the alfmeister

a figment of reality's imagination

Death of a Used Car Salesman

Chapter 1 – Deano

Rowf! Rowf! Rooooooowf!


Rowf! Rowf! Rooooooowf!


Rowf! Rowf! Rowf! Rowf!




Quiet, blissful quiet…

Dean eased a sleep-encrusted eye open. The light seeping through the curtains forced him to snap it closed again. It seemed even this most simple of motor acts hurt his head. As he forced his tongue past his dry lips the acrid taste of stale booze, bile and cigarettes made him heave just a little. Pulling the sheets up over his head he then chanced opening his eyes again and this time could do so…just. Lifting just the edge of the sheet he glimpsed the clock-radio on the bed stand…oh fuck…10:02…he assumed it was morning but could not be so sure.

“What the fuck did I do last night?” was all he could mutter, to no one in particular. Hearing his own voice seemed amplified in the cavern that was his head. Staring at the clock a memory came to him. Ahhh, that’s right…

Another big night out with the boys after work. Had been a good day and they decided a few beers and a feed was the tonic. Not that they seemed to need a reason nowadays, most nights seemed to involve them all getting together for a few quiet ones, and then plenty of loud ones.  Then, immediately an image from the night came to him, and just as quickly his cock stirred, building into an erection. Yep, she was hot!

The boys couldn’t believe he had pulled her. Easily the hottest bird there and in his mind he was nothing short of the perfect gentleman; suave, sophisticated, and charming. He had a way with the girls, no doubt about that. He and his mates weren’t sure why, but it seemed to get him a blowjob and root here and there, and he certainly wasn’t about to question his own methods.  As he reached down and touched his cock, the thought of her strong in his mind, he tried to piece together what actually happened…or at least, in what order things happened.

He didn’t normally go for brunettes. Not a conscious thing, just worked out that most girls he picked up were blondes. But there was something about her, no doubting that. It may have well been the fact she didn’t show any interest in Dean, waved off his best lines…nah, he liked hard to get, but it wasn’t that. There was something else…

“Alright Deano, let’s go ay?” It was Chris, one of Dean’s best mates and colleagues.  “She’s not coming back, and we’ve got work again tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you’re right” Dean replied, bitterly disappointed. He had never been so pissed off at being turned down, it happened a lot, but this one irked him. And he felt particularly horny now and a knee-trembler in the toilets would’ve been just fine.

“Fuck it, let’s go guys!”  The four of them, Dean, Chris, and two others made their way out the door onto the street. There were still plenty of people about at this time of night, but it seemed the city was winding down as people spilled out onto the street: some with arms draped over friends looking like they were returning from war, comrades in arms; men desperately trying to make last calls onto anything in a skirt, even the ugly ones; and barely a metre away a young girl vomiting into the gutter while a policeman leaned over her asking for her parent’s number. Dean loved watching the desperate and dateless, the hopeless and the weirdoes. It made him feel better knowing he had some wits about him, he had money, and he had the life. But fuck it, tonight he didn’t get the girl and he seethed again. Maybe she was a dyke. Yep, that worked with him.

“Oi!” Chris yelled, arm raised as a cab sailed by. It braked suddenly and the four of them straggled out into the road.

“Shit,” snapped Dean, “I’ve left the top down on the car! I gotta go back and put it up.”

“You’re a fucken noter, Deano,” Chris taunted from inside the cab. “You can’t go anywhere without making an entrance can ya?”

Dean smiled at him, wondering if Chris would wake up and remember the punch in the face he considered throwing, thought better of it, and turned, yelling back over his shoulder“; I’ll get another cab. See you tomorrow. Tell the boss I have an appointment in the morning and will be running late!”

“That’ll be a great Tui ad” was the last thing he heard from the boys as he rounded the corner and up the street where he had parked the car.

A hundred metres up there it was, a jet black Porsche 997, parked outside the restaurant they had eaten at straight from work. Chris’ Audi was parked in front of it still, and across the road the other Audi the other two had come in.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys. He touched the alarm button as he neared and the tell-tale beep and indicator flashes told him the alarm was off. He stood alongside the car and admired his wheels. Strictly speaking they weren’t his, just a “driver” for the day, but maybe he would chat to the boss tomorrow and look to acquire it for himself. He loved the way people looked at him, some admiringly, some in envy, and some thinking he was a tosser. No probs with him, he was still a tosser in a hot car. But for the girls no doubt it was a knicker-dropper and that power meant more than what the engine was capable of throwing out.

