Chicks before Dicks
Usual disclaimer: all persons mentioned in this story are over 18, and any resemblance of the characters to any real person, living, dead or undead, is strictly coincidental. It’s a short, one pager, about 2550 words long. As usual, there will be comments which say I have no likeable characters.
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“I don’t know, Jess, how would you feel if your husband had a girlfriend?”
“Oh, I’d cut his nuts off, take him for every penny he had, and leave him living out in the snow, barefoot and in rags.” She laughed at that. “Besides, I don’t have a boyfriend, I’ve just got an occasional fuck buddy.”
Jessica was hard to take, sometimes. She was pretty, kind of, in a sort of Stephanie Abrams-kind of way, a classic beauty but who had a bit of a hard edge look to her. Always fashionable, in perfect business attire, she commanded a room when she walked in, though not at this moment.
“Couldn’t he stay in that shed you guys have out back?” I asked her, drawing a big grin from her.
“Oh, yeah, I guess I could be that nice,” she laughed. “It’s metal, no insulation, just to hold the lawnmowers and chicken feed. The doors face northwest, don’t quite close tightly, so the winter wind gets in, but I guess it would be better for him than nothing. Maybe the barn would be better?”
“So why are you screwing Marcus when you’ve said David is a real stud?”
“Marcus is an awesome lay, too. I mean, they’re both great in bed, just different. David makes love to me, and does a great job, but Marcus just wants to fuck. You know how it is, Kris, sometimes a girl just needs to get taken, just needs to be savagely fucked.”
“So, with all of the duds out there, you find two studs, and hog them for yourself. Nice going, Jess.”
“Hey, you snooze, you lose.”
Sometimes Jessica Steele was hard to take. She was my partner and best friend in our up-and-coming law firm. We’d met at the University of Louisville Law School, and hit it off. Jess was a real shark in the courtroom, more than once leaving opposing attorneys in 200 lb heaps of red jello. She could take a marginal case and still come out a winner, finding the smallest of holes in an opponent’s case and widening them enough to drive a tractor-trailer through.
Me? I succeeded through intense preparation. Those tiny holes Jessica found in opponents’ cases? No opponent ever found a hole in my cases, because my legal aides and I were so absolutely thorough. Jessica was a shark in the courtroom, but my presentation was always quiet, so soft-spoken that the jury had to pay close attention to hear what I was saying, but I wove my cases so tight that there was no escape. Here in Frankfort, the state capital, there were always a lot of cases involving the state government, and we were damned good at them.
We were different in more than just our courtroom styles. Jessica was the power suit type. Today she had on a darker than Navy blue suit, perfectly tailored to her broad shouldered figure, pants perfectly creased, adding the feminine touches of barely there high heeled sandals with professionally pedicured, red painted nails, and a matching red broach where a neck tie would be on a man, her long, brunette hair almost to her elbows, in an ultrafeminine style that drew men’s attention to her, the way Hope Hicks had done when she wore that tuxedo to a state function in Japan.
My attire was more traditionally feminine, though always professional looking. Skirts and dresses more often than slacks, just a couple of inches above the knee, and more obviously feminine blouses than the ones Jess wore. If I could’ve worn my hair as long as hers and have it look right, I would, but once it got much past my shoulders, it kind of wimped out and looked ragged, so I had mine cut in a professional-style bob. Still, as an ash-blonde, it drew attention, as did my ice-blue eyes. And damn, we did make a devastating-looking pair.
David Blaine was Jessica’s husband, and they seemed a mispatched pair. David was a farmer, with 129 acres off Glenn’s Creek Road, just south of the county line, on the bluffs overlooking the Kentucky River. David raised corn and barley, and boarded horses for the daughters of wealthy families. He had goats and chickens and a few head of cattle. His hands were strong and calloused, because, despite his money — the farm had been his parents’ and his father’s parents before him — he worked his farm himself, with hired hands, of course, in all kinds of weather. He was kind of hard to get to know, but once you did, you saw a strong-looking man, but one with an unexpectedly soft heart. The barns were full of cats and other critters that he took in, and I guess that people knew that, because too often people just abandoned litters of kittens and puppies on the long, gravel road up to the farmhouse. I guess they knew those litters would be cared for.
