0 comments/ 26296 views/ 0 favorites Love All By: Sheepish It was Friday night and we had a couple of hours to kill. “How about going down to the club and knocking the ball around?” I asked. “It’s pretty hot,” she said. “So we dress cool and sweat a lot. We could both stand to sweat off a few pounds. Let’s bring some water and a couple of beers for fluid replacement.” “Okay, let’s do it.” So we went to the bedroom to change into our tennis togs. She reached into her drawer and pulled out some shorts. “No shorts! You gotta wear a tennis skirt!” I demanded. “Okay, whatever.” I pulled out a light polo shirt and some loose shorts. Normally I wear briefs when I play tennis, but this time I pulled out a gold thong she had given me for Valentine’s Day last year. Then I made a show of taking off my boxers and putting on the thong. “Oooh, nice cheeks,” she said. “Is that going to work for tennis?” “If they get too tight, I’ll take them off. At least my butt will be cool.” She stepped out of her cotton panties and put on her navy tennis panties, not very sexy, but they had ball pockets built into them. “Aren’t you going to wear a thong too?” “No way, not with a tennis skirt!” “I suppose you’re not going to go braless either.” “Yeah right,” she responded. I watched her take off her regular bra and put on her athletic bra. “Your tits look great!” I volunteered. She smiled, but didn’t say anything, although it looked to me like her nipples hardened and poked out just a bit. We dropped our son off at his martial arts school and headed over to the club. We hadn’t made reservations, but figured Fridays are usually pretty slow, so we wouldn’t have any problem getting a court. Sure enough, courts one and two were being used, but all the courts in the other building were open. “Let’s play on court seven,” I suggested. “Okay.” The “bubble” is an air supported dome over four courts. We went through the revolving doors and walked to the far end to court seven. Without other players on the courts, it was strangely silent. As expected, it was quite warm. Both of us got out our rackets and began to stretch. When Betty bent over to touch her toes, I playfully lifted her skirt to expose her tennis panties. She noticed, but since no one else was around, she left it where it was. After stretching for a few moments more, we walked to opposite sides of the net and began to hit soft volleys to each other. In a few moments, we picked up the pace and were hitting crisp volleys and moving each other around a bit. In no time, we were warm and a bit sweaty. Then we moved to the baseline and hit ground strokes for about ten minutes. “How about a game to eleven?” I asked. “Okay, tonight you are going to get beat!” “Oh really? How about a little side bet? The loser has to lose their underwear.” Betty thought for a moment and said, “Only if you spot me five points.” “Five points? I thought you said your were going to beat me tonight.” “Five points,” she responded. “Okay, you’re on.” A game to eleven is not like regular tennis. The ball is hit over the net three times. On the fourth time, the point is alive and played out. Each live rally is worth one point and you must win by two. I usually win these games, but it is often close. This time, I played a bit more seriously and went for winners when I would normally play to keep the rally alive. I had to work hard for it, but I did even up the score at nine all. Betty was starting to get nervous, which in her case, is a bad thing. She quickly lost the next two points. My game, eleven to nine. I walked up to the net. “Hand them over,” I said and held my hand out. “I can’t take my panties off here,” she said. “How about if I take them off after Paul (our son) goes to bed?” “No way, you made a bet.” “What if someone comes?” “If that happens, we’ll quit and you can put your sweat pants on to cover up. Now pay up!” She looked at the revolving door, four courts down. We would hear the door before we saw any people. Reluctantly, she lowered her panties, stepped out of them and handed them to me. Her tennis skirt was long enough to cover up everything, but if she ran, or stooped over, the view would be fantastic. I looked at her long and beautiful legs with the knowledge of what was hidden beneath her skirt. My penis began to harden. This made my thong extremely uncomfortable. So I dropped my shorts, took off the thong and put my shorts back on. “Now we’re even. How about another game?” I asked. “I’m not taking anything else off!” “Okay, what should we bet?” “I think maybe we should quit.” “No way! I want to see you run around panty-less! How about if we just knock the ball around for a few minutes. If we can think of something to bet on, then we’ll start another game.” “Well, I guess so.” So we started hitting the ball to each other. The view as she moved was very erotic. Her lovely ass was often exposed as she ran to get the ball. Occasionally the front of the dress would fly up and I enjoyed a brief view of her pubic patch. When she bent over to pick up a ball, she would deliberately turn her back to me and bend over at the waist, exposing everything! I was having a wonderful time, but my game was falling apart and my shorts were bulging from my excitement. “Time out,” I called and walked over to the bench to get a drink of water. “How about that beer?” she asked. “You bet.” I reached into our mini cooler and popped open her beer. She took it and drank half of it down immediately. “You must be thirsty,” I commented, “you never drink that fast.” “I’m losing fluids.” “Oh really? What kind of fluids?” I asked as I lifted the front of her skirt. She spread her legs slightly as I reached out to touch her pussy. It was dripping wet! My middle finger slid inside with no resistance. She moaned as I inserted it deeper into her dripping vagina. “Just a minute, I’ve got a surprise for you.” I went over to my bag and pulled out a new fingertip vibrator I had recently purchased. I placed it on my right index finger and began to massage up and down her moist opening. “Over here,” I said and led her to the net post. She leaned against it. This way she was facing the door at the other end of the building. She would be able to see if anyone came in. I reached for her pussy from behind and began to stroke all around her clitoris. With my left hand, I reached around and began to tweak her sensitive nipples. Soon she was moaning and gyrating with abandon. My vibrating finger went directly to her clit and stayed there. I knew she was close to orgasm. “Stop,” she said, “I want your cock inside me.” I backed up and sat down on the bench. I pulled my loose shorts aside and freed my erect member. She backed up to me, grabbed my shaft and guided it in as she sat down on my lap. Now she was rocking on my pole and massaging her own breasts and nipples. I reached around with my magic finger and found her clit. She did all the work. I could only sit there and enjoy the intense feeling of her riding my cock, her vaginal muscles contracting spasmodically. Then her pussy tightened hard as she began to come. The extra tightness literally squeezed the come right out of me and we both came in a mutual, thundering orgasm. When it was over, we both sat there stunned. Too spent to move. I was about to say something when the revolving door began to move. She quickly sprang up and straightened her tennis skirt, and I, just as quickly, slid my shorts over my glistening cock. Coming through the door was a couple that we knew well. We had played them many times in mixed doubles and always enjoyed the match. They waved and headed to our court. “Hi guys!” said Jim as they came near. “Do you want to play some doubles?” I looked at Betty. Her face was beet red with a combination of past exertion and present embarrassment. “Sorry Jim, we just came down to hit a few and now we have to go pick up Paul. Thanks for the offer though.” We began to pick up our things. I bent down and retrieved Betty’s bag from the ground so she wouldn’t have to bend over to pick it up. Then we headed toward the door. I was holding my bag so it covered up the huge wet spot on the front of my shorts. We left the courts, walked through the lobby and headed for our car. I opened the door for Betty, but she just stood there. “Would you please get a towel out of one of the bags?” she asked. “Sure,” I said and did so. She accepted the towel and said, “Thank God nobody noticed.” I looked down and saw that our mingled cum had run all the way down her leg. There was a little pool of the milky stuff gathered just above her sock. I couldn’t help but laugh. Soon she was laughing too as she wiped down her legs and crotch “Maybe you should sit on that towel on the ride home,” I suggested. She spread the towel on the seat and climbed in, not realizing she gave me a tantalizing glimpse of her bare ass as she stepped up into the van and a full view of her pussy as she slid onto the seat. I closed the door and walked around to the other side. When I got in and closed the door, we both began to laugh again. Almost hysterically. Finally we calmed down. I wiped the tears from my eyes and drove off. “That was the best time I’ve ever had playing tennis,” I said. “Me too,” she said. “Do you think Jim and Martha suspected anything?” “I doubt it. But it’s a good thing they didn’t come in 2 minutes sooner.” “I can’t believe we did what we just did!” she exclaimed. “It’s all your fault.” “What?” “Sure, if you weren’t so damn sexy, none of this would have happened.” “And that makes it my fault?” “Absolutely!” Love All, 0-15, 0-30, ... Love-69 This is a complete story under this title. It has been pleasing to see that a few people have chosen to post a "favorite story" or "favorite author" to a couple of my submissions. Thank you! I value that more than five stars (that get lost in the average). But all of us here tend to read stories with an H (average 4.5 or better). If you really like a story, giving a high rating lets others know that someone thought it was good, a recommendation for them. I am sure other authors feel the same. Comments are also appreciated. Let authors know what you think. leBonhomme * I can't remember when I first noticed Mrs. O, a member of my tennis club. I know it was several years ago, back when tennis was more popular. Back then, one had to be at the club by 8:15 to reserve a court for 9:00. And then one had to watch to see that someone didn't cheat by moving your magnetic name tag to another court, or worse, removing it. Probably that was when I first noticed her, an avid player, avid protector of her own reservation, but not above cheating. Did we first speak to each other when I caught her moving my name tag on the tableau of courts and times? Of course, I wouldn't have. Doesn't matter, and it couldn't have been a serious argument, since we greeted each other by name after that, just a little more personally than one greets other members, whose faces are only familiar. However we met, after that I did watch her play, with younger, good players. She was younger than I, and looked even younger, her sportswoman's figure. I enjoyed watching her for a few years, wondering if I would have a chance playing against her, could be a fair match for her - just on the courts, of course. She played so often that early in the summer her legs were soon tanned the color of the reddish clay courts, her arms too, of course, but I found it more interesting to look at her legs. Maybe it was only my imagination, but I had the impression that she placed her feet so that her thighs opened more than other players' did. Maybe she didn't, but I was recalling having read that traditionally Japanese women walked pigeon-toed