Scoundrel: A Novel of Lust, Sex and Hardcore Erotica

Bad!

Scoundrel

Reggie Chesterfield

Abernathy and Monroe

Scoundrel. Copyright © 2013 by Reggie Chesterfield.

This edition published in 2013 by Abernathy and Monroe.

eBook ISBN–13:  978-1-938107-31-3

eBook ISBN–10:  1-938107-31-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher. For more information, email: abernathyandmonroe@artrummedia.com

First published by New Tradition Books in 2003.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

For the goobs.

Contents

A Note to the Reader

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

A Final Thought

A Note to the Reader

Dear gentle reader,

What would you do if you were to lose the one thing that made you what you believe yourself to be? Your essence, so to speak? Whether you are a doctor, a lawyer or a garbage man, it would be terrible. After all, how would you feel if your identity was taken away?

Not very well, I suppose.

Well, the same thing can happen to other people. They can get a self image that is so dependent on something that if that one thing is taken away, they will be completely lost and void.

It can happen to doctors and lawyers as well as garbage men.

And, yes, it can happen to scoundrels. Even self-styled ones.

One

Bobby Thumb was one good looking dude, but his looks couldn’t keep him from groaning as he took a look out into the dining room. The second wave of the breakfast rush was just beginning. The place was particularly busy because it was the first of the month. Most of the town’s residents had just received their checks.

Well, guys, let’s get keep these people moving, he said to the cashiers in a way that closely resembled genuine sincerity. He couldn’t let the girls know exactly how he really felt. After all, he was the assistant manager. He was definitely on his way up in the fast food world and he couldn’t let a little thing like his inner disgust and disappointment in his job get in the way of his career path. Besides, this disgust was something that he couldn’t even admit to himself, much less anyone else. The fact of the matter was that it wasn’t even his job that caused this feeling. It was the feeling that no matter what he did, he just couldn’t get any respect because of how people viewed his job.

But this feeling was short-lived, however, because the excitement of the rush of customers did serve to elevate his mood. It always did. There was just something about seeing these people ordering food that always managed to put him back in exceptionally good spirits.

Cousin Junior’s Chicken House was the busiest restaurant in Bobby’s neck of the suburbs. And if anyone wanted to compare receipts, it was probably the busiest in town, including all those fancy all-you-could-eat steakhouses. However, no one wanted to do that. After all, what restaurant would want to go down on the record books as being less busy than a place called Cousin Junior’s Chicken House? The buffets may have offered more ways to become obese, but Cousin Junior’s did it with better chicken.

Cousin Junior’s was started by a quasi-Slim Pickens type named Junior Osgood who had originally begun with the intention of being a Colonel Sanders style restaurant owner. However, due to an ogre-like personality and an inability to read, he was soon relegated to a more conventional role. It was rumored that he had won the chicken franchise in a poker game, but no one knew whether that was true or not.

Regardless, after becoming fabulously wealthy, he had retired to finance porno movies and hang out at the country club. He had sold the chain of restaurants to the guy who played Cicero on the TV show, Cicero. This program was about a bratty kid, named—what else—Cicero. It would have been an annoying show by anyone’s standards, but what made it especially annoying was that the part of Cicero was played by a fat fully grown man. He was a James Coco look-alike who wore a sailor’s suit and generally ran around causing mayhem. It had been off the air for several years, but due to syndication, it had become ubiquitous. This made the novelty wear even thinner. Needless to say, by Hollywood standards, it was a smashing success. Whenever Bobby saw it on TV, he always and without a moment’s hesitation turned the channel.

It wasn’t just that he hated the show, because he did. It was that Cicero was also the spokesman for Cousin Junior’s. Even worse was that while he had never met Cicero in person, he was never far from him while he was at work. Cicero’s face adorned everything from the overhead menu to the restroom decorations. While his image was a presence in the restaurant, Cicero, on the other hand, spent most of his time attending Cicero conventions. Yes, there were Cicero conventions.

