Janice

When: September 1981 to April 1982;

June 1983 to February 1984

Status: Married five years, no children
Occupation: Student
Meetings: Lost count
Age: 33
Quotable:  "Pot and beer have no peer."

Okay, it was the Fall of 1981 and I was fresh off a summer of fucking married women.

Wait. That's crass. That's crude. And on top of it, it's disrespectful.  I have a lot of traffic coming through here now and I should show a little more class to my female readers.

 Let's see.....

Okay, t'was the Fall of 1981 and I was fresh off a summer of carnaling the knowledge of many married women.

Oh. "Carnaling" isn't a word.   Fuck it.  Sorry ladies.  I tried (not very hard, but the blog's free, so oh well.)

Anyway, I had started with Amanda and had just kept going. Much like an x-rated Energizer bunny.

"Hey, baby, wanna learn how to fuck like a bunny?"

That's right!  The Energizer Bunny, much like The Most Interesting Man In the World, is a member of Poacher Nation!  How cool is that?

Anywaysssssss.......I had taken a couple of courses over the summer and was ready to head full-speed into one of the most forgettable college careers ever.  I've always felt that if you're going to do something in a half-assed manner, be fully committed to half-assing it.


Um.......

I started out with three classes: History, English, and Intro To Business. I was happy that I was able to schedule all on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. So on Monday, I waltzed into history classand looked for a cute girl to sit next to.

I saw a lady with blonde hair sitting in the back, so I sat down next to her and said hello. She smiled at me. Little did I know that I was about to embark on my first international poach.

"Hello."
"Hello, how are you?"
"I'm fine, thank you.  Is that an English accent?"
"No, it's a British accent."
"Wow. What part of California are you from, anyway?"

That got a laugh. I'm that good. Or she was humoring me. Probably the latter. 

"Birmingham, silly."
"Alabama?"
."Sure, if that helps you."
 
We chatted for a few minutes before class started and she told me that she had been married for five years to an American who had been working in England. They met through friends, one thing led to another, they got married, and moved back to California. She brought her accent with her. I don't know how she got it past customs. 

"You like marriage?" 
"In theory."

I always loved the first meeting of a college class. All the professors do, in general, is go over the syllabus and attendance requirements and all that. Usually it takes half an hour.

Of course, then you get those idiots who go over stuff for five minutes and launch into the first lecture of the course. Fuck that shit. I dropped those assholes. If they're THAT gung-ho, no thanks. 


Anyway, this teacher was cool and fifteen minutes later we were walking out."Grab some coffee?"
"Sure."

We had a great chat. She absolutely hated her husband.  Of course, I was totally sympathetic. I told her that it must be tough being so far away from home and unhappy. Mostly, though, I just let her talk.

I'm very caring and compassionate that way.

Around 9:45, I had to get going. But I really liked the roll I was on with Janice. So I asked her if she had any other classes that day. She said that she did. 

"You going home and coming back? I have to hit my next class but should be back soon."
"I was gonna stay. We live in Ontario, so by the time I drove down, it'd be time to come back up again," she laughed. 

I went to English and the professor handed out the syllabi (or is it "syllabuses"), talked for five minutes, and sent us on our way. I knew from this that he was going to be a good teacher whom I would always love and respect.

"Both 'syllabi' and 'syllabuses' work, dude.  I checked Wikipedia."

Hey, thanks EB!  You know that you're set when the Energizer Bunny has your back!  And as we all know, Wikipedia is as reliable as it gets.

Cough, cough.

I went back to the cafeteria."Well, that was fast."

Those are usually words you DON'T want to hear from a woman.
 
We chatted until it was almost noon. I liked Janice; she was funny, smart, pretty and the conversation flowed easily. I think she was glad to have someone to chat with.  Her large breasts also enhanced her personality.  

Amazing how things like that work.  You wouldn't think that that breasts and personality would have that connection. 

We talked about our families, where we grew up, some sports, friends, all that. Time really flew. And when it was time to head to our respective classes, she got up and thanked me.

 "Haven't talked this long in years. Thank you!" 
"My pleasure."
 

We met up again on Wednesday and chatted for awhile after our last classes. On Friday, the same thing.

That day we chatted for a bit and she asked if I wanted to grab some lunch with her. I was hungry and was happy to take her up on her offer. We drove a few miles down to Denny's and had a great lunch. We chatted for a couple more hours. Janice insisted on paying (another reason to date married women with money--free meals).

Now you know how I actually had money saved up when I graduated from Cal Poly. I never paid for anything.

