Wanted: A Bad Man, A Very Bad Man

Hard to believe and sad but true, most women back then didn't suck cock. Yet, Nancy Reagan did. Most women back then, even if they had oral sex with a man, would never allow him to cum in their mouths. Again, Nancy Reagan did. Yet, unlike their male counterparts, women don't keep count of their lovers. Begging the question, one would be curious to know not only how many sexual affairs President Trump has had but also how many lovers Melania Trump has had too.

Listed below are some of the whores of Hollywood. Some of the more obvious Hollywood whores, of course, are Kim Kardashian, Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, Rihanna, Taylor Swift, Scarlett Johansson, Mary-Kate Olsen, Nicki Minaj, Kate Hudson, and Christina Aguilera. Then, there are the swinging lifestyle whores, Rachael Ray, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Shirley MacLaine, Sharon Stone, Eva Longoria, Dolly Parton, Angelina Jolie, Halle Berry, Jada Pinkett Smith, Demi Moore, Megan Fox, and Rita Wilson. Then, are the longtime whores Pamela Anderson, Madonna, Jessica Biel, Julianne Moore, Mariah Carey, Pink, and the biggest whores of them all, Jennifer Lopez and Gwyneth Paltrow.

"Ah, I feel better getting all of that off my chest. I'm tired of these famous women judging me and making me feel like a whore then they're the real whores. They'd suck and fuck anyone for a movie role or for more fame and fortune."

Yet, if men can be whoremongers, why can't women be whores? So, what? What's the big deal? Why the double standard? Why are women made to feel guilty for wanting to have as much sex as men? Why must women hide their sexual wants, needs, and desires from men when men flaunt their sexual desires for women? When it comes to women wanting to have some sexual fun, why must men be so lopsidedly judgmental by calling them whores? Kettle black, how dare they?

"Whore! Dirty whore!"

As long as one is careful not to catch and transmit sexual diseases and/or have an unwanted pregnancy, what's wrong with sex? What's wrong with having sex with a multitude of people, male or female, heterosexual or homosexual? There are far worse things that people can do other than making love and having sex.

Sex is as normal as it's natural. As long as you don't force yourself on someone, as long as no means no, and as long as the sex is consensual between adults, even incestuous sex can be good. There's no greater love than the love that a son has for his MILF of a mother, that a daughter has for her hunk of a father, or that a sister and brother share.

"I love you, Mommy."

"Goodnight, Billie Bob."

"I love you, Daddy."

"Goodnight, Becky Sue."

"I love you, Billie Bob."

"I love you, Becky Sue."

# # #

Unable to resist, Susan was attracted to bad men. Over the years, she had known more than her share of them. Leg breakers and enforcers for the mob, her four, much older, stepbrothers were all bad men, very bad men. Her mother, a stripper, a prostitute, and an all-around whore, who had incestuous sex with all four of her sons before Susan was even born, only associated with and had sex with bad men, very bad men. Even Susan's ex-husband Bob, a Boston Police Officer turned undercover cop, was a bad man. He'd have to be a bad man to infiltrate a motorcycle gang and live to tell about it.

An ex-Army Ranger who served two tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq, Robert wanted to make a career of it. Until he was severely injured and shipped home, he had his sights on working as a mercenary and as a Black Ops operative for a defense contractor hired by the Pentagon. Because of that disappointment in his life's plan, he was angry. He started drinking.

The only time she saw him in action was when a man sexually assaulted her in a bar as she was leaving the ladies room. While his four friends cheered, he grabbed her by her arm, spun her around, and kissed her. Then, exposing her to everyone looking, he lifted her short skirt to grope her panty clad ass with one hand while pulling down her top to expose and fondle her naked breasts and finger her nipples with his other hand. Coming to her rescue as if her husband was Matt Damon as Jason Bourne, immediately and reactionarily without thinking, he took control of the situation before it escalated.

Unbeknownst to the five men, they sexually assaulted the wrong woman. Bob could do more with his fingers and feet than most men could do with their fists. By the time the man pulled his arm away from his wife's ass, Bob had broken it. Then, when four of his friends tried to help their friend, with the fight lasting only a minute, the four men lay sprawled out on the barroom floor unconscious and/or bleeding. As if he was a heavyweight MMA champion, happening all in a blur, she had never seen as many punches and kicks hitting their target as fast.