He was, to put it simply, the kind of husband women would want.
And here Jessica was screwing around on him!
Marcus Grayson was another attorney, a solid criminal defense attorney. He was good, really good, and he won some tough cases that he shouldn’t have. Prosecutors in Franklin, Woodford and Fayette counties really hated him, because he cost them cases which should have been open-and-shut convictions. Very tall at 6'4" or so, with an athletic build, Marcus called on Jessica for help on a particularly tough case. Kentucky doesn’t have a particularly large black population, and Woodford County was even whiter than the state average, 92% white to just 5.4% black. A particularly nasty piece of work in a drug dealer named Tyrone Martin had been arrested and charged with the murder of one of his competitors, along with various other crimes.
The math was simple, and brutal. An all-white jury, a black defendant and a black attorney, even a good one, might not be an easy sell in Woodford.
So, Marcus made a smart move: he enlisted Jessica to try the case. Tall and strong, her brunette hair pulled back in a wide-barrette held ponytail, she was the defense attorney who captured the jury’s attention, poked holes in the prosecution’s case — aided by some sloppy work by the Woodford County Sheriff and the Kentucky State police — and she got Tyrone Martin off on murder, down to manslaughter, and acquitted of most of the other charges. Yeah, he’d still wind up in LaGrange, but it wouldn’t be for the rest of his worthless life.
Marcus made another smart move, one that got him in Jessica’s well-tailored pants. She hadn’t intended it at all, even though Marcus was undeniably good-looking, but a combination of red wine and wagyu steaks at a top restaurant in Versailles, and somehow, some way, Jess wound up in Marcus’ townhouse, her blouse and jacket still on, her pants around her ankles, bent over the back of a couch getting relentlessly hammered by Marcus’ cock.
I can still remember Jessica’s descriptions. His cock was big, though really, no bigger than her husband’s. His hands were huge, but softer than David’s, and his seduction style was just overwhelming, even to someone as alpha as Jess. She was so turned on that she came almost instantly when he speared into her, and then came again, three or four more times, before he unloaded deep within her.
It was almost indescribable, she told me, as though he loved her but was hate-fucking her at the same time.
Jessica was too smart to stay at his place, she told me, stopping at a drug store to pick up some Massengill to douche herself out before she got home. She said that she jumped in the shower, and then invited David in with her, to allay any suspicions, and, having douched herself out at a McDonald’s before she got home, she fucked him half to death without it being sloppy seconds.
Jess told me about it the next morning, and I was just shocked. Jessica was so attractive, so awesome, that she got hit on a lot, and always turned men down. She’d flash her wedding rings, and most guys would back away; the ones who forged on ahead were treated to the same withering, devastating retorts with which she destroyed opposing counsel in the courtroom. But Marcus got through to her, and she said that her resistance wasn’t even very strong. Yes, he broke through, but she had surrendered easily.
I had thought, hoped, that was just a one time failing. It wasn’t.
“What the fuck, Jess,” I had said when she came into the office late, around 10:30 one morning. She had that look, that freshly-fucked look, her face aglow, he clothes not quite right — something very obvious on the always-well-turned-out Ms Steele — and slightly stumbling in her heels.
“Marcus,” she simply said, as she plopped herself down unceremoniously on the couch in my office.
I shook my head at that, knowing what had happened, in a general sense. Then she gave me the details.
“I knew it was wrong, knew I shouldn’t do it, but I couldn’t help myself. When I left the farm, instead of turning left to come here, I turned right and headed for Versailles. I drove straight to Marcus’ office, and got there before him. I sat in my car, waiting and fidgeting, and when he showed up, ten minutes later, with just one look he knew why I was there.
“Well, he took me into his office, closed and locked the door, and just plain fucked me again. He started out gentle, kind of like David, actually, but didn’t stay that way. First it was missionary, which was kind of hard on that couch of his, but then he pulled out, turned me so that my knees were on the couch and my hands on the backrest, and then he took me from behind, hard, hard and fast. He had his hands on my hips, pulling me back and forth, helping him to slam into me even harder. I actually had to bend down further, and bite the back of his couch to keep from screaming, and I left teeth marks in the leather. Every time he looks at that couch from now on, he’ll remember.”
