Glendale, California—the town where I live—is like a Must See TV soap opera. Like me, pretty much everyone in my neighborhood is single—if not single, then cheating. Back when I was getting divorced, I never imagined that the post-married single life could be so wonderful. Hot ladies are rollerblading past my manicured lawn every day, winking at me and not giving a shit that I am eyeing them up like fresh fruit at the supermarket.

Normally, a guy like me—38 years old, short, overweight—couldn’t get these hot ladies to look at him twice. In the post-married single life, however, I have a good income as a pharmacist. I have my own house and plenty of disposable income left after alimony. And did I mention I have money? I have no problem getting ladies to entertain me.

Last week, one of these rollerblading neighbors of mine took a tumble right in front of my house. I was just getting out of my car, so of course I ran over to assist her. I helped her up and pointed out that she had scraped her knee. As she sat on the curb and spread her legs to get a better look, I couldn’t help but see straight up her tiny shorts to her little bald pussy. I smiled and she moved her leg over even more, giving me a better look at her goods. I started wondering if this whole injury wasn’t an elaborate plan just to get into my pants.

“Why don’t you come inside, so I can put some peroxide on that scrape,” I said.
She smiled.

“I’d love to,” she purred.

She limped into my house and scanned the place. I could see her putting dollar amounts on the cathedral ceilings, the furniture that my ex-wife had picked out, and everything else in my bachelor mansion. I led her into the kitchen and she took a seat on my granite countertop and told me to come over and blow on her scrape.

I, of course, obliged.

Two seconds later, her scrape was forgotten. I bucked into her as she sat on my countertop. I stuck my tongue in her mouth. I pulled her top off and revealed that she was wearing nothing underneath her shirt. Two perfectly tan, identical fake breasts greeted me. No tan lines on this whore and she had a tight little stomach and a nice round ass.

I didn’t feel like waiting for her to take off the rollerblades, so I undid my belt and opened my pants to let my dick out for some air. I leaned in and moved her tiny shorts over so that I could stick my dick in her hot wet hole. I sunk right in to her warmth and she leaned back, resting her elbows on my countertop. I fucked her quick and easy. Half of me wondered if she knew I was a pharmacist. You would not believe how much pussy gets thrown my way from ladies who want me to score them some pills. That’s what they should put in the college recruitment materials of pharmacy schools!

Afterwards, while we hung out in our own sweaty heat, she asked me what I did for a living. She pulled her tank top down over her tits. I reached through one of the arm holes and stroked the nipple back up to full attention.

“I’m a pharmacist,” I said.

“Oh,” she said in a faked surprise voice. “Do you think you could get me some Oxycontin?” she asked.

You would think these people would at least try to make up some story, try to make it a little less obvious that they are fucking me for my connection to their supplies. But, let me tell you they are not. Friends come right out and ask me. Customers come right out and ask me. Even the women who fuck me tend to follow up with a request for some kind of drug. The most popular are morphine, oxycontin, and xanax.

Narcotic prescription drugs are highly controlled. I have to account for every single pill so it’s quite difficult to get these for people. Of course, there is always a way around rules, and I have concocted a plan.

When I work third shift at the 24-hour pharmacy, I have a lot of time alone in the store. I scan through the database looking for people who still have refills left on painkillers, tranquilizers and amphetamines. I wait until the day before the refill expires and I call in a refill to the automated system. Then I bill the customer’s insurance, pay their co-pay and pocket the pills.

It’s a big risk and I don’t know exactly why I do it. Not only could I get fired, I could get arrested. I don’t heavily supply any one person. I’ll have a vike when I get a headache or a xanax after a long day, but I’m no pillhead. I didn’t give up any pills to my rollerblading neighbor, and my friends and I only take them on special occasions. I guess I just hoard them for the excitement of it though I suppose that one day they may come in handy.

So, why am I telling you this?

A couple weeks ago, I was in Malibu at some party. You’d be surprised how well the fact that I have access to the hottest drugs in town gets me into beach parties and other places where starlets and models gather. I made eye contact with this woman who was your quintessential Hollywood hottie. Her tan was dark and artificial. Her oversized boobs stood off of her chest like two foreign globes on display. She bummed a cigarette from someone and went out on the balcony. I bummed a cigarette and followed.

On the balcony, I immediately found her and offered to light her cigarette. She stuck it in her bloated shiny lips and smiled. Her makeup was flawless. Her hair was platinum blond. She was a young Pam Anderson. She looked down at my cock and then back in my eyes.

