Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Trim Lines

“You’ve changed,” Denise said.
“Me? I don’t think so. How?” I said.
“Um, well, that was… kinda nasty,” she said in reference to our just completed sexual act.
I shrugged.
“I’m not saying it wasn’t fun. But... you’ve changed. You’re a lot more, uh… aggressive.”
“OK. Maybe,” I said.
“I guess you learned a lot from all those college girls.”


“I’ll bet you had lots of girlfriends at school, Wil.”
“One or two,” I said.
She laughed. “One or two a year, a month, a week?”
“Denise, what are you doin'?”
“I dunno. Guess I’m just curious.”


“Did you have fun at school?”
“I had more fun during the summers, actually,” I said, “If by ‘fun’ you mean ‘getting laid'.
“Yeah? Local girls? Anyone I know?”
“Not from this town, but nearby.”
This conversation, such as it was, went on for a while with Denise trying to find out how many girls I’d fucked since we split up and me having no interest in talking about it. The only fucking I was thinking about was our next session and I figured we were getting pretty damn close to another sweaty round.

Then the phone rang. It was a Trimline phone on the stand next to the bed. My parents had a black desk phone in the house and thought a second line, with a fancy Trimline handset no less, was what people did if they had little regard for frugality.
I watched Denise with great admiration as she stretched to grab the phone.
“Hullo. No, I’m fine, I feel a lot better. Where are you?”
It must be Andi calling from the bar, I thought.
“No, he’s still here. Yeah. Yeah. Mmmm-hmmm. OK, bye.”
“Andi?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she laughed, “She was checking from uptown to see if I was feeling better.”
“I figured that much. What was all the yeahin’ and mmm-hmmmin’ about? Is she coming over or something?”
“Oh, she figured out I wasn’t really sick and that we were in bed together. She says, ‘Hi’.”
“Hi back to her. I owe her since she was the one who let you know I was in town. So, is she coming over or not?”
“No, she’s not coming over! You really have changed. You want a three-way with me and Andi, don't ya Wil?”
“Nope. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t coming over. I don't need her ringing the doorbell while we're busy fucking.”
I got up and stood by the bed. I grabbed the ankles of her boots and pulled her across the bed until her ass was at the edge. I pulled her legs straight up, then put my hands on her thighs, pressed them towards her shoulders and spread them apart. She reached between her legs, found my hardening cock and guided it into her. Hearing her talk about her and Andi together had inspired me. With nobody around Denise was very loud. Every time I pounded my cock into her pussy she yelped, gasped, or yelled out. She had changed in the past four and a half years too. I had the feeling that some of Andi's sluttiness was finally rubbing off on my old girlfriend. She was now a hot little married fuck. Who knew my first time with a married woman wouldn't be on my honeymoon?

We got together quite a few more times over the next few days-- right up until the afternoon before I was driving out West in the used van I had traded my little two-seater for-- and always in the bigger bed in her parents' room. That last afternoon she decided I needed a memorable send-off and she broke out her black boots again-- this time with a gray mini-skirt and a black rib-knit sweater. No bra. No panties. We fucked all afternoon. To think this very naughty slut thought I was nasty. Unfortunately we couldn't keep going since I had to get to my parents in time for the last supper.
The next morning was pretty emotional as I headed off into the great unknown. Mom got teary-eyed. It was one thing for me to go off to college but something else for me to drive off for my first grownup job a thousand miles away in a little town we'd never even seen. Dad shook my hand, gave me a pat on the back and a “Good luck, son.” Then he said those three little words every boy wants to hear from his dad at such a time, “Got toll money?”


After I got settled out West I wrote a promised letter to Denise. A week or so later I heard back from her. I tried several times to write again but there wasn’t much to say. It didn't seem right to tell her, "Hey, I jerk off every night thinking about all that sucking and fucking last month." I couldn’t invite her to move out—I was living in a tiny little trailer and not sure whether I had made the right move anyway. Plus, she was just getting out of a marriage. I worked six days a week and didn’t have any vacation for six months so I couldn’t go see her anywhere. So I never wrote back. I knew she had the phone number at the radio station where she could reach me. She never called.

Over the next couple decades I went to a couple of our high school reunions. She never attended. Andi was at the ten year reunion and I asked her what she knew of Denise. She hadn’t talked to her in months. Did I know she had gotten married again? No, I did not.

