Steve, the stepson, and Dana, his step sister were going to the movies but nothing good was playing. So, they went to a pool hall to buy some weed. There were problems.
Chapter 6: Steve and Dana This is a work of fiction. (and some humor) All characters are fictional and are 18+. Please leave your comments.
When Peggy’s hubby gave his son, Steve and his stepdaughter, Dana, money for the movies, he assumed they would really go to a movie. He was only interested in getting them out of the house because he really needed some “quality time” with Peggy. It had been so long since he’d fucked her that his eyeballs were swimming with cum.
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Steve and Dana jumped into the old pickup truck that Steve used to haul his lawn mower around to cut yards with. It was not too clean inside the cab and Steve had to clear away a half dozen empty soda cans and food wrappers to give Dana a spot to sit. This sudden need for him and Dana to get out of the house was unexpected or he would have cleaned the truck out.
There were no good movies playing at the theatre. So, Dana asked Steve if they could smoke some weed, instead. Steve thought about it and decided, why not? It would be a good way to get to know his new “sister”. Steve had heard of a place in town where you could buy pot. It was in an old building just off the state highway. It used to be a gas station, but now it is a seedy pool hall. Not the kind of place he would ever go on his own, but the only place he thought he could score some pot. He asked Dana what she thought. “Why not try? What could go wrong?”, she said.
They found the “pool hall”. You’d think a building that started out as a gas station would have plenty of space for vehicles to pull in and park. But here, there was no real parking area. He spotted a space between two junk cars parked in front of the building, where the gas pumps originally would have been. Steve gently pulled in. But without any warning, the right front side of the truck suddenly jolted and dropped down. Dana screamed. Steve nearly shit in his pants. “What happened?” she gasped. “I have no idea. We must have driven into a hole or something”. Steve jumped out and ran around to the front of the truck. In the angled glare of his headlights, he could see that his truck tire was lodged down in a gap in the concrete. “Oh shit, this is bad”, agonized Steve. Dana rolled down the passenger side window and asked, “Are we in a hole? What can we do?” “It looks like we drove into the spot where the gas pump used to be. I will ask for help inside. You stay here”. Dana said “no way, I am coming with you. It’s scary out here”. The two went inside.
They entered the area where there used to be a car lift for mechanic work. You could still smell the stale gasoline that had been in the building for decades. There were a few guys playing a game on a worn-out pool table in the middle of the room. Cigarette smoke clung to the still air like fog over a lake. The patrons were a bit rough looking. They all looked like they needed a shave and a shower. They did not appear like men who took their grooming tips from GQ Magazine. In fact, they probably could not read the instructions on a shampoo bottle before they used it. Their weak reading skills probably explained this group’s unwashed appearance. One guy was wearing old coveralls with the sleeves torn off. There was a name above the pocket. “Skippy” appeared to be on the fourth day of a three-day drunk. He looked like he needed some quality time at a day Spa. He had skinny arms that were too small for a full tattoo, so one arm had half a tat, and it was continued on the other arm. Worst of all, Dana noticed he had a “Mullet hairdo”. Uhhgg. She thought to herself “How 1980’s can this guy get?”
Steve stepped in front of Dana, as a protective measure, and asked if there was someone who could pull them out of that hole. “What hole?” Skippy asked. “The hole in your concrete right in front of the building!” Steve yelled in exacerbation. Dana squeezed his arm and whispered for him to calm down. She knew this could be a dangerous situation. She was the only girl, and this was shaping up to be just like the plot of a low budget teen movie. If so, it meant that she’d soon be the target of this group’s prurient interest. She would probably have to show them her boobs. Not that she had a problem with that, but for the plot of this story, showing boobs would be a terrible thing for this young innocent child.
One of the other fellows stepped forward. He was also dressed in Thrift Store Reject clothing. It said “Dean” on his shirt “Well, what kinda cash you got on you, to make us want to help you?” He leered at Dana, secretly hoping that they didn’t have any money and she’d soon be stripping for them on the pool table. (At least that is how the movie plot would go). Steve was too smart to answer this question. He knew that whatever money he flashed at them would not be “quite enough” to get their help. So, Steve said, “Dean? May I call you Dean? if that is your real name? Instead of cash, uh, do you take American Express?”