I gave her my phone number in case she wanted to call and just chat over the weekend. I had to work a mobile home job in Glendora on both days and told her that if I wasn't at home, to just leave a message on my machine.

She smiled, thanked me, and took it. I figured that I wouldn't be hearing from her, but hey, it's never a bad sign when a woman takes your number.

The following day I worked until about 3:30 and got home a little after 4:00. Sure enough, that little red light was blinking. I had a few messages from some ladies, including Janice. I returned the calls and then made sure it wasn't 5:30, the time Janice said it was safe to call by.

Safe? We hadn't done anything except grab lunch. This was a very nice turn of events. I knew that she was already thinking about us in more than just a platonic way. That or her husband really was a dick who'd be upset if a classmate called. I dialed the number (with my thumb, just to be different).

"Hello?"
"Janice?"
"Hi Ryan. Listen, the reason I called was just to thank you for our lunch. I loved it."

Cool.  It was hard to concentrate, though, with Mr. Happy trying to get me to tell her that he loved her breasts.  I told him to shut the fuck up and then he called me a dick.  I think that's, like, ironic or something.  So I decided to out-ironic him and call him a pussy.

"Me too. Grab some coffee again Monday?"

"Well, are you busy tomorrow?"

"Until noon or so."
"If you'd like, we could meet for lunch again if you don't have any other plans."

"Sure. Where?"
"Bob's Big Boy?"

Yeah, I'll show you my "big boy", baby.

49, why?

Anyway, I told her that I'd call her when I got home and we'd set up a time to meet. Then we hung up (because that's what you do after you finish a phone conversation, unless you're a huge fan of dial tones).

The next day, I finished up a around 11:30 and got home around 12:30. I called Janice and we chatted and agreed to meet at 1:30. I hopped in the shower and got dressed and took off.

Janice was already there when I arrived and we sat down and ate and chatted some more. An hour or so later, we finished up and paid our check and left. As we walked to our cars, she said, "I do appreciate you being such a gentleman."

Ugh.  I'd rather have been called an asshole (which I have been, many times--how I love my wife).  

Duh, Janice.  You forgot to take your shoes off!

Well, that was that. Janice wanted a friend, not a friend with benefits. Oh well. She was nice and fun to chat with, so sometimes you take what you can get. I thanked her and told her that I'd see her the next day.

We continued to meet for coffee over the next couple of weeks and even went out to lunch a couple more times. By then, I was convinced that I was nothing but a friend to her.  That was fine.  It wasn't like I wasn't getting laid at all (remember:  recruit, recruit and recruit some more, folks).  And I could at least sneak peeks at her peaks when she wasn't looking (nicely done there, huh?).

Illiteration on the tittyration, I believe that's called.

Two weeks after that first lunch at Denny's we were having coffee again when she asked if I had any exciting plans for the weekend. I was bummed. A date had cancelled, so I really didn't have anything planned, exciting or otherwise.

"No, nothing at all. Just studying, I guess."

"Well, another lunch, perhaps?"

"Sounds good."

"Fine. I'll call tonight to confirm."

We split up for our last class and afterward, I headed home. After stopping to do a couple of errands, I arrived home. I went into my room and saw the message light blinking on my answering machine. I hit the button to hear the message.

"Hi Ryan. This is Janice. I was wondering, my husband is out of town camping for a few days, so perhaps you'd like to come over for dinner tonight? I'm home, so just call me back when you get this to let me know. Bye."

Fucking cool.  I think more husbands should go camping--all of them, in fact.

I called her back and told her that I'd love to come over. We talked for a few minutes and Janice said that if it was okay, she'd just order a couple of pizzas. Hey, as far as I was concerned, pizza was health food and the more you ate, the better off you were.

I'd like to add here that our family physician vehemently disagreed with me on this.  Fuck that.  What do doctors know about nutrition?

I asked her if she wanted me to bring over some beer (ah, my fake ID was such a wonderful thing....), but Janice said they were well-stocked. As we were about to hang up, she said, "Ryan, one more thing?"

"Yes?"
"What we were joking about? You can get some? I really want to unwind this weekend."

The "what" we had been joking about was a poacher's good, close, personal friend: Mutha Fukin' Nature.

I'm sure that comes as major shock to you all.

"Sure."

I was a bit low on my reserves, so I decided to give Jim a call. I knew that he'd have some. He was fucking a married woman who was a complete pothead. All he had to do was get her high and he was fucking her (sometimes, he didn't even have to get her high). 

