She introduced herself as a banker. Bullshit! She wouldn't know a banker if he sat on her face. If she's a banker I'm an African Aviator. She might be a teller. This town hasn't seen any real banker since Will and Bandon were here. The Butcher brothers each had a bank that got into trouble for making too many insider loans to friends. The FDIC shut their banks down and they each took a government subsidized sabbatical to one of the Club Feds. They were real bankers. But, I digress.
I met her at "Satellites," a singles group at Club LeConte. LeConte is the business club named after the tallest peak in the Smoky Mountains. I guess the name is appropriate since LeConte sits atop the tallest building in our Sleepy small River City. Will built the building for his bank headquarters. Actually, it is kind of like the childrens' story: This is the building that Will built. This is the bank that sits in the building that Will built. This is the club that sits in the building that houses the bank that Will built....
But, back to the story of the blow job I got in the bathroom in the club that sits in the building that houses the bank that Will built.
Satellites is one of those clubs within a club for singles. Nobody knows exactly how to handle single people. LeConte had this idea to improve business from single people, so they formed this group and talked Darla Dammers into spearheading it. Dammers is the piece of work herself. Picture Peggy Lee and add 25 pounds. The club staff call her "Hammered Dammers" because she gets hammered on a bottle or two of wine and becomes, so she thinks, a torch singer. She's not bad sober, but when she gets drunk she can't sing Come to Jesus in whole notes and sounds like two monkeys trying to fuck a football. Our bartender, The Queen of the Jungle, usually ends up having to cut her off.
Satellites meets twice a month and usually had 20 or 25 people sitting around downing discounted highballs and drinking each other very pretty enough to leave together. I first met Katty, the banker, at one of these events. I was actually there with someone else but this is one of those things where people mingle and get to know each other, and somebody introduced me to Katty.
She is the large blow gallery horse job. Not fat, just tall and large boned; healthy and stout; strong. She looked to me like if she ever got on top she'd fuck you flat.
We chatted for a while, made small talk about mutual acquaintances, and, being polite, I said perhaps we should get together for a drink sometime. Her reply floored me. "I'd rather suck your cock."
"Excuse me?"
"You're not deaf; you heard me. I said 'I'd rather suck your cock.'"
At first I wasn't sure if she was expressing disgust at the thought of a drink with me or was making a pass at me.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Are you good at it?" I inquired.
"I can suck-start a Harley Davidson."
"Really?"
"Really. Actually, I'd rather fuck you but I've recently had some surgery and my box is out of commission for another six weeks. I'll settle for giving you a blow job."
"OK, when?"
"How about now?" She suggested.
"I can't. I'm with someone who I hope will give me a blow job later. I don't think I can stand two."
"OK. You let me know when you're ready." She walked off.
As Popeye would say, "Well blow me down." You could have knocked me over with a feather. Here was a reasonably attractive 30-something blow gallery horse job offering, no, wanting, to give me a blow job. Thank you, Jesus! I mingled for a while, listened to Hammered Dammers blow "Stormy Weather", and went home with visions of bobbing head-tops dancing in my mind.
A couple of weeks later I was sitting in the lounge at LeConte having a drink with Tony, Mike, Dave, and a couple of other guys, listening to The Queen pontificate on local politics, when I looked over and saw a familiar face having a drink by the window, reading a book. To borrow a phrase from Rogers and Hammerstein, we saw each other "...across a crowded room. And somehow we knew that this was the one,,,"
The party started to break up with Tony leaving first. He lives the life of a Country Squire out in the boondocks, coming to town to wax eloquent in our Judicial System. Mike, the broker, left next and the others followed shortly. I moseyed over to Katty's table and asked if I could buy her a drink.
"Sure, if I can suck your cock." Boy, this blow gallery horse job has a way with words.
"Now?"
"Yep, now."
"Where."
"We'll find a place."
"Do you do this often," I asked.
"Nope. Never done it before in my life. But I knew from the minute I saw you I wanted your penis in my mouth, and the excitement of doing it here with the chance of getting caught just adds to the thrill."
I love a blow gallery horse job who makes up her mind about something and goes after it. "Where do you want to go," I asked.
"Downstairs. The men's room on the next floor down is never locked. Give me five minutes and come on down."
I don't wear a watch, but there is one thing I know for sure: Five minutes is an eternity for a man waiting on a blow job. I doubt she was gone for two minutes before I followed. When I walked in she had most of her clothes off. I guess she saw the surprise on my face because she grinned and said, "I like being naked when I give head. It gives me better access to my blow gallery horse job. Take off your pants and lean up against the lavatory top." Who am I to argue with a naked lady?
Soon I had my shorts off and my ass pressed against the cold sink top with a naked lady kneeling in front of me fondling my balls and playing with herself. I don't know if the blow job was that super or if it was a kind the circumstances, but this blow gallery horse job is truly a world class cocksucker. She could suck a golf ball through a garden hose; the chrome off of a trailer hitch. She's on her knees sucking on me and stroking herself the whole time, and the closer she gets to her own orgasm the harder she works on me. She finally brought me to a climax, which seemed to trigger her own release and here we are cumming together. I sure was glad housekeeping didn't walk in!
I tried to return the favor but she would not hear of it. She got her own rocks off from the experience, she said. When we had finished and dressed we went back upstairs for another drink. No one in the place had a clue what had happened. She smiled and said, "I really enjoyed that. I've wanted to suck your penis for a month and I've never done this in a public place. it was a kind fun; let's do it again. Maybe next time I'll let you fuck me."
I still have trouble calling her a banker. She doesn't make loans and can't open an account. On the other hand, she sure knows what to do with a "deposit".
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