The rough looking characters in the pool hall all lost it. Everyone guffawed and verbally spelled out “L-M-F-A-O!! L-M-F-A-O!” They did not use the words. They literally spelled out the letters. Of course, L-M-F-A-O does not really roll off the tongue, so it was obvious that these guys thought it was some new, cool thing to say, and did not know it was an abbreviation for Laughing My Fucking Ass Off.
Dean shouted back at Steve, “Nobody takes American Express, DUMBASS!” The processing fees are ¾ of a point higher than VISA! Why ask such a dumb question? What kind of fools do you think we are?” (Note to reader. No one in this “Name sewn on the shirt’ gang could have made this comment, since they would be clueless about what a processing fee was).
Steve said, “I don’t know what kind of fools you are, we just met”. Steve and Dana looked at each other and both realized they had not intruded on a MENSA meeting. These guys were not geniuses. They were not meeting at this pool hall to launch a new high-tech venture, or to solve world hunger. Nor was it likely that any of them were former high school Class Presidents, or that any of them even finished high school. These boys probably did not even know what day of the week it was. They appeared to be genuine idiots.
Steve turned to Dana and quietly slipped her his cell phone. He whispered to her “Find Joey’s number and call him for help. Tell him to bring his dad’s truck and a tow chain. Tell him to hurry”.
“Yes, you are correct. American Express does charge exorbitant processing fees”, Steve admitted to the group. They all looked at each other as if to say, “What is he talking about?” Then Steve re-read the “note to reader message”, in a previous paragraph above, and realized that his American Express comment was totally out of context in this story. So, he started over. “Well, I probably have enough cash with me to pique your interest. It is yours if you agree to assist in extricating my vehicle from the excavation that I inadvertently drove into." Once again, the group looked at each other, scratched their Mullet Haircuts, and Dean said “Fuck, what did you say? Are you even speaking English?”
Steve realized he would have to dial back his verbal communications, with these guys to Beginners English and hope that was still not too advanced for them. All he really hoped to do was to distract and stall them long enough for Joey to get here with a truck. If that didn’t happen soon, Dana would be forced to do a strip tease dance on that pool table. The real danger was that her hard-soled shoes could possibly damage the felt on that pool table. And nobody wanted that.
“Just hold on, fella!”, a third guy said, as he walked out of the shadows. This guy held a cue stick in one hand and a beer in the other. “What makes you think you can walk in here and start demanding stuff?” This guy’s shirt conveniently said ‘Manager’ above the pocket, so Steve calmly asked “Manager? May I call you Manager? If that is your real name? You seem like you are in charge here, so, let’s agree on a price for you helping us. What do you think?”
Manager, who’s real nickname turned out to be ‘Buck’, took a long pull on the bottle of beer, then tossed the empty over his shoulder. He wiped the beer foam off his mouth with his sleeve. Unfortunately, his sleeve was filthy, and he ended up smearing some black soot-like coating across his face. Then he burped. Steve pointed to ‘Manager/Buck’s mouth and indicated that he had a bit of something on his face. Manager/Buck was oblivious to the soot-like coating and kept talking.
“I think we need to get your little girlfriend over there to do a little dancin’ for us on this pool table. That’s what I think. Yep”
“Well, Mr. Manager/Buck, I am sure some kind of entertainment can be arranged for you right after we have taken care of my vehicle. But you know how it is ... work before pleasure”. It was Steve’s Mid-Western Protestant Church upbringing that made him follow the ‘work before pleasure rule’. It was obvious, based on the blank stares on these guy’s faces, that they were unclear of the rule. Shocking.
Dana came back into the pool hall and walked up behind Steve. She whispered in his ear “OK” and slipped his phone in to his hip pocket. A fourth guy, who sadly did not have a name sewn on his shirt, had quietly sneaked up behind Dana. He grabbed her by the neck, in a choke hold. She struggled briefly, then realized that she was no physical match for this guy. Besides, he did not smell good. She agreed to go wherever he wanted her to if she did not have to keep smelling him.