to modestly keep their knees together. Frau O didn't when she took the last step before hitting the ball. I liked my impression that she was completely unconsciously demonstrating a slight lack of the modesty the Japanese women had consciously shown - keeping their knees together, and she wasn't. Why should women keep their knees together? She didn't, and that always made it a little enticing to watch her, wondering if her male partners on the court had the same thought. There was no excuse to ask them, and I certainly didn't know them well enough to even mention my impression. Eventually, indirectly, I learned that she was married with two children and that her husband worked for a firm in city so far away that he stayed in a flat there during the week. I should explain that I was lucky enough to take early retirement, able to play tennis on weekdays, when Frau O did. I played with three different groups of partners, some of them also playing in the other groups with me. Each group included five or six persons, requiring a plan to rotate partners. I wasn't pleased when I ended up having to prepare the rotation lists: an odious task, trying to incorporate others' planned vacations, minimize dates when two, who didn't like each other, had to play together. And then there were times when only three of us turned up; the fourth person not having found a substitute. When we were lucky, we could recruit someone - anyone - waiting to play. When not, we had to play two against one. Once, Frau O joined us. I don't know if it was good or bad for my game: wanting to impress her with my play, but being distracted by my thoughts about her legs, observing her open thighs at closer range, even when she was my partner returning the ball from the base line, when I should have been facing the net. We won that set, maybe more from her skill, but I did pretty well. I have always noticed that men - even much older men - demonstrate surprising ambition when playing with a female partner. I probably also did - tried to - but playing with a strong partner usually inspires one to play better. Whatever, over coffee afterwards, as we were finishing, she asked if I was interesting in playing singles one day, before my usual doubles match an hour later. Of course, I was, and we agreed to meet on Tuesday the following week. On the way home, I realized that I would have to have an explanation for my wife about having to go an hour earlier to play tennis. Luckily, a couple of times I had played singles with another man before my doubles match. No problem, she accepted my saying that I would meet him again. She also didn't know him or his wife well enough to happen to check. Tuesday morning, I left the house with a slightly guilty conscience, not that I really should have had one; we were just going to play tennis. Did I play better than I had hoped - despite my looking too much at her legs? Did she let me win a couple of important points? Whatever, apparently we both enjoyed it, shaking hands at the net, her smile better than it had to be. As we packed our bags, seeing my partners on the other court, she asked if I wanted to play again the next day. Apparently, she knew that I would be playing with my other group. Of course, I did. At home, I told something believable to justify playing again with that man. Either he or I wanted a rematch. She didn't question my story. I was getting better at lying. Wednesday morning, I just hoped that my game would make her suggest that we meet again the next week. She won, but that let me say that I wanted a rematch. She smiled and agreed, saying that we could play again the next Tuesday, but not on Wednesday. I liked, of course, her implication that she assumed that we would continue to play more often. Tuesday, I wasn't on my list to play with my group, but my wife was accustomed to my playing most days and assumed that I would be. My other players would, however, notice that I was there playing with Mrs. O. Before we started playing, I mentioned that. She nodded with a smile and suggested that we just play for an hour as usual and then depart. It doesn't matter how that match ended. We packed our bags, both waving to my friends, and left the court. Out of their sight, around the corner of the clubhouse, she beat me to the suggestion that we have a cappuccino. I insisted on paying, which she accepted, and we went in the clubhouse. Since we both had wanted to talk, it was a pleasant conversation, telling each other how we started playing tennis. I had always played a little, never had lessons, just hitting the ball with other boys, then more regularly when I joined the club to play with new acquaintances after I moved to the city. She told that she had started playing to meet people when she and her husband and their two children moved here, telling that she had taken lessons at first. I complimented her ambition and obvious success. She said something about thinking that I was good enough to play on the club's team for my age group. Since I knew that she played with several different persons, usually playing singles, I also mentioned something about her success at having made new friends and then asked how she found so much time to play. She smiled and explained that the previous year her husband had taken a better position in a city too far away to commute, staying in a small flat Monday to Thursday nights. Without thinking that she was suggesting anything, I commiserated about her weekend marriage. She smiled lightly with a nod and then asked if I wanted to play with her the following week. She could have expressed it differently, but she had said: "play with me." Maybe that was when I started getting ideas about not just playing tennis. Of course, I agreed. That was when she asked how I explained at home that I was playing tennis an hour earlier than usual. I chuckled and told that I had explained that my wife assumed I was playing with man whom she knew, but not well enough to call. She also chuckled and asked what day I wanted to play with him again. I checked my lists, seeing that I was playing both days, and we agreed to meet the following Tuesday. I paid for our coffee, and we shook hands, holding them a moment longer than before. Before we got in our cars, she waved to me with a smile, something she hadn't done before. Needless to say, I returned her wave and smile. Driving home, I had more of guilty conscience, not that I really had reason to, except for my recalling her "play with me." It also seemed likely that I would be questioned about my supposed friend's wanting to play with me so often. I also expected that my usual tennis partners would remark about my playing with Mrs. O so often. My wife didn't ask, but I did have to survive a couple of comment from my partners the next Tuesday when I joined them. As she and I had been shaking hands at the net, I had mentioned to her my anticipation of their comments. She had smiled with a nod and said that she didn't want to cause me difficulties - "at home either." Then she had suggested that maybe "we could play with each other" on a day when they didn't play. I had agreed, of course, that that was a good idea, but also not without complications. She had nodded with an understanding smile and suggested we just meet a week later "either to play or just talk." Thinking about her last remark was distracting during my doubles match, a mixed doubles. The two women certainly didn't open their thighs the way she did, and their thighs weren't as tanned or well-formed as hers. The following Tuesday, I wasn't scheduled to play, but I still went to the club an hour earlier than I would have if my list showed that I were playing. She and I met in the parking lot. When I mentioned that I wouldn't be playing, she suggested that we could play until the before the others would arrive. I pointed out that one of them would have to arrive earlier to reserve a court, and that it would be even more obvious, if we suddenly left, perhaps meeting others then arriving. She nodded and then smiled slightly and replied: "I said: 'either to play or just talk.' Then just talk, ... if you want, ... since we are both here." I agreed, of course. On the way to the clubhouse, we realized that it was too early to get coffee. She immediately suggested that we could go to her place - she said "my place" not "our place." As we turned back towards our cars, she remarked: "It won't be cappuccino, just normal coffee." "Fine," I agreed, adding: "With milk and sugar." "Of course, even with fresh cream; I like that better." "Me too, just seldom take the trouble and spoon milk from my glass at breakfast." We exchanged smiles. During the last steps towards our cars, I suddenly wonder where she lived, whether neighbors would notice her returning home, followed by another car, and a man following her to her house door. As she unlocked her car, I asked hesitantly: "Both cars?" raising my eyebrows." She must have read my thoughts, smirking just very slightly and replying: "We have a penthouse apartment. You probably know the building; no problem." As I followed her in my car, I appreciated that she had understood my question and hoped that she appreciated the reason for my asking it. But had she already been thinking about what possible neighbors could think if they saw us both going to "her place," knowing that her husband was away all week? I had, just that they could, not that they should, would have a reason to. She had been right; I did recognize the building, now pleased that I didn't know anyone living there. We both parked on the street. While we were still on the sidewalk, she murmured: "People are still going to work. Top floor, of course. Ring." I nodded and continued up the sidewalk when she turned to the door. Yes, she was definitely thinking about the neighbors, as she should, even if I was just visiting for a cup of coffee. During the minute or two, while I waited, it occurred to me that my tennis clothes could suggest a connection to her. Was I already thinking that this could happen again? She had been right, again. Several people left the building, I observed from around the corner. Hoping no one else would, I went back with what I hoped looked like a purposeful stride. When I rang, the buzz to unlock the door sounded immediately. No one saw me get in the waiting elevator, and, of course, it wasn't stopped by anyone wanting to go down - safe! She met me with a smile at the already open door. As she closed the door, I took off my tennis shoes, telling her that she had been right about people leaving the building and that I had misgivings about my tennis clothes. She nodded, remarking that that had occurred to her too. I followed her to the kitchen, where she filled the water boiler and then suggested that she could show me the apartment while we waited for it to boil. Living room, dining room, a den with the TV and also a desk with in and out baskets, not my taste, but still tasteful, if one liked modern Italian furnishing. I was pleased that she didn't say anything about it, that I didn't have to comment. "The rest, too," she remarked and led me to the hall that had to lead to the bedrooms. She waved at the two doors on one side, remarking: "The boys' rooms, can show you them; we just try to keep their stuff out of the rest of the place." "Very well. I know the problem, knew it." "Your children are out of the house?" "Twenty-five plus and minus. Makes me sound old." "Don't look like it." I grinned and reply: "Please say that again." She grinned and said: "You don't look old enough to have kids that age." "Now you're just being flattering." She nodded with smile and gestured at the open