Harbor Hall native oral

HH
Harbor Hall was a big L-shaped colonial mansion high on a residential hill. Massive injections of cash from wealthy, guilty alcoholics, had allowed it a return to its once former glory. It occupied a corner lot with inside access to the glassed-in porches along the public side, but none from the street. A roofed porch also ran along the inner flank of the shorter wing. It was bordered by the lawn and parking lot. It was out of sight from the street.
There were usually a few guys malingering on this porch til lights out. One night I hung out with them and found out it wasn’t only the last drag on their cigarette that was keeping them up late. It was also for the blow-jobs that were offered up by an old native woman who set up camp a few nights a week in an alcove between a row of bushes and the side of the vacant warehouse across the alley.
I was being a wet blanket because none of them wanted me to see what they were up to. At first I thought they were afraid I’d snitch, then I saw her, and understood their shame. She was built like a motel refrigerator, with short stick-like legs holding it up. Cropped dark hair was tucked behind her ears, her age was indeterminate. She stood still for a moment, hands on hips, and barked her presence. I couldn't tell what she said, if it was a word even.
The others were watching to see what I'd do. It seemed like a good enough opportunity to get my first female blow-job, plus it would put them at ease, so I went after her. I found her squatting with her back up against the side of the warehouse. It looked like she was taking a shit, and my penis inverted at the sight. Her head was tilted back, eyes slitted, and her nearly toothless mouth wide open, abnormally wide. Arousal was out of the question. I wondered if they paid her, they must, and dropped a five in her lap. She didn't move, she was waiting. God built her for this, I thought.