He leant into the car and pushed a button on the dash. With a quiet whirr and click the roof started to come out from behind the seats and fold back into place.  Once done he touched the button on the remote and the lights flashed again in sync with a double beep and the car was locked up for the night. He considered jumping in it and driving it home, he had done it enough and had been lucky to avoid the cops. And with this car, could he trust it sitting out here for the night?

“Hello there” the female voice from behind startled him. He spun around to be face to face with her from the club. She held his stare for a few seconds before nodding towards the car slightly. “Your car?”

“Um, yeah, sort of,” was all Dean could get out, his normal bravado in front of women deserting him momentarily, “Thinking about buying it actually.” With that statement alone he was suddenly himself again, the car acting as wingman in the situation, only nano-seconds later having his demeanour broken by her next statement.

“Ex used to have one, only just got rid of it recently actually,” she stated, matter-of-factly. “Glad really, I didn’t think much of it anyway.”


Dean suddenly despised the car for what it was and the brake it might yet prove on getting his end away with her. “Well, like I said, wasn’t sure of it myself, just testing it and a couple of others.” She looked at him again, her eyes boring holes into his inner recesses to the point where Dean was aware that whatever thoughts he was entertaining, she was reading them; not that he cared, it seemed that now while chatting on the street at this un-Godly hour it was only a matter of when, not if he was going to get into her pants.

She spoke first. “C’mon,” as she spun on her heels, “I’ll give you a lift home.” She had glided a full 20 feet by the time it had registered with him what was just stated and it wasn’t until she glanced over her shoulder that he realised he was mesmerised by her and he couldn’t fathom why. The way she moved was hypnotic; her legs seemed to go on forever and joined an arse that only a ten year-old could own. But it wasn’t just that; looking at her body was a sight to behold but he didn’t view it like he did others. Sure, it was hot, too hot almost and she had a face that you would expect in oil paintings or fashion magazines. And even the way she talked struck a chord. You knew she wasn’t your typical bimbo or slapper which was the type Dean normally scored, hey even chased. Why not, they were as shallow as he was, made it all the easier really. But with this girl he was struggling to pinpoint why he was so fascinated with her.

She had turned away and was still walking, a full 20 feet further before Dean snapped into action and chased after her. Drawing up alongside and falling into step with her he spoke.

“I don’t even know your name?”

“I don’t know yours either.” was her sharp reply as she turned up an alley. Reaching into her purse she pulled out a set of keys and hit a button on the remote. The whole alley lit up as before them her car‘s indicators flashed.

“Nice car” he muttered sizing up the Chrysler 300 sitting in front of him. She didn’t even respond as she climbed into the driver’s side and as he stood there contemplating his next move she started the engine and had the passenger window down in one movement.

“You coming?” It was as much a directive as it was an enquiry and at that point Dean was sparked into reality again.


“Where to?” she asked as she eased down the alleyway into the main street.

“Parkside Drive, up near the beach.” She glanced across at him, flashed a smile that seemed to hide something as sinister as it was sexy.

“Really? We’re almost neighbours I’m in Perrier.”

Dean looked across at her unable to hide the surprise in his face. “Wow, that’s some classy real estate. I thought I had it sweet…”

“Yeah, another by-product of the ex” she interjected. “He liked to flash his wealth around.”

“So what does he do?” Dean asked, suddenly curious, and jealous, of the guy who let this bird slip away.

“International trading and importing…or something like that” she replied making it obvious that her answer finished this topic of conversation. Dean stopped, still looking at her. Her expression showed no hint of what she was thinking as she looked forward out the window. She glanced across at him, smiled a knowing smile and as if to assure him somewhat explained “It was a messy break up, I don’t like talking about him.”

“No worries,” Dean replied, and sensing an opportunity, “FYI, he must be an idiot to give you up.”

Again she looked across to him, the light of oncoming headlights perfectly framing her face. “Thanks, but I broke up with him.”

Again Dean found himself drawn to the woman, impressed by her ability to come off looking at ease with anything. As he looked forward he noticed they were not far from his house, and panicking blurted out “You don’t want to go by your place first?” This time as she looked at him her face took on a harder edge.