Being the best friend ever, he said that he had to run a couple of errands and he'd just bring it by my place. I checked my condom inventory and just put the box in my overnight bag (yeah, I figured I could go through 500 pretty easily). Soon, Jim was pulling into the driveway. I let him in and he pulled out this huge baggie of joints.

Pre-rolled. THAT'S what I call service!

I figured, hey, too much is better than too little. and I asked him what I owed. He laughed and said, "Nothing, it's on Cindy's husband."

Cindy was a lovely married lady that Jim had taken a bit of a shine to.  So he was fucking her.

Cindy had taken a some money from the family vacation fund and had Jim buy some pot. "She'll never know I gave you some. I rolled them with one of those little devices people use to make their own smokes. I just bought some tubes and cut off the filter."

"Let me get this straight. You're fucking a married woman. They have two kids. When she wants to toke, she sends the kids to her mother's for the weekend to visit their gammy."
"Correct."
"You then get said married woman high and fuck her for a couple of days or hours, depending upon the circumstances."
"Correct."
"Husband is gone away for days at a time because he runs a charter service to Vegas."
"Correct."
"And Cindy takes some of his hard-earned money and gives it to you to buy pot, which allows you to fuck her like a porn star."
"Correct."
"Excellent."

Fuck yes. It's one thing to lay it to a married woman (or any woman), but for her to pay for her own aphrodisiac? Well, that's just really special. Beautiful, in it's own way.  This is why Jim has always been such a great adviser and friend to me.

In retrospect, it was incredibly shitty  that we thought it was so funny, only because that money was earmarked for the family vacation, and this family included children. But the way I figure it, those kids are now in their thirties, so I'm sure they got over it. 


And if they didn't, well, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. I'm sure they have families and can afford to take them to Disneyland now. Really, Jim did them a favor. The first time they went was probably with THEIR kids, so they could enjoy that first-time Disney experience just like they would have when they were little--had Jim not cruelly ripped that dream from them all because he wanted to plow their mommy.


See? It all worked out for everybody!

And as for Cindy's husband, well....that's what you get for being away from home so often.  What a dick, totally neglecting his wife and kids like that under the pretense of running a business.

Anyway, soon Jim was on his way and I showered, dressed up a bit, and finished packing an overnight bag I was desperately hoping that I'd need.

Actually, considering that Janice had asked for some Puff The Magic Dragon, it was less "desperately hoping" than "pretty fucking sure". Whatever.

I considered embedding  a Peter, Paul and Mary clip, but

I like this version better.

Oh wait....Peter, Paul and Mary have denied that the song is about drugs.  My bad.

coughcoughyeahfuckingrightitisnttgivemeabreakcoughcough

I drove down to her place, drove around and found her place, and then parked a few houses down and walked over to her house.  I knocked on the door and Janice let me in.

Jean shorts and a tank-top.  No bra.  Fuck yes.  Bras suck.  All women should stop wearing bras.  It's a corporate conspiracy to keep women down and take their money.

Yeah, that's it.  So stop wearing bras.  I care about you all of you ladies out there.  Really, I do.

Ahem.

Anyway, she ordered the pizzas and we cracked open a couple of Budweisers and kicked off the evening good and proper.  Not too much later, the pizzas arrived and we were eating.

Beer and pizza.  The perfect food/beverage match.  And some good old fashioned pot for dessert.  

The pizza from Pizza Slut  Hut was great.  The beer was awesome.  And after we had chowed down several slices and pounded down several Bud.....wei.....swers, I handed her some a small baggie of joints.

We lit up and baked up pretty good.  It's was an old-fashioned, heel-kickin', pot smokin'.  Back in my day, we didn't have no fancy gizmos like roach clips, bongs and such.  We had to smoke out pot like a cigarette.

Before anybody writes, yes, they did have bongs and roach clips in the 80s.  I'm aware. 

And after we toked and got baked, we were hungry again.  Stunning development.  Oh, and everything was hilarious.  

As you might've guessed, I paraphrase all these conversations.  I didn't walk around with a wire on me.  But this one is really paraphrased.  I think what was said.....was.....

Fuck it.  I'm not even going to try.  

At some point, Janice spilled some sauce on her top.  I told her to take it off.  She said something like fuck no and laughed.  So I took off my shirt (I'd like to add that I was going braless as well that night).  

And she took hers off.  And I DO remember saying, "Fuck....." and her saying, "Thank you."

Yes, they were real.  And spectacular.

