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Bobby and Helge Ch. 01

By: leBonhomme



I collect textiles, not just anything because it is is pretty, because I am interested in how it is made. Most people don't know how many different ways a pattern can be woven into a textile. That is what intrigues me, also quite a few other people, quite a few other men too, the technical aspect. if you were think textiles are a woman's thing. It is; more women collect them, maybe for different reasons. 

A few years ago on an internet textile forum, Bobby and I discovered that we had very similar interests and began to email each other, exchanging information and images from our collections, sometimes admitting that the other had shown something we wished we had found. Bobby knew more about the techniques than I, recommending books that were almost too technical to understand. We didn't exchange much personal information. We both knew about other, related websites. When on one, a textile conference was announce, we were both interested in attending. 

I should mention that my name is Helge, a not too common German first name for a man. Bobby lives in England. The conference was going to be in Italy, and the program promised to be very interesting. Collectors can be stingy about spending money, if it is not for their collection. Bobby and I agreed to share a hotel room for the conference and following tour to Venice, twin beds, of course. I made the reservation, since I live in a Euro country, and we looked forward to finally meeting each other after so long. 

Our flights to Milan landed near enough together, that the organization had one bus to take us to the hotel. Others arrived at different times or by train. As the group collected around the person with a sign for the conference, I scolded myself for not having suggested that we exchange photos of each other on email. I looked around, wondering which man could be Bobby, thinking that one of them should also be trying to find me. Not that old bearded guy, I hoped; he didn't fit my preconception of Bobby. 

The man with the sign had been counting us. When the last person joined the group, he started to call roll. I was watching the men. My name was called, and I raised my hand, but I didn't see anyone look at me with a smile or wave. Hadn't Bobby come, missed the plane? I listened to the rest of the roll call. We were all there! Nothing to do but grab the handle of my bag and follow the group to find our bus. 

As our luggage was being stowed in the bus, a woman my age was standing next to me. I was still wondering where Bobby was, why he hadn't found me with my uncommon name. Then the woman turned to me with funny expression and said: 

This is crazy, a great mistake. You're Helge? All along, I've been thinking you're a woman. Bobbie, Roberta," she introduced herself. 

"Helge, it's also a man's name, and I've been assuming ... Well, if you'd spelled Bobby differently, maybe I would have known. Uh, I can ask for a single room. This is too crazy." 

"It is!" 

We both chuckled so that people near us looked around. We got on the bus. When it started, the man began to tell us something with his microphone. We looked at each other with funny expressions. She remarked: 

"I guess we could have clarified that. I stopped spelling my nickname that way after getting suggestive replies." 

Hmm! And now you've got yourself into sharing a room with a male Helge. I will ask for a single room. Yours; ours is paid for." 

She looked away for a few moments, and we heard what the man was saying about Milan. He was obviously a tour guide, accustomed to introducing tourists to the city. Bobby, now Bobbie, glanced over at me, then away, and we heard more about Milan. Then she murmured: 

"More my mistake." 

"I don't think so." 

"You shouldn't have to pay for a single room ... for my mistake." 

"Still don't think it was just yours. I will." 

There was another pause, more talking from the tour guide. Without looking at me, she said: 

"Still don't want you to. ... At our age, just twin beds ..., a couple of times in China, Tibet, we all had to share a room." 

"You've been to Tibet?" 

"Quite a few years ago." 

"But all of you wasn't like ...," I replied, not finishing the comparison with just the two of us sharing a room. 

Had she nodded? "At our age" - fifty, mine; hers? I didn't want to steal a glance, thinking that when I first looked at her, that she was younger, that much younger not to have suggested that our ages were close enough for her to have said that. The guide was still talking, but the bus was turning a corner in the city. She looked over at me in the dim light in the bus, and I looked at her. She did look younger, like my first impression of her. She smiled wryly and said: 

"Better than letting everyone else know that we made a mistake. I can, if you can."

If she thought I could? At least, it had been a question. How old did she think I was with my first gray hairs? She didn't have any, but women usually don't let them show. If she thought we could, and it saved me to price of single rooms? I shrugged, nodding, wondering, hoping that she couldn't see in the dim light that my cheeks had flushed a little. She wasn't looking at me and murmured: 

"It will be all right. I know a couple of people here, but I didn't tell them I would be meeting anyone. Nice people, they will maybe just smile, when our names are called to get our room key. 

So was it. I tried to look nonchalant, when our names were called together, and we followed the others to the elevator with our bags. Then a man looked at us, apparently someone who knew her, and smiled again. Bobbie smiled and introduced me: "Helge, an old friend. We collect the same things." 

I was getting better about not blushing and responded: 

"Her collection is better than mine." 

"You're being polite. I wish I had a couple of pieces in yours that I have seen, that you have shown me," she replied with nice smile. 

I understood that her last words wanted to imply that she hadn't just seen email images of them, and replied: "Yes, that was nice, also what you showed me." 

The elevator came, and the person who had smiled at her disappeared. She was standing close enough to me that it was unobtrusive when she held my hand, just long enough for me to return her clasp. Apparently, I had said the right thing to confirm that we were old friends. We got on the next elevator with other people, then got off on our floor. Rolling our bags to our room, she gave me a smile and said: 

"I do think we are 'old friends', but not like what he might have thought." 

"Me too," I agreed with a slight smirk, adding: "but now he does." 

"Afraid so," she agreed, while I unlocked the door to our room. 

I was relieved to see that there were two separate single beds in the not so large room. A double bed and single bed would have made us have to discuss who slept in which one. We still could have, but Bobbie immediately put her suitcase on the one nearest the bathroom and wardrobe. We were going to be there three nights, two more in Venice. She began to hang up clothes, and I did, having to walk from my suitcase around the end of her bed, having time to look at her better. Maybe she looked my age, but nicely so. 

We had to change for dinner and following reception, hosted in the gallery of rug and textile dealer. Bobbie took her toilet things and clothes and excused herself to go in the bathroom, after asking if I had to use it. I could have, but said that I didn't. She disappeared, and I changed into my suit, leaving off my tie and jacket to wash my face, when she returned. I had heard the toilet flush. Then she returned with fresh lipstick and wearing a nice dress that looked practical for packing and traveling. 

I grabbed my toilet kit and disappeared in the bathroom, returning as soon as I could. She was sitting on the chair, studying the conference program. While I was tying my necktie, she commented that it was a nice paisley pattern, much more similar to the Kashmir textiles we knew than most paisley ties - why I had bought it and was wearing it for the conference. Pleased with her comment, I grabbed my jacket and we went down to dinner. 

We introduced ourselves to a couple we didn't know and sat with them, all serving ourselves at the buffet and sharing a bottle of wine, which I insisted on paying for, agreeing that the other man could treat us the next time. Then the group trooped off to a nearby carpet gallery. 

The dealer had, of course, decorated it with textiles for us to see and maybe buy. A couple of girls with trays of filled wine glasses offered us something to drink, and not just once. In the crowd, we saw the man who had smiled at the elevator, who smiled again. Bobbie had to introduce me to a couple of other acquaintances. When we were inspecting a textile in a corner, she murmured: 

"I don't know if you are being good or bad for my reputation." 

"Good, I hope. If anyone here knew me, you would be good for mine." 

"Hmmm?" she responded, but with a smile, and when I raised my glass, she did, and we drank together. 

Maybe she only had two glasses of wine, I had three, while we looked at and discussed all the textiles, also with other people who were more familiar with pieces we didn't know much about. After an hour or so, the party was over, and we all returned to the hotel, now in a much looser groups, since we knew the way. We heard someone remark that the night was still young in Italy, and it was, from the younger people we saw still drinking at outside tables. We continued towards the hotel, however. 

On the way, it suddenly occurred to me that going to bed could be more ticklish than I had imagined. I didn't wear pajamas, didn't wear anything, part of the majority of the statistic I had read that 75% of German men slept naked. Of course, just wearing my jockey shorts wouldn't have been a problem with "Bobby," but she was Bobbie. In a second thought, it occurred to me that if she politely lay so that she wouldn't see me come from the bathroom, she would see me getting into bed. 

It wasn't like that. Back in our room, she said that she could wait, and I admitted that I had to go and disappeared. I really did, trying not splash, going long enough for it to occur to me that she could be changing and be in bed, before I returned to the room. I took time brushing my teeth. I had been right, she was in bed with the covers up to her chin, smiling at me, but then her thighs twitched under to covers. I hurried around to my bed, not looking back when I heard her covers being flung back and then the bathroom door close. 

Sure, why hadn't I thought it could be like that? I quickly undressed and was in bed, not looking towards her bed and the bathroom, when I heard the door open. Then I heard her chuckle and remark: 

"Wasn't sure how we were going to do that."

"I sure wasn't," I agreed, as I heard her draw the covers back up. 

She turned off her bedside lamp, and the room was dark. I was about to say good night, when she remarked: 

"That was nice, this evening. This is going to work out. I sure was surprised that you weren't the Helge I had been thinking." 

She wanted to talk, and it sounded like she was facing my way. I rolled over and replied: 

"Much more interesting than if you had been Bobby with a Y, like I had been thinking."

"Hm-hmm! 'Old friends', just not like people all are probably thinking." 

"Don't remind me! It's your reputation." 

"I kind of like it." 

I shouldn't have had that third glass of wine, if she wanted to chat about this in bed in the dark. She did: 

"I'm not an old spinster, but maybe a couple of people think so. Kind of funny to surprise them so unexpectedly."

"You're not an 'old spinster,' I replied, not sure that I had heard the word, but from what she had said, I thought I understood what it meant. 

"They won't think so now, even if we are just fooling them." 

"If you think that's good for your reputation?" 

"Fun, not funny." 

"If you think so. Hm-hmm! Am I supposed to look like we are, that you aren't?"

"Oh? I don't know. You did well, agreeing that we had seen each other's collection."

"Seemed like that was what you wanted me suggest." 

"Better than I expected, thank you."

She chuckled and added: 

"Now that I've got one, such a reputation, we shouldn't ruin it." 

"Okay, I'll look at you with ..., well, however, I'm supposed to." 

"Hmm? Not sure how that is." 

"I don't know either, have to try to remember."

"Hm-hm-hmm! Not with moon eyes; they've already seen us together." 

"How did you know that what was I had been about to say?"

"Just women's intuition. Not at our age, and not if we're the old friends we're supposed to be." 

"Pity; I was kind of looking forward to trying."

"You'd better not!" 

"Okay, then just good night." 

"You too."

We both chuckled and were silent, and I fell asleep. 

I woke up at dawn with my usual morning woody, maybe woke up a little earlier than usual, feeling that it was trying to rise in my jockey shorts. I was helping it before I suddenly recalled why I was wearing them and where I was, and that I wasn't alone. If I had to go, I had to go, but how - delicately? I opened my eyes and saw that Bobbie was facing the bathroom. Hoping that she was still asleep, I crept out of bed. If she weren't asleep, I could sidle past her bed to the bathroom without her seeing the bulge in my shorts. She couldn't be too surprised that I had to go or at the sight of my back in just my shorts. 