About the same time I had reunited with Jackie (you might have read about her somewhere) I heard from Denise via e-mail. We went back and forth on e-mail for a few months—nothing sexual, not even vaguely-- just about family, people we both knew, work, and catching up in general. For her part she had a son and had been divorced, the second time, for quite a while. She had worked her way through school and was now working at a university in a state adjacent to where we grew up. One day she sent me an e-mail asking if we might be able to get together for lunch or dinner the next time business brought me anywhere near where she lived. I told her it was an idea that had merit. I hadn’t seen her in twenty-five years. It would take some doing to find a time and a place since business never took me closer than a four hour drive from her town, but it was an idea that had merit.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Let's Blow This Joint

The restaurant where we met up with Andi and her current boyfriend wasn’t exactly a white tablecloth establishment since none of us had much money. The conversation was good, the meal moved along quickly enough, and by a quarter after eight we were ready to go. Andi, of course, suggested we head to a local watering hole and my heart (or something) sank. But Denise begged off claiming that she felt a little ill and thought she should get home. I was surprised as she had seemed very healthy to me earlier in the evening. I promised Andi that I would get Denise home safely and we were headed back to her parent’s house by 8:30PM.

“Sorry you don’t feel well,” I said as we pulled out of the parking lot.
“I feel fine,” she said.
I looked at her. “Ooohhhhh?” I said.
She smiled at me. “Let’s just get back to the house, Wil.”

As we came in out of the December cold into the empty, quiet house my heart was racing. We left our coats in the living room and started for her room, but I caught her by the waist with both hands and pointed her down the hall to her parents' bedroom.
“What’re you doing?”
“Your room is full of stuff and that bed is really tiny,” I said.
“But, I don’t even know if their room is cleaned up,” she said.
We opened the door and the room was very neat, clean, and tidy. A little plug-in nightlight threw a warm orange glow on the queen-sized bed.
“Looks fine to me,” I said as I took her tweed jacket off and tossed it on a chair.
Denise walked over to the bed, turned and sat down facing me and took her sexy boots off. Then her socks and next her bell-bottoms hit the floor.
I sat down on the chair and took off all of my clothes without ever looking away from her for more than a second. Denise stood up wearing her top, panties, and a crooked smile.

Most guys, when taking off a t-shirt, grab the neckline in front, pull it over the head and then just pull the shirt off their arms. But women, maybe only when there’s an audience, put their arms over their head, catch the garment from behind and pull it up and off more elegantly. Denise did exactly that and stood there in nothing but her panties. In the middle of summer she’s as white as any girl you’ve ever seen—she does not tan and doesn’t have many freckles either. And in December she’s as white as snow. So there she stood, even in the orange light she looked like ivory. Her pink aureole could hide behind a quarter, but her nipples were erect.
“Put your boots back on now,” I said.
“Really? Should I?”
“’Denise, I don’t think you bought those boots with snow and slush in mind. You’ve been wearing them all night but I haven’t been able to see them ‘cause of the jeans. So, yeah, put ‘em back on.”
“I didn’t buy them for winter, Wil? Really? Why did I buy them?”
“You saw them and knew they’d look good on you. They’d make your ass look even better, make your legs look even longer. Maybe you even thought it would be fun to fuck in ‘em,” I said.

She laughed. “I don’t know about the last part but, yeah I like them. I feel good when I wear them.”
She put them back on and stood up. I was standing about five feet from her, naked and erect.
“I see you like them,” she said with a dirty little laugh.
I stepped up to her, wrapped her up in my arms, and we kissed. My cock pressed up against her flat tummy. Then I turned her around and positioned her in front of me by holding her firmly above the hips. I put my hand in the middle of her back and pushed her forward gently and she placed her hands on the bed. She put her feet several feet apart and wiggled her ass in front of me.

I laughed and said, “Now what is it you want, Denise?”
“I want that hard dick in me,” she said. Just like that.
I put my left hand on her left ass cheek, leaned back and looked down her right leg. White skin, black leather boot coming almost to her knee and ending in a pointy toe and very high heels. Her legs never looked that good when we were back in high school.

My cock wasn’t going to get any harder. I took her little black panties in both hands and pulled them apart, tearing them in the middle. I tore them as far as I could. I slid the head of my cock down through the torn panties until I found her bush and pussy lips. She was soaked and I slid it all into her—balls deep in one, slow, stroke.
"Is that what you wanted, girl?"
She wasn't using complete sentences anymore.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Just A Date

I knew the way to Denise’s parents’ house well from high school days. Now, four and a half years later, I was driving back over to see her. I arrived at 5:30 just as I said I would and rang the bell. I felt weird waiting for the door to open. The last time I saw her she was in her wedding dress. I remembered how good she looked that day. In high school she carried a bit of baby fat which was nonexistent as she stood there in that white dress in the church. I wondered if she still had that slender look. I wondered if she was divorced. I wondered if this date was a very good idea.

The door opened and Denise had a huge smile for me. Her warm hug might have lingered a split second too long. She had on flared-leg jeans, a pale yellow clingy top, and a dark tweedy looking jacket. As she turned to lead me into the little ranch house I noticed she walked like she was in high heels—but I couldn’t tell for sure as the pants were so long and wide at the bottom. She definitely had the look of the woman I saw at the wedding two and a half years earlier more than the girl I dated in high school.