door on the other side of the hall, apparently suggesting that I step closer and look in. A large double bed, made up, but with her clothes for after tennis laid out on it: neatly, bra and panties, blouse and skirt. She looked in and remarked: "Oh, I forgot about that; thought I might have to hurry after tennis. Hmm! I forgot that I was supposed to play after we did." "You still can, if we drink our coffee fast." "No hurry; I'll find an excuse for why I forgot or suddenly had to do something else." As we turned away from the room, she murmured: "Most nights, the bed is too big." As we returned to the kitchen, I didn't reply, of course, but had my thoughts about why she mentioned that, also wondering if she really hadn't remembered that her clothes were on the bed, wondering if she had wanted me to see her underwear. Her panties weren't anything my wife had, not a string, but they seemed - what's the word, diaphanous? - somewhat see-through. Did she shave there? "Cups or mugs," she asked in the kitchen, saving me from thoughts about her bra - and breasts. "Whichever is larger; the first cup tastes best." "Mugs, no then bowls for milk-coffee." "Fine. Someone told me that the Harvard Club in New York has extra large coffee cups because Teddy Roosevelt said that the first cup tastes best." "He was right. I'll remember that." She started making coffee, asking without turning to me: "You know someone who went to Harvard?" "A few." "Did you?!" " 'fraid so." She turned and replied: "Don't be so modest!" "Better than bragging about it." She smiled, nodding, and turned back to refilling the coffee filter. We were silent until she had filled two small bowls and offered to pour cream in mine. I surprised myself by taking her hand to stop her adding more, but got a nice smile for it. She poured cream in her bowl, and then held out the sugar bowl, saying: "I won't try that again. Help yourself." I did, replying: "But it was nice, but too much sugar would just be too much." "Was that too much cream?" "No, just right, thank you. Sugar for you?" "No thanks." "Most women don't. Guess they are sweet enough without." She smiled slightly, apparently understanding my veiled compliment. We stirred our coffee and then drank, holding our bowls up with both hands. We smiled over them, and I remarked softly: "Just right, the cream." "Because you stopped me in time." "You wanted me to?" I asked, more than a little surprised at myself, that I was asking if she had wanted me to touch her hand. She smiled, slightly wryly, nodding as she replied softly: "Just like that, ... like you did." We took another drink from our bowls, possibly to avoid having to look at each other for a moment. I felt that way, at least, wondering if she was really suggesting - intentionally or subconsciously - that this all was more than just about having coffee. I had had a couple of affairs: one discovered, one only suspected. Is that what she was suggesting? I would risk it again - those tanned thighs, the rest of her athletic figure too. We smiled slightly when we lowered our bowls, and our eyes met, more directly than I could remember that they had before. We had another sip. Her eyes found mine again, and she asked: "Would you mind if I changed?" "Of course not. Funny, I have never seen you in anything but your tennis clothes." "Um-hmm, funny. Once saw a tennis partner in street clothes and hardly recognized him." "And he had the same problem?" "I think so, didn't immediately greet me by name." "Happened to me once, too: Mrs. S on the street. "Um-hmm, funny." "I'll wait here." "Oh, come along, bring your coffee; you must have seen more than one half naked woman." " 'fraid so." "Hm-hmm! You said that before; too modest. One more won't upset you." "If you want me too." She just nodded with grin. I followed her to her bedroom. She wanted me too! How much "half naked"? I knew she wore sports bras, and she had laid out a normal one on her bed. It had looked like one that would let her nipples be seen through it, not just if they were aroused. She was wrong; this was going to upset me, especially if she did anything - absolutely anything! - to suggest that this wasn't just about her changing clothes with me watching. I knew people more or less discretely changed on beaches in Europe. That was all right, there, but not in the privacy of her bedroom, and not after she had said that the bed was too big most nights. She set down her coffee bowl. I held mine, still with both hands, but thinking that I would need one free to help my cock find be more comfortable - difficult in tennis shorts. Did she want to see my problem? With her back to me, she peeled off her closely fitting top, revealing her sports bra with its crossed straps, also revealing the first of her untanned skin that I had ever seen. If she wanted me to watch her? I remarked: "You know that you have a great tan, what I've seen, but it looks even better, seeing a little of the rest in contrast." She tossed her top on the bed, turning her face back to give me a grin and nod. Thus encouraged - maybe this wasn't going to be upsetting, just entirely unanticipated - I remarked more boldly than I knew myself to be: "For years, I have wondered if your tanned legs were the same color as the courts." She was about to slip down her matching tennis skirt. She always wore matching tops and skirts that did good things for her figure. She glanced back again and murmured: "Too many years." Her skirt slipped down, and she stepped out of it, revealing her matching short tights. I knew about them too, having seen her push her second ball under them before she served, sometimes seeing the hem of them under her short skirt when she was playing. Did girls and women ever consider that males found that arousing? Oh, she had said: "too many years"! As though she wished that I - who me! - had said something like that sooner? Love All, 0-15, 0-30, ... Love-69 She tossed her skirt on the bed and turned to me. Too late to do anything about my cock! I took a drink of my coffee with both hands. When I lowered my bowl, there she was in her sports bra and tights. They were pale green, like the rest of her ensemble, complementing, emphasizing her tan - but not the light color of her flat stomach. She smiled, as though she were enjoying that I was looking at her, as though she were enjoying presenting herself to my view. "This is getting a little uncomfortable," I murmured, hoping that my cock wasn't showing how I meant it. She just nodded once and murmured: "For me too, ... but I don't mind." "I do, ... a little." "Just 'a little' doesn't matter." "Maybe more than just a little." My cock certainly was trying to be. She began to peel down her tights. I was relieved to see that she had something under them. She murmured: "I don't mind that, either." When she glanced down to step out of her tights, I quickly helped my cock to a more comfortable position. Even if she saw it, it seemed that she knew what my problem was and didn't mind. Maybe even wanted to see that she was arousing me?! When she stood up again, I was more relieved to see that her panties didn't show more than my wife's cotton ones did. That didn't answer my question about whether she shaved, but they looked like they were glued on, not leaving much to the imagination about how she would look without them. Wouldn't her nipples be aroused from this demonstration. Maybe they were, when I looked, just slight bumps in her sports bra, or were they always like that? She must have been following my eyes - and thoughts. She smirked and remarked: "Just relax; I don't have to change them. I said just 'half naked'." I snorted and replied: "I'll try, ... but you're making it difficult." "Fun," she replied with a grin and crossed her arms and reached for the bottom hem of her sports bra. If she thought it was "fun" to strip for me, I wasn't going to complain. I nudged my cock to full. central erection, as she peeled her bra up, revealing her breasts. It was reassuring to see that her nipples were very aroused: stiff and pretty pink with just the right circle of pink around them, and that also with its own curve up from that of the pale skin around each of them. And her sports bras had always done injustice to the nice shape of her firm looking breasts. I gasped silently, knowing that I had to say something when her face reappeared. It was obvious that this wasn't just because she was a bedroom exhibitionist, a tease of the worst sort. Her face reappeared, as her hands pulled her bra up over her head. At least, she looked slightly embarrassed as she smiled at me. My eyes had returned to her breasts, appreciating how they looked with her arms raised, but they looked just as good, when she flung her bra on the bed, lowering them. Shit! She didn't have to cup her hands under them to emphasize that she knew where I was staring! What does one do when an almost naked woman is standing in front of one, having led one in her bedroom to take off her clothes? My hand - I managed to hold my almost empty bowl with the other - reached down and fondled my balls. While I was realizing what I was doing, I heard her hum. My eyes shifted up to see her nod with an aroused expression, her eyes looking down at my hand. When my eyes noticed the motion of her fingers, they dropped back down, seeing them pinching her nipples. I grasped my balls with a hum. She hummed again, moaned. Our eyes met. I still didn't know what to say. She murmured: "Want to see the rest?" "If you want to," I murmured, thinking I was agreeing that she could take off her panties. She understood it differently, taking the two steps between us and taking my bowl from me, obviously insinuating that I had meant that I also wanted to take of my clothes. I did, pleased that I only had on a shirt, shorts and underpants - and socks, but they didn't matter in connection with getting naked with her. My shirt was off before she turned back from setting down my bowl. She grinned with another hum, not that my torso was anything to make a woman hum. She was already thumbing the elastic of her panties, as I jerked down my tennis shorts. She hummed with a grin when she saw my cock standing in my underpants. That isn't quite true. I heard her hum and just assumed that she had grinned. She was, when we looked at each other and stripped down our last piece of clothing. She did shave: the first and since then only woman I have seen that did. We looked at each other, our eyes taking in each other's nudity, my arousal more evident than hers, but her aroused, puffy nipples were the most attractive ones I could remember. Our eyes met again, and she murmured - very superfluously at that point - I want to." My cock had already shown that I did; I only nodded. She turned and threw back the covers, chuckling as her clothes flew past the foot of the bed. She looked back at me and murmured: "Any way. I'm all wet." "On top, you?" She nodded, hardly smiling. We were too aroused for better smiles, I thought as I lay down. As she immediately clambered over me and grasped my cock, guiding it to her pussy, I thought: this isn't about emotional anything: sex, fornication, adultery, not making love. Her pussy was all wet, her hips descending on mine as we both moaned. She had had two children, like my wife, but her pussy was much tighter, like I remembered before we had children, like the other ones before. Yes, there had been more than a few. Oh, one had been older than me, and had also had two children, but her pussy hadn't been tight like Mrs. O's. But I couldn't remember one of the girls or women who had moved so aggressively, almost desperately on my cock. She wanted me to suck her