I thought I had, safely, beginning to close the door, when I heard her covers rustle and her chuckle and say cheerfully: "Good morning. I have to, too." 

Startled, I froze, then replied: 

"Yeah, good morning. Can you wait."

"I think so; just hurry." 

I closed the door, knowing it was going to take a few moments to start. While I waited, leaning over the toilet and trying to aim in it, I recognized that I was going to be facing her, when I left the bathroom. I went and pulled my shorts back up and flushed. My cock wasn't as small as I wished it were, an unusual hope when sharing a room with a female. I opened the door. She wasn't in bed. Then I saw that she was standing next to the head of her bed, leaving free my way back to mine. She was wearing the kind of nightgown I could have expected, down to her knees, which twitched. I looked up at her face. She was looking at mine and shrugged with a wry smile. When I stepped out of her way, she hurried past me and closed the door. 

I looked at my watch and realized that it was too early to get up, unless she wanted to take a walk before breakfast, as I often did on trips. If she did, I thought that we didn't want to discuss that standing around half undressed, so I got back in bed and waited for her to return. 

She did, smiling over her bed at me and remarking: 

"So now we've done that, know what each other wears in bed." 

As she lay back down, turning to face me, I replied: 

"Bound to have happened. Were you wondering?"

"Weren't you?" 

"Not really, more worried about your seeing me." 

"Really? Like you said: 'bound to have happened;' no need to be quite so private."

"Yeah, I guess, I agree," I replied with a smile, but wondering how far her not quite so private went. 

She smiled back and then - as though she had read my thoughts - she wrinkled her nose with a chuckle and said: 

"Don't worry; I'm not going just to strip of my nighty before I go to take a shower."

"I should worry? I didn't think so." 

She smirked and replied: "Just don't." 

I chuckled and asked: 

"And if I had been the Helge you though I was?" 

"Oh, that would probably have been all right then; women don't care, or - hm-hmm! - if they do - want to look - it still doesn't matter." 

"Hmm? Probably like men's shower rooms, as long as they just look." 

"Something like that," she agreed, and we were silent for a few moments, looking at each other. 

When she raised her eyebrows, I unconsciously raised mine, then wondering why she had first. Then she snickered softly and remarked: 

"But that Helge probably wouldn't have wanted to share a room with the Bobby with a Y." 

"She might have been clever enough to ask about the spelling, or maybe she would have wanted to, anyway." 

"Funny, now she is, we are, but with reversed roles." 

"I thought we agreed that it wasn't just 'funny', 'fun'." 

"Oh, right. We're we a little high last night?" 

"I was, ready to fall asleep, but then you wanted to talk."

"Sorry." 

"Oh, that was fun too, talking about your reputation."

"What did we decide? I must have been high." 

"That it was already good, well, different." 

"Hmm! Now I remember: even we're only fooling them."

"Something like that."

She chuckled with slight grin and then asked if we were going to talk until it was time to get ready for breakfast. I mentioned that I sometimes took a walk before breakfast in a new placed. She thought that was good idea. When I looked at my watch again and said that we had more than hour, she smiled and suggested that I shower first: "since I've already seen you in just your shorts." 

I smirked and got up, wondering, as I walked around her bed, if she was implying that I would see her in just her underwear. I showered and shaved under the shower. When I returned to the room, she was up, waiting with her panties and bra in her hand. I must have glanced at them; she shrugged and remarked: "Not more revealing than a two piece bathing suit, and you probably wouldn't give me a second glance on the beach." 

As she was about to close the bathroom door, I replied: "Not so sure about that, and we're not on the beach. 

I heard her just chuckle, and the door closed. I got dressed and sat down, studying the program, as she had the night before. When she opened the door, I glanced up. She had been right about her bra and panties not being revealing, but she stilled looked surprised and a little embarrassed, her hands moving to shield my view of her breasts and the front of her panties. I immediately recalled the Venus di Medici statue in Florence in that pose. She grinned wryly and let her hands drop, as she muttered:  

"I wasn't thinking that you'd already be dressed: not the beach." 

"Venus di Medici, though, when you did that." 

"Hmm! Flattery will get you nowhere," she replied, but with smirking smile. 

"We just want to take a walk," I replied, but thinking that she had a very nice figure for her age: flat tummy still, and the rest of her profile, nice behind, when she turned to find her clothes. 

She then got dressed, facing me as she buttoned up her blouse and stepped into a pair of slacks, smiling at me as though she were enjoying her performance. I was. We went down and got a map of the area at the desk, and agreed that we could go to the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, the immense shopping mall with its glass-domed arcades. 

We set off. I liked that I hardly had to temper my pace to hers. When we got there, it was still empty, except for a few other early-rising tourists and men delivering goods. When we recognized a couple from the group, whom we didn't know, she took my arm, giving me a quick glance and smile, then murmuring: "For my reputation." 

I squeezed her hand to my side, and we both chuckled, and her fingers grasped my arm. She chuckled again and murmured: 

"But no moon eyes." 

"I've forgotten how." 

"Aw, pity." 

"That was my word."

"Um-hmm," she agreed, smiling at me and grasping my arm again. 

We walked through all the arcades and started to return to the hotel. A little to my surprise, she was still holding my arm. We walked on. Closer to the hotel, I said: 

"I thought last night that you didn't want us to do anything suggestive." 


Bobby and Helge Ch. 02



She rolled towards me with a grin and said: "I think you agreed with me." 

I pursed my lips, and we kissed, then lay there just smiling at each other. When she didn't say anything, I remembered to ask: 

"You wanted to tell me something this morning, in the elevator: 'crazy, silly'." 

"Oh, about my first orgasm. Wow! It had happened. I had been quite happy with everything before, but then I discovered that hadn't been one. Hm-hmm! I wanted to tell the whole world. Of course, I didn't. I even wanted to tell my mom that I was now a real woman, but, of course, I didn't. 

Hmm? Hm-hmm! I did tell someone, my uncle."

"Your uncle?!"

"Oh, I shouldn't have mentioned him." 

"But you did." 

"Oh, I can tell you, if it doesn't upset you." 

"Not if you could tell your uncle that you were a real woman." 

Bobbie took a deep breath and replied: 

I guess so. Oh, I have to go back a few years about him, my father's younger brother, much young. just fifteen years older than me, sort of like a much older brother for me. Didn't have one, only child. So he was around when I was kid, seeing me naked under the lawn sprinkler and like that. Hm-hmm! As a late teenager, maybe he enjoyed that a little differently than I did. 

"So, well, he was always around, and then had his own flat. He writes technical books, always at home, and I visited him when I was little older, when I didn't want to be around the house at home. Yeah, well, we didn't close bathroom doors, and sometimes we went swimming, changing first in his flat, no doors, we saw each other naked. Of course, when I began to grow ..." 

She held her breast, continuing: 

"I was aware that that wasn't quite right, but I wanted someone to see them. Nothing happened. And then when I was eighteen, still a virgin, an untouched virgin, not like nowadays. I wanted to know what it was all about. Whom else to ask? Mom's birds and bees and flowers lecture hadn't told me anything useful. Whom to ask? I was eighteen and could, if it happened, but what? 

"We, my uncle and I, hadn't been naked together in a year or two. I visited him, very embarrassed, and blurted out that I wanted to know about it, about boys, what their cock would be like. I didn't use that word. I had always seen his, but it didn't look like it could do what was supposed to happen.

"He was surprised, of course, very, and asked how old I was. I told him, begging him to tell me. He finally agreed, saying that I was right to know before it happened. Did I really ask him to let me see his? He did, after we somehow agreed to get undressed. Gosh, this is strange that it happened! 

"Anyway, there we were. He didn't have to say that I had grown and look at my breasts, like he did. We looked at each other. Of course, I wasn't looking at his face, wondering how what he had could stick in what I had. I was avoiding any nouns in my thoughts. I said: 'It can't, like that.' 'No,' he agreed with a chuckle, but then it was larger." 

"Of course, looking at you in all your glory," I remarked." 

"Like I know now, but I asked him what I should do. He asked if I really wanted to know. Of course, I did, and it was looking larger. He replied that I probably wouldn't have to do anything with a boy, but if I insisted on knowing, I should hold it. Did he want me to hold his? I insisted, probably with a very red face. It was looking even bigger and was looking like it wanted to be held. You can imagine, beginning to stand out. 

"Hmm! Of course, now I know that he couldn't help but want me to. 'Yours?' I muttered. 'If you want to,' he replied. I wanted to. What young girl wouldn't, when she saw one, and I has asked him to tell me all about it? Were we already in his bedroom? I had been there before, when we were changing to go swimming. I guess we were, since he lay down and patted the bed for me to join him.

"Like you did last night," I remarked. 

"Um-hmm! So I did. Enough details, I held it. Oh, his is like yours, just made for sliding the skin up and down. Don't think he had to tell me to do that, since I had a vague idea about fucking, that the guy would be shoving it in and out. Oh, that was fun, and it felt so good in my hand, feeling it twitch. I asked what was going to happen. He moaned and told me just to wait. 

"Wow, it shot up on him! No surprise for you, but for me, back then, With hindsight, he was being very good about it and helpful. I was surprised when he wiped up a splat and licked his fingers, then telling me that it tasted funny, but that I should know that one day. I didn't then understand what he was implying."

"You sure do now, thank you," I remarked with a grin. 

"Um-hmm. This started about my telling him that I had had an orgasm, but it's going to be more about this." 

"I've been very curious. Go on." 

"Yes, so I also tasted it. Of course, it didn't taste good, so why should I know one day how it tasted? I asked. He looked a little surprised and took a moment before he replied, asking what I knew about oral sex. The innocent that I was, I replied that it was people doing something with their mouths. He nodded with a smile, and I asked if that was good, if they liked to do it. He nodded again and said that most men did, and that women really enjoyed their doing I. 'They do?' I asked in surprised. Did I really ask if he could show me? Maybe I just wanted him to, and somehow he offered to. He did, and I loved it, of course; much better than what I had been doing with my fingers. I sat up and asked if he had really liked it."

"I know he did," I interjected: "licking your sweet young pussy. It still is, reminded me of those of college girls back when."

"You don't need to flatter me." 

"I'm not; it is really still like a young girl's."

"No children. Anyway, I was beginning to understand why I might taste it one day, and asked the obvious, what women did, then seeing that his cock was aroused again. 'About the same, lick it, take it their mouth,' he murmured, looking down at his cock. Did I want to do that?! But he had said the some other women did, suggesting that one day I might. He had done it to me; should I do it to him? Would he let me? I asked: 'Can I try it?' He just nodded - and his cock did too. It bobbed again, and he murmured: 'If you want to. You don't have to let that happen,' and lay back. 

"What was it going to be like? I held it again, and it twitched in my hand. 

"I remember this too well. I shoved the skin up around its head and then slid it down and licked where it had been. It twitched very strongly, and he moaned sharply. I tasted him a little again, but that was all right, not unexpected. I licked there again, and he murmured that that was where it was most sensitive. This was being good, his helping me. So I licked all around it." 

"Almost in your mouth," I remarked. 