Then I told her she had some sauce on her shorts.  Hahahahaha.  Yeah, good one, Ryan.  You is so funny and clevur!

She shook her head.  So I took off MY shorts (and nearly fell on my ass while doing it).

Janice stood up (kind of), steadied herself on the arm of the couch, and slid off her shorts.  And they we were, drunk, high, well-fed, and standing in our underwear.  

Time to go over and initiate a little kissy-face with my "platonic" friend.  And I took one step, and then the other and then fell on my face onto the couch.

While I had slid my shorts off, I had forgotten to take the last necessary step:  actually stepping out of them.  So it was have a nice trip, see you in fall.

Janice leaned down and asked if I was okay.  Aside from feeling a bit foolish, I was fine.  She had me roll over and laid down on top of me and we started kissing.  I ran my hands up and down her back and then slid them under her panties and squeezed her ass.  Then I noticed something that definitely wasn't cool.

Mr. Happy wasn't, shall we say, reporting for work.  My great friend was AWOL.  And he wasn't responding to any internal messages I was sending.  This was something new.  And it sucked.  

Janice lifted her head and said, "Let's go to the bedroom."

Janice was as--if not more--fucked up than I was at that point, so we helped each other stumble our way into the bedroom.  Janice laid down on her back and lifted her hips up and I pulled off her panties.  

Maybe I could buy some time this way?  I was pretty sure it was the beer--I had really downed quite a few--combined with the pot that did this to Mr. Happy.  But it really didn't matter.  But even if Mr. Happy couldn't report, I could take care of Janice another way.  Then maybe I could beg off from any activity requiring Mr. Happy's attention until the morning.

So I lowered my head and started licking her pussy.  I was so out of it, I didn't even really, uh, fuck, I just ran my tongue everywhere.  Over her clit, inside her pussy, up and down her lips.  OAnd it seemed to be working.  She was moaning and breathing heavily.  

So I figured that I'd just keep doing whatever I was doing, even if I didn't really even know what I was doing.

But whatever I was doing, it was working.  I have no idea how long I had been going down on her, but I remember her groaning and her body stiffening as she came.  

Good on me, mate!  Oh,wait...that's Australian.  But good on me, anyway.  

Actually, her orgasm was due more to being buzzed and being in a sexless marriage than anything my magic tongue did.  And I was just fine with that.

But now what?  Mr. Happy was still out.  And lucky for me, Janice was about to be as well.  

I crawled up and we kissed.  She was fading, and fading fast.  And so was I.  

Then, she was out.  And I rolled off her and then I was out as well.  The room gently spun around, easing me into dream land where Puff The Magic Dragon and I watched some lesbian porn flicks and pounded down some Doritos.

Yeah, apparently, working a bunch of hours, going to school, getting 2 to 3 hours of sleep a night for a week or two can soften even an 18 year-old's dick.  Go figure.  But that's okay.  Because soon I--or I should say, Mr. Happy--was about to return to full strength.

Around eleven the next morning, I felt Janice kissing her way down my chest and slipping her hand into my underwear.  Still fuzzy, I was worried about, well, you know.

I didn't need to be.  He was at full attention by the time she slid my underwear down and starting moving her mouth up and down my shaft.  

THAT was a relief. 

Janice then straddled me and slid right down my cock.  She smiled and said, "Don't worry about me, I just want you to cum."

Yeah, I knew there was a reason I liked this woman.

She rocked back and forth several times and then leaned forward and buried her head in my shoulder.  I had my hands on her hips and thrust up several times and unloaded, my, uh, load.

She kissed me and said, "That's to make up for falling asleep on you last night."

Oh, not good.   I didn't want her to think she shortchanged me.  So I confessed.  And she laughed and said that she could have gotten him up. 

We showered up and got dressed and headed out to get some lunch.  When we returned, we resumed the bedroom activity, as well as the drinking and toking activity (I made sure to take it easy after the previous night's failure to launch).

After that weekend, Janice was a semi-regular FWB.  We'd get together whenever she had time.  We spent a few weekends together, but mostly it was just a couple of hours each time.  She was a fun name to have in the sex Rolodex. 

However, even though things were going very well between us, Janice ended it in April of 1982. And that was due to a very close call.

Janice's husband was away on business on Memorial Day that year. So we thought it'd be cool to take off on a Thursday and spend a nice long weekend in Las Vegas.

It was a blast--until that Sunday afternoon. We were in the Golden Nugget--I think--losing money in some one-armed bandits and drinking. Free drinks are awesome. We figured we'd pound some free booze, try to win some bucks, and then go up to our room and have some more sex.