nipples, not just suck them, as I greedily almost chewed one, she moaning and then offering me the other one. I didn't think that she would want to kiss - this was about pure sexual satisfaction - but then she did, rescuing her nipple from my eager mouth and sliding back, lowering her head and finding my mouth with hers. Fucking tongues! Hers and then mine, and sucking them, like her vagina was trying to draw my cock even deeper in her pussy! When had I last fucked like this - if ever? Our orgasms only underlined that question for me. Hers seemed as good, but a man never knows. I felt more sure, after she recovered and raised her head and shoulders with a final moan and murmured: "God, I wanted that! Fuck! Just like that!" She kissed me again, before I could reply, and before I could return the thrusts of her tongue in my mouth, she raised her head again with a snort and murmured: "I wasn't going to do that, even just now, but it's the only way to say thank you after that." "Then I have to, too; you didn't let me." She did, eagerly sucking and caressing my tongue in her mouth, chuckling. My cock slipped out of her pussy. She nodded and murmured: "Always fresh sheets on Friday." She relaxed on me, straightening out her legs, just lying on me with her head next to mine. We were silent, our stomachs rising and falling together. It had been a long time since my wife just lay like that after sex, and when she had - or anyone else had a couple of decades before - I hadn't appreciated the sensation like I was now, wondering, if this had been a one-time, desperate episode, or if she wanted it to be repeated. I did, only worried about the logistics. I snorted at my choice of word - "logistics." I had certainly delivered the goods, or she had called them up: just in time logistics. Or had she delivered the goods, coming just in time with me? She gave a questioning "hmm?" and asked without raising her head: "What was that for?" As I started to tell her, she rolled off me with a chuckle, then replying: "Either way - any way - you sure did ... deliver the goods. One orgasm right on time." "Two!" "Even better, but I knew that. And why 'logistics'?" "Probably shouldn't say it: more about longer term scheduling." "Hm-hmm! Like days or hours?" "I didn't want to ask." "Hm-hm-hmm! I will then. What are you doing tomorrow?" "Supposed to be playing tennis." "Me too, but if I missed today, just need one excuse for also missing tomorrow, and can find a substitute. You too?" "Mmmm! Of course, ... if you really mean it?" "And if! A lot better than playing tennis." "And I thought I was getting better, playing with you." "Maybe, but not better than this: game, set, match." "I thought the score was tied, deuce." "Even better, then game isn't over yet." "Hm-hmm! Oh, I think that one is. Maybe I meant the set score was tied: six-six." "And we have to play a tie-break?" She grinned and slid her hand down from my chest towards my cock. I grinned back and said: "I know you would win, if we had to play it out without one." "Hm-hmm! Maybe I would let you win so we could continue the set." "Not the same day." "Oh no, it would be worse than that match at Wimbledon that went over three days." "With lots of rain breaks. 'Worse' or better?" "Better, of course. Hm-hmm! And maybe our court needed to dry out sometime." Her hand slid down to my pubic hair. I wondered if it was still wet from her juicy orgasm. Apparently, at least enough for her to chuckle and remark: "I think it's almost dry enough to continue play." Her hand slid down and found my soft cock. I was again surprised at myself, that I was being able to return her volleys. I chuckled and replied: "Don't they warm up again after a break in play?" "Of course. ... Hmmm! Hm-hmm! And they often like to eat a banana: magnesium, to avoid getting cramps." "Wouldn't want that to happen. Haven't I seen some sucking juice out of little pouches?" "Or squeezing and sucking it out of an orange." "Oh, that's better; I like doing that." "I do too. ... Won't tell you what it makes me think of." "Like I won't tell you what seeing people eating bananas does." We both chuckled, smirking, and she fondled my cock and balls with surprising familiarity, making me try to recall the last time someone had like that; probably my wife, but years ago. Before I could pursue that thought further, she chuckled again and murmured: "I think we should warm up." "For the next set?" She was already beginning to curl down over me, replying: "Or maybe just to enjoy without starting a new set." "Um-hmm! I would like that just as much." "Me too." I rolled towards her, and we drew our thighs up under each other's head, hers a very firm cushion for mine. This was going to be the first shaven pussy I ever ate. My soft cock was already in her mouth. I licked over her so smooth outer lips and murmured: "The smoothest skinned orange I ever sucked. She chuckled with a nod. I snorted and added: "If you feel anything get hard, it's not a muscle and certainly not a cramp, ... just a banana." She chuckled again and sucked and licked. I slid my arm under her waist and grasped her firm ass with both hands. Oh, this was going to be good! Not just because she tasted good and because I love cunnilingus; she had suggested that we go all the way, that she wanted to let me come in her mouth - my wife never did. No one had done that since before I got married. Oh, this was going to be good! It was; she did, responding when my fingers rippled over her asshole, and she must have known that I would be able to give her a good orgasm with my tongue on her firm, aroused clitoris. I did, maybe cued by my orgasm; she moaned when my cock spurted, and then almost bit it with a much more aroused moan, as her hips quivered and her pussy juice flowed. God, I loved it! Both ways! She did too, still licking my cock as she recovered. I moved my head back a little and looked at her pussy; kind of hard to believe that two babies had slipped through it; it looked as good as the ones I remembered from before I was thirty. I had licked a lot more of them than the girls had wanted to suck my cock. But she had, and so good! And we has sort of agreed that we would do it again tomorrow! Did she still want to? I slid my hand down over her side and fondled her breast. She nodded and rolled back, my cock flopping down on my thigh. She held my hand squeezing my fingers around her breast, and nodded on my thigh with a soft "um-hmm," and then murmured: "I just love that, too. Hm-hmm! Kind of like trying to keep the ball in play, enjoying that the other can return it." "Um-hmm, nice simile, no competition, a win-win situation." "Hm-hmm! That's good! I could kiss you for that, but I won't." She sat up and smiled down at me, then remarking: "And I really didn't expect this would happen. Oh, I'll admit that I had been thinking about. Maybe I think about it too much during the week, and I wanted it to, but didn't expect that it would." "I sure didn't, and was even more surprised, but also thinking about it, and you made it hard - not that way! - not to think about it more, saying that your bed was too big most nights." "Did I say that?" "Um-hmm!" "Hmm? I think it often enough. ... I guess it will be again tonight." "Mine too. We have separate rooms; I snore too much." We exchanged wry smiles. After a moment, she suggested that we take a shower, and we got up. The adjoining bathroom had a tub and a shower stall, larger than most. Taking a shower with a woman was something I had done before, not at home and not just because our shower stall was too small for two people. It had been many years before with a 23-year old, before we made love. We were both single, didn't have to worry about going home smelling of sex. And she had been one of the few that really liked to suck cock, entirely surprising me when she did the first time we were in bed together. She turned on the water, big overhead showerhead. Then I was surprised when she started to pee. She gave me an apologetic, wry smile, remarking: "I always go in the shower, sorry." I snorted with a nod, and replied: "I do too," and did. She grinned, remarking: "Have to try not to when I take a shower at the club." We chuckled and washed each other. Luckily, I stopped her from using soap on me; couldn't go home smelling of a strange soap. Washing her, I discovered a fine scar. She noticed and nodded, remarking: "Yes, caesareans, good work." "And good for something else, too, ... like a virgin, well, not quite." "Um-hmm, that's why." We smirked and finished our showers. She handed me the other towel and said: "Also change these on Fridays." We returned to the bedroom. I helped her gather up the clothes that had been on the bed. As we began to dress, I remarked: "This will be first, seeing you in something other than tennis clothes. Your sports bras gave me the wrong impression of your figure." "Why I wear them, so they don't bounce around and get flabby." "My good luck to see that they haven't." "And mine too, that you have." We smiled, and she put on her bra, hooking it behind her back and then jiggling her boobs in their cups. I grinned and said: "Much better, but not better than without." As we continued to dress, she remarked that she really hadn't meant for me to see her underwear on the bed, but we agreed that that made it even nicer that I had, that it had been another unintended suggestion to me, and that we were both pleased with what had happened. We chuckled with smiles and took our coffee bowls back to the kitchen. I didn't want to be the one to suggest or ask if we would do it again; that was the lady's prerogative. She turned back from the sink with a slightly quizzical expression, then snorted and remarked: "Still looks like you've been playing tennis." "I hope so, but I wasn't, we weren't." "Better. ... Should we do it again? We were talking about it." "Sounded like we wanted to then; I did, I do. Maybe we 'shouldn't', but that wasn't what you meant." "Oh, we 'shouldn't,' but if we want to? I do." "Risk it? Might be anticlimactic, after the thrill of the first time?" "Oh, it was that! But good enough to risk." "Only one way to find out." "Um-hmm, even without that. Tomorrow, substitutes?" "Um-hmm, an hour later. ... And if you change your mind, you can tell me on the intercom when I ring." "You're sweet, but then we wouldn't know. ... But if a kid is sick or something else, well, I won't make up an excuse; it will be true." "Good that we can be honest. I'll expect the worst, not to be disappointed." "I hope not." "Me too." We parted at the door with smiles, and I waited for the elevator, hoping no one would join me on the way down, especially someone from the floor just below hers. I escaped the building unobserved and went to my car. It was too early to drive home, since I should have been playing tennis for an hour with my supposed friend and then an hour and a half doubles, plus at least half an hour drinking coffee. What all can happen in a couple of hours on a weekday morning! I drove off and parked somewhere else, continuing my thoughts. It had been the best sex I had had in years, the fulfillment of all my fantasies - and maybe hers too. And tomorrow? We both wanted to risk it. No first time thrill, but we knew how to have good sex, give each other good sex. It would still be good. Didn't we both want it to be? And if it was, next week? The week after? Could we arrange our schedules to allow that? I couldn't continue to play with my supposed friend, but I could say that I was substituting for another player; my wife never looked at my lists, and I wouldn't leave them lying around any more. And, of course, every couple, three weeks, I