"Um-hmm, and then it was," Bobbie replied with a smirk, continuing: 

"I was doing it! And I liked it, like sucking a lollipop - not one of those flat ones, one of those round sherbert ones, but it wasn't cold! I was rubbing it in my mouth and with my tongue. I'd better not arouse myself by telling in so much detail." 

"Nor me; I know how you do it. Go on." 

"Hm-hmm! So then he warned me to stop, but I wasn't going to. If I had started, I wanted to know what it all would be like. I found out. I had done it, and my mouth was full of his semen. I don't know what got into me; I raised my head, and he raised his and was smiling at me. I dove up on him, like I did with you and kissed him. Oh, he was surprised, but he let me, and kissed me back. Of course, I had already kissed boys like that, but now I was lying naked on him, and could feel his cock between us. 

"Then he said: 'I think that's enough, definitely too much of an answer to your question,' I was disappointed, but replied something about it's having been the best answer I could have wished for. He chuckled with a nod, and we got up and put our clothes back on." 

"And you went home with all your new experience," I suggested. 

"Yes, but the story is worse than that. That night and the next one, playing with myself - better than before with my new experience, I was moving my tongue, wishing it could feel his cock in my mouth again. I just had to. I visited him again. He was surprised to open the door for me, and I just said: 'I want to again.' He was even more surprised. I don't think he said that we shouldn't, something about it wouldn't be any different, nothing new for me to learn. 'I still want to,' I replied. Maybe he didn't know what to say. When he didn't immediately say anything, I added: 'You can to; I would like that.'

"I've always been surprised that I really had the nerve to do that. He snorted softly and replied: 'If you really insist.' I did, and we did again, me first this time, and then he didn't hesitate to reciprocate."

"I guess not! He not only had to, since you had done it so good again, and I know he wanted to." 

"Hm-hmm! I do too, now! Back then, I was just thankful that he did. I told you this was going to get worse. After that we did all summer. It seemed like dozens of times, but it couldn't have been that many: eight, nine weeks, not more than twice a week, less for my period. I'd just knock, and we would. When I couldn't justify at home my being away so long, we both did at once, sixty-nine: in and out of his place, out of and back into our clothes in half an hour, and I was back on the street, still tasting him." 

It occurred to me that she had missed her calling as callgirl, but, of course, I didn't mention that, as I listened to her continue: 

"Once, when I dove up on him again, feeling his cock between us down there, I suggested that he could let me learn something else, but he refused: 'We are not going to do that, shouldn't be doing this, although I have to admit that I like it.' 

"Oh, back to the beginning, that I had told him about my first orgasm. After that, when I was twenty, with that guy, I was usually having one. At home, Christmas break, I told him. We had been doing it once or twice when I was home from university, and I had told him that I had slept with someone, thanking him for his help, and he was pleased. We had more time this time. I told him about my orgasm, and he was delighted. Then I was doing it to him, thinking that he deserved to know how good it was. I stopped sucking and licking and crawled up over him. Before he could complain, I was guiding his cock into me." 

"Mmmm! He couldn't complain then!" I remarked. 

"He started to, but you're right, he moaned with me, and then let me do what I wanted, until he had to, too." 

"Lucky Uncle, lucky you." 

"He told me not to call him uncle the first time I did, after it started. Oh, we've done it a few times since then over the years, if he wants to. He usually has." 

"Still lucky, he is," I replied, smiling. Bobbie smiled wryly with a shrug and said: 

"I promised him I was never going to tell anyone, got carried away - talking with you." 

"But very delightful, thank you." 

"I guess I wanted to. It was delightful; just had to share it finally with someone." 

"Then lucky me, and not just for your story." 

"And me too," she agreed, and we embraced with a friendly kiss. 

One of us was going to have to turn out the lights. We both felt the urge to use the toilet again and did, washing again, snickering as we agreed that we should sleep in my bed to keep the room maid from smirking, if we happened to see her in the morning. 

We didn't see her, of course, having to get up early to pack and have breakfast before the bus left at eight, too early for us to do anything in the morning, although we mentioned the possibility jokingly and agreeing that at our age we didn't have to have sex twice a night. Bobbie chuckled and explained that there was a English joke, a pun: "Once a king is a king, but once a knight is enough." 

I understood with a smirk, but said: 

"Maybe, but my name doesn't have a "'von'." 

"And I'm not a 'lady', she replied with a grin. 

"Maybe the 'lady' didn't like her knight's having said that."

"Hm-hmm! Her bad luck!" she replied with a grin. 

On that promising note, we grinned and went down to breakfast a little late, and late getting on the bus, sitting in the back behind everyone else. A few smiles as we entered it suggested that those people might have recognized that we were more of a couple than we had been when we had gotten on the bus at the airport. We were, had "coupled" as good as any two persons could and confirmed that we wanted to again, not that I had doubted that we did: her suggesting a double bed and the joke about a knight. 

The bus set off, and we watched the country-side for a few minutes, discovering that we couldn't hear the others talking. Then she put her hand on my thigh and said softly: 

"Since you're not a knight and I'm not a lady, how long has it been, you know." 

"A lady really shouldn't ask that."

"Now you know I'm not one." 

I suddenly recalled my thought during her story that she had missed her calling - regretting it - but I hadn't been a good knight, had had lots of good nights, but the previous one had been better. I scowled and replied: 

"But then you have to tell me too; three years I guess."

"Guess I asked for that, about a year - no, two or three, with a man." 

"Hmm? One, 'two or three, with a man'?" 

"Do I have to answer that?" 

"Probably not, unless you don't want me to think what I am."

"I really shouldn't have asked." 

"Yes, but you did." 

"What do you think? Do you mind?"

"Not with a man; I don't mind; how could I mind?" 

She grasped my thigh and chuckled. Then she said: 

"As long as you don't mind, you're right." 

I was a little surprised by her admission, but now more curious if she would tell me more. Obviously, she preferred men: her uncle and everything else she had told me - till now. Women couldn't do anything that I didn't like to do, I thought, rationalizing after my initial surprise, so why shouldn't they, why shouldn't she? That chain of thought took too long; she asked again: 

"You don't mind?"

"No, why should I? I would have too. I mean, not with a man. And you, with whomever a year ago."

"Hm-hmm! Wasn't the first time." 

"I rather assumed that it wasn't, have heard about college girls, although it had sounded like there were enough college boys, men." 

"Except for those who weren't interested in girls either into or out of textiles."

We snickered. Since she had, I replied: 

"Now you've got to tell me, since I don't mind, and you started this, and you don't have to prove anything to the contrary; I know that already." 

My last words were in response to her fingers' creeping up my thigh. I grasped her hand and moved it back. My cock felt like it was it was wanting to feel her fingers. She chuckled and murmured: 

"If you want me to; more interesting than talking about the passing country-side." 

"Or what the program says we'll see in Venice," I added before she thought of that excuse. 

She gripped my thigh and gave me a grin, then replied: 

"Yes, we did, in college and a few times later. A year ago was with a friend from back then, now divorced. Since she wanted to, we did. Oh, yes, I know about women who have had two children; she has three." 

"I didn't really need to know that, but now you can believe what I said about you." 

"Hm-hmm! She said something similar, mentioned other mothers she knew."

"Knew like that?" 

"How else, if she said that?" 

"Shouldn't have asked. And ...?"

"This is worse than telling about my uncle." 

"I don't think so, not to mention why," I replied, thinking about their incest. 

"We never talked about that, never have." 

She had understood my implication and gave me a wry smile, continuing: 

"If you don't think so. Sure, in college ... In school, of course, I had seen all the girls in my class in the showers after sport, but like I told about my uncle, I was pretty innocent; don't know if all the other girls were. But in college, after showers, when we were dressed, a girl spoke to me, saying that I had a nice figure." 

"You still do," I interjected. 

"You do too, and she did. The next time we were in the showers, she was smiling at me as she washed herself." 

"Her breasts, or elsewhere?" I remarked again, hoping to encourage Bobbie's telling. 

"Hm-hmm! Male fantasies, but you're right. Both places? I'm not sure, but I guess my nipples must have popped out. Oh, they did, and she grinned." 

"Female fantasies?" 

"I couldn't have any, not about a girl, not after my first orgasm with a guy. But they had. Then she spoke to me again. What did she say? Something about girls, that they could enjoy each other's company, that she would like to know me better. You want to hear all this?"

"If the bus trip is long enough?" I replied. 

"Hmm? I still didn't understand where this was leading, but agreed to go for coffee with her and we talked. I found her nice. We talked about family, that I was an only child, that she had an older sister, how nice it was that she could tell her more what college would be like for girls with boys and girls. I could understand her 'with boys'; I had asked my uncle and knew a whole lot about them. But she went on about 'with girls', that her sister had enjoyed their company, that it had been as good as with guys, better, their not having to worry about the guys' thinking they were madly in love if they had good sex with each other. 

"I could understand that, but then she said that with girls there was also no fear that they could get pregnant. Maybe I was beginning to understand what she was talking about. I must have nodded, maybe suggesting that I understood more than I did. She smiled and said that her sister had told her that girls could enjoy each other's company just as well. I wasn't so sure what she meant. Did I nod again? She did, so I must have, and she said that her sister liked to do it, that it was good. The light went on in my head! She was talking about what a girl could do that my uncle had done with me all that summer. 

"I was only shocked that she was telling me that, since I had heard about lesbian sex, but I hadn't thought further about it, but now recognized that if he had liked it so much, why shouldn't a girl, also that it wouldn't make any difference to my pussy whose tongue wanted to lick it. 

"Enough! It also occurred to me that since he liked to, I could too. She did, I did. It was good." 

Bobbie looked and me with quizzical expression. I smiled and said: 

"I know it was. Why shouldn't it have been? Hm-hmm! But I'm not going to let you - or anybody else - talk me into trying what you did with your uncle." 

"You'd better not! I'm certainly not got to try to."

We exchanged smirks, and her hand wanted to slide up my thigh again. I reminded her that people could want to use the toilet in the back of the bus. She nodded and removed her hand, then smirked again and adding: 

"She wasn't the only one, of course. Oh, she admitted that her sister hadn't just told her, that they had done it with each other. She also wasn't the one last year. After that, a girl didn't have to do or say much for me to understand." 

Bobbie grinned and added: 

"A couple of times, I think I surprised them with what I then said, but only one said that I had misunderstood her. It was the first time for another one, but she admitted that she had already been curious." 

"Girls apparently don't have much of a problem with that."

"I guess not," she agreed, and her hand was back on my thigh. 

Then someone was coming down the aisle to go to the toilet. She quickly removed her hand, and we finished the bus trip in silence, just exchanging smiles. The bus arrived well before noon and we all transferred to the waterbus that took us to our hotel. We all checked in, but our rooms weren't yet free, as anticipated by the organizers, who suggested we have lunch on our own or join a walking tour until two o'clock, when we could enter our rooms and freshen-up before the program started with a tour of a famous manufacturer of textiles at three. 