Right from the start, Bob had no intention of marrying anyone but when he met Susan, shit happened and he fell in love with her and married her. A bad man, a very bad man, a match made in Hell instead of in Heaven, just as she never should have married him, he never should have married her. Sadly, an understatement, not the perfect marriage and, to say the least, with him not the perfect husband, he beat her and abused her, especially whenever he came home drunk which seemingly towards the end was every night.

After having been casually introduced to him by her brother, they happened to unexpectedly meet again on the corner of Newbury and Boylston Streets during one of the Patriots Super Bowl parades. Out on her lunch hour, she was working at a modeling agency and he was working the crowd as a uniformed police officer when she caught her heel in a sewer grate and he helped her free her leg. With one thing leading to another, they had lunch together, dinner the next night, and sex that evening. Just as he was a bad man, a very bad man, she was a bad woman, a very bad woman.

# # #

A fifth-degree black belt in Judo, who trained ex-Navy Seals, ex-Green Berets, ex-Army Rangers, and ex-Delta Force men in advanced hand-to-hand combat on kill or be killed fighting techniques, he knew how and where to hit her without leaving a mark. He trained the best of the best. He trained those men who were done with their military service but who wanted to return to fight the enemy or to make some fast cash as private, corporate security. Since he couldn't return because of his injuries, well paid for his expertise, he was glad that he could help train others with the skills they'd need to stay alive.

Initially introduced to him by her baby stepbrother, Big Louie, a 6'9", 360-pound behemoth of a man, Robert was friends with her 6'6" 260-pound, identical twin stepbrothers, Vito and Guido. If her eldest stepbrother, Freddie, her smallest brother at 6'3" and 230 pounds, had known that her husband beat her, he would have killed him. A real psychopath, Freddie was the meanest and toughest of her four stepbrothers. He had no compunction about killing anyone who disrespected him or his family, and especially his kid stepsister.

A whirlwind romance, she fell in love with and married Bob, her soon to be ex-husband. With him a Boston police officer, she thought he was a nice man and a good guy. Obviously, her decision to date a nice man and to marry a good guy didn't last very long. Returning to how disjointedly violent her life used to be, convolutedly and subconsciously, she was sexually attracted to the meanest son-of-a-bitch she could find.

In the beginning, their marriage was good and she was happy. A sexual fetish she had and still has, she loved being taken by him. As long as he didn't hurt her, as long as he respected and obeyed their made in advance code word to stop, she loved being forced. An exhibitionist, she loved being stripped naked. She even enjoyed him exposing her to his drunken, on-the-job friends. She loved being disciplined and dominated by a domineering man who knew what he sexually wanted and how to get what he sexually wanted from a willing and submissive woman who knew what she wanted too.

The rough sex they had turned her on and gave her multiple orgasmic nights. Then, when the sex grew rougher, with him suffering from untreated, Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome, and he purposely hurting her while ignoring their secret, code word, she knew it was her time to leave him. After only three, violent years of marriage, she knew that if she stayed with him, he'd kill her. If he killed her, her stepbrother Freddie would kill him. She'd be dead, Bob would be dead, and Freddie would be in jail for life.

The last straw was when he shoved her down the cellar stars while she was carrying laundry after she talked back to him. She remembered falling but she didn't remember hitting her head on the cellar floor. She laid there like that for hours before getting her wits about her.

"Bitch," she remembered him saying before pushing a size 13 shoe against her shapely ass when she stood at the top of the stairs.

With dirty laundry flying everywhere, head over heels, she toppled down the entire flight of cellar stairs. She was lucky that he hadn't killed her. Yet, bleeding and unconscious, not checking on her to know if she was dead, alive, or severely injured, he left her there to suffer and/or to die. He closed the cellar door, turned off the light, and went to work. By the time he came home drunk hours later, she had packed her bags and, without leaving a note, saying goodbye, or expecting another empty apology, she was gone to live with her whore of a mother in Pennsylvania.

Over and again, long before she made the worst mistake of her life by marrying her ex-husband, cursed to be with the wrong man, she made the same mistakes with men. With her history repeating itself as if she was stuck in a Twilight Zone time warp with Rod Serling, she sure knew how to pick them. All the men she ever dated were brutes, criminals, felons, ex-cons, and men who had no idea how to treat a woman but they sure knew how to make love to and fuck a woman.