The living room wasn’t much different than the last time I was there making out with her on the couch while Marcus Welby M.D. or Mannix blared away on the same Zenith color TV. Back then we would kiss for hours, and I’d feel her up through her shirt while she put her hand on my hard-on through my pants all the while listening for her mom and dad or bother and sister coming into the living room. Of course out in the car somewhere we’d go farther and finally, one night at the river, we fucked for the first time.

I avoided sitting on the couch and dropped down in her dad’s wide recliner and she sat in her mom’s usual chair with a floor lamp between us. Time flew as we caught up. I noticed a few things. She was wearing black leather boots with very high heels under those flare-bottom jeans. Her hair was cut a little bit longer than the last time I saw her but was still a short style and the dirty blond color was full of lighter streaks. I think it was called “frosted” back then—maybe it still is, but it wasn’t much different than what’s called "highlights" now. But, I've never been a hairdresser so what do I know. It looked good. Very little make-up other than light lipstick but lots of rings, bracelets, and dangling earrings. Among those rings were a matching pair of hand-crafted bands on the ring finger of her left hand, one of which looked to have a small diamond.

We talked about everybody we both knew and what they were doing. We talked about the job I was moving to next week and how cold it would be out there in the "Wild, Wild, West." We talked about my family. We talked about her family and I learned that her parents were in Florida—they left the day after Christmas and would be gone for ten days. She filled me in on her sister’s new baby and her juvenile delinquent brother who had grown up to become a non-juvenile delinquent. It was after 6 when I finally asked her about her marriage. They were not divorced but they were getting a divorce. He had never worked a day since their marriage, she did everything, it was a terrible mistake, and on and on. I didn’t want to dwell on any of that but I did ask about her still wearing the rings.
“I had them made by an artist I know. I paid for them,” she said, “And I like them so I've just kept wearing them.”
Then she added, “I thought about taking them off before you came over but figured you wouldn’t care. It doesn’t bother you does it?”
“No,” I said.
We sat there looking at each other. It was quiet. I realized we were alone and nobody was coming in that door or out of a bedroom to bother us. I thought about taking her to the couch or to her old bedroom but before I moved she got up and walked over to the big recliner.
“Scooch over,” she said.
I moved to the right and she sat down—partly next to me and partly on me, her legs thrown over mine and her ass on the seat. She was turned towards me and I turned towards her, put my left arm around her shoulders and we kissed. After a long, soft, gentle kiss I pulled back to look at her. We just stared at each other for a while before coming together for a far more hungry, and longer kiss. During that kiss my right hand figured out that she wasn’t wearing a bra under that clingy yellow top and that her nipples still got as hard as bullets when we touched each other. Some good things never change.

It wasn’t terribly comfortable jammed in the chair and after a few minutes Denise had me help her to her feet. Standing, she turned, put her hands out for mine, and said, “C’mon, I got you a going away present. Something you can take with you out there to stay warm.”
I followed her to her room. It was the same tiny room I remembered but now it had suitcases and boxes, and bags, jammed in it—the stuff she’d brought when she moved in from her recently busted marriage.

“OK. Stand right there,” she said as she positioned me, standing with my back to her little twin bed. “Now close your eyes while I get your gift. Don’t you dare open them until I say you can.”
I closed my eyes and heard her rattling some shopping bags. What the hell would she buy for me? This went on for a minute or so. Then it was very quiet in the room.
“You can open them now,” she said. And as I did she was right in front of me. As soon as my eyes opened she started to unzip my pants and she went to her knees in front of me.
I looked down at her. She had taken her jacket off but other than that she was completely dressed. I heard the jangle of her bracelets as she undid my belt, unbuttoned my pants, and pulled them part way down. By the time she got my cock out of my shorts it was hard. She wrapped her left hand around the root and began working the tip with her tongue and lips. I was watching all of this without uttering a sound but the pounding in my ears was as loud as a freight train.
She went right to it. Stroking and licking. She looked up at me and said, “I’ve been thinking of nothing but this all day.”
I was speechless. She was way ahead of me. While I was still thinking about whether she was married or divorced that afternoon she was thinking about sucking my cock.
All I could do is moan and put my fingers in her hair while she worked my cock like there was no tomorrow. It didn’t take long before I didn’t care if there was a tomorrow.
She swallowed almost all of it—she only lost a little on her clingy top and some stayed on her chin.
Then she looked up and said, “You are much bigger than I remember, Wil. I’ve never swallowed so much cum in my life. I didn’t think you'd ever stop.”