Bobby and Helge Ch. 02



Bobbie and I had both been to Venice and just had a light lunch and wandered around, pleased when we got where we wanted and talking about when each of us had been there before. Shortly after one, she said that she had to find a toilet, then smirked and said that maybe our room was already free. We hurried back to our hotel; it was free. We collected our suitcases and found it, both grinning at the double bed, which didn't leave space for much else in the room, just one straight chair. 

Bobbie went in the bathroom, leaving the door wide open to let me see her unbuttoning her shirtwaist dress as she sat on the toilet. She grinned at me and said: 

"If we're going to freshen-up?" 

"Already?" I replied with a smirk, unbuttoning my shirt. 

"What else?" 

"Unpack?" 

She was kicking off her panties and gathering up the skirt of her dress, about to stand up - without having wiped. She stood with another grin, beginning to pull her dress up and remarked: 

"Have to put our suitcases on the bed, both of them." 

Her face disappeared. I whipped off my shirt and tried to get out of my pants before she would be standing there in just her bra. She was, grinning again, as she saw me struggling to get my last leg out. She waited till I had, shaking out her skirt and finding a hook to hang it on, then smirking slightly and saying: 

"The rest too; I want to take a nap."

"Just a nap?" I asked facetiously, pulling down my shorts, as I watched her reach back and unhook her bra.

"No! But then, if we hurry, like with my uncle. Don't you have to go first?" 

I did, of course, while she gave her pussy a wipe with a wet washcloth, handing it to me, when I flushed. I gave my unaroused cock a quick wipe, as she brushed past me and flung back the covers. She just waited for me to leave the bathroom before diving down on the bed with her feet at the head of it. As I lay down, she murmured: 

"Just like when I surprised him," and grasped my now fuller but still soft cock and raised her other thigh invitingly, letting me see her still closed pussy lips. 

We hadn't done it like this yet, but both of us immediately drew a thigh up under the other's head, and then my cock was in her mouth, and mine finding her pussy, as we grasped each other's hip and curled up with accustomed familiarity of our experience with others. We both knew that she could suck my cock better, if she could lick it where it was most sensitive, but did she know that I preferred to lick her pussy this way, able to lick her clitoris with my mouth wide open to catch her pussy juice when she came? Oh, she must; she had licked other girls' pussies, while they had been licking hers - better than I could? 

If she wanted a nap, it wasn't the time to think about that; maybe something to talk about later. I never had before with any partner, and no girl or women had with me, but Bobbie and I had. 

We both moaned, as we hurried to enjoy what we were doing and enjoy what the other was doing, hugging each other's hips with both hands, after our other hand had slid under the other's waist. A couple of women had held my hips like that, and I had held more than a couple like that, clutching the cheeks of their asses when their hips began to jerk, so that I could keep my mouth on their pussies. Remembering how Bobbie's hips had moved when she was starting to have her orgasms, I was sure that I was going to have to do that again I was looking forward to it, my tongue doing everything it could to give it to her.

Then, however, Bobbie's fingers began to creep into my crevice - to get a better grip around my cheeks? No, they were creeping further, right down on the base of my spine, rubbing, not clutching. Did that feel arousing? Was it supposed to? Did she think it should? It was arousing that she was wanting to do something no one else had. What? Oooh! Her finger was rubbing past the end of mine spine - there! In a reflex, my asshole contracted. Damn! She chuckled in her throat and nodded. That was what she wanted to do?! At least, she knew that I hadn't had BM after our shower. 

If it wasn't arousing, the fact that she wanted to was, but it WAS arousing to feel her finger tickling my asshole! If she knew that, she must also want me to; that part of our anatomies were identical. When my fingers crept, she nodded and licked again, making me realize that her tongue had been still for a moment or two. My fingers found hers, and she nodded again with a growling moan, and my finger tip enjoyed feeling her asshole respond, like mine was. 

We had said that we were in hurry, but now we took turns teasing each other with more and less licking and sucking and tickling. When my cock throbbed too often, she stopped and let me make her hips twitch once or twice, and then her thighs twitched, and I let her resume arousing me. It had never been like this before - also without fingers. 

Then we couldn't stand the teasing and both did everything we could with more aroused, muffled moans. She got what she wanted both ways, and I did too, almost forgetting to open my mouth wide to catch her pussy juice. My cock was still in her mouth, when I relaxed with groaning sigh. Only when the tip of her finger slipped out, did I realize that it hadn't been just tickling the rim of my asshole. Then I was surprised that mine also hadn't been, only vaguely recalling how her contracting and relaxing asshole had enticed it to probe. 

When I slipped it out, she gave the softening head of my cock a last caress with her tongue, and slid her head back on my thigh. Was I supposed to say something? She did: 

"We forgot to hurry." 

"We sure did." 

"Mmmm! That was good." 

"It sure was, thank you. 

"And thank you! Hmm? Hope that didn't surprise you too much."

"Just not too much." 

"That's good. You were good about it, understood that I wanted that too." 

"I'm not dense, just less experienced. ... At least, about doing that." 

"But caught on quickly." 

She turned around and gave me semen-flavored kiss. We missed our nap, when I asked: 

"Want to tell?" 

"About that too?" 

"Just very curious." 

"Hmm? I guess I have told you everything else. I think she was a pure lesbian, several, many years ago, didn't make any difference. She was upset that I wasn't, but that was only after a couple of times, and she had done that. I was as surprised as you may have been, but, well, like you, I liked it." 

"I did too, to my surprise." 

"Same thing, sensations for both of us." 

"What I was thinking." 

"Did I do it with another woman? Doesn't matter."

"Not to me, and then?"

"A man started it. Same sensations, I was thinking, so I did with him. I was right, of course, and he told me that he had hoped I would." 

"That's enough," I replied, adding: "I know he did." 

We chuckled, and I fondled her breast. She nodded, but then reminded that we had to unpack and freshen-up. We did, more than just freshening up, crowding together in the small shower stall and washing each other, snickering when we washed each other's asshole. When she suggested that I had time to shave, I did, after smirking and asking: 

"I have to do it like that again?" 

"Hm-hmm! Just in case. Of course, only if you want to?"

"I want to do anything you do, even if you surprise me again."

"Don't think I can," she replied, and we grinned. 

We got dressed and were down with the group at three o'clock, still exchanging smiles. If people wanted to speculate how we had spent the time, they could. 

We were surprised when the group was picked up by two sleek watertaxis, expecting that we would go to the textile weaving plant by waterbus. The tour to Venice wasn't cheap. Bobbie and I had questioned if we should indulge, when we were planning to meet and share a room, before we discovered that we both had mistaken the other's gender. In Milan, of course, we were very delighted that we had agreed to spend two more nights together. 

The tour of the plant was very interesting and concluded with wine and nibbles in the display room where people could buy things, not too our surprise. A few did, letting us feel that we could enjoy the hospitality with another glass of wine, chatting with others. When it was announced that it would be another half an hour before we were taken back to the hotel, we smiled at the couple we were talking to, and agreed to have a third glass. Then there a run to the restrooms, and we all got back on the watertaxis for the trip across the wide canal and back through a smaller one to the grand canal and the hotel's dock. 

We were all in good spirits, again chatting with the couple, after we had separated to to use the restrooms. Were Bobbie and I holding hands? Probably. We were seated, or I had my arm around her. The other couple grinned, looking at our name tags. Theirs also showed different surnames. The woman smiled at us and then at her companion and remarked: 

"Looks like you also aren't married." 

We both shook our heads, smirking at each other. Yes, I had my arm around Bobbie, gave her a hug. She looked at me and murmured: "Shall we tell them?" 

I nodded with a chuckle, and she did, grinning and explaining: 

"We both made a mistake. We've been emailing about textiles for a couple of years, then agreeing to meet here and share a room." 

The couple smiled, nodding, and I explained: 

"But she thought I was another woman - my first name - and I thought she was man, since she always signed "Bobby" with a Y." 

The couple smirked and snickered so much that others glanced at us. Bobbie put her hand on my thigh and gave me a smile, murmuring: 

"Just had to tell someone; so funny and delightful."

"I guess so," the man replied, smiling at his companion, who smirked with a nod and then said: 

"We already knew that about each other, but, ..." 

"Shall we say," her friend continued: " ... families don't." 

We nodded understandingly. We all shrugged with mild smiles, then chuckled with restrained smirks about our admissions. I didn't want to look to see how many others had overheard us. 

We arrived at the hotel, and agreed to have dinner together. We did, still exchanging mild smirks after we sat down. Then we talked about textiles and the program for the next day. I insisted on paying for the bottle of wine we shared. The other man insisted that we have dinner together the following evening, so that he could treat us. We agreed, of course. 

Most of the group was going outside, and we four followed them. When we heard others saying that they want to see as much of Venice as they could, we four shrugged with superior glances, since we had all mentioned that we had been there before. His friend glanced at him and then us and said: "The program starts early in the morning." 

He patted her hand on his arm. The program didn't really. Bobbie squeezed my arm and suggested: "They don't need our help to get lost." 

We all nodded, not trying not to smirk. We waited for the others to set off in groups, before we went back in the hotel. He suggested having a drink in the bar, but she said she didn't need one, and Bobbie agreed. I certainly didn't need one, anticipating - very sure - what we'd do, going to our room before ten o'clock. His expression when he glanced at me, suggested that he might have the same idea. As we parted in the empty lobby, she smirked slightly and softly said: 

"Have a good night." 

"You two, too," Bobbie replied, while I was still recognizing that she hadn't just said "good night."

Bobbie grasped my arm and gave me a grin. Out of sight of anyone else, I reached over and fondled her breast. 

We did have a good night, and she did surprise me a little again, that I could want to enjoy more sex than I had expected I could want after two nights and the afternoon in bed with her. It had been a long time since that had happened. It had been good, but that woman hadn't sucked my cock with Bobbie's alacrity, no one had.

Did she love to suck cock because that was the first thing she had done with one - her uncle's? She did, crouching between my thighs. After she started, after it was fully erect, she even raised her head and told me that she liked to do it better that way than how we had in the afternoon: "It just fits in my mouth this way so much better, and I can caress it there." 

She didn't have to tell me that her tongue could caress the back of the head of my cock better that way. It was again, and I could envision how it felt for her to have the aroused head of my cock rubbing on her pallet - not that I wanted to feel a cock rub mine that way. She did, however, moving her head. I just lay there enjoying it and letting her enjoy it. 

I could have let her enjoy it as long as she wanted to, but my cock couldn't. It surged and twitched, despite my trying to stay relaxed. She had been jostling and caressing my balls, but now her fingers were just clutched around my tight sack. My hips rocked up; I was about to come. 

Then she did surprise me again. She raised her head and looked at my so aroused cock, and then looked up at me with what could only be a cock-sucking smile and moaned and murmured: 

"That tastes so good," and looked down at my twitching cock again. 

I raised my head and saw my precum oozing out. It wasn't clear, a little cloudy, she had stopped just in time. She licked it up and gave me a pleased smile, remarking: 

"Almost went too far." 

"Um-hmm!" I agreed in an aroused tone. 

Then her fingernails scratched the the back of my sack. She caught a fold of it between her fingers and thumb and pulled, getting a better grip and pulling more, rolling the thin skin between her fingers. No one had ever thought to do that, on the contrary - it now occurred to me - they had seemed to have been wanting to get it over with, not that I had minded, delighted that they had wanted to let my cock spurt in their mouths - those that had. 