“Jess, you can’t keep doing this. David will find out, and where will you be then?”
“I know, Kris, I know. I’ve got to stop. I love David, love him to pieces, and he’s the perfect man for me, but Marcus is like a drug, you know, he just draws me in.”
“How can you love David and still be fucking Marcus?”
“Oh, Hell, Kris, Marcus is just sex, you know? It has nothing to do with whether I love David.”
“You think your husband would see it that way?”
“No, no, he wouldn’t.” He’d be furious.”
“Furious, absolutely, any man would be, but would he divorce you?”
“I don’t know, maybe, but you know Dave, he hardly ever gets mad, and he’s got that big, soft heart of his. We’d probably get past this.”
“You’re taking an awful chance, and there are a lot of girls out there who’d snap up David in a heartbeat if they could. You mess around, and they might just get that chance.”
“I’m not going to let that happen, Kris, I just won’t. I’ve just got to not see Marcus anymore, I guess. It’s just hard to do, knowing how awesome he is.”
“I don’t know, Jess, how would you feel if your husband had a girlfriend?”
After our conversation, Jessica went over to her office. We each had our own bathroom off of our offices, and Jess must’ve gone into hers to freshen up. When I saw her again, she was the same old, perfectly put together shark as always, not a hair out of place, makeup just barely there but perfect, he clothes perfectly in place. She had shed her suit jacket, and was in her ivory sleeveless satin blouse, talking to Jennifer, her paralegal. She had a small bruise, about the size of a man’s thumb, on the back of her left upper arm, where she couldn’t see it.
But David could see it. I could tell her, and she’d be able to change into a t-shirt and jeans when she got home, and that would hide it, but she’d told me before that David and she always sleep naked, so once they went to bed, if she wasn’t careful, he’d notice it.
I was torn here. I liked David, but Jess was my best friend. You’ve heard of the man code, bros before hoes? Well, for women, it’s chicks before dicks, so I had to pull her aside, and let her know about it.
But I had to do more than keep David from finding out; I had to stop her from fucking Marcus again. I didn’t know for sure, but I figured that Marcus was a player. He was tall, athletic and good looking, and girls probably dropped their panties for him all the time. He was educated and single, making good money, and was really a good catch, at least if you didn’t mind a catch who liked to fuck married women. Hell, most women seemed to think that his past didn’t matter, they’d be able to keep him at home. Yeah, right.
I wracked my brain, trying to think of ways to stop Marcus. I even thought of seducing him myself — after all, Jess said he was a real stud! — but telling him that if he wanted me, he had to dump Jess. I’m not married, so I could do that. I could go to Marcus and tell him that if he didn’t stop with Jess, I’d tell her husband, but that might not stop things and would just piss off my best friend. Besides, I knew that I couldn’t tell David!
But I also knew that he’d probably screwed a triple digit number of women, and there was no telling what was swimming around in his bloodstream. I figured that I ought to point that out to Jess, who’d never said anything about Marcus using a rubber. Hell, she said that she had to douche herself out that one time, which meant no rubber that time! Bitch was playing with fire!
It was three weeks later, when I saw the story in the Lexington Herald-Leader: Versailles Attorney Slain. It seemed that a jealous husband had walked up to Marcus in his office, and very calmly put a bullet in his brain. He hadn’t shot anyone else in the office, just Marcus, then turned and walked out.
So I called Paul Drake, a private investigator in Lexington, and asked, “Was that the husband of one of the women you found out about?”
“Yup! His name was Arthur Street, and that stupid lawyer was fucking his wife. I found six wives that shyster had been fucking, and sent the information, anonymously, to all of their husbands. I figgered one of them would get the job done. I’ll have the final bill ready for you by tomorrow.”
“OK, good. Remember, this is all cash. I’ve saved my best friend’s marriage and saved our firm, but I sure don’t want her to know I paid for all of that.”
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