Hustler erotic stories

Added: Rock Noggle - Date: 20.11.2021 18:14 - Views: 33850 - Clicks: 7220

No not green! I mean the movie Color of Money. Paul Newman before he became the king of salad dressing, Tom Cruise when he was still more…sane, I guess. And the still young, hot-as-hell Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, oh my god the ass on that woman. She was a fantasy of mine from the first time I saw that movie till…. As I was saying, I blame the Color of Money for my addiction to playing pool.

I went out the very next day and tried to find a Balabushka pool cue only to find out it was like trying to buy a true Stradivarius violin. There out there…if you have the money. Anyway, my shattered dreams aside, I started playing pool at the local pool hall. The guy that ran the place was called Art. He had probably been there longer than the tables. Half-Indian, Hustler erotic stories looked like he was made from the same mahogany as the table legs.

What that old man knew about pool and how to play it, well it could have filled volumes. I would love to say that he taught me all his secrets, but the truth is I think he was annoyed that I was even in the place. Nope, I learned to play by watching others play and by trying to do what they did.

Sometimes that worked, but not always.

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Then I made an amazing discovery. There were books on playing pool. Of course, I needed a place to learn to play without looking like a newbie. That was like throwing chum in the water for sharks and jumping in to pet them when they showed up. What I really needed was a pool table of my own. So using that classic strategy, I did what everyone without funds does: I mooched off my friends, or as the case would be.

His name is Greg Thompson, and we have been friends since high school. He had gone into the telecommunications business right out of school, meaning he went to work at a T-Mobile store selling cell phones, and now at the age of twenty two he was…still selling cell phones at a T-Moble store. I think he was assistant to the assistant floor manager. But…he had a pool table in Hustler erotic stories basement. He had a table! And he said I could come over and play whenever I wanted to play.

That was all that mattered!

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So on one of my typical Saturday afternoons with nothing to do, that was where I was. There was, unfortunately no one there for me to play against. Not that playing him was much of a challenge anyway. He really sucks at pool. Now his dad, Jack? Jack was always a good one to sit with between games,talking over a beer.

I think at times he sees me as the son he wished he had. I get all choked up when I think that. At Hustler erotic stories point back when we were in high school I made a joke about his younger sister being in the idde-bitty titty-comittee… and she heard me say it. She hates my guts with all the tenacity of a pit bull on a rope. She never spoke to me again, ignored me if I said hi, closed the door in my face when I came over.

I would practice things, trick shots, ball English, stuff like that…over there till I had them perfect.

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Then when I was sure I had the whatever-it-was-I-was-trying-to-learn-to-do-perfected I would go to Rackums and try to use that newly acquired skill to hustle the local players. I was so pissed at myself. This was no longer Hustler erotic stories a hobby, this was quickly becoming what I wanted to do for a living.

I wanted to play pool for a living, and here I was getting my ass handed to me by a bunch of geriatric cases at a local dime-a-play pool hall. With the balls being ignored for the moment, I was sitting with the edge of my butt on a wood stool, leaning my head against the side of my cue, rolling the hard wood across my eyebrows to try to relieve the growing headache between my eyes.

I looked up when I heard the basement door open and a rapid fire patter of feet down the stairs. Casandra who, upon seeing me, jumped like a snake had bitten her and screamed at the top of her lungs! Moving the cue out from my cheek, I spun it in my fingers, caught it, and then made it tap the floor. What if I had come down here naked? Everyone in her family calls her that. All her friends call her that. I leaned my pool cue back against my cheek and waited for her to leave so I could get back to this game of pool solitaire.

Panty sniffing is more his speed than mine. I just wish she would get whatever clothes she wanted to get and go her ass back upstairs. I could tell by the look my comment made that that was not likely to happen anytime soon. I know I saw something pink and lacy poking out from under there the last time I was up there. When I mentioned them, he claimed they were a gift from his girlfriend. He has a couple of what claim to be women that he flirts with on World of Warcraft. With lace around the top edge?

I just did hear the low whisper. I heard a long, steady stream of cuss words begin to peel the wallpaper off the walls. It was an easy shot that I managed to make look impossibly tricky. I mean, thank god I called the corner pocket at the last second. I looked up when Casandra opened the laundry room door. She was dressed Hustler erotic stories loose jogging shorts and a tank top.

I saw the straps of her sports bra.

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I went back to trying to get the six ball to go where I wanted it to go. Then yes they do count. Where the hell did you take English classes? Unlike you though, I graduated. I loved the blush that came to her face. I grinned at her embarrassment. I noticed then that the last couple of years had been more than kind to her. She was still not much more than flat chested but she had a very nice pair of legs, and from what I could see, she was filling out those shorts she was wearing rather nicely from behind.

Not finding it, and remembering I had already sunk it in the break, I did find the eight. How fucking pathetic. No… there were not words. Bringing my cue stick up till the end was nearly touching the ceiling, I popped down on the cue ball with enough force that it jumped into the air. When it came down, it hit the eight, kissing the ball on its black ass, then rolled down the side rail and tapped the nine-ball. The nine Hustler erotic stories to the corner pocket and hung there. The cue stopped right where I wanted it to be. And the eight dropped. I started to rack the balls for another game of nine ball.

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Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my wallet. Inside was the very last of my weekend winnings. I had given the punks at another local hole a thrashing. Then, feeling at the top of my game, I had gone to Rackums. Looking at Casandra, I wondered if I was about to make another one. I had let her tone finally get to me. I pulled three twenties from the wallet and laid them on the stool. She looked at the cash…just sitting there, all willing to give itself to her. I could see those new shoes she was thinking about written on her face. She moved a few feet closer to look at the money. Then she grimaced.

It was not an unattractive look, given it was not far from her normal pissed-at-the-world expression.

Hustler erotic stories

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