Bobbie was chuckling softly, as her fingers loosened my sack, watching my cock begin to recover from its arousal. It was bobbing slight with my pulse, sinking down towards me by millimeters. When she could jostle my balls again, she smiled at her success. Her other hand raised my cock and drew it back towards her. She licked it and grinned at me again, and then it was back in her mouth, feeling her humming, as her tongue began to caress it again. I had to wait so many years for this to happen?! 

She started all over: licking, sucking, moving her head and fondling my balls - as long as she could. When she couldn't, her fingernails scratched behind my sack, scratching between my thighs. Involuntarily, I drew them up a little to let her fingers scratch. It felt good, a new sensation. She moaned an "uhn-hnn," and they scratched further back. She wanted to do that again? She did! 

A fingertip touched the rim of my asshole, and it contracted. That had felt good in the afternoon. My thighs drew up and let her finger do what it wanted, and this time I was fully aware of its exploring and probing, feeling my asshole contract and relax, letting it probe deeper. When it contracted, it felt like it was trying to draw her fingertip in, and it was wanting to. I gave a pulsing moan, when my sphincter muscle relaxed and felt her fingertip probe passed it. 

She chuckled in her throat and wiggled her fingertip, making me moan again. That could feel arousing?! It was, and also what her mouth was doing. My hips began to rock slowly. Then I couldn't control them, and they began to thrust my cock up deeper in her mouth. Her hand was clutching it and keeping it from going too deep, as I began to groan. This time I was going to come! With a grunt, my hips jerks up, and I did, feeling a long, strong spurt of my semen shoot through my cock and into her mouth.  

With a gulping noise, she almost bit my cock, but then continued, as I felt my cock give her more spurts of semen, as many as it could, but not as many as she apparently wanted. I had to hold her head still and almost suffer the sensation of feeling her tongue's touching the so sensitive back of my cock, as it swilled it around in her mouth. God, she really loved it! Only when I felt her finger slip out, was I again aware of where it had been, now conscious that it had been even deeper in me. 

She raised her head and looked at me with an aroused and pleased expression, letting me see that she was still swilling my semen around in her mouth. Then she chuckled and dove up over me. I knew what to expect, opening my mouth slightly as her lips found mine. Her tongue slipped between them and its sides rolled up in a groove to let me share what was in her mouth. I certainly didn't want to taste another man's semen, but I relished tasting my own, when it was delivered this way on Bobbie's tongue, which had made my cock give her so much. 

She was lying on me with my cock between us, reminding me that she had told of lying on her uncle that way. Still kissing, she chuckled and got her legs outside mine and began to draw her knees up. Did she think we could fuck just after she had given me such a great orgasm? I understood that she was aroused from having done so, but did she expect that my cock could satisfy her so soon? I didn't think so, but she was rising up on her hands and knees, but my cock was still resting on me. If she reached down to help it find her pussy, she could be disappointed. 

She didn't. Chuckling again, she began to crawl up over me, and I understood. She wanted to sit on my face. Relieved, but delighting in anticipation, I grasped her ass and pulled myself down the bed under her, as she rose up and looked down at me with a grin. I grinned back, but my mouth was then out of her sight under her pussy. 

I looked at and licked my lips with a moan, and drew her hips down. Her thighs spread apart, and then my tongue could lap up between her already aroused pussy lips, feeling and tasting how aroused she had been when she had been sucking my cock. She responded with a long moan. 

I loved to lick a pussy as much as she loved to suck a cock. Didn't every man, especially when it was a such delicious pussy like the ones I remembered when I was younger?! A few girls had been surprised that I wanted to, their first times, but that had made it even more enticing to do it and show them how much I wanted to and let them discover how good it was. 

Bobbie knew and wanted me to lick hers. How many men - and women - had? I had to do it as good as they had, then remembered how good her orgasm that afternoon had been. I could do it again, but I wasn't going to be able to catch her love juice this way around. Can't have everything, and this was for her. 

She was moaning, and I did, opening my eyes and seeing that she was holding her breasts, her fingers squeezing her nipples. What else could I do? What she had? My fingers slid into the crevice between the cheeks of her ass. She moaned and her hips twitched. A finger slid down, and her hips rolled back. My finger didn't have to slid further; it was then already on the rim of her asshole, feeling it contract, as she moaned again. It relaxed, and my fingertip found its center, feeling it contract again. I probed, and it relaxed, letting my fingertip probe more. I had been right, when it contracted again, it was gripping and pulling on my finger tip, and she had moaned. 

I still wasn't sure about this, but she was, where she was contracting and relaxing, then also, when she leaned forward with her head against the wall and moaned loader. It wanted my finger in it, and then it was. It felt like the tightest pussy my finger could remember. That girl had gasped, later admitting that only her slender finger had been it. Bobbie responded with a growling moan. 

I licked and nibbled, lapping back for a taste of her pussy juice. Her contractions were reminding my finger to move. Her moans became distraught sounding whimpers, then interspersed with gasps, as I felt her thighs quivering. Then her body convulsed, and my chin was suddenly all wet, and then wetter, her pussy juice sliding down under my chin and running down my neck. I had to taste it and lapped down over her opening - so good! - but she didn't give me another spurt of it. 




Bobby and Helge Ch. 02



Was what sounded like a chuckle just part of her arousal, or because she had understood that I wanted to taste more of it, appreciating that I loved the taste of her pussy and wanted as much of it as I could have? My tongue lapped, enjoying what it could find. I realized that it was tired, obvious out of training, and chuckled at the thought that its muscles might ache in the morning. 

Bobbie pushed herself back from the wall with a long sighing moan and looked down at my eyes. She moaned again and murmured: 

"My God, that was good; you must like to do it as much as I do." 

I could only nod. She moved her hips back of my face, and I said: 

"I do, just hope my tongue won't ache in the morning." 

"Hm-hmm! I do too; I might need it again," she replied with a grin. 

Then she reached behind herself and found my still stiff cock with her hand and hummed with a smirk, remarking: 

"I don't want him to feel left out," and jogged her hand on my cock. 

"I don't either, but you want to?" 

Bobbie just nodded with another smirk and raised her hips and began to move back on me. I moaned with a nod. She changed hands on my cock, reaching between her thighs, and then her pussy was sliding down it. We both moaned. If I had been worrying that that it wasn't as stiff as it needed to be, I then wasn't; it was. 

She sat up and grinned down at me, and her pussy squeezed my cock, obviously not just a reflex from her expression, especially when it did again, and she smirked and said: 

"It's unfair, indecent that women can do it again and again."

I made my cock twitch, pleased that it could now, and replied with a grin: 

"If they need it that much." 

Her pussy squeezed again, and my cock twitched in response. We both chuckled, and she reached down and began to rub her clitoris. We both moaned softly, feeling how her pussy responded and then my cock. I fondled her breasts, and she nodded, her eyes now half closed. That continued, and I wondered if we were supposed to have our orgasm just this way. Her hips were rocking slightly. I felt that I could have mine, but then her eyes opened wide and she softly demanded: 

"Oh, just fuck!" 

As she was dropping down over me, she stopped and grabbed my hand and stuck a finger in her mouth, slavering it with her tongue, and then drew my hand back past her side, as she dropped down on me, murmuring: "And that too." 

I understood: she wanted that wet finger in her asshole. She lay on me waiting. When my finger found it and probed, not just it but also her pussy tightened and relaxed. She nodded with an encouraging moan, and then with a growling one again, as this time my fingertip unhesitatingly probed deeper. When I wiggled it, she responded with a chuckling moan, and then began to fuck. 

We fucked! Kissing, our tongues doing what my cock and finger were. Then she wanted me to arouse her nipples, holding her hips still, while I sucked and nibbled, gently biting them, feeling her pussy and asshole contract. Then she growled again, and we fucked. "Desperately" was the wrong word, but the only one that occurred to me, as our hips slapped together, both groaning and gasping. 

We came. I knew that my cock had spurted again, but I was more aware of her warm pussy juice flushing on my pubic hair, pleased with the confirmation that she had also had her orgasm. 

She collapsed on me, as we both gasped and sighed with long moans, our stomachs heaving against each other. Before we had recovered, she suddenly exclaimed: "Damn! Cramp!" and rolled off me and raised one leg, holding it straight up and massaging the back of her thigh. I extended my legs and reached down and felt the wet, matted hair under my still heavy but relaxed cock. When I tasted my fingers, she chuckled, still massaging her thigh, and murmured: 

"Yeah, that good."

"For me too," I agreed, and we smiled. 

They weren't amorous smiles, just confirmation of our agreement that we had had very good sex with each other. It couldn't have been better. When she had loosened the cramp, she rolled back towards me with her leg over mine and her arm around me. With her head on my shoulder, she said: 

"We have to do that again. Not tonight! And maybe not tomorrow night, but I hope you want to, to see my textiles, and to let me see yours." 

"Oh, I do, and not just to see textiles." 

She chuckled and rubbed my side, and I rubbed hers. We lay there in peaceful agreement, long enough for me to recognize that I had to go to the bathroom again. When I said so, she did too. Chuckling, we got up and did, washing, my remembering to wash my face. When we returned to the room, she smiled and said that they would know why we wanted a double bed. Then we were on it again in the dark and said good night. 

After breakfast in the morning, the treat was that we all went via gondolas to an early tour of St. Marcus cathedral, getting in past the tourists waiting line. After that, we were guided through the adjacent museum with all its collections of textiles. We had lunch at one of the big cafes on the piazza in front of the church. Then we went to a place where we saw how velvet was woven, a centuries old tradition in Venice. 

Before dinner in the hotel, there was time to wander back, going places we hadn't been after lunch the previous day. The other couple found us in the bar. After the first drink, the woman smiled and said: "Hope you had a good night, slept well." 

We all smirked slightly at her reference to her parting words the night before. Bobbie looked at me, and I replied: 

"And also slept well." 

"We did too," he agreed, smiling at his companion, and we all chuckled and took more than a sip from our second glass. 

We had a pleasant dinner together discussing what we had seen. Before the waiter came with the bill for the wine, the organizer of the tour said a few words, and we applauded softly, since there were others in the restaurant. He thanked us and said that watertaxis would take us to the airport. The man paid the bill, and we thanked him, also for the entertaining company. When we parted, we all just smirked slightly and went our ways. 

Bobbie had been right, we didn't have to do everything we had the night before. When we going to bed, however, she grinned and said: 

"Should have asked this morning: Is your tongue tired? Mine isn't." 

"Mine isn't either," I agreed and stuck it out, wagging it at her. 

She licked her lips and lay down with her feet on the pillow. We did it again like the previous afternoon, at least just as good. After she turned around and was lying with my arm around her and holding her breast, she murmured: 

"Just promise we'll meet again. Hm-hmm! Like I told my uncle: 'I want to again.'" 

"Not more than I do; I promise." 

She put her hand on mine and press her hips back closer to me. 