“Well, well, aren’t you just a little sure of yourself?”

“Sorry, just that, I thought…”

“You thought wrong. I am giving you a lift home, nothing more, nothing less. Now which number?” Dean glanced out the window noting the first box number he saw. It was 24.

“Number 32.”

She slowed and pulled to the side of the road. “Nice place, in a homely, two-and-a-half kid kind of way,” she observed looking at the brick and tile house with the manicured gardens and swing-set on the front lawn. Her look showed an understanding and a hint of the expected. “Family man?”

“No,” Dean explained, “My sister and her two kids live with me. She recently separated and needed somewhere to stay while the settlement came though on their house.” If the answer appeased her she didn’t show it.

“It was nice to meet you…sorry?” she said as she extended her hand. Dean took it, drew it up to his lips and kissed it softly.

“Donald Sutherland. Call me Don.”

“Well I hope you don’t wake the kids when you go inside…Don” The name came out as smooth as silk, and while Dean could read anyone’s manner, he was stumped on the meaning in which she said it, and amazingly at that point rooting her was not the objective and this shocked him. He climbed out of the car and as the passenger door window went down again he eased it shut and leaned in.

“Can I see you again?” Shocked for a second time in as many seconds, Dean never asked to see any bird more than once, unless he was caught short. What the fuck was happening to him?

“No doubt, Don…no doubt.” And with that the car moved forward almost catching Don’s arm in the door. The last thing he heard her say as the window was closed was “And the name is Monique.”

As Dean watched the tail lights of the car move to the end of the street and turn right heading towards Perrier it hit him like a bolt. This girl impressed him. H really liked this girl. For a couple of minutes he stood there on the sidewalk like he was unsure of what to do next. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and his lighter. Flicking open the case of the Zippo and snapping his fingers on the flint, a trick he used to impress girls, he lit his menthol and dragged deep. Still analysing that last thought in his head, he glanced up the street, back to the start of the street and started walking. Outside number 24 he turned up the footpath and onto the front steps of a large, two-storied house. Way too big for what he needed, but, he chuckled to himself, I like to flash my money about a bit too. Although, he thought retrospectively, flashing it around in this street was nothing compared to being able to afford a place in Perrier. He stole a last glance up the street in the direction she had headed, and seeing the coast was clear, took his key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock and let himself inside the house.

Dean opened his eyes again. Easing back the edge of the sheet just a bit, he glanced at the clock. 10:14 and he was still none the wiser if it was AM or PM. He was aware of his hand still wrapped around his erection and wondered if he should throw “a quick one-off the wrist” – one of his own phrases which always guaranteed to make the boys at work laugh – and was seriously contemplating it when his solitude was interrupted by a maelstrom of activity.

First it was the dog, or what attempted to pass itself off as a dog which had jumped up onto the bed and was nuzzling its wet nose under the sheets and into Dean’s mouth. The putrid taste and smell of canned dog food and its own arse snapped him into action and as he sat bolt upright, one set of fingers furiously scraping the surface of his tongue his other hand instinctively catapulted the dog-come-rodent off the bed and broadside into the dresser more than 10 feet away. This sent it scurrying and yelping back across the floor where it cowered behind the legs of someone standing in the doorway. Dean blinked at the woman standing there. Neither said a word, and the dog was not the only one that sensed more than a little tension in the air. Dean reached back behind him grabbing the remnants of a cigarette packet on the bedside table and extracted one which he placed in his mouth. Lighting it he drew deep, and after holding and savouring the smoke in his lungs for as long as possible he exhaled in a long loud rush which brought on a hacking cough. After he stopped, and the blood eased back into his brain and the air back into his lungs, he turned back to the still quiet woman in the doorway.

“What?” was all he could say, more a croak really.

“Are you going to work anytime soon?” she replied. She didn’t seem angry, which was a good start and Dean relaxed a little but her face expressed a mix of pity and disappointment.

“Yes, or course I’m going to go to work!” Dean snapped. “I just slept in, that’s all.” He dropped the half-smoked cigarette into a beer bottle sitting on the bedside table. It hissed as it extinguished in the half-inch of stale beer still in it.

“Chris has been on the phone twice this morning chasing after you,” she responded, moving around the end of the bed, picking up his discarded clothes. The dog was sticking close by her, tentatively peering, almost leering at Dean. She got up to the bedside table, and picking up the beer bottle, still trailing smoke from the neck, she looked down with large, inquisitive eyes. “Another big night out with the boys?”