Mr. “No name sewn on his shirt” forced her up on to the pool table. One of them said “yeh, darlin’, start dancing for us!” This was a fast change of events. Steve was still hoping to stall the group long enough for he and Dana to escape. But it was looking like that was not going to be possible. However, he was secretly thrilled that if Dana danced, he was not going to be forced to give up his lawn mowing money to pay these guys for their help. He did not know what was going to happen to Dana. But, since she was not his real sister, he could probably watch her dance too. Why not?
Dana was standing on the pool table. The ‘Name sewn on their shirt’ gang had surrounded the table and they began chanting. “take it off! Take it off! Dance for us, baby!” Dana had a puzzled look on her face. “how am I supposed to dance without music? “She calmly asked. That question really put a damper on their enthusiasm. “Damn. We don’t have a stereo in here, said ‘No name on his shirt’. The room went quiet. You could feel the gloom settle in as disappointment filled the room.
Dana started to climb down when suddenly Steve whipped out his cell phone and excitedly waved it to the group. “I almost forgot! I’ve got 5,000 songs downloaded on to my phone! Dana can strip for us after all!” Everyone cheered. Everyone except Dana, who gave Steve the worst ‘I am gonna kill you look’. She got back on the table and waited for Steve to cue up a song. Steve talked to his phone and asked it to play ‘typical stripper dance songs’, which 95% of his downloads fit that category. A song came on and everyone started to hoot and holler. Dana began to gyrate and get into the tune being played. She slowly unbuttoned her shirt, timing it so that the song would end before she was done. She knew the proper way to strip. Don’t be too quick about it.
The next dilemma for Steve was that he had no idea about the proper tipping etiquette for one’s stepsister when she is stripping. Is it one dollar per song, or per performance? These questions never seem to come up when he has time to research the answer. He thought one dollar per song would encourage the dancer to continue. That amount sounded reasonable to him, so he put a dollar bill on the pool table. The action of tipping by Steve spurred on the other guys to do the same. Soon, after a few songs, the table had a dozen or so bills laying on it. It was shaping up to be a profitable night for Dana after all.
Dana was down to her bra and panties. The songs had been very good so far and she was enjoying the chance to show her dancing skills. The cash wasn’t a bad thing either. The music was amazingly loud from that tiny phone, and they had not heard any of the activity going on outside. Dana was just about to reach around to undo her bra when suddenly Joey burst thru the front door. He yelled “stop!”. Steve turned to him and said “shut up! She’s about to show her tits!!”. Joey assessed the situation immediately and recognized that Steve was a victim of Stockholm Syndrome and was temporarily brainwashed by the ‘Name sewn on their shirt’ gang. Joey swept Dana off the stage and put her down. They made a bee line for the door. Steve, snapped out of his brain fog, grabbed his phone, and as many bills from the pool table as possible and dashed out of the place.
The ‘Name sewn on their shirt’ gang really did not know what just happened. They were enjoying an evening of entertainment and suddenly it ended. “W-T-H?” Manager/Buck frantically spelled it out. Then repeated “W-T-H? “Dean piped up saying “Isn’t that supposed to be W-T-F?” I don’t know what it means but I’m pretty sure it ends with an F. The ‘Name sewn on their shirt’ gang pondered that for a moment, then the guy with no name on his shirt said, FUCK! They are getting away! Dean said “Yes, Yes, that is the F in W-T-F. The F is for Fuck! Thanks!
Outside it was bedlam. While Dana was dancing inside, Joey hitched a chain on to Steve’s truck and managed to pull it out of the hole. He unchained and relocated both vehicles, so they were aimed away from the building, motors running, for a fast get-away. Then he ran inside for the rescue. He and the two victims jumped into their trucks sped off to safety.
Steve and Dana slowed the truck down after getting a few miles away from the pool hall and took stock of what almost happened. “Wow, that was close, Dana said. I almost had my top off”. Steve looked a bit disappointed. Dana gave him a punch in the arm, and then grabbed his phone. She started flipping thru it and stopped when she found what she had stumbled upon earlier when looking for Joey’s number.
“W-T-F is this? she spelled out. I mean, What the Fuck is this? Why do you have photos of my mom getting cum shots on her face???. Looks like it was even in our back yard. What the hell???” Steve instantly panicked. He knew it was a bad idea to have taken those pictures of Dana’s mom getting jizzed while on the Basketball court. “uh, you need to ask your mother”.