Perhaps because they had been in prison, as if this was their last, sexually intimate experience, they fucked her with wild abandon as if she was a bitch in heat and they were dirty dogs. Yet and alas, even though none of her friends had her wildly satisfying sex life, not everything was about sex. After seeing all of her friends happily married with children, envying them, she decided that she'd like to have a normal life with a good husband, a big house, and two children, a boy and a girl. She decided that she deserved better than being physically, emotionally, and sexually abused by men.

Yet, alas, instead of marrying a good man, she chose to marry a bad man. She married Bob. Perhaps, had she married a different sort of man, her life would have been different than it was now. Perhaps, she'd live in a nice house with a loving husband and two loving children. Perhaps, she'd be attending PTA meetings and driving her children to sporting activities instead of continuing to have sex with men who didn't respect her and who certainly didn't love her.

'Maybe it's time I dated a nice guy instead of a loser,' she thought before leaving Boston for Pennsylvania. 'Yet, where are all the nice guys? I'll never find my Mr. Right in a bar.'

# # #

The only life she knew since a child, she suddenly tired of being bullied, battered, beaten, and abused. John, a customer from the coffeeshop who sat at the same table every morning doing the crossword puzzle in ink in the newspaper always spoke to her. A bit shy and nerdy looking with horn-rimmed glasses, a suit, a white shirt, and a lackluster necktie, he found the courage to ask her out once but she declined his kind offer to dinner and a movie.

Perhaps, he or someone like him would have been the start of her having a normal relationship with a nice, good, kind, and caring man. Yet, interestingly enough, consciously or subconsciously rejecting that way of life, she turned him down for a date. She had never been with a man who didn't have muscles as big as his attitude and John looked as if she could take him in a fight. Nonetheless, tired of the lunacy and the endless drama, she was willing to look in a different direction to find the man of her dreams and to find love.

That morning, instead of allowing her long, lush, blonde hair to flow loosely over her shoulders ala Lady Godiva, instead of looking as if she had just been fucked all night, she tied her hair back with a ribbon. Something her mother never did but all the other moms did for the girls in her class, she never had anyone fix her hair, buy her new clothes, or make sure she ate breakfast. When all of the other girls in her class had new clothes for Easter, gifts for their birthdays, and presents under the tree for Christmas, she didn't.

Instead of being well adjusted and happy, she was angry. She learned to fight early after being teased and bullied for wearing her brothers' hand-me-down clothes to school. With her nearly 5'10" tall, taller than most of the other girls in her class, even they learned not to bully her and make fun of her, yet, they still dissed and demised her behind her back.

Instead of wearing tight jeans and a low-cut top, her usual uniform, she wore a short skirt, a respectable blouse, and high heels. Instead of looking like a whore, she looked more like a business woman. If she was carrying a for sale sign, she'd look like a realtor. If she was applying for a job, in the way that she was dressed and in the understated, hot way that she looked, she'd get it. Only, after quitting her job at the modeling agency, she already had a job as a novelist and a writer who wrote short stories for online fans.

"I don't look like myself. I look like someone else," she said to herself in the mirror while laughing. "Impossible to hide my big tits, I look like Loni Anderson playing Jennifer Marlowe from WKRP on her way to work," she said laughing.

She turned one way before turning the other to look at her shapely backside in her full-length mirror. Whether from the front, the back, or the side, Susan didn't have a bad side. With every side her good side, every side was as entertaining as it was distracting. Every side gave men something to see, stare at, and ogle while imagining her naked and having sex with her. Even when she was naked, especially when she was naked, every man's sexual fantasy and wet dream come true, she was the spectacle of sex and femininity.

# # #

As soon as she entered the coffeeshop, as if he was already psychically connected to her, John looked up from his crossword puzzle with an adoring gaze to say hi. With wide eyes and wildly smiling, he looked like a puppy waiting to be adopted. 'Pick me, pick me,' his face had that expectant look of hope that Susan would pick him for a date. With him not as attractive as the men she dated and certainly not as manly, he looked pathetic.