* * * 

That was two years ago. We've been together a few times, most delightfully: first again on neutral territory to visit an exhibition in Brussels, then in her home and in mine. We even saw all of each other's textile collections, but not everything before we wanted to be "textilfrei." 

The the last time I was with her in England, when I woke up in the morning, my cock was trying to get between her thighs. She felt it and moaned, letting it. Then she reached down and helped it find where it wanted to be. She had to let it probe a few times, before she thought her pussy was moist enough. It wasn't the first time we had done it like that. Then she chuckled and pressed the head of my cock into her pussy. She gave a pained moan; it wasn't really moist enough, but then it was, and we both moaned in arousal, as it slipped more easily deep in her. Not as deep as we wanted it, lying like that, but we knew how to solve that. She rolled back, and I moved my body way, letting her roll on her back and raise her thigh, while I curled my hips up under it and behind her hips, sliding my thighs under and over her other one and pushing my cock deeper in her pussy. 

We both chuckled with moans at our practiced success, knowing we were going to enjoy a lazy, morning fuck. The one before we went to sleep hadn't been lazy. As usual, then both our hands were down finding her clitoris, just gently moving, just enough to make her moan softly, and her pussy contract. Then she surprised me, murmuring: 

"I always wanted someone to lick, when I was like this. Not always, just since it occurred to me." 

"When you were like this?" 

"No, just alone, fantasizing. Don't you?" 

"Hmm? Too often, but not like that. Hmmm? Sounds like the ultimate." 

"I guess so. Kind of wicked, wanting two people to arouse me."

"Very! Don't know what two women could do with me, what I could do at the same time with them. ... Oh, I can imagine, but I doubt it would be any better; too much going on."

"You're right; worse for me, I was going to want to do it to him at the same time." 

"Be fucked and licked and suck his cock?"

"What occurred to me." 

"Hmm?! You want two men, and one with his mouth almost where the other's cock is?"

"I guess so, but I hadn't thought about that, that that would bother them." 

"You wouldn't, but I did; it would bother me, ... either way." 

Our fingers were gently rubbing. After a few moments, she murmured: 

"Still better with a tongue." 

"For mine too," I agreed. 

"His too, my uncle." 

"Your uncle, still with him?" 

"In Italy, I down played that we still do."

"Why not?" 

"What we thought, he and I, so we do, when he can visit me." 

"Good for him!" 

"And for me, if you don't mind?" 

"Why should I? But were you thinking he would want to - with me?"

"Not yet! But since you suggested it," she replied, turning her head and giving me a grin.

We rubbed, and I fucked gently to make sure my cock remembered where it was. After it did, I replied: 

"I just asked, didn't suggest anything."

"I know; just wanted to tease you." 

"But if a woman wanted to?" 

"You wouldn't mind that? ... Oh! You wouldn't! Hm-hm-hmm! Probably want to do it the other way around." 

"That was your suggestion. Know one who would?"

"Oooh! You do want to!" 

I made my cock twitch, instead of replying. Bobbie chuckled and squeezed it. I fucked and we rubbed, exchanging cheerful moans. Then she chuckled again and said: 

"Of course, you'd want to do it with her too. Hmm? Have to think about whether I can share." 

I let her rub and fondled her breast, then hummed with grin and replied: 

"If you have to think about it, then I can too. Know one who might?"

"Hmm? You want to know if I'm still doing something with women?" 

"Said that I didn't mind." 

"Yes, sometimes, since you don't mind."

"And you think she would?" I asked again. 

I fucked and fondled, and she rubbed for several seconds, then she raised her eyebrows and said: 

"At least, she's not a confirmed lesbian; I know that she likes men too. Enough about that, now just fuck me." 

I did, while she tried to do with her fingers what she wanted a tongue to do. 

* * * 

We didn't mention the conversation again, also not when she visited me. If she could fantasize about it, however, I could and have been, trying to temper my idea of how her friend could look. 

If she were Bobbie's age, she certainly would not have to have her so nice figure, but would Bobbie want to do anything with a woman with sagging breasts. I envisioned thin sacks hanging down two inches with tired looking nipples down on them, then envisioning that her breasts might not look like that if she were overweight, but then too big breasts, still floppy? Or could she be younger, how much younger? 

If it was going to happen, I was going to have to trust Bobbie's good taste. Maybe there wasn't just one woman she knew, whom she could suggest it to. When that occurred to me, I snickered to myself in bed at the strange idea that I wanted the woman, whom I loved to have sex with, should have sex with other women, enough for her to have a choice of the one that would be willing to have sex with both of us. She would try to pick the one with the best figure and prettiest pussy. This was a crazy idea, but it let me upgrade my envisioning of how she could look. I did, with a better fantasy of what we all could do together, which included my enjoying two pussies at the same time. 

*****

Sorry folks. I know this story begs for a sequel, but there won't be another chapter. Just use your imagination, like I was in the last paragraph. I am sure there are many FFM and FFMM stories that tell what could happen; mine do.



Bobby and Helge Ch. 01



"Is this? I guess it is, but then I've been thinking that that was right last night, just having met again, but now everyone knows. Hm-hmm! I have my new reputation to maintain. They might think we had a spat, if we don't show that we didn't." 

"Hmm? It's your reputation; whatever you want to think." 

Her fingers grasped my arm again, and we entered the hotel. She let go of my arm before we entered the dining room, but I had to wonder if people had noticed us. We had breakfast and then spent the day listening to talks about various kinds of textiles: pictures and videos of how they were made; the symbolism of the designs for the natives who made them and how they used them. It was an interesting day. Some things we already knew, one or the other of us or both. A couple of times we disagreed with the speaker. During the lunch break, we visited the dealers' fair and were pleased to find things similar to items in our collections, more pleased when we discovered ones that were priced far higher than what we had paid for ours. 

After the day's program, the dealers hosted a short reception in their area - generously, of course - hoping we all we be in a good mood to buy something. Bobbie and I were in a good mood after two glasses of wine, but more about being with each other. In the dining room, the couple from the previous evening immediately found us, and we ate with them again, discussing the talks and sharing the bottle of wine, which he then paid for. 

After dinner, a major carpet dealer in Milan was hosting a reception for the group. We hurried to our room to use the toilet and freshen-up before the group set off, again on foot. She took my arm again, giving me a grin and murmuring: "Not just for my reputation." I grinned back with a nod and squeezed her hand against my side, like I had in the morning. 

In the carpet gallery, there were also textiles displayed. The gallery owner welcomed us and explained that most of the textiles were from other dealers and that we could ask about their prices, and then invited us to help ourselves to drinks. Some people were already crowding around the table covered with glasses. Eventually, we also had glass of wine and looked at the textiles. Most of them were too big and probably too expensive for us, but very attractive, although our interests were more for Oriental textiles. We had a second glass of wine and compared impressions with people looking at the same piece with us. 

When others were still going to have another glass, I suggested that we could, but Bobbie shook her head with slightly smirking smile and murmured: "Or else I might have to go, before we get back to the hotel." I nodded with a wink and agreed that maybe I would then would too. 

Slowly, people started to leave, thanking our host, and then we did. She was holding my arm again, of course. As walked along, I asked: 

"When did you get into textiles?" 

"Hmmm! Early, diapers." 

"You got to go?" I asked with smirk. 

"Not yet, and I think they were Pampers - at university, after a course and going to a textile exhibition."

She chuckled and added: 

"Of course, I was in textiles before that." 

"I hope so!" 

We both snickered softly. I had, of course, squeezed her hand again when she took my arm. Now she pressed my elbow against the side of her breast and asked: 

"And you, into textiles?"

"Yeah, well, when my mother was still dressing me, but she was also interested in them. I have a few little things she picked up, when she was in museum work." 

"Oh, that's nice. ... Uh, are you married?" 

"Divorced." 

"Children?" 

"We separated before that." 

"Oh," she replied softly. 

"And you?" 

"Never happened. Oh, maybe it could have, but ..., put it this way, he wasn't interested in a girl into textiles." 

"Hm-hmm, just out of them?" 

"Hmm! I guess you could put it that way. Oh, I was too. Twenty, of course, I was out of them." 

She gave me a smirking grin in the street light. I returned it and clamped her hand to my side. She snorted silently and pressed the side of her breast against my elbow again. It could have been inadvertent the first that happened, this time it couldn't have been. Definitely not; when I moved my elbow against it; her finger gasped my arm. I chuckled at her last remark and replied: 

"Of course. You studied textiles, know a lot more about them than I do."

"Oh, maybe, nice to have someone to tell." 

"And the guys studying with you?" 

"Hmm! Some of them weren't into girls in or out of textiles." 

"Could have thought of that."

"But I wasn't a young spinster." 

"I didn't think so, and not an old one, if I understood the word from the context last night. What does it mean?" 

"A woman who spins, spins yarn or thread. I guess it got its present meaning, because that was about all, the most common thing an unmarried woman could do to support herself. I teach." 

"I knew that." 

We walked on in silence, a little faster, since we weren't talking. Bobbie had wanted to emphasize that she hadn't been a "young spinster," not married, but doing what married couples do, apparently with more young men than the one when she was twenty, when she "was out of them" - textiles - then with men later? I could well imagine that, now that I had seen her. She clutched my elbow closer to her again, but more to suggest that we hurry on. 

We did, arriving in the hotel. The elevator was waiting for us. In it, she smiled wryly and said: 

"Good thing we didn't have another glass of wine." 

"Diapers, Pampers?" I replied with a smirk. 

She nodded with a grin and wagged her knees, too demonstrably to let me think that she really had to go that bad, but that she didn't mind my appreciating her little girl's impulse. We hurried to our room. I unlocked the door and let her rush ahead. She just shoved the bathroom door close to the door frame, and then I heard her using the toilet, until she really closed the door. 

I had taken off my jacket and removed my necktie - a different one - when she opened the door with a wry grin and asked: "Don't you?" 

I did and quickly went around her bed to the bathroom, remembering to really close the door as I unzipped. When I opened it again, she had hung up my sports jacket and was reaching back to loosen the waistband of her skirt. She remarked: "Wash later." 

I nodded and unbuttoned my shirt. Her skirt came off, and we had to change places for her to hang it in the wardrobe. I hung my shirt on the back of the chair. When I turned back, she was unbuttoning her blouse. We'd been like this before, no big deal. I took off my pants, and then we both were just in our underwear again, smiling at each other. When I remembered her Venus di Medici pose that morning, I wondered if her nipples had stiffened, thinking that they must have, but her bra was one that I didn't think would have let me notice. She didn't look they they were now, unconcernedly reaching back to unhook it - that unconcernedly?! I murmured: 

"Your nighty first?"

"Oh! Yeah, I guess so," she replied with a blush, and got it. 

She gave me a wry grin and slipped it over her head, letting it drop without putting her arms through it, and then reached back again. She gave me another wry smile as she took it off under her nighty and then pulled it up enough to be able to flip her bra on her bed. She shrugged with a smile and began to push her panties down, as she remarked: "The rest too." 

As they dropped to her ankles, she asked: "Do you always sleep in them, your shorts? Seems like that would be like sleeping in a tight bra." 

