Ziggy Popper at Large

Ziggy Popper at Large It’s a hot afternoon in East Hollywood. Ziggy Popper is fresh out of the joint, sitting in a dive bar nursing a beer and minding his own damn business, when a scrawny loser walks in and parks his skinny butt on the stool next to his . . . and offers him cash money to shag his old lady. Even shows him a picture of a woman tied down, blindfolded, and spread-eagled on a bed. Ziggy’s been burned once too often in his life, especially by his ex, who helped send him to prison, but he’s game to take this on. From there, Kirk Alex’s story takes a wild and unpredictable turn. Hard-boiled and packing a punch of LA attitude in its gritty realism and black humor, “Ziggy Popper” shows what can happen when a man’s past catches up to him. Even in the middle of a steamy sex scene. Single contains graphic sex & violence. **EXCERPT** I climbed out of bed, went in the living room. Didn't find any there, either. They made certain no one got their hands on a photo and possibly attempted to blackmail them later. Who knew? Clever, cautious and perverted. Was it my ex? What were the chances in a place of 10 million-plus that this was her? I followed my groin's lead and walked back to the bed. Shoved my joint in her mouth. Forced it down in there. "Okay, Gretchen; suck it!" She went to town with it, like I knew she would. No one else had ever come close. She'd had a patient teacher in Ziggy Popper. She licked it, then moved in and out on it so that it disappeared inside her needy mouth every time. This created even more of a turn on for me, the fact I had been pumping her hole with it before and now it was in her greedy, salivating mouth. I felt the inside of her throat as she sucked it in, deep. It pissed me off just a bit, too; there was malice and a feeling of payback time, baby. After all, I'd been the one who had shown the patience to train her and now some other asshole was getting it on a regular basis. True enough, Daddy had been her original teacher, busted her cherry, but I came along and fine-tuned her skills in the art of blowing cock. This was my one chance to get back, get mine. Never came by to say hello when I was in the joint. I'd been pushing weed and a good deal of the money I'd made had been spent on her: new car, trips to Vegas and Reno, hairdos and clothes. Not to mention shoes; lots of shoes. I'd gone from selling used cars to selling weed––just to please her. Was always after me to make more money, more money. No matter how much I spent on her it was never enough. I was smart enough to stash close to two hundred Gs that I had planned on opening up my own car lot with: Ziggy Popper's Pre-Owned Classic Autos. Bitch discovered my hiding place, cleaned me out, then set me up for the sting. Undercover rollers got to her. Skank sang like a canary. Never mind that the guy I was buying the weed from was a pal of hers, had in fact, introduced me to him. Gabe Chihuahua. Gabron was more like it. Water on the brain since the age of 2. Fat neck and head. Hunched over. Had a shunt inside his lop-sided skull to control the pressure and prevent the melon from exploding. Many surgeries; dozens upon dozens of surgeries since childhood. Add a unibrow on top. Average height; over-weight by forty pounds. Add a slur to his speech. Not stupid, just sounded like it. In fact, smarter than me, because he sang like a stoolie himself to keep his ass out of stir, and mine in. Judge gave me seven years. Did a nickel in Q and released for good behavior. All I ever got from her while in the slam was divorce papers. Cut me loose like I was a turd she couldn't wait to flush away. Intended for mature audiences.