'He makes me feel as if I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel in looking for someone to love me and marry me,' she thought.

Instead of being taken, her preferred way of being sexually seduced by a man, a bad man, he looked at her lovingly and longingly as if she was his dream woman and his long, lost love. Never attracted to a weak man like that before, if only for her personal salvation and survival, making an internal mind switch, she needed to be attracted to such a man now. In the way that all of those beautiful women were sexually attracted to homely, rock musicians, she needed to encourage her sexual attraction for someone like him. Other than trouble, heartbreak, arrest, and murder, there was no future in dating bad men.

Yet, something that all men did, whether good or bad, John had a habit of doing too. Whether they were young men, old men, single men, married men, or divorced men, they all stared at her face before lowering their line of vision to stare down at the impressions her D cup breasts made in her blouse. Perhaps, from their mothers not breast feeding them or breast feeding them, only Sigmund Freud knows which for sure, most men love big tits.

Whether they were aware that they were staring, leering, or ogling, with their mouths suddenly shaped like goldfish looking for food, involuntarily, their lips parted as if they were ready to and longing to suck her tits while fingering her nipples. John was no different. Obviously, attracted to a big, breasted woman, he stared at her breasts as if he had never seen a woman with big tits before.

"Hi Susan," he said briefly looking up at her face before looking back down at her tits.

He talked to her tits before smiling and looking up at her again with a hopeful stare before glancing down at her bra and blouse clad breast again. He stared at her blouse and bra clad breasts as if he was dazed, hypnotized, and mesmerized by the sight of her big tits. Obviously, he was a breast man. Obviously, he was sexually attracted to her in the way that she wasn't sexually attracted to him.

'There, right there,' she thought. 'Like every other man, his lips just parted. Oh, my God. Why me? I feel like a nurse maid. I feel like an English milkmaid. I feel as if I'm sitting here topless. He makes me feel that my only worthy quality are my big tits.'

Yet, changing her modus of operandi, instead of giving him a casual nod before looking away and continuing to walk to the counter to order her usual, she stopped at his table.

"Hi, John," she said giving him a sexy smile. "How are you today?"

Instead of just saying a casual hello, as if she had said that she loved him and wanted to have sex with him, his face lit up with hope. As if he had any chance at all with her, he blushed with the sexual anticipation, no doubt, from his dirty thoughts. As soon as he finished choking on his coffee, he answered her.

"Good. I'm good," he said wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Other than Susan, I don't think I know your name. I'm John, John Good."

She gave him a smile while shaking his hand as if meeting him for the first time when they had casually known one another for months. With Good his last name, and with him seemingly a good man, was he a message from God that he was the good guy she was looking to find? Was he the man who'd change her life? Was this kismet? After ignoring him for months, was she meant to be with him?

"I'm Susan, Susan Jill Parker," she said while trying out her imagined new name as Susan Good or Susan Jill Good.

'Susan Good,' she thought. 'I like it. It's good to be Susan.'

# # #

Small talk was something that Susan didn't do nor was she good at doing. Always getting right to the point, she had a habit of speaking her mind and putting people in their place. She didn't like people enough, especially women, to waste her time idling gossiping with them. She had more male friends than she had female friends. Never having many friends, even when she was younger, even now, she'd rather be alone to read a book, play the piano, or to write a story.

Yet, she was different when in the company of a man, especially a bad man. More talkative, as if daring him to hit on her, she flirted with him and sexually teased him. Once she turned on her sex appeal, no man could resist her womanly charms. Yet, men, especially bad men, thought more of her as a good, sexual time whore than as a wife and as the mother to their children.

Every sexual relationship she had with a man was a volatile one. Once they were in an intimate, sexual relationship, as if daring him to hit her, she never knew when to stop talking, complaining, and berating him until a backhand found it's mark. Even then, never backing away from a fight, she always had the last word or the last punch, kick, or slap.

"Asshole! Fuck you!"

Brutally honest, from her beautiful face, to her long, naturally blonde, lush hair, to her big, bright, blue eyes, to her big breasts, to her shapely ass and legs, and to her statuesque height, there was nothing subtle about her. Just as she was the life of the party, and would never be ignored, she was hard to miss even in a crowd. More than her good looks were her big mouth and her sharp tongue.