Dean didn’t look at her, instead pulled the sheets back and swung his legs over the side of the bed and onto the floor, his toes lost in the thick shag pile which seemed to be the only thing so far not to hurt his body. He looked up at her and was relieved to see she had her back to him picking up more of his clothes thrown over pieces of furniture.


What? Is that all he could say?

She turned and looked at him. Dean went into character, and into auto-pilot. Like shooting fish in a barrel he thought as he watched her expressionless face soften and smile coyly at his puppy-dog eyes. She bent down to kiss him on the forehead he reached round to grab her buttocks, one hand slipping up the back of her skirt. She swatted his hand away with playful admonishment, smiling broadly and moved to the door. Stopping briefly, she looked back over her shoulder at Dean. “Mum and Dad will be here for dinner. Please don’t be late tonight.” It wasn’t a request, nor was it threatening, but it left him in no doubt of his answer.

“Of course sweet heart” he beamed his movie actor’s smile and flashed his perfect big white teeth at her. “I already told the boys last night I wanted to spend some time at home with you.” Bullshit! But it worked.

“Thanks, that’s sweet of you,” she smiled back with a hint of cynicism in her voice, “they really want to discuss next weekend.”

“No sweat babe, count me in.” Now the smile was somewhat more forced, but picture perfect in every way. Once she had left the room Dean’s shoulders slumped.


The wedding!

Was it now only two weeks away, where did the time go?

When he had proposed to her he thought he had been smart in making it a ‘long engagement’ but now the time had run out and the feeling of being caged, a noose tightening around his neck, got stronger. Well, it wouldn’t be that bad, I s’pose, he thought. She had earned her dues, and she was still as attractive as when he first asked her out when she popped into work one day…and she had an arse you could bounce coins off. Yep, he had done bloody well there, no doubt about that…so why did he feel like this?

Shaking his head to clear his mind from any form of rational thought he stood up and walked to the curtains. He snatched the drapes apart and instantaneously his pupils shrunk to pin holes as the sunshine streamed in. When he finally managed to drag the palms of his hands away from his eye sockets he squinted through bloodshot eyes out over his second story balcony, over the lawn and across the rooftops of the suburb in which he lived. About half a kilometre away was the ocean and his thoughts went back to Monique from the night before wondering which of the houses between him and the water she was in. He scratched and tugged softly at his balls, forced a fart and then grabbing his robe wrapped it loosely over his shoulders and made his way to a closed-door to his left and walked into the en-suite. Turning on the shower he stood at the toilet, and deciding he wasn’t up to cleaning up the inevitable spill that would come from pissing, he sat down on the seat, put his head in his hands and sat. Even well after he was finished he still sat wondering what the hell was going on in his head this morning.

It wasn’t normally like this, each time was as easy as the past, but for some reason his head seemed to be trying to tell him something, something the rest of him seemed unwilling to listen to.

And that’s how he stayed for some time as the steam from the shower slowly built up and swallowed him.


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5 thoughts on “Death of a Used Car Salesman

  1. OMG! Don’t tease me like that! You got my attention lets go already where is chapter 2? who’s the author? Oh Gawd I know this is going to drive me crazy… waiting!

  2. the alfmeister on said:

    Yours truely…it’s something I have been scratching away at for years…I got about 30,000 words into it and then sort of hit a wall…it has sat dorment for about six mths so I thought I would re-edit this chapter to see if it triggered any new ideas, so I will go through each chapter and re-touch them in the hope the story will take off again….

    • I hope so you have my attention I’m very curious NOW! Did she come back where did they have this fling since his fiance lives with him and Monique seem to have know he was lying about his name. And I got a good laugh out of him using Donald Sutherland as his alias!

      • the alfmeister on said:

        Ok, well seeing as you’re the only one who has commented on it I will send you directly each chapter I have done this far. However give me a moment to go through each first as I edit them a but and adds in extra story. Thanks for the feedback x
        Do I send to the email you’ve used here?
        PS the second one will be with you very soonly.

      • Aren’t you done tweeking it yet???? LOL Sorry I can read a whole book in a day so I tend to be impatient! I knew you were a writer by the way you tell stories.

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