I fell back on the bed. “It couldn’t be helped, 'Nise. Somewhere deep in the brain of any male mammal is the notion that when in competition for a highly desirable female an overproduction of semen gives your sperm a better chance of winning the race to the egg.”
“Did they teach you that at college?”
“Self-educated on some things,” I said as she slid next to me across her bed.
“Well, tell your brain or your balls that your sperm can’t get to my eggs through my mouth.”
We both laughed. Then she rolled on top of me and we kissed deeply. I slid her top up over her tits and held them, pinched them, rubbed them, sucked them and tugged on her nipples. I started to unbuckle the belt on her bell bottoms.

“Don’t Wil, we don’t have time now. Seriously. C’mon, we have to get to the restaurant,” Denise said.
“Fine with me. I’m hungry and I just got a great blow job. All I need now is a beer,” I said.
“Oh, I’m not done with you tonight, Mister. Just make sure you remember where you were.”

We got to the restaurant just a few minutes late. We would have been on time but Denise wanted to change out of her cum-stained top. On the way over I thought about how she had taken me by surprise with my "present." I should have seen that coming, I suppose.
But, the night was still very young. Walking into the restaurant to meet Andi and Jim I noticed how long-legged Denise looked. I remembered how great her firm tits felt and her nipples standing up and hard enough to cut glass. Her skin as white as porcelain... This was shaping up to be the longest dinner in history. I could not wait to fuck Denise.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Of Boomerangs and Things

One Saturday afternoon in June I was sitting in a beautiful, big church witnessing Denise’s wedding. I didn’t take a date for a number of reasons. First, neither Linda nor Julia from my recent college juggling act lived nearby. Secondly, I wasn’t going out with anyone back home yet that summer—a condition that would change soon. My parents had their own invitation-- we went together. It was really a lovely service. I have no idea to this day who the groom was. He wasn’t from our town and the only time in my life I ever spoke to him was after the ceremony when I shook his hand and congratulated him before giving Denise a big hug and wishing her well.

I had expected to have some feeling of “I had her before you did, pal” but that never really crossed my mind. The main thing I thought about was that we were too young for such adult goings-on and that she looked absolutely great. I didn’t want to go to the reception. That might have been too much and, anyway, the few old friends from town that would be there were more her friends than mine. I spoke to her parents, brother, and sister at the church after the service and that was enough. Duty done.

That hug and exchange of good wishes was the last I heard from or about Denise for two and a half years.

Shall we take a short trip in the time machine again? I say, “Yes!”

Let’s travel to the week between Christmas and New Year’s in the year I graduated from college. Right after graduation I traveled in Europe for a couple of months. (We’ll get to that stuff some day I suppose.) Then, I came back to town and worked while I waited for an opening in my chosen field-- broadcasting. That came soon enough, but it meant moving out West to the wilds of The Mountain Time Zone. More about that at some future date, dear reader(s). That's not a promise, it's a threat.

I would be driving out to the Rockies in about a week, right after January 1. I had everything ready to go so I was spending my days hanging at my folks’ house and my nights running with my buddies shooting pool, drinking beer, and eyeing the local beauties. One night right after Christmas I was with my best pal uptown when some folks we graduated with from high school 4 and a half years earlier came into the warm tavern.

Andi was in the group and when she saw me she came rushing over like we were old friends. Actually she was very good friends in high school with Denise, but I never felt she cared that much for me. She gave me a big hug, asked me what was going on, and I told her about my big move the next week. She asked if I had talked to Denise recently and I told her not since her wedding.

“You’re kidding!” she said, “You know they split up, right?”
“Yeah! In fact I was trying to get her to come out with us tonight but she's busy with Penny (her sister) and the baby."

"Baby?" I asked.
"Penny had another baby. Jeez, Wil, try to keep up! Anyway she’s staying at her parents' house this week. You should call her, Wil!” Andi said.
I considered the suggestion without making a commitment.

After Andi flitted back to her group my buddy looked at me, raised one eyebrow, and said, “Divorced?”
“Beats me. Andi said ‘split up’. That could mean all sorts of things. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving town.”
“Right. But you’re not leaving for almost a week.”

The next afternoon I was sitting in the kitchen when the phone rang. It was Denise. We had a nice, friendly conversation without talking about her marital status—she knew I knew she was staying at her parents’ house. Obviously Andi told her she had seen me.
After we talked for a while Denise said, “Wil, how would you like to go out to dinner with Andi and Jim tonight?”
“I don’t know, Denise, I’d feel kinda funny. Like a third wheel, ya know, without a date.”
She laughed. “Well, you could ask me to go along.”
“OK. Sure. When should we go, Denise?”
“Well, we’ll meet them at seven at the restaurant but why don’t you come over here at five or so-- we can talk before we’re out with those guys?” she said.
“I’ll be there at 5:30.”
“Great! This will be so much fun!”

We hung up.
"If you say so, Denise... I'm not completely sure... but I'll take the risk..."