wasn't scheduled to play. But would she want to? I fondled my balls through my shorts, trying to remember the last time I had had two orgasm in one session. It must have happened, right, once with her. She had also sucked my cock. And once with her. She didn't do that, but we went to bed with three rubbers, and the last time we didn't have one. Hadn't really been that good, but we had done it four times, at least, I had come four times. Back then I wasn't so conscious, considerate about whether she did. But Mrs. O had. What was her first name? We never used first names, or addressed each other by name after that, but that is getting ahead of the story, also revealing that it continues, but I wasn't sure at that time. I drove home, remembering to have something to say about my tennis partners, in case my wife asked. She didn't. I took another shower and then - where she couldn't hear - arranged for a substitute. Wednesday morning, I slipped a pair of trousers in my tennis bag and then put them on over my shorts in the garage. At her building at the later hour, no one was going to work. I rang. After several seconds, this time the light on the intercom video camera went on, and then the buzzer unlocked the door. The elevator was waiting. Her door was already open. She greeted me in house dress, smiling as she closed the door and remarked that my trousers were a good idea, agreeing with my explanation that I didn't want always look like a tennis player. "But at home?" she asked with a smirk. "Under the trousers." "This is all I have on," she replied with a smirk. "I knew you weren't wearing a sports bra." "Hm-hmm, feels better," and she shook her shoulders, making her breasts move under the cloth. "Hm-hmm, like when I dare to forego undershorts." "Um-hmm, that must feel even better." "As long as it doesn't get embarrassing." "Like yesterday?" "Even with them, but you didn't seem to mind, so I didn't." "Oh, I didn't. By then I was just hoping that you wanted to let me see more." Love All, 0-15, 0-30, ... Love-69 "Not more than I did." "And now? We can have coffee again, but I've been thinking about this too much to want coffee." "Mmmm! Me too. Of course, we can just talk about it." "Like fish! That's a euphemism: like fuck!" "Hm-hmm! Okay, no coffee or talk. Didn't want either anyway." We grinned and turned towards the bedrooms. I opened my trousers and shorts, thinking that next time - if there were one - I would forego underpants. In the bedroom, I realized that I had to take of my shoes first. She was already gathering up the skirt of her dress. To keep up with her, I shoved everything down past my hips before I sat down on the already opened bed. I managed to untie my shoes without looking, grinning at her as she whipped her dress over her head, grinning back at me as she stood there in all her glory. Geez, I don't think I had seen a girl with such a flat tummy! Not one that I had slept with. It almost looked like her mons veneris swelled out under her tummy, not just between her strong thighs, and her breasts ...! I hadn't been looking before. I had been, but too aroused to really appreciate them objectively. Haha! "Objectively?" They couldn't, shouldn't be bigger on her slender figure, but they couldn't be better formed, and her puffy nipples ...! I struggled out of my shoes and sock. Before I could begin to take off my trousers, she dropped down in front of me and grabbed their cuffs. With a whoosh they were off, and she was grasping for my shorts. I pulled my polo shirt over my head, and then my underpants were gone, flung in the direction of my trousers and tennis shorts. She grinned up at me with a slightly growling hum, creeping closer between my legs. She couldn't be feigning such eager arousal to avoid this time being anticlimactic, I thought, recalling our talk about that. And if she were, she obviously didn't want it to be. Same difference! She wanted it to be good again, and - like me - wanted to continue our affair. I hoped so. Her hand was fondling my balls, my cock now rising to the horizontal. She hummed again and murmured: "One set for you, and one for me, and then one for us both." "Mmmm! Who wins the first one?" "Hm-hmm! I'm not sure; I like it so much that I could think that I win the first one." "Hmmm! But then you can't think you win the second one." "Hm-hmm! I want to, but if you like it as much as I do, maybe you win." "I do, ... but still hope that you feel like you did." "Hm-hmm! Me too. Doesn't matter." I watched her tongue raise my cock and saw its head disappear between her lips. It didn't matter which of us won; we both did, if she liked feeling me fill her mouth as much as I enjoyed with moans and then twitching hips and grunts filling it. I had to think that I enjoyed it more, because for me it was a more seldom pleasure. Her eagerness and experience suggested that she did it every weekend. Lucky husband! Anyone else? But he deserved it. With another growling hum, she grinned up at me, licking her lips and swallowing. She didn't waste any words, grasping my thighs to stand up and then dropping down on the bed beside me, drawing up her knees before I could move off the bed and turn on my knees in front of her spread thighs. Her smooth pussy did swell above her flat stomach when she lay on her back! And it did remind me of a squeezed orange half; better, a grapefruit half, yes, a pink grapefruit: just that size; the smoother, paler peel squeezed together with its pink flesh just showing. "Pink grapefruit" I murmured, and then my mouth was on it. She laughed and said: "Oh, that's good, a juicy pink grapefruit. Oooh! It must taste good!" It did already, but not like a grapefruit. I nodded and tried to make it juicier. She grasped the back of her knees and spread her thighs even wider. I had to look again. When had I last seen a pussy in broad daylight? But never one without hair. Oooh! It was lovely! Forget about pink grapefruits: smooth pink inner lips and pink hood trying to hide her already aroused clitoris, and her slick opening. She seemed to appreciate that I was looking and drew her thighs down further, rolling her hips up. Did she want me to see her asshole too? Also just pink. Did she want me to lick it? Did I? I did. Maybe she hadn't expected that I would; she responded with a surprised: "Oooh! That too!" but moaned and drew her knees down to her shoulders to let me continue, her asshole tightening and relaxing under my tongue. But I wanted to taste her again. My tongue lapped up the firm bit to her pussy and plunged into her opening. Oooh! I love to lick pussy! And she wanted me to give her an orgasm - not like my wife, who always had wanted to fuck before I could enjoy experiencing hers this way. Maybe she couldn't come this way, but this pussy could! I wanted it to be even better than it had been yesterday - for her and for me. Did she want me then to fuck her, immediately want a second orgasm? My cock was already aroused again. She would tell me. I reached up under her legs and grasped her breasts: yeah, maybe small half grapefruits, but they didn't have her puffy nipples, now so hard. Whoever won the first set, I know that I won the second one, all my delightful efforts being rewarded by hearing her increasingly aroused moans and then the uncontrolled twitching of her hips, and finally her pained sounding whimpers as her body convulsed and her pussy juice flowed. She couldn't think that she won, if she sounded like that and lost all control. Or could she?! Only the loser can ask for a rematch, and she did, as soon as her body stilled, and she had taken a few deep breaths, moaning as she exhaled. "Fuck me!" I did. Oh, did I! With her fingers scraping up and down my back and her feet locked behind my ass, she rocked her hips up to meet the thrusts of mine pumping my cock in her clutching vagina. I assumed that she would have another orgasm very soon, and she did. And I did too, and a very good one, a little to my surprise that I could again so quickly. When our hips stilled, she grasped my head and devoured my mouth, sucking my tongue so hard that it was almost painful, and then letting me suck hers. When she retrieved it, she murmured: "I shouldn't do that; just had to." I nodded, understanding her feeling that kissing was an expression of emotion and that our having sex together wasn't supposed to be emotional. It wasn't, but it is called "making love;" it can't help but be emotional while it lasts. I rose up, and my cock slipped out. She snorted with a wry smile and remarked: "That wasn't all that slipped out." I looked down and saw a mixture of our juices running down to her asshole. I returned her smile, nodding again. I wanted to fondle her breasts, but didn't, thinking it wasn't appropriate after her remark to do anything that could suggest affection. I held out my hands to help her sit up. She took them, nodding as she pulled herself up. When she let go of my hands she gave another wry smile and said: "So much for the risk of its being anticlimactic." "That's for sure; don't know if we can do that every time." "Or even want to, but ... if you want a next time, I sure do." I nodded with a grin, and she did. She looked down at her pussy with a chuckle and murmured: "Pink grapefruit," and then smirked at me and asked me to find the box of tissues in the drawer of the bedside table: "... before I drip on the way to the bathroom." We took another shower together, peeing again. This time, she grasped my cock, chuckling as she turned my stream up on her stomach, letting me wonder if she did that with her husband. His towel got more use. We returned to the bed room, exchanging wry smiles at the sight of our disbanded clothes. "Coffee now?" she asked: "... like this?" she added, glancing at our nudity. I agreed and we left the bedroom. I wondered if she was thinking that we might be staying naked to do something more. After a couple of steps into the living room, she remarked: "Oh, this feels funny, 'like this,' in here." "It does, but it was your suggestion." "Um-hmm, wanted to try it; can't with the family, but I didn't think it would feel so funny." "I like to go naked, getting the paper in the morning, sometimes making breakfast, but my wife doesn't like to see that I do." She chuckled and then was filling the water boiler. She chuckled again and said: "I hope the paper is delivered to your door." "Um-hmm, and not visible from the street." "Oh, that doesn't make it very interesting." She turned to me, leaning against the counter and glancing down at my cock and then at her pussy, and then snickered, remarking: "Bananas and pink grapefruits: I wonder what kind of a fruit salad they would make." "Or carrots or pickles, ... cucumbers, zucchini?" "Just bananas." We chuckled with grins, and waited for the water to boil, still silent as she then made coffee. "Like yesterday?" she asked. I nodded, and she got out the bowls and filled them, then adding cream to mine, slowly, until I took her hand again. She smiled and said softly: "That was good that you did that yesterday, encouraging, else I might not have done what I did." "My good luck; not sure I intended it that way, but I wanted to touch you." "Mine too. Sugar?" and she gestured to the sugar bowl. After our first sips, she chuckled and said: "Since I can't suggest that I want to change, should we go sit down. We returned to the living room. When she nodded towards the upholstered chairs, I mentioned that nudists always had a towel to sit on. "Oh, of course, I'll get them," she replied and set down her bowl and hurried off. When she returned, she grinned and asked: "How do you know." "Visited one place a couple of times, visited