Emancipating Emily – Chapter 3 (Part 2)

artwork by Joaquin Allen

Emancipating Emily – Chapter 3 (Part 2)
 
 
“You know why I like Audie Murphy so much?  Cuz he’s a regular guy, like me.  Just a regular bloke who came home from the war and spoke the truth.  And the truth is they don’t give a shit about any of us.  I mean, you don’t see twenty-two folks kill themselves every damn day when they feel honored.  Do you?”
 
Douglas was a seventy-one-year-old veteran and widower. 
 
He’d heard about The River from a buddy down at the VFW.
 
“Nah, man.  It’s not like that.  These chicks really care.  It’s not just business with them.  I can’t explain it.  It’s like having a house full of girlfriends who care.  In fact, I saw Dusty the other day while I was walking through the lounge on my way to see Vicky and as soon as she saw me she asked all about Becky and the kids.  She remembered from like a month before that Raylan was sposed to get her braces off last Monday, and she asked all about it.  Stood there talking to me for like forever too.  And the sex, man.  Ooooo  boy!  Let me just tell you…  THAT shit is something entirely different.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, Becky was pretty fantastic too.  Before the divorce.  But there’s just something about these women, Doug.  I’m telling ya.  Ya gotta try it.”
 
Jake and Doug had been drinking together every Friday night since Jake’s divorce, three years prior.  But he’d missed the last four in a row, and it wasn’t until two months later on a random Monday night when they’d both just happened to stop by the VFW on a whim that Douglas had found out why.
 
“Sorry, man.  I should have called you.  I just… I just got so caught up,” Jake told him with a glow on his face Doug hadn’t seen since Jake’s bachelor party.
 
Truth be told though, Doug just wanted to find someone to cuddle with, like him and his wife used to.  With Doug being the big spoon and all. 
 
He had tried once with a chick from the internet, but that hadn’t gone too well, as there had been loads of extra fees tacked on at the last minute, and a rough looking pimp had insisted on smoking crack in a car out in front of his house the entire time.
 
Another time Douglas had asked a massage therapist he’d gotten happy-endings from before.  But the woman at the strip-mall massage parlor, who didn’t speak hardly any English, just laughed and laughed.
 
So here he was, sitting on the end of the bed like a nervous schoolboy, even though he’d been around the block with a woman more times than he ever hoped to count.
 
“He never got over the horrors,” a middle-aged woman with bright eyes and a lovely smile told Douglas lightly, as she brushed a curl of grey hair back behind his ear. 
 
“But I think he learned to live with them.”
 
At her words, the man’s eyes lit like Roman candles, like a million Roman candles.
 
“He was something else.  Wasn’t he?” the woman named Roxanne asked as she leaned forward across his lap, so that she could reach his frosty copper cup.
 
Douglas had ordered a Russian mule downstairs, while he had waited on her, and Roxanne didn’t want him to miss out on it while it was still fresh.
 
Gently, she nestled it between his two cupped hands, which shook, though from nervousness or some neurological condition Roxanne (the former housewife with three grown and one deceased children) didn’t know.
 
Nor did she care, really.  Instead, she cared about the ache in his heart.
 
“How long has she been gone?” the slightly chubby woman in the too small tracksuit asked.
 
Mind you, Douglas loved the fact Roxanne’s little pink tracksuit was a size too small. 
 
In fact, Doug absolutely loved the way the woman’s extremely large breasts flopped out of it whenever she bent over.
 
Which happened more and more, as she quickly began taking care of him without a bit of instruction.
 
First, Roxanne removed his shoes, and then his socks.  Tugging on them playfully but making quick work of it all.
 
Then, she slid a tub of steaming hot water out from under a low table which ate up half the room.
 
Douglas dipped his pale feet into the water and moaned instantly at the pleasure of it.
 
The paid companion then set about the task of washing the man’s feet, and as she massaged, she inquired all about him.
 
“She’s been gone about two years now, though it seems like just yesterday they were calling to tell me about the shooting.”
 
“My god, Douglas, your wife was shot?”
 
“Yeah, in that Lexington mall shooting.  She bled out on the scene.  I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
 
“I’m so sorry,” the woman who had lost both of her parents just recently told him, truthfully, from one heart to another.
 
“You know, you’re nothing like I expected,” he told her as she began to methodically undress him.
 
As she worked, Roxanne washed and cleaned him with a hot towel she dipped in bowl full of steaming-hot and mildly fragrant water.
 
“Ohhhh” the man cooed as she gently massaged away every ounce of his pent-up tension.
 
Inch-by-inch Douglas could feel his shoulders falling away from his ears, until finally he couldn’t ever recall being so relaxed. 
 
Couldn’t remember much at all, for that matter. 
 
Which was okay, because soon the woman wasn’t speaking either. 
 
Soon her moist lips were racing along all of the places she had just cleaned. 
 
The expert sex-worker nudged him back onto the bed, and as he fell back onto the lush pillows, he crowed just a little - at the wonder of it all. 
 
At the splendor of it all.
 
Roxanne’s long fingernails traced lines up his chest, and her tongue raced back down each one. 
 
Setting each strip on fire - in a way he hadn’t known was still in him.
 
“There is no menu at The River,” the woman with the low and sultry voice reminded him, “as we work with your higher self here.  However, if there is something specific… that you’d like…”
 
Roxanne unzipped her tracksuit, then removed it completely, shaking out her long mahogany hair until it hung in thick rivulets all around her bare shoulders.
 
“Well,” Douglas began, after taking a second to clear his throat. 
 
“My wife used to do this thing with her tongue on the tip of my… my penis.”
 
The former housewife who was by nature an empathic intuitive, as well as an extremely sexually motivated human being, brought the man’s penis to within an inch of her red painted lips.
 
“Oh?” she asked, as she flicked her tongue, quick and teasingly, out over its head.
 
“Yeah.  She used to like to swallow too.”
 
Douglas’ smile was that of his thirteen-year-old self, back when he tried to convince Jennifer Patton to let him feel up inside her blouse.  And it was such a fun and feisty smile Roxanne couldn’t help but mimic it right back at him, right before she gobbled up his pecker.
 
“O. MY. GOD!” the old man hollered.  “What?  What is that you’re doing to me?  What?  What?  What?” his voice trailed off as he sank deeper into the softness.
 
Roxanne had only been working at The River for six months, but already she had picked up some rather fun new skills.  And Roxanne absolutely loved nothing better than getting confirmation her study time was well spent.
 
 
 

(to be cont.)
 
 
 
© Raena Exe 2023
 
 
*All characters, places, and events are completely fictional.
*All rights reserved.

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