHAPTER NINE Other Books

CHAPTER ONE

Jersey Girl Volunteers

Chapter One: Jersey Girl Volunteers

If you would have told me even ten years ago that I would be living where and how I am living now, I would have laughed you out of the room!

I am a Jersey girl, and when I was about to turn thirty, I was still living in the same suburb outside of New York that I had always lived in- despite two marriages, despite two children, and despite the fact that the cost of living in that part of the world has skyrocketed, the Garden State was my home. People like to think of New Jersey as something of a turnpike rest stop, just a place where the excess from New York and Philadelphia ends up, but I am proud of my little home state- that is why I still have the horns of the Devils on my car. Our state is more than just bad caricatures on third rate cable networks- it is something like the New York City of yesterday, but with more grass and trees and less trash on the streets.

Then, husband number two decided to tell me- after we had some of the best sex of our marriage- that he was leaving me for a transsexual.

Yes, that’s right- my husband, a macho Italian American who refused to cry in front of me (even when we watched Ghost)- discovered that he liked manufactured pussy more than he liked my natural vagina.

I don’t have anything against trannies- they are who they are, just like we all are- but I was livid.

My first husband had at least cheated on me with a woman- even if she was a friend of mine- but this man who I never thought would leave me, was going to do so for a person who wasn’t even born a woman!

Calling my ex-husband gay didn’t phase him- in his mind, she was as much a woman as I am, and he was convinced that she would be the better wife than me. I am not going to debate the status of these people- I’ll leave that to conservatives who think everyone but them is going to hell, and liberals on their social crusades- but I am going to say that it hurt me more than even if he had fucked my sister. I never met his new person, and my son refused to meet them, but from what I have heard, there was no doubt that she had been born with a penis.

I am tall for a woman, five ten, and while their is no doubt as to the fact that I am a female- I have given birth, after all- starting when I was a girl, people made fun of me. They picked on me for my height, and they picked on me for the fact that I could shoot baskets or hit a baseball better than half of the boys in the neighborhood. I never tried to tone down my athletic ability, even though my mother warned me as I became a teenager that boys don’t like girls who are better than them at sports.

They also don’t like women who are smarter than them, or make more money.

I was good at math, from algebra to calculus, and this made me one of a half dozen girls in most of my classes. As I became an adult, I had the choice to go to almost any in state college or university that I wanted to go to- but I had never even had a boyfriend. Nope, not one.

You should never change yourself for someone else, no matter what the consequences are- if people don’t like you for you, then that is their problem.

Besides, what was the point of dumbing myself down, or purposefully becoming clumsy, simply to make some man feel better about himself?

In college, I was around a lot more people, and I did find some guys didn’t seem to mind me being me. Yes, they were not always guys that were the most physically attractive, or the most social, but so what?

They were genuine, just as I am.

I thought my second husband was genuine, too- even with his annoying traits, such as his love for violent movies, or his refusal to stop swearing like a sailor- and I thought that he didn’t like gay people. He always seemed to have it out for them. Yes, most guys then didn’t really accept gay people- but my husband always had something to say about them. If the guy at the front desk of a building had a pierced ear, or the guy who served us food wore his slacks just a little too tight, than Gino would use this as an excuse to rant and make crude jokes about them.

Ha, and he was the one to leave me for a former man!

When my husband made his announcement, there was no point in fighting with him anymore.

You can’t ever change a person’s sexual attractions- no matter what they are- so I wasn’t going to sit and try to reason with him. If Gino wanted to be with this other person, than he would be with them, as simple as that. When he left for work that morning, I quickly cleaned out everything I could fit into my old Caravan. I picked up my son at his school, and I just started driving.

I didn’t know where we were going- when the calls began, I chucked the phone out the window, somewhere in Maryland or Delaware. There was nothing more to say to Gino- he could keep the house, he could shove it up his ass (along with anything else he wanted to put up there), but I was done.

In any marriage, people make sacrifices.

Some of these sacrifices are reasonable- such as a man closing the lid of the toilet, since he now lives with a woman, or a woman not leaving tampons out on the counter top- but some people expect too much. Yes, any romantic relationship is about compromise. Compromise does not mean that one person gives up everything about themselves, though.

It was my fault that I had quit college when I got pregnant with my son- I can sit here and blame my first husband, but I was just as guilty for allowing him to talk me into leaving school as he was. I should have told him that I was going to get my degree, even if I was a mom- but instead, I stopped going to class, and I played housewife. I moved into the basement of his parents house, and I ended up going through hell with his mother and sisters. I come from a big Catholic family, too- my parents are Irish- but this was nothing compared to living with three Italian women with attitudes. They expected me to join them in their activities, from cleaning the carpets to going shopping, and half the reason that marriage failed was because of this meddling in every single aspect of our relationship.

After we divorced, I had to find a job, and I soon learned that starting school but not finishing only meant that I had a high school diploma and student loans. So I did what a lot of women do in these circumstances- I waited tables.

It wasn’t my first choice of work, but I was good at it- with my natural build, I could easily balance trays and drinks- and with my math ability, I knew how to jigger the books just right. I met Gino at the restaurant, and he never forced me to quit working- he encouraged it- but if he only knew what I really made, he would have had second thoughts.

Now, though, as I pulled into a gas station somewhere around Baltimore, things were going to be different.

I told my son to open the atlas to the first page he came to-this is where we would go- he did, and it landed on Tennessee.

I had no family outside of the Northeast, and like a lot of people from that part of the world, I had never been further south or west.

My impressions of the South were not positive to say the least- from what people who went there for the winter told me, the people down there were a bunch of racist hillbillies (with the exception of south Florida, which was really just the furthest suburb of New York City). As I considered this, I thought about all the reasons why not to go: I don’t like racists, I hate country music, and even if the stereotypes were not true, I did know that Nashville would be absolutely nothing like New Jersey. It was unlikely that I would find a good bagel shop (you need Jewish people for bagels), let alone a good pizza (again, you need Italians for that.)

Yeah, and how has being married to Italians worked out for you?

This was a crazy decision to make- completely random, but when I woke up that morning and started sucking my husband’s cock, the last thing I expected to be told was that he was done with me.

Sometimes a change, even from something that we accept, is really a good thing. Plus, with the money I had wisely saved up, I knew that we would be able to find at least an apartment with no problems. Maybe people are reluctant to rent to a newly single mom, but if what the ads on the internet said was true, I had enough cash to pay for two or three years worth of rent up front. Tennessee may not be the place I would have chosen if life hadn’t suddenly taken a curve, but it was cheap.

You can always move back to Jersey, if it doesn’t work out.

Well, things did work out, for the most part.

I have now been in Tennessee for five years, and not only have a found a “job”, I have discovered a career: real estate.

Yes, this is a seller’s market- I am not the only Yankee to find that Tennessee is really a good state to live in- but there are plenty of other real estate agents.

What set me apart, is that I knew how to talk to my customers- who were mostly from the Tri-State Areas. Maybe I didn’t have the natural, sweet as honey voice that these Southern women seemed to cultivate (it took me six months of living in Tennessee to realize that “bless your heart” is not a compliment!), and maybe I didn’t have a huge set of fake breasts, but I am businesslike. Being a waitress in New Jersey, I also knew how to interact with many different groups of people.