my sister and brother; wouldn't have otherwise." "Oooh! And how was it? Living with them, all of you naked? And everybody else?" "No problem, really. If I had been a teenager, I think it would have been, but when everyone just takes it for granted, one doesn't think about it, not about sex. Oh, a couple of more attractive younger women - like you - made it difficult to just look at their faces." "Hm-hmm. You don't have to just look at mine." I did, but her nipples didn't tighten, and my cock didn't stir, of course. I snorted and said: "See, it just becomes natural, why they like to call themselves naturists." "Um-hmm, and not after what we've done, but with your sister?" "She's several years older and even back then not competition for the younger women." "Funny! I wouldn't have expected that you did that." "I wouldn't have either." We smiled and sipped our coffee, and then talked about other things until we had finished our coffee, just sipping, apparently stretching it out until it was time for me to go. She picked up our bowls, and I gathered up the towels, and with nods she went towards the kitchen and I back to the bedroom and bathroom, hanging up the towels. We met in the bedroom. She tossed her dress on the bed and turned to find underwear, while I began to dress. She found something else to wear, giving me a smile and then glancing at her dress, remarking: "Just for you." As I was pulling my trousers up over my tennis shorts, it occurred to me that I was going to have to take them off again before I got home. Dressed, we smiled at each other, and I remarked: "Also a little funny." "Um-hmm. ... Next time?" "Wednesday? I don't have to play." "I hope so. Like I said, something could always happen, not likely, but you understand." "Of course. I hope not." "Me too." We smiled and went to the door, parting with "Next time." I left the building without meeting anyone and drove off, parking in a side street to take off my trousers; a struggle in the car, since I had to take of my shoes and put them back on again. Driving home, my thoughts were more about how to make sure that my tennis schedule wouldn't be upset by someone's asking me to substitute, maybe calling and my wife agreeing that I would. I should have mentioned that possibility to her. Next time; yes, "next time!" At home, I checked whether there were scratches on my back; no real ones, but enough to make me avoid letting my wife see them. I found her telephone number and memorized it, so that I could at least call her on my cell phone in the last minute, if something came up - not my cock. It wanted to, however, during the intervening days, more at night, of course, when I wondered how else we could do it; whether she would surprised me again, may already naked at the door, ...? She did surprise me, but not in any of the ways I had imagined. She was fully dressed, more grinning than smiling, greeting me, and then chuckling before she said: "I have a surprise for you," and led me to the kitchen. I had wanted a surprise; all the better that she had thought of one. She snickered when I saw the two halves of a pink grapefruit on the counter. I snickered, returning her grin. She said: "Had to go a couple of places to find them. Oh, the boys like them, said they tasted sweeter than the other kind. I had to stifle a chuckle when they said that." She didn't stifle her chuckle then, and I didn't either, replying: "But not as good as the one I was thinking about." "Even sweeter?" "Just a lot better." We laughed. She picked them up and handed me one, saying: "I want to see if you are right. Oh, this is going to be messy, we need a tray." She got a large metal tray and led me to the dining table. We sat down with it between us on the corner of the table and leaned over it. With twinkling eyes, she held her half up and began to squeeze, catching the juice with her mouth. I did the same. It was a little messy, but we both soon had our halves squeezed enough so that we were pressing the edge of the peel together. Snickering, I looked at mine and hummed, thinking that I had been right about comparing her pussy with a pink grapefruit. I looked up at her and licked up it. "She snickered, nodding, then looking at hers and did the same, grinning at me. I murmured: "Nice and smooth on the outside and sweet and pink inside." "You said it wasn't sweet." "Your pussy is sweet, just a different way." "Hm-hmm! I want to see it, see if you are right." "I am. ... With a mirror?" "Um-hmm, haven't looked at since my hair started to grow, and Mom had to tell me what it was for." "Hm-hm-hmm! She told you what it's for?" "No! I only thought about it that way a couple of years later." "Just a couple?" "Maybe three." "Hm-hmm! I won't ask!" She feigned a disappointed expression and replied: "But then almost a year later." "Before I did, for sure." "Bedroom." We snickered and put our squeezed grapefruit halves on the tray, and I carried it to the bedroom, while she started to get undressed. I put it on the corner of the already opened bed, and we got naked. She fetched her hand mirror and lay down, chuckling, remarking: "Like when I was twelve." "Pretty pussy." "If you say so." She held her mirror between her thighs and looked. It was still closed, no pink showing, just the extra little curve at the top of her slit. I hadn't seen it like that before. She murmured: "Could be a little girl's." "Maybe. Last time I saw my daughter's was when she was ten or eleven, and she was just standing." "Hmm! Still running around naked?" "After her bath." "Like my younger one. His brother doesn't any more." "Too many hairs, or he can't control it." "Hm-hmm! You would know. Now show me my grapefruit." I took one half and pressed the peel together again and held it down next to her pussy so that she could see both in the mirror, very pleased with the comparison and that it had occurred to me. "Oooh, yes! ... And the pink," she murmured, then grinning up at me. Her other hand slid down, and her fingers spread her pussy lips. I let the sides of the peel separate. We both hummed. I had really had a good idea, and she had, letting us both see how good it was. "My pink grapefruit," she murmured. "And just as juicy." "Hm-hmm! Not yet, but I want it to be." She tossed the mirror up towards the pillows and drew her thighs up. I put the grapefruit half back on the tray and dropped down on my knees. It was juicy again, and tasted better than a juicy sweet pink grapefruit, and she wanted to be fucked, not more than I wanted to fuck her, both of us fucking with our tongues in the other's mouth. This time she didn't apologize for all our kissing. When I saw her leaking again, white streaks, I chuckled and murmured: "Banana cream." "Hm-hmm! And grapefruit juice." "Lots of it!" She moved around on the bed, and we lay together, chuckling again, as she fondled me and I fondled her breasts. We were silent for several minutes, our hands still, almost dozing. Then her fingers moved again, rousing me, and she murmured: "We forgot to keep score." "Just as well; guys talk about 'scoring' with a girl, but it's not a flattering expression." "Didn't know that." "Besides, yesterday we couldn't decide which of us won. Oh, it occurred to me, when you said 'fuck me,' that only the loser could ask for a rematch, so I must have won that set." "Hm-hmm! I shouldn't say that. Even if I think I won, next time I'll try to remember to say 'rematch'." "Love all, love fifteen, love thirty, love forty, game, set ..." "Rematch," she interjected, then chuckled and massaged my balls, and said: "Or love sixty-nine." "Mmmm! You know I love sixty-nine." "And you know that I do too. Hm-hmm! And banana cream." "And grapefruit juice!" I hoped the tray wouldn't slip off the bed as we moved around. It didn't, and we both got our banana cream and grapefruit juice. We rolled back with our heads on each other's thigh, chuckling after we had recovered. She murmured: "I like grapefruit juice too." "Really? You'll have to kiss me if you want to taste it." "He likes to kiss me after I do that." It was the first time she had mentioned anything about sex with her husband. Of course, he wanted to kiss her after she had made him come in her mouth. I did too - "making love." But she was reluctant to kiss me after sex, if she could help it. How to reply? "I would too. Next time?" "Next time." "And you like grapefruit juice?" "Hm-hmm! Tell you next time." "Hmm? Sort of like "Thousand and One Nights." "Um-hmm, just to make sure there is a next time." "As though that were necessary." "I didn't really think so." I reached down and fondled her breast, and she fondled my cock and balls. We hummed and got up and had our shower, peeing, and got dressed, smirking when we looked at the grapefruit halves. She remarked that she had to be careful to clean up evidence that I had been there, having forgotten to wash and put away our coffee bowls the first day. I told about my possible problem with scheduling and that I would call her if something upset our plans. By now, it was tacitly obvious that we both assumed that we were going to continue our affair. At the door, when she asked: "Tuesday, Wednesday?" she suddenly added: "Oh, shit! I can't next week. You know why. Have to just play tennis." "Of course, see you there." She smiled with a nod, and we parted. It was good that I didn't have to have an excuse at home or with my my tennis friends the following week. I also got to see her playing. My thoughts about how she opened her thighs when she took her last step before hitting the ball were now even more distracting; I knew just too much about the inside of her thighs and her pink grapefruit between them. I called her, and she agreed to the day that fit with my schedule. That seem a little too perfunctory, but what we did was not. Love All, 0-15, 0-30, ... Love-69 When we were lying together afterwards, .... Oh, we did kiss after she sucked my cock. Afterwards, I snorted and said: "Get up and show me how you hit a ball." "Why?" "I want to see something." "Hmm? What I would look like playing naked?" "That too! All the men in the club would like that." "Men!" "Um-hmm. Please." She chuckled and got up, looking back at me as I sat up and said: "Go in the corner and take two steps and then swing, and then don't move." She snorted with a grin and did, very realistically. She stood still, looking back at me. Her thighs were open, her feet pointing away from each other. She had a quizzical expression. "Don't move your feet." She looked down at them, assuming a more relaxed position, still with a quizzical expression. I nodded and said: "Thanks, just like that; that's the way you look on the court." "And?" "With your feet placed like that, opening your thighs." She looked down at them and said again: "And? So what?" "Turn your front foot parallel with the other one." She did, her knee moving, so that her thighs weren't turned apart. Naked, of course, it was still an enticing pose. She looked down and at me again, her expression still unchanged "Relax, come back here." She did, looking even more curious. I told her about my thoughts over the years: pigeon-toed Japanese women in kimonos. She chuckled and remarked: "Really? Like that? And you've been having thoughts about me all the time? Don't other women play like that? "Hmm! Really, yes, yes, no." "Hmm! 