Was she drunk, were we both? She was flipping her panties up on the bed, as I replied: 

"Not usually. Never thought about girls' sleeping in a tight bra." 

"Why they don't," she replied with slight smirk, as she struggled to get her arms through her nighty. 

Did she know that she had pulled it up almost too far? I hoped that she hadn't noticed that my eyes had dropped down to the hem of her nighty. Her arms extended and she grinned and said: 

"Like having to change on some beaches." 

"Just some?" 

"Hmm! In Denmark on one, I was surprised when people, men too, just unconcernedly got naked and then put on their clothes." 

"Really?! You looked like you were almost going to."

"Kind of forgot. You didn't want me to." 

"I didn't want you to ..., want you suddenly not to forget," I replied. 

"Might have anyway," Bobbie replied. 

Had she blushed, or was our conversation or the wine just making me think her cheeks were rosier? 

She shrugged and murmured: "Wash," and disappeared in the bathroom, half closing the door. I unconsciously reached down and jostled my balls and helped my cock slide around to the side, then realizing what I was doing, excusing myself with the thought: a man couldn't have such a conversation and watch a woman almost bare her breasts and then almost let him see her - I didn't want to use a word for it - the rest of herself , without "male thoughts," again to avoid putting them in words. 

I just stood there, waiting for her to return, conscious that my cock felt like it was understanding "male thoughts." She returned, smiling sweetly, and got under her covers. I went in the bathroom, also just closing the door enough that she couldn't see me at the washbasin and turned on the water. I washed my face and hands, and then hung my cock over the edge of the washbasin and quickly rinsed it, before I brushed my teeth. As I dried myself, I wondered if I was anticipating too much, almost hoping I was - but just in case ... 

Bobbie was lying facing my bed, when I returned to the room. When I turned off the bathroom light, the room was dark, and I stumbled a little on a corner of her bed, before I found mine. As I lay down, she chuckled and murmured: If you want to, make yourself comfortable, no tight bra."

I sure did, when she had said that. My cock wanted to be more comfortable, but I wasn't sure that was going to make me more comfortable. I chuckled and began to take off my shorts, knowing that she could hear the rustle of the covers. I was a little drunk. I murmured: "textilfrei," the German expression for nude bathing. 

She snickered and replied: 

"Don't have to know German to understand that." 

"Shouldn't have said it." 

"If it's more comfortable." 

I was jostling my balls to loosen my sack from my thigh. I didn't have to jostle my cock to free it from anything, lying on my side, facing Bobbie. I wasn't going to reply to that question. The first thing that came to mind was to say: 

"Now they all have the right idea. I mean: all of them now have the wrong idea." 

There was a long silence. I heard her covers moving, wondering if she was turning over to finish our conversation and say good night. It had gone far enough, her suggesting that I sleep naked, like I always did at home. Where were my shorts? I was going to have to put them on, before I got up in the morning. Her covers were still rustling, then she snickered and replied: 

"Maybe they have the right idea."

"How do you mean?" I asked, before it occurred to me what she could be implying. 

"That we shouldn't fool them." 

I had understood her implications - both of them, that we should do what people in the group probably assumed we did! I was at a loss for a response, but my cock wasn't. When I didn't say anything, she murmured: 

"Don't you want to? I do."

My cock obviously did, but it took a moment before my mind caught up with it. Of course, I wanted to, just so surprised by her words. I flung back my covers and took the two steps between our beds, hearing her covers move. In the dark, I found that the edge of her bed was free and lay down. She moaned, and the covers and her arm dropped around me. My arm went around her. She was also naked! Of course, all the rustling of her covers that I had heard. 

We embraced, both sighing with long moans, as our thighs drew up and overlapped. It was so familiar, as though we had lain together many times before. I moaned again and murmured: "I do too." 

We kissed, just tentatively for a moment, and then our tongues were caressing as though they had been wanting to since we met, and I thought that I had too, and her hand on my back was rubbing as though she did too. It slid down, holding my hip, and then she murmured, her lips moving on mine: "I hope you want to do everything I do." 

I nodded. Her hand slipped down between us and found my cock. I moaned, and she moaned, and her fingers discovered that I wasn't circumcised. She chuckled with moan, her fingers exploring, and murmured again: "The best kind, ... the better kind; I guess there are only two kinds." 

I nodded with a chuckle, and she chuckled. Her thighs squeezed mine, and mine responded. What was everything she wanted to do, not just hold my cock? She told me: "I can't wait. I want to do that too, but now I have to." 

She urged me to roll back. We had to move over so that I could, and then she was straddling me, her hand guiding my cock to her pussy. It slipped in so easily that I knew she was already moist, her "now I have to," but her pussy was almost as tight as the ones I remembered from my youth, much tighter than the last one it had been in, that of a mother of two kids. We moaned as her hips slid down it onto mine. We moaned again, when my cock twitched and her pussy held it tighter. 

Then her breast was over my mouth, her stiff nipple almost probing to be sucked. I did, regretting that I hadn't let her take off her bra and let me see it first. Would she have let me? It didn't matter; it was so nice to suck and nibble, and she was moaning in response, then wanting her other one sucked. 

Had I read in Master and Johnson that two experienced persons could have best sex their first time together? Her nipple slipped from my mouth, and then her hands were holding my head, her mouth again on mine, tongues taking turns trying to get as deep as they could in the other's mouth, being sucked, as her hips moved up and down on my cock. Mine rocked up to meet hers, and we both more growled than moaned, as my hands clasped her ass, encouraging their movement, not that they need any encouragement. 

I was pleased that I wasn't the youngster I had been the first time a girl had wanted to be on top and made me come too quickly. She was panting and growling, her tongue no longer in my mouth, and I was groaning from the effort to slap my hips up to hers as fast as hers were descending on my cock. 

Just fuck, I told myself, not liking the word, but it was the only right one, feeling my throbbing cock sliding in and out her still youthfully tight pussy. Then her knees were quivering against my sides, and she was gasping between whimpers, and I felt warm liquid on my pubic hair, and she began to laugh instead of whimpering. Then her hips stilled and she was lying heavy, delightfully heavy on me, still gasping and moaning with her head down next to mine. 

Oh, of course, I had also had my orgasm, a little lost in my appreciation of feeling hers, now aware that her pussy was still contracting on my cock. When she stopped gasping, she rocked her hips to move her legs back, then lay still on me, our stomachs rising and falling against each other, as I embraced her. Master and Johnson had been right. 

Finally, she raised her head and kissed me again, just friendly kiss, and then chuckled and said: 

"Why didn't you tell me in all our emails that you were man?" 

"Why didn't you tell me that you were a woman?" 

We both began to laugh softly, kissing again. Then she murmured: "Is it still there?" 

I felt her pussy contract again, but then it wasn't, and we both chuckled. She slid off me, and I rolled towards her, our thighs overlapping again, as we embraced. 

"Why didn't we go to that other textile thing two years ago?" 

"We didn't know each other well enough."

"Mmmm! We do now." 

"And how!" she agreed, kissing me again, as we hugged and our thighs squeezed together. 

We were silent and fell asleep. Hours later, I woke up, for a moment surprised to find myself lying like that with woman again. It had been a long time since I had. Then it all came back to me in a delightful rush of memories, but I had to go to the bathroom again. I tried to slip away from her without waking her, thinking that I had, when I heard her softly moan once, not moving. 

I found my way around her bed and the door to the bathroom, almost closing it, before I turned on the light, only then thinking that I could have found the toilet in the dark and sat down. I did, anyway, to avoid making noise. As I was almost finished - it's a little hard to tell when one can't see or hear anything - the door opened again, and she was standing there in the light. 

She smiled and ran her fingers through her tousled hair with both hands, which made her breasts rise most attractively. When she lowered her arms, they were still most attractive, hardly a crease under them and as firm as I remembered when I was sucking her nipples. They were nice too, just the right size and light pink. Then they popped out, even nicer, but she then chuckled and covered them with her hands and murmured: 

"Don't stare. I have to go too." 

"Should have let you take off your bra before we went to bed." 

"Hm-hmm! I probably would have, not thinking about what I was doing, it just seemed so familiar. Hurry!" 

I stood up, and she quickly sat down, shrugging with wry smile. I grinned and replied: 

"Very familiar." 

"Um-hmm. Oh, I wasn't thinking of anyone else, just that ..., well, ... oh, I wasn't thinking at all." 

We both snickered, grinning at each other. I saw her eyes drop down, and she chuckled and remarked: 

"You are a man." 

"I thought we settled that at the airport." 

"Not like we did in bed." 

"Mmmm! And that you're a woman." 

"What a delightful recognition for us both, once we forgot about our textiles." 

We both snickered with smiles, and she stood up and flushed, and turned to the washbasin to wash her pussy. Very familiar, I thought, enjoying the view of back - slender waist - and round hips. She finished and stepped aside, apparently assuming that I would wash. I did, and we returned to the room. She looked at her bed and then at me and asked: 

"Or do you want to sleep in yours?" 

"Only if you do." 

"If we can sleep; kind of out of practice sleeping with someone in a single bed - or a double bed." 

"Me too, very much out of practice." 

"Mmmm, it didn't seem like it," she replied with smile and went around to my bed, lying down and smiling at me. 

When I joined her, she rolled over, and I curled up behind her, finding her firm breast with my hand. She put hers on mine and murmured: 

"Just don't do anything. Good night." 

"I'll try not to. Good night." 

We were down late for breakfast, even though we agreed to save time by showering together, not that we did save much time. When we entered the dining room, I could only imagine that people must recognize how we had spent the night, suddenly recalling going to breakfast the first morning of my honeymoon. We ate quickly. In the elevator, Bobbie wrinkled her nose and said: 

"Now they know for sure that they were right."

"What I was thinking, feeling," I agreed. 

"Kiss," she replied, and we did, just a brief one, luckily. 

When the elevator doors opened, there was a couple waiting to go down. On the way to our room, we chuckled and grinned, and she said: 

"Worse than two teenagers." 

"Better, and it was your idea." 

"Because of what you said, agreeing with me." 

"Hm-hmm! I'll try not to all day, if that's what happens." 

"Just all day," she replied with a grin. 

We did whatever we had to in our bathroom, then remembering to find my shorts and her nighty under the covers at the foot of our beds. Alone in the elevator, she grinned and said: 




Bobby and Helge Ch. 01



This is crazy, silly; I feel like I remember after my first real orgasm: 'That was it! I can do it! I'm a 

real woman!'" 

"Can't risk saying I agree with you," I replied with a smirk. 

"Remind me to tell you more later - when you can." 

We both smirked, and the elevator doors opened, and we went to hear more talks. 

During the day, she continued to tempt me to agree with her, and I managed to avoid doing so, once like this: 

"You like that piece?" 

"No, I don't think so." 

"Oh, you don't like it? 

"No." 

"You agreed with me." 

"No, I disagreed with what you said." 

"Then you do like it?" 

"I don't think so." 

A man overheard a couple of our simpler exchanges and asked: 

"What's that about, always disagreeing?" 

Bobbie grinned and replied: 

"Sort of a game; if I can get him to agree with me, I threatened to kiss him."