We had been at the slot machines for about an hour and were feeling no pain. We were laughing, winning some, losing more (big deal--they were nickel slots) and having a good time.
 
And before I knew it, the weekend was pretty much over.  We were still at the machines when I heard some guy say, "Janice?"

Oh for fuck's sake. A gazillion people in Vegas that weekend and she had to run into somebody she knew. Or, to be more accurate, somebody she knew had to run into her. Either way, it sucked.

I didn't panic. I kept gambling and listened to them talk.

Apparently, this fellow named Ben had retired from the Rancho Cucamonga Police Department a few years earlier and moved to Vegas to work in security (can't say I blame him for that). Janice and her husband (he wasn't a cop, by the way) had known Ben and his wife for several years. The couples lost touch when Ben and his wife moved away.

Sheesh.  Why didn't they just text, Skype, and e-mail?

After several minutes, they hugged and said goodbye and Ben The SexCation Ruiner Dude walked away.  Janice sat down and started playing her slot machine again and blankly staring ahead.  

I'm not ashamed that I've always been the dullest spoon in the drawer (in fact, I take pride in it), but even a dullard like myself could see that all the fun was over with.  Finally, she played one more nickle and looked at me, smiled and said that we should go up to our room.

Aw, fuck.  Dumpsville straight ahead.  And I just knew I wasn't going to get any end-of-relationship fucking, either.  That certainly sucked.

And I was right on both counts.  We went upstairs and she ended it.  I'm sure SexCation Wrecker Ben wasn't the only reason--he was merely the final straw.  Something had to have been bothering her.  Maybe she was feeling guilty, maybe she had been feeling paranoid.

But if you want awkward, fuck a married lady--or any lady--for several months, go to Vegas, break up......

...and then spend four fucking hours with that lady driving home.  The only time time we spoke was when she would ask occasionally if I needed to stop for anything.

Yeah, some heroine to make the drive easier.  Other than that, just keep fucking driving so I can get out of this fucking car and end this fucking weekend.

She pulled up to my house, forced a smile, and told me to take care and thanks for everything, blah blah.  I shrugged and got out and watched her leave.  

I didn't hear from her for over a year. 

 I can't think of anything to say here, so just admire the view.

One day, I came home and played my messages. One was from a lady with an English British accent.

"Ryan? This is Janice? Do you remember me? I was wondering if you'd like to meet for lunch? Call me at work at 555-1234."

 
Yeah, right. I don't think so.  Besides, any number with "555" isn't real.

Then again.....

It could lead to some more sex. And really, pride doesn't get you laid. Unless you're dating a woman named "Pride". And I wasn't.

Just another area in which I have no pride......

Muahahahahahahahahahahaha!  Come for the sex, stay for the laughs.....

To make an already too-long entry a bit shorter, I called her and she told me that she and her husband had split up and she was working full-time at a chiropractor's office.  We started meeting like we had done before:  nothing steady, just whenever we wanted to get together. 

The only thing that was different was the conversation.  After we started seeing each other again, it was pot, sex, and see you next time (after the pot wore off--I never drove under the influence of anything other than "Radar Love", by Golden Earring).  When we first met, we talked quite a bit.  This time, it was brief casual chat followed by not-so-casual sex. Sometimes, not even the pot.

It was never the same.  I don't know why.  She seemed to have changed a bit.  I guess she just needed the benefits and not the friend.  Oh well.  The sex was still great.

And that still-great sex lasted until March 1984.  One day, I called her up to see if we could set up a meeting for some fun.  We hadn't talked in over a month.  

Well, I attempted to call.


It's hard to complete a call to a number that's been disconnected.  So I called her at work.  And the nice lady who answered informed me that Janice no longer was employed there.


Weird.   I considered going over to her place, but that seemed kind of creepy.  I write a short letter and mailed it to her.  It came back with "not at this address" scrawled on it.

And that was that.  I never heard from her again.  


She had been dating and seeing a couple of guys.  Maybe she split with one of them.  Maybe she headed back to England.  I've done searches in the past for her, but have never been successful.  


Janice is a weird poachette for me to look back on.  It was like two relationships, not one.  The first was lots of sex with a lady I really clicked with.  The second time, it was just sex, nothing else.  In retrospect, I kind of wish I just hadn't bothered when she called me to get together again.  I had enough playmates.  


Besides, sequels are never as good as the original.

And frolicked in the Autumn mist in a land called Hon-a-lee.......... 

For Janice's pics, click here (members only).