Blood Wild - Sex Stories

Blood Wild

... steps over to the door and raised his hand to pound on the frame beside the door. No sense in even bothering with the doorbell, not if Hank was as drunk as he suspected. Hell, it might take something like a stick of dynamite going off outside his bedroom window to wake him up. But then Hank might not have even made it to his bed.

The Sheriff hung his head as he waited to see if the pounding had roused his old friend. He was trying to remain patient but that was just about worn too thin to last. After a couple of more minutes passed, Gerald raised his hand again and pounded on the door frame and shouted Hank’s name. The old dog groaned and stirred a few feet away but didn’t get up.

Just as he raised his hand for a third time to pound on the door… the door opened inward. A disheveled and obviously hung-over Hank Lipscomb stood staring with squinting bloodshot eyes, his face was covered in bruises and had dried blood under one nostril of his nose and one corner of his mouth. Hank’s wife beater tee shirt may have been white once upon a time but was now stained with who knows what besides a few spatters of blood. The blood, undoubtedly was his own.

“Gerald? What the hell do you want man?” Hank grumbled in an irritated gravelly voice befitting the obvious hangover he was suffering with.

“God Hank! You look like shit! Got any coffee?” The Sherriff asked as he pushed past Hank and turned right, towards the kitchen.

“Sure…come on in.” Hank mumbled mockingly as he ...

... grimaced from the sound of his own voice making his headache that much worse.

Sheriff Potter looked around the compact kitchen that was no better off than the outside of the trailer. Empty beer cans here and there, dirty dishes in the sink and even on the little table beside the bay window at that end of the trailer. He picked up the kettle off the stove and shook it, then crossed to the sink and turned on the water to fill it at least half way. Putting the kettle back on the stove and turning it on as Hank shuffled into the kitchen and plopped down into one of the chairs at the table. Hank groaned as he put his elbows on the table and cradled his face in his hands.

Gerald Potter and Hank Lipscomb had known one another most all of their lives. They went to school together from the first day of first grade through the end of their senior year of high school. Gerald had been drafted into the Army straight out of high school. Hank had been too but was sent home when a physical determined that he was unfit for service.

They were apart for years after that. Gerald serving his four years, then going to college and then the police academy. Hank, worked whatever part time or odd job he could get, going from one job to another with nothing seeming to sink in. That is, until he got hired on as a cook at a restaurant in Kansas City. Hank discovered that not only could he cook but that he liked it. When the new diner here in Helton opened up many years ago, Hank was one of the first ...