She laughed at all of my come-on jokes and kept stroking my arm. Clearly, this woman had asked around and knew what I had to offer. Either that or she had a thing for older bald guys. When we slipped back into the house, she led me into a pantry, shut the door and leaned me against the empty shelves.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked. Her lips were pouty and lush, recently pumped full of collagen.

I eyed the wedding ring on her finger.

“He’s in Mexico, banging his female lead,” she said.

She made no mention of any drugs, but I had a feeling it was coming. I nodded that she could kiss me and she began to make out with me hardcore. Her tits felt like unripened cantaloupes as she pressed them against my chest. Her long manicured fingers found their way into my pants. This woman knew how to handle a cock. I kept waiting for the inevitable question—can you get me some pills—but it never came. She just jacked me off right there in the pantry. She kissed my neck and rubbed her tits against me.

“We have an open relationship,” she went on.

After I came in her hands, we went out for another cigarette. Her name was Linda. She was 29, and her husband had left her the mansion and the Mercedes while he was on location in Mexico, where some hot commodities were filming a movie he was producing. This chick could definitely hook me up with some Grade A Hollywood pussy if I could see her more often.

“I could use something to take the edge while he’s away,” she said. And there it was. “Someone told me you were a pharmacist,” she hinted obviously. “With my hubby out of town, I have a hard time finding my Vicodin.” She said that she used about 10 pills a day—pretty heavy.

“He’ll be gone about a month, she told me. Do you think you could hook me up with about 300 pills? I’ll pay you $5 a pill.” She took a drag from her cigarette and I thought of having those lips wrapped around my cock. I instantly grew rock hard.

“I don’t really need the money,” I told her. I simultaneously reached out and stroked her giant fake breast. Instead of fighting me off, she pushed her hair back giving me even greater access to her breasts.

“What do you want for them?” she asked innocently. She lifted her dress to show me a sparkly thong and a hairless snatch underneath. No one else on the balcony seemed to notice the show she was putting on for me.

I looked her in the eye and rubbed one finger down the center of her chest between her tits. It felt good to have power over this crazy hot woman.

“If you think my hand job was good,” she said, “you should try fucking me up the ass.”

This was a woman who didn’t fuck around—or who did actually—and I was enjoying every second of her company.

“I’d like that very much,” I said. She smiled.

“Is fucking me up the ass worth a vicodin or two?” she asked. She pulled her skirt back down. It was one of those tiny things that’s more like a belt than a skirt.

I told her to come by the 24-hour pharmacy the next night for her pills. We agreed on 150 pills for Linda. In exchange, I could do anything I wanted to her. She showed up according to plan, and lucky for me it was a typical night at the store. I was all alone on the shift and not a customer had shown up for at least an hour.

When Linda swung the door open, I remembered how incredibly hot she was. This time she was wearing tight little daisy dukes and a white tank top. Her nipples practically busted through the thin material. Without even asking, she climbed up on the counter and came over to my side. I smelled alcohol on her.

“I’m horny as fuck,” she whispered and then she began to kiss my neck. My dick grew hard and I led her to the store room, where our supplies were all around us in cardboard boxes. I locked the door. When I turned around, Linda had already taken off her shorts and was now pulling off her white tank top. She bent over a tall box and pointed her pussy right at me. I laughed to myself. She didn’t know it, but she was actually leaning on a whole case of Vicodin.

“You gonna let me earn my keep, or what?” she said.

She didn’t need to ask me twice. My dick slid easily between her soft pussy lips. She held onto the box as I pounded her from behind. In the mirror across the room, I watched her tits bounced off the cardboard. I grabbed her hips and bucked really hard, but I wouldn’t let myself cum.

“I want those sweet lips on my cock,” I whispered in her ear. She laughed a little and turned around. She reached back into her shorts and grabbed her lipstick. Then, she put a fresh coat on her lips. In a couple of seconds, I was getting the blow job of my life. I looked down into that beautiful girl’s eyes as she sucked my cock. I leaned back on the boxes and just enjoyed the idea of this gorgeous starlet on her knees servicing me. Then, I came all over her face. She jerked me off, letting my final few shots of cum land on her tongue.

We meet like this about every two weeks. I get her pills ready, and she shows up horny and ready to do whatever I want. Even after her husband came back to California, we continued to fuck. I suppose it’s just one of the perks of being a pharmacist.