Don’t worry, you’re not forgetful, I've not written about Angelina before. I already needed a quick side trip away from the Sharon story when something happened two days ago that reminded me of Angelina. I spent most of the day this past Wednesday with a strange taste in my mouth. I had eaten an especially juicy pussy at about 5 AM that morning and the taste never left me. Not really a strong *pussy* taste but kind of a quasi-metallic aftertaste. Some of you guys (and a few of you girls, come to think of it) may know what I mean. (Or maybe it's just me.)
Now, I hear you saying, “Uh, Wil, ever heard of mouthwash? Toothpaste?” Yeah, I’m a firm believer in good oral hygiene. But circumstances kinda kept me from addressing that situation until just before dinner time. This is more than you ever wanted to know, isn’t it? Although, maybe a female reading this will ponder briefly the idea of leaving the aftertaste of her pussy in her lover’s mouth for a few hours and smile. I don’t know. Personally, the notion of a young miss going through the day with some of me inconspicuously splattered in her hair is a touching tribute. Especially if she knows it’s there. But, hey, that’s just me-- a hopeless romantic.
This blog is supposed to be about the 70’s, 80’s & 90’s but so far it’s been a lot about the 70’s and 90’s with the 80’s largely missing. Well, Angelina is from the 80’s! I’ll write about her a bit more at some later date, but here’s one quick piece. I was living in one of the largest cities in the Southwest US and in my late 20’s. I was working in a media job and was enjoying the hell out of life—making good money in a city full of beautiful young women. One night I had to go to an industry function at one of the new, glorious, gigantic hotels sprouting up in this boomtown city. I was there with my boss and a couple other guys from work. There was a cocktail party first and then a formal presentation before everybody could take off. Basically, it was face time… carry the company flag… make a showing. Maybe you’ve done this sort of thing. Anyway, I’m talking to some of the other media hustlers, eating cheddar cubes and shrimp, drinking a Tecate, mingling, basically killing time, when I spy this beauty about twenty feet away. Brown skin, jet black hair swept into a highly professional updo, impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit and white blouse, manicured, made-up perfectly, sexy heels, small breasts, but enough ass to get lost in for a month and a day. This lovely Latina with the bubble backside was an instant hard-on for your humble correspondent. I could barely take my eyes off of her but I didn’t want to get caught staring at her either by my co-workers or by her.
I was distracted just before the end of the cocktail period by a work buddy and a fresh beer when I noticed a woman come up to us at my left arm. I turned to find myself face to face with the brown beauty I had seen earlier. She put her hand out to me. I shook it as she said, “So you’re Bill Wilson! One of our mutual accounts warned me about you.” Her deep, dark eyes actually twinkled. I swear they did.
“Don’t believe anything they say about me, Angelina,” I said, reading her name off the white and blue “HELLO I’M_____” tag stuck to her suit. I introduced her to my workmate as they started to call the group to order for the presentation. She said, “Mind if I sit with you guys, I don’t see any of my group here.”
I told her I had paid them all to stay away just for that reason, and we found our seats.
Over the next few weeks Angelina and I got together a half dozen times or so and I’ll write about it all one of these years, but one meet-up I’ll try to tell you about now. We had both arranged our schedules so that we were calling on accounts fairly close to her house late in the AM one day. We were to meet at her bungalow around noon. I got there early and waited in the driveway. She had bought a little house rather than rent an apartment. It was a fixer-upper in a changing neighborhood. Her bet was that it was changing in a way that would bring increased equity. Sitting and waiting for her I figured that bet could go either way. But she had guts and a lot of spirit for taking risk.
She pulled in the drive behind me in her 3 series BMW. I looked in the mirror and watched her exit the car in a cream colored suit with a deep purple satin blouse. Suede heels matched the color of her blouse. Silver earrings and necklace... a black leather briefcase... she looked very professional and sexy at the same time. We went in the house together and she had no inclination for small talk. She told me to sit in the big overstuffed chair, went to the stereo in her living room and put the needle on Patti Austin’s “Havana Candy” album-- she loved soft jazz stuff.
She came back and did a slow strip for me—not allowing me to touch. Soon enough she was out of her suit and blouse but still in her jewelry, bra, garter & stockings, and her purple shoes—the naughty thing hadn’t worn panties. She cocked her head and looked at me as she undid her hair and let it fall down to her shoulders. I pointed at her and motioned for her to turn her back to me. I moved to the edge of my seat and ran my right hand over her brown round ass. She bent over a bit and put her hands on her knees. I gave her taut ass a firm smack. I wasn’t taking a chance—I already knew what she liked. She was a total slut for rough spanking. I gave her another firm smack on the left side. She took about a half dozen firm open hand swats to both cheeks without a whimper. Then a few more before I slid my finger between her legs. She was nice and wet. Hot and slick.
I stood up and led her to the couch. She reclined into the pillows with her right leg on the couch and her left foot on the floor—spread wide open. Hers was one of the first closely trimmed pussies I’d seen in person. Her lips were very full and clearly visible with her black bush trimmed nice and tight. They were so dark brown they almost looked purple. I ran my tongue through the deep furrow between her wet pussy lips. After nibbling away at her for a few minutes Angelina was fuller than any I’ve ever seen to this day. I slid two fingers into her and started to work her cunt hard and fast while tonguing around her clit. When she put her hands in my hair and pulled me into her I started sucking on her clit. Patti Austin had finished side one a long while and I was still eating her out. She was on fire-- her ankles locked behind me-- her hips bucking as she pushed into my face with her soaked cunt. I have no idea how many times she got off but when I was finally worn out after nearly an hour at her house she was glistening everywhere and obviously spent. I really wanted to fuck her until she passed out but I was going to be late for an appointment if I didn’t get going. Angelina threw her clothes on and backed her BMW out so I could go. She waved and ran into her house.
At 6PM I was supposed to be at a watering hole near the office with my boss. He loved going there because the waitresses were all sweet little babydolls and their uniform was white hotpants, bright colored tight tops, and white go-go boots. It was barely the 80’s and this place was still kinda in the 70’s—but in a cool way. In those days I was rockin’ a nice, big, dark moustache. Now some thought it was like Burt Reynolds. I thought the comparison to the brand new TV character, Magnum PI was better. (My “friends” thought I resembled the Frito Bandito. Bastards.) On the way over to the bar I had bought a can of 7 Up when I got gas for my plush ride. When I took the second sip of my drink I smelled Angelina’s pussy as if it was right back in front of me. Fuck. Her pussy juice was in my super cool moustache and the 7 Up had brought the scent back to life. I ran my tongue over it and wiped the Magnum ‘stache before going inside the dark bar. I sat down with my boss and ordered a gin and tonic.
“What happened to you today?” boss said with his usual grin.
“Accounts or pussy?” I said.
“Save the account shit for tomorrow morning.”
“I ate some great pussy for lunch today,” I said.
“You can’t expense that,” he said.
“It was free,” I said.
“You’ll find there’s no such thing,” he said.
“Now, tell me all about it,” boss said, “Kendra?”
I just smiled.
“You motherfucker. Not Kendra? You motherfucker!”
I took a drink of my gin and tonic.
“Spill it all. Right now.”
My boss was grinning with anticipation but my lips were sealed.