'Dirty old man', just thinking about sex. Oh, I didn't mean it like that." "As long as I'm here, since I'm here, you are right. I like being a 'dirty old man'." "Just 'older'." "Can't deny that." "And other men think like that?" "I don't know, haven't asked them. Hm-hmm! Wanted it to be my secret, didn't want them to think I'm a dirty old man. You could ask you partners." "Shit, no! What would they think?" "That I'm lucky to have noticed first. "Hm-hmm! This could ruin my game: either thinking that men are having such thoughts; or trying to keep my toes together." "Just forget the men." "Me, forget men?!" We laughed heartily and ended up fucking again. Despite the routine of arranging our mornings together, the sex was never perfunctory, and we always had something to talk about. A couple of times, she had to tell me that I couldn't come, and a couple of times, I had to tell her that I couldn't, but that just made the next week more intense. We didn't always immediately jump in bed, but our conversations usually followed what we had done. One time, when she was absentmindedly fondling my cock, she suddenly snorted and said: "Oh, Monday I was picking up in the boys' rooms. Don't like to, but for the dirty laundry. I picked up Tommy's tennis racket, by the handle. Oooh! It felt like a cock! Maybe a size too small, but ...! "Hmm! What mothers can think about." "I wasn't thinking about his." "I hope not! ... Hm-hmm! Fondle my balls." (We were very familiar by now.) She did, asking: "And?" "Think tennis ball." She fondled a moment more and exclaimed: "Oh shit! Fuzzy balls. And I'm supposed to serve, thinking I'm holding a man's stiff cock and his tight sack?!" "And with your inviting thighs spread." She almost slapped me, but laughed. I replied: "Better than thinking about tennis when you really are." She did slap me, but only lightly, and made it up for it the best way possible. Finally one day, I ventured to ask: "Why me? You know younger men." My question didn't seem to surprise her. She replied immediately: "I know their wives. Oh, I asked one - not one of those - once, but he didn't dare. Once with another one, but only that once." "Lucky me." "Lucky me, too." Her mention of wives reminded me that weeks before she had said that she also liked grapefruit juice, and that she had suggested that she would tell me the following week. I venture a second question, hoping she would understand: "And the wives? You said you like grapefruit juice." "Hmm! You had to ask. Not with any of them. Sure, I've done it with girls, back when I was one. Of course, it's good. You know that, but it isn't the same." "Men's good luck, or women wouldn't need us." "Um-hmm! Something like that." "Want me to?" "If you let me taste it." She did. I had heard a little about her sons: Tommy, ten - who still didn't mind running around naked; and Jake, almost thirteen, who did and, as I had heard, objected to his brother's doing so. One morning - had we been talking about nudist resorts again? Doesn't matter. She chuckled and remarked: "You wouldn't believe what I found in Jake's room." Well, I could, having had a son who was once that age, but I only looked surprised and ask: "What?" "A nudie magazine." "If he doesn't have a sister ..." "Don't talk like that. Did your kids see each other when they were that age?" "Too late to ask them. They shared a bathroom. If they both wanted to? Don't know. They played doctor when they were preschool." "That doesn't count; we all took off our clothes when we were that age." "I didn't. ... Hm-hmm. Didn't need too; took baths with my other sister, younger than the other one. ... And the magazine?" "A quarterly for nudists, naturists. Lots of naked people, really, hair, or no hair." "And breasts, of course." "Them too." "Where did he get it?" "It wouldn't have been sold to him - I hope. Very dog-eared." "Hm-hmm, probably from a classmate, but only if he had gotten something better." "You think so, in the seventh grade?" "Maybe an older brother's. Hope the pages weren't stuck together." "Hmm? You think he could?" "Try, at least; I did. Didn't you?" "I told you that I didn't yet know what it was for." "Good girl!" "Not by choice, just innocent." "The best kind." "Hmm! For sure, he's not going to see me naked again." "Hm-hmm! Just his little brother?" "Not him either." "Poor kids, and just when they were finding it more interesting." "Oh, you're horrid! You want me to show them what a real, live naked woman looks like?" "Can't think of a better example. But ..., well, no, might give them false expectations. "You are horrid, but you just escaped another slap." We grinned and laughed. Our conversations weren't always so entertaining, but what we did was. The next time she had her period, she said I should come anyway. She had an IUD, and her cycle was more or less than 28 days. I never bothered to figure it out. She obviously wanted our meeting to be good for me; she showed me a couple of books from a top shelf in the den. Had she thought we needed a little inspiration? "The Joy of Sex," "My Secret Life" and Frank Harris's "My Life and Loves." She read me passages from the last two, ones she had could only have discovered in preparation my joining her. After the first couple, all about cock-sucking, I chuckled and said: "I guess I know what you were doing last night." "Hm-hmm! Um-hmm, and Thursday night last week, when I remembered that is all I could do today. Let's get undressed." We were sitting together on the sofa in the living room, with coffee, as usual. Naked, we sat back down again - on our underpants. She found another passage, a more arousing one. She had planned this well. I don't know if my cock would have responded by itself. I caught her glancing to see if it would. Not to disappoint her, my hand began to fondle my cock and balls. Not just for that reason; the passage was arousing. She chuckled, pleased. After another sentence, she handed me to book and said: "You read, and let me do that." "I'd rather watch." She was already moving off the sofa, clearly wanting to do more than just fondle me. She nodded with a chuckle as she got between my legs. Can a woman love to suck cock as much as a man loves to have his cock sucked?! She made me want to think so. Watching her, I could only think that she must, her knowing that I wouldn't be able to reciprocate. Maybe some couples do then, but she didn't like it, she had suggested indirectly. Enjoying anything that good must be sinful, receiving undiluted pleasure without being able to return it. Next time, but now! "It's better to give than to receive." The line for the collection in church was terribly out of context, but most appropriate: she was giving, and I was just receiving. That made her a saint and me a sinner?! A rhetorical question that I was not going to ask any theologian. Did my giving her all the banana cream she liked so much make me less of a sinner? Her pleased sounding moans - buzzing on my throbbing cock - seemed to suggest that she thought so, also her smiling eyes and then smiling lips, when my cock slipped from between them. She licked them and then licked my cock clean, making it twitch. A cock-sucking saint? From what little I knew about saints, they only became one after giving up a debauched life. We were debauched? Not in the twenty-first century, just delightfully adulterous. I drew her up and got a kiss with the taste of a lot of banana cream. We spent the rest of the time looking at "The Joy of Sex." When we saw the pictures in the chapter about called "Mouth Music," I ventured to ask a question I had had from the beginning: "When did you first do that?" She snorted, looking at me, after a moment replying: "After the first couple of times - weren't so good, of course. My brother knew I had. Hope my parents didn't. Nice older brother, could talk to him about it. He told me what else we could do - my friend and I. So I did, and then he did, better than before, realizing that his orgasm wasn't one for me." "Very nice brother." "Um-hmm, very nice. I told him so." "Hm-hmm!" I guess I had a smirking grin on my face. She scowled and said: "Don't look like that, I only did it to him once to thank him, ... well, ... twice, to thank him for doing it to me." "I didn't ask." "That expression! Never told anyone, hope he didn't." Chuckling, we returned to the book, agreeing that we might try something new. We did the following weeks, and she surprised me again, the next week, this time in the shower. When I started to pee, she immediately dropped down, murmuring: "I want to taste it," and did. We had seen the chapter about natural champagne in the book, so I wasn't terribly surprised. She grinned up at me and said: "Your banana cream tastes stranger." "If you say so," I replied, helping her stand up. "I read more about it, and then tasted my own." "I will next time." She grinned, and we finished our shower. The next week, I did. She had been right about the taste, but I knew that already, having tasted my own at home. There was a time when I thought that an ongoing affair would lose its charm, especially one with minimal emotional attraction. "Minimized" emotional attraction is the better description, but maybe the charm was also in the illicitness of our affair. It certainly was for me. And, as she once said: "I thought this was going to make it easier to get through the week, but now, instead of sublimating all week with tennis, I'm even more sexually aroused, looking forward to it with you. It's your fault, but it helps for a couple of days." That was sort of a compliment, but also an obligation, a very pleasant one to try to fulfill each week, like this coming week. We wanted to come together (pun intended) on Tuesday this week, but couldn't. Tuesday, because she expected her period would probably start the next day, and continue, of course, into the weekend. I know she will still make it good for her husband, but that won't satisfy her, regardless of how much she likes banana juice. She knows it too. When she heard that it wouldn't work on Tuesday, she immediately asked if I couldn't arrange to play singles with my supposed friend before my doubles match. I have; that means at least three hours together, and it won't start with sipping coffee and talk. I know, because something similar happened once before. We fucked twice. She knew better than to waste one of my orgasms for oral sex. Then she insisted that I find her G-spot. We had done that a couple of times before. I knew what was going to happen then, and it did; her body spasming as though she were receiving electric shocks. I hadn't anticipated, however, that she wanted me to do it again - and again! Had she needed so many, could stand so many orgasms because she is so fit? My hand and the bed had been drenched, and she was tired but very happy, and I was aroused again; watching a woman having such body-shaking orgasms is very arousing. She wasn't so tired, however, that she selfishly forgot about me. She almost swallowed my cock. I know what I can expect next week. Let the story end here, although I hope our affair continues. I have worried about how it could end. Best case - least bad case: her husband returns to work here. Worst case - and more likely: my wife finds out. If so, I have thought about trying to make it sound like just the one time that she discovers. Too sordid to think about! So let the story end here. Love All at Wimbledon [ Note: this story is fiction and is intended merely as a token of my admiration and respect for the sporting prowess of the two remarkable athletes who appear in this narrative ] Every year London is packed for the tennis finals at Wimbledon. I hadn't been there myself, but I was working at a hotel only a few miles away whose name it might be better not to mention. Some of the players were staying there, and on the evening of a grand reception for the Tennis Association a lot of them went out and showed no signs of returning that night, so I was having a quiet night working Room Service. Just