While I’m not exactly proud to admit it, I’ve slept with a few married women. And all these blushing brides lived in ’Possum Hollow, that quaint little community nestled between two mountain ridges in Northern Michigan. Here are their stories, with names and certain details changed to protect the guilty… not that they deserve it.
I should’ve known she was trouble the moment Desperate Deena walked in to Sawdust Corners with her girlfriend, Hot E. Tatrotsky. She was hot, drunk, and making it known that she was looking for some action. Her gigantic boobs were bursting at the seams of her low-cut blouse and if her jeans were any tighter, I would’ve sworn they were painted on. The tramp stamp and thong were nice touches, as was her wedding ring. Fortunately, this last detail meant little to me, as hooking up with the Real Housewives of ’Possum Hollow had become a bit of a hobby of mine. But despite my experience in humping Hollow honeys, I wasn’t prepared for the level of weirdness that Desperate Deena brought to the party.
Her story was as old as ’Possum Hollow, itself: she got married straight out of high school, pushed out a couple of rugrats, and now she’s unhappy with life in the trailer park with her no-good pig of a husband. Boo hoo! I reassured her that I was all about having a good time and at precisely that moment, the conversation took a sharp left turn that left ’Possum Hollow and entered straight into the Twilight Zone. All of a sudden she started getting loud, insisting that I had better “love her and treat her like a lady” before she’ll go home with me that night and fuck my brains out. She’s not the kind of girl who “does this kinda thing,” after all, yadda yadda yadda.
That’s when I excused myself and headed outside for some fresh air, hoping Deena would eventually forget I was there. Ten minutes later, Hot E. Tatrotsky came outside and we got to talking about Deena’s outburst. Tatrotsky said, “I don’t think she understands how the game is played.” Although I’m unsure what else was said, I do remember Mrs. Tatrotsky and I began making out, with me eventually removing both of her boobs from their holster, unzipping her jeans, and using my finger to diddle her clit, making her entire nether-region rather moist and welcoming. Before we could get any further, however, Desperate Deena came stumbling outside, screaming Tatrotsky’s name at the top of her lungs as if the two had somehow gotten separated in the deep, dark woods.
Then, Deena’s eyes fell upon Tatrotsky and I in our rather compromising position.
When Deena began shrieking at the top of her lungs, Hot E. Tatrotsky moved faster than I’ve seen another big girl move. In one fluid motion, she leaped off the hood of the car, inserted her boobs back where they came from, and zipped up her jeans. Deena kept going on and on, saying, “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” and other drunken ramblings. Tatrotsky ran to her and, putting an arm around her shoulder to hold her up, led Deena to the car and eventually stuffed her into the passenger seat amid her protestations. When I tried to get Tatrotsky’s phone number, Deena screamed, “Take me home! Now!” Poor Hot E. gave me a helpless shrug before getting into the car, the wheels spitting gravel as she peeled out of there and down the long, dark country roads leading in and out of Sawdust Corners, the culture center of ’Possum Hollow.
Like Hot E. Tatrotsky, I also shrugged my shoulders at the whole thing. This kind of shit can happen in the strange world of hook-ups and random sex so it’s best to have a you-win-you-lose-some outlook on the whole thing. Besides, Deena’s meltdown brought all my friends out of the bar, so we had plenty of laughs – and rounds – discussing this sordid yet short-lived affair, which marked my last fling with any of the Real Housewives of ’Possum Hollow.
A word of advice, ladies: This is the world of booty calls, hook-ups, and one-night stands, NOT drama class. The men are only playing the role of Prince Charming, so don’t start actually believing you’re Cinderella.