The man smiled at her and then at me and said: 

"If I were you, I'd agree with her." 

"But not here," I replied, and we all chuckled. 

As we were going to lunch, she asked if I thought we could change to a room with a double bed in Venice. We went outside, and she found the telephone number of the hotel on the program. I called it. We could and chuckled. As we went back in the hotel, I reminded her that I hadn't said anything to agree with her, and we chuckled again. 

After lunch, the talks continued, and I forgot our game, until she caught me, but whispered that she could save the kiss till later. We were almost like a couple of teenagers, and I reminded myself to remember to ask about what she had said in the elevator. 

The program ended with a wrap-up of the whole program, and someone thanked the organizers. There was no reception planned for the evening, but the announcement of one in Venice. Then there were more drinks in the dealers' fair. We only had one glass of wine, exchanging promising smiles about we expected to spend the late evening in our room. Another couple we had met suggested we join them for dinner. Some people had already headed home, just a bus load going on to Venice. After dinner, when the other couple said they were going to pack for the early start in the morning, we agreed that was a good idea, only purring with smiles when we were alone waiting for the elevator. When we were in it, I got my kiss and returned it, stopping before the elevator did. By then we had a feeling for how long it took to get to our floor. 

As we went to our room, I looked at her with big eyes and purred. She looked back at me with soft moan and murmured: 

"Moon eyes." 

"And bedroom eyes," I murmured, purring again. 

She nodded with moaned "um-hmm." 

I unlocked the door and told her she could use the bathroom first. She did, dropping her handbag on her bed and letting me see her unzipping the back of her skirt as she disappeared, without closing the door. I knew women usually pulled their skirts up to go to the toilet, so she was suggesting that she was going to take hers off. I took off my jacket and trousers, seeing through the open door that her skirt was off and saw that she was taking her panties off her feet. 

Oh yes, she was really getting undressed. I stopped watching her, just looking forward to her returning in the nude, as I took of my shirt, hearing her flush and then the water in the washbasin. I took off my shorts and unconsciously jostled my balls, aware that my cock was longer than it usually was, most appropriately so, if it didn't look too eager when she saw it. I saw her reach for a hand towel, and then she turned and smiled before she dried her face, letting me look at her nice little, sparse triangle of hair. Then she was smiling at me again and drying it. She nodded at the toilet, and I joined her, turning up the ring and using it. 

Can going to the bathroom be arousing? Yes, when a woman fondles the cheek of one's ass and purrs. She stepped aside to let me wash. In the mirror, I saw her leave with her clothes. Hers and mine were hung up, when I returned to the room. She was stand at foot of her bed looking at me and breathing deeply, sighing with an aroused expression. She glanced from one bed to the other. I flung back the covers on hers, and she nodded, but didn't move to lie down, so I did with my head and shoulders against the headboard. Then she did smile, nodding, as she got on the bed, crouching between my legs. 

I could only think of one reason for her wanting to be there, and my cock also seemed to agree. She looked at and then up at my face and asked: 

"You know what else I want to do?"

"No, so that you can't kiss me, but I know what I would like you to, and what I then want to do. Hm-hmm! You'll have to tell me." 

"Oooh! Oh! I never told anyone that I wanted to." 

"Wanted to do what?" I asked with a facetious grin. 

"Never told anyone," she murmured with an almost embarrassed expression." 

"A first time for everything, ... even at our age." 

She took a deep breath, stalling for a moment, looking at my cock, and then almost whispered: 

"I want to suck your cock." 

Having sex had never been like this. I moaned, and felt my cock begin to stiffen, and murmured: 

"I was hoping so. I want to, too, for you." 

She suddenly smirked at me and said: 

"Now you say it!" 

"I want to lick your pussy, or whatever you call it." 

"Lots of words, but that's the one I like - my nice soft furry pussy." 

"Mmmm, I'm going to like it too." 

"I hope so, but I have to warn you, no matter how good you do, I'm going to want you to do something else." 

"Hm-hmm! I can't imagine what; tell me." 

"Hmmm?" She scowled, then grinned and said: "Fornicate." 

"That wasn't the word I was thinking of."

"Okay then, just 'fuck' me, as good as you did last night."

"As good as you did."

"Um-hmm, but now what I want to do this first." 

My cock had softened a little, but then it was in her mouth and quickly stiff again, stiffer than before, as she demonstrated how much she liked to suck it. I moaned, unconsciously shaking my head, not about what she was doing, but about her so openly telling me that she wanted to. No girl or women had ever admitted that to me, even after she had, and a couple had obviously just done it without liking it. One had been very upset, when she made me come in her mouth, but it sure didn't seem or have sounded like Bobbie was going to be. How did she come to love to do it? 

I had to forget those thoughts, feeling what her tongue was doing and how her fingers were fondling my balls. Oooh! And other fingers clasping my cock and moving with her bobbing head. "Bobbing," Bobbie, her name was so appropriate! 

She really wanted it! She was moaning, and her fingers could now only clutch my tight sack. I tried to think about something else to hold off my orgasm, but I couldn't. My hips were twitching, and I was beginning to gasp. I gave a long, pulsing moan, and my hip rocked up. She nodded with a louder moan, that vibrated on my cock, and then my hips rocked up again, and I grunted, as my first strong spurt shot in her mouth. She groaned in her throat and almost bit my cock, but continued to fuck me with her mouth, moaning with each successive spurt. How many? Not as many as she seemed to want; I had to hold her head still, as I gasped and groaned. 

She nodded with another moan, that could have been a muffled "um-hmm," and just licked, sloshing my semen around in her mouth. She really liked it, the way it tasted? I had tasted it once, after it shot out in thick, creamy globs. Before that, it had been just thin translucent spurts.. Other girls had just gulped it down, but Bobbie was still savoring it, if that was what she was doing. 

Finally, she chuckled and looked up at me with smirk, licking between her closed lips. She chuckled again and dove up on me, planting her mouth on mine, her tongue between her lips, and then between mine, and then I tasted it again. Hadn't she swallowed any of it? She wanted to share it with me, assumed I would like it as much as she apparently did? I did, when it came from her mouth. 

She chuckled and raised her head and murmured: 

"That was good, like I wanted it to be, and you were good - so much." 

"'Cause you were so good. I won't ask how or when you learned that you like it."

"Hm-hmm! I'll tell you, never have before, but not before you do. I go all wet, when I do that." 

She rolled off me, and I moved down the bed, as she moved to where I had been and drew her thighs up. There was nothing coy or tentative about what she wanted to let me do. I remembered girls wanting to keep their thighs together, wanting me to force them apart, not wanting to admit that they wanted me to lick their pussies, even if was the second or third time I was going to. And none of them had ever first sucked my cock, almost only doing it when I was already licking, sixty-nine. 

Bobbie's thighs flopped open, revealing, presenting her pussy to my view and in light from the lamp on the ceiling. Did she know how lovely her pussy was? She couldn't, unless she had seen other women's pussies like I was seeing hers: just a few hairs down on the sides of her round pussy lips, that were slightly open, revealing their pink inner sides, moist from her arousal, when she had been sucking my cock. I could barely see her inner lips, not like those of that mother of two, which had been long and wrinkled. Oh, I had liked her pussy, but Bobbie's reminded me of those of the first girls' that I had licked, young, almost virginal college girls, but I hadn't seen them in such good light, sometimes not at all in a dark dorm room. I moaned in anticipation. 

"Stop staring, lick. You said you wanted to," Bobbie almost demanded. 

I did with delight, thinking that I could tell her later that her pussy was like that of a twenty year-old, like her breasts almost were. She moaned, almost in relief that I had started, my tongue lapping up between her pussy lips, discovering her soft smooth inner ones and tasting her moisture. My tongue found her clitoris, and she moaned again, but it wanted to find her opening and taste more of her moisture. Of course, the mouth of her vagina was like those of the young girls, not like that of the mother. The tip of my tongue wanted to probe, and she moaned again, then chuckling and murmuring: "Your fingers can do that." 

She knew what she wanted. Those college girls had never suggested that, and my fingers had only been in them when they had let me get to "third base." Where had I learned that American expression? I did what Bobbie wanted, licking her clitoris and finding her opening with a finger. She moaned, as it slid all the way in. Her pussy wasn't as tight as those of those girls, of course, even though it contracted on my finger. She had said "fingers." Another one was about to slid in, when she murmured: "Two." 

She gave another relieved moan, as it did. I had to remember to keep licking, while my fingers twisted and wiggled - and fucked. I must have been doing it right; she moaned louder. I wanted to hold her breast and feel her aroused nipple. My other hand reached up. It had to dislodge hers on her breast, but then her fingers were encouraging mine to squeeze and pull on her stiff nipple. 

It had never been like this, having to coordinate doing three different things, but then tongue and fingers learned to, making her respond with pulsing moans. Fucking was going to be easier. I rocked my hips and felt my cock wag - good boy. Her hips began to rock, and then her thighs twitched. 

Come, I willed her, even if it isn't as good as you might have hoped. I don't know if it was, but she did, whimpering, as her hips jerked. I didn't wait to know if she wanted more that way or to recover. I rose up and plunged my cock in her sopping pussy. She gasped and groaned, but her arms and legs wrapped around me, and we fucked. 

No intimate kisses no breast sucking, it was all about our loins' fucking. Now I was on top, fucking her pussy, and her hips were rising up and slapping against mine. I was only aware that she came again from her gasping, my cock moving too fast to appreciate that her pussy had been contracting, Her hips stilled for a stroke or two, but then were fucking again. Did she need another orgasm, or had she just recognized that I hadn't had mine yet? 

We both got them. She was whimpering again and then laughing, as I gasped and grunted. I collapsed on her, and her arms and legs relaxed and flopped down on the bed. Vaguely, I knew that I was very heavy on her, but couldn't do anything about it, as we sighed with short moans, our stomachs unable to allow us to take deeper breaths. 

When I had recovered a little, I rolled off her. She took a long, deep breath and sighed, then another one. I admired that her breasts didn't flatten out as much as other that I remembered, when she was lying on her back. I reached over and held her far one. She moaned softly and put her hand on mine. Then she opened her eyes and turned her head and smiled at me, then murmured: 

"We do that too good for beginners." 

"Not when you tell me what you want, or do what you want." 

"You don't mind my having told you?"

"Best way to get what you want, and that's what I wanted." 

She rolled towards me with a grin and said: "I think you agreed with me." 

I pursed my lips, and we kissed, then lay there just smiling at each other. When she didn't say anything, I remembered to ask: 

"You wanted to tell me something this morning, in the elevator: 'crazy, silly'." 

"Oh, about my first orgasm. Wow! It had happened. I had been quite happy with everything before, but then I discovered that hadn't been one. Hm-hmm! I wanted to tell the whole world. Of course, I didn't. I even wanted to tell my mom that I was now a real woman,but, of course, I didn't. 

Hmm? Hm-hmm! I did tell someone, my uncle."

"Your uncle?!"

"Oh, I shouldn't have mentioned him." 

"But you did." 

"Oh, I can tell you, if it doesn't upset you." 

"Not if you could tell your uncle that you were a real woman."