Bobby had been working at Cousin Junior’s ever since he had flunked out of junior college five years earlier. His dreams of becoming a rocket scientist dashed, he lounged around his parents’ house for six months before they finally got fed up with him and told him to either get a job or hit the road. While he had considered a career in the banking industry, he just wasn’t motivated enough to actually make the appropriate contacts. Cousin Junior’s was the first and last place he applied and he had charmed the manager to such an extent that she had hired him on the spot. Bobby was definitely aware of how good looking he was. In fact, he would probably have been considered handsome if he had worked somewhere else. The problem with being the assistant manager of a chicken joint was that nobody could or would see through the grease.

He leaned up against the shake machine as he watched over the cashiers. He beamed at the people standing in line in a way that vaguely suggested to them that they were his favorite customers. It was something that was instilled in him during his training at Chicken University, the management training facility for Cousin Junior’s.

Aside from the usual check-day rabble, the customers were mostly businessmen and construction workers who each held him in an equal amount of contempt. The businessmen looked at him as though he was some kind of loser who didn’t have what it took for the real world and the construction workers acted like he was some sort of lazy no-good who was too worthless to do an honest hard days labor. While they were both right to a certain extent, he was still hurt by the fact that he just couldn’t win with these people. However the smile wasn’t forced, he truly enjoyed seeing them. But it wasn’t just because they were buying the chicken biscuits.

Oh, good morning, Mr. Kelly, he said to one fat, oafish lout in a charcoal business suit. The man looked like a dumpling in polyester blend. He smiled as widely as he could.

Mr. Kelly looked at him as though he was a piece of horse feces. How dare someone of Bobby’s status address the most successful insurance agent in town in such a manner! He didn’t bother to return Bobby’s greeting.

Bobby knew full well what Mr. Kelly thought about him and didn’t care. He continued to smile.

Good morning, Mayor Wilson, he said cordially to a fierce looking dark-haired man in his late forties. This man looked like he would kick dogs and yell at children with equal enthusiasm.

You still serving breakfast? The mayor said without acknowledgement.

Oh, yes, of course. We’re still serving… Bobby attempted to answer, never once dropping his smile.

Good answer, dickhead, the mayor said and placed his order with the cashier, dismissing anything else that Bobby may have wanted to add. Had he actually wanted to say anything, that is.

The next customer up was a scroungy, silver-haired construction worker, who from the stench of alcohol surrounding him, was probably a roofer. Bobby showed him the same courtesy that he did all the other customers, even though he was definitely in the lower strata of town society. Outside of work, Bobby would have called him a scumbag, here at the restaurant, however, he was a customer.

Good morning, sir. It’s certainly a beautiful day today, isn’t it?

Fuck off, homo, the roofer replied gruffly, steadying himself by leaning against the counter.

And so it was with each of the customers he spoke to. It was quite apparent that no one in the town had any sort of respect at all for Bobby Thumb. He knew that he was despised. But considering this, how could a person in his position be so cheerful? It was obvious that he was considered to be a scum by upstanding citizen and lowlife alike. It was just a curious situation.

Hi, Bobby, a curvaceous brown-haired woman in her mid-thirties said as she sauntered up the counter and interrupted him from his cheerful introspection. But then it all became obvious why coming to work put him in such a good mood. He was banging all the wives and daughters in town! Most notably, those of the most prominent citizens.

Oh, hi, Mrs. Wilson. Are you looking for your husband? He was just in here a few minutes ago, Bobby said his eyes darting down to her tight dress. Her breasts were bulging against the fabric and her ass was trying desperately to free itself as well. She was like a fertility goddess in that she connected with him on such a primal level. She just made him want to come. She was that hot. Her light brown hair and dark eyes only served to enhance this.

No, I think you know what I’m looking for, she said and smiled.

Bobby smiled just as widely. This was why he didn’t let any of the insults bother him. It was because they all came from the men. He didn’t care about them. In fact, he practically hated them. But he never made a scene or uttered a harsh word against them. It was the wives that he was interested in and he didn’t want to make them angry. The attention of the wives more than made up for any problems he had with the husbands. They also enabled him to get back at them in his own little way. It gave