before my shift ended, there was an order for a bottle of wine from room 412, so I said that I would drop it off before I went home. 412 was actually one of the suites reserved for the top-rank tennis players, so I was only slightly surprised when the door was opened by one of America's leading tennis champions. She smiled perfunctorily as I brought the wine in, but I heard a giggle from one of the armchairs and turned to see her younger sister Serena draining a wine glass. "Oh goodie," she giggled, "more wine. Open it up!" She waved her glass, obviously feeling no pain. Her older sister took a seat next to her and they resumed their conversation about the reception they'd just returned from, particularly the large number of Lords and Ladies who'd been present. "Closest we ever got to nobility till now was listening to mamma's old Duke Ellington albums," chuckled Venus. I opened the new bottle of wine and poured a glass for each of the sisters. They were both in expensive-looking evening dresses, and for once had omitted their trademark beaded hairdo. Venus shivered a little and said "London is cooler than Florida. Think I'll turn the heat up a notch." She stepped over to the thermostat and adjusted it. I took a quick deep breath as she turned to the thermostat. Her dress was nearly backless and her long naked back shone like polished ebony, the muscles moving slightly under her smooth skin as she raised her hand to adjust the dial. It was all I could do to keep from groaning to myself at the sheer animal magnetism of her. "I think he likes you, sis" laughed Serena, whose eyes had not missed my glance and the subsequent reddening of my face. Venus turned back towards her chair, then stopped as she was passing me and looked down at me. I gulped. I was about 5'10" and I could look Serena in the eye, but her sister was at least three inches taller than me, with broad shoulders and arms that rippled with the muscles of a professional athlete. It occurred to me that if she was offended, I could not only lose my job but she might throw me out the door herself. I smiled weakly. She smiled back and her usually serious expression was replaced by an amused look. "He's sort of cute himself, ain't he? What's your name, honey?" "Michael, Miss Williams." "Oh, don't you just love that accent! And why don't you call me Venus?" "Well, I shouldn't while I'm on duty, but my shift ended a couple of minutes ago.....Venus." I trembled a little at the last word. It would have been enough to get me fired, whether I was officially on duty or not. But it was worth it to see her smile again. "You are a little sweetie, Michael....." Her voice was husky as she moved closer. I could feel the heat radiating from her body as she paused an inch away from me. My knees began to shake from excitement and she murmured "Don't be nervous. I'm not going to hurt you." "Damn right," giggled Serena. "Not unless you try and get away." Venus threw her a scolding look, but her sister just grinned at her over the half-empty glass. It was obvious that they had the sort of sibling empathy that meant they didn't need to say what was on their minds about this evening. I thought maybe I should at least try and behave like a gentleman, and I stammered "Miss Williams, I.. I think you've had too much to drink...." "No," she said, "I've had just enough." Her face came down to mine and before I could move she was kissing me full on the mouth. Her lips caught my upper lip and played with it gently as she pushed her warm body against mine. "I shouldn't......" I began, but she held my head against the dark column of her neck and muttered "C'mon baby, loosen up a bit." She nursed my head like a mother cradling a reluctant child, and my will-power turned to water. I knew I was risking my job but I just didn't care anymore! With a half-strangled groan, I began to nuzzle the base of her neck and slipped one arm around her waist, holding her close to me. My crotch pressed against her leg, and she gave a little laugh of delight as she felt my excitement growing. "Oho, so Englishmen don't have ice water in their veins after all!" She moistened her lips and put an arm around me, turning my face up to be kissed again. This time I co-operated fully and our lips opened as her tongue slid into my mouth. We stood there for a moment, locked together; time seemed to stand still for us. Finally we moved apart and took a deep breath. She looked at me with a gleam in her eyes and gripped the end of the tie that was part of my waiter's uniform. I found myself being towed into the bedroom that opened off the sitting room where Serena was finishing off the wine. Venus didn't even bother to shut the door completely before she pulled me against her again. We embraced and I could feel her hands moving over my back and down to my buttocks. A little growl of arousal escaped her lips as she caressed me. Then she let go of me and took a step back. In less time than it takes to tell, she had slipped out of the elegant evening gown and was stepping out of her underwear. Her naked body shone like a tower of precious metal, the muscles under her skin rippling as she moved towards me. An involuntary moan escaped my lips as I watched her approach. "Miss...I mean, Venus, are you sure......" I began but she tossed her head impatiently. "You saying you don't want to, honey? 'Cause if you are, I say you is nothing but a big old liar." She was right on top of me now, and her hands were pulling at my clothes. As she stripped my shirt off, I could feel the hard points of her nipples pressing into me. I undid my belt and stepped out of my pants. All I had on now were my briefs, and they were soon yanked down, letting my painfully erect cock free at last. Her hand closed over my maleness, stroking it gently up and down a couple of times. I had to bite my lip to keep from groaning aloud. Then I felt myself being pushed back against the bed, falling gently backwards onto the enormous bed that dominated the room. I lay there, my erection pulsing as it stood up rigidly vertical. Venus looked down on me, her breasts rising and falling quickly as she closed in on me like some magnificent predator about to pounce. "Ooooh, don't he just look good enough to eat?" came Serena's voice from the open doorway. Fully dressed, she leaned against the door, watching her sister move closer to me. Venus ignored her, so I assumed this wasn't the first time they'd done this in front of each other. I should have felt embarrassed, I suppose, but if anything it made me even more eager. I didn't have to wait any longer. The bed creaked as Venus straddled me, holding my cock steady as she lowered herself towards me. With her other hand she spread the lips of her pussy and I could see moist pink flesh awaiting me. The head of my cock was red and throbbing, almost painfully erect. But pain was the last thing on my mind as it slid between her lips and into the welcoming warmth and wetness. "Oh Gaaaaad!" I moaned as her flesh closed around me. She began to rock back and forth on top of me, her athlete's legs effortlessly raising her above me, causing my pulsating hardness to piston in and out of her superb body. Her eyes were half lidded, and perspiration appeared on her forehead as her movements became quicker and more intense. I could hear an obscene-sounding slurping noise as her well-lubricated cunt was pushed down onto me again and again - I thought it was the most wonderful sound I had ever heard. The bed squeaked and moved under our weight. "Just lie back and think of England!" giggled Serena. I hadn't noticed her enter the room, but now she was standing alongside the bed so she could get a better view of our coupling. She grinned as she watched her sister's muscled black body devour my pale slight form. My cock was being thrust deep into her every time she moved, but I felt I needed even more. With a daring that came from complete lack of conscious thought, I gripped Venus' hips and rolled over on the bed. She gave a grunt of surprise as she found herself beneath me now, our bodies still joined by the delicious spike embedded in her pussy. I may not have been a professional athlete, but my sheer masculinity urges turned my body into a remorseless fucking machine. I drove into her again and again, harder and harder, my lips pulling back till my face was a grimace of passion. Venus was grunting at every stroke now, her thighs spread wide to allow me complete access to her moist womanhood, and I took advantage of every opportunity she offered. Finally her back arched and her eyes rolled back in her head, a scream escaping her lips as she came and came. "Ahhhh! Haaaaaaaaaaaaah!! " She collapsed backwards, completely limp, breaking the connection between us. My cock, red and shiny, popped into the open as I swayed blindly over her. Then to my surprise, a delicate hand came out of nowhere and closed around my erection. "OK, let's finish you off now," said Serena brightly and I moaned as the teenager's hand stroked me. It only took four or five strokes before I grunted and came spectacularly. Sperm shot from my cock in thick ropes of gluggy whiteness, falling onto Venus' stomach and thighs as she lay there dazed from the afterglow of her orgasm. Serena's hand completed my climax, and she plucked a tissue from the bedside table to wipe off the sticky mixture of sperm and pussy juice from her fingers. I never saw Venus again. She went straight to sleep and her sister covered her up before showing me to the door. She said that Venus needed some sort of release to completely relax her before her first match tomorrow, and sex was often a good way for her to forget the stress of Wimbledon. Serena gave me a peck on the cheek and said goodnight, then said teasingly "Perhaps when we stay here next time, I might order some Room Service myself." She gently closed the door and I made my way to the elevator to go home. Halfway down the hall I had to stop and sit down for a few minutes because my legs wouldn't support me. I felt as exhausted as though it was me that was appearing at Wimbledon. And in a way, I suppose you could say that I played an important part in the next day's match! Love All Consuming It felt like dieing. His heart had been torn into a thousand different pieces, and he'd fallen dead on the ground not even bothering to try picking them up. He just lay there staring at them, numb and unable to move. The fall wasn't a long one; David only stood five feet six inches tall, but it felt as if he'd just jumped from the top of a New York Skyscraper. The impact had been shattering to say the least. For a brief moment in life David had found what everyone looks for, but few ever find. David had found his soul mate, the one person in the world capable of making him feel truly complete, and then he had lost her. He was only 16 at the time. Lizzy had been a year younger. She was the new girl in school. An army brat; she was very shy. She'd never been anywhere long enough to have many lasting friendships and generally avoided people. She stood 5'1" tall at the time with short dark black hair, beautiful hazel eyes and pale white skin, which contrasted wonderfully with the color of her rich pink lips. She wore an expression of aloofness on her face, and generally didn't like to be bothered. On the rare occasion that her stare and body language weren't enough to scare people off she knew exactly what to say and do to get rid of them. Being the daughter of a career Military Man, she knew well how to take care of herself. David was a far from average kid living a pretty average life for the first time in a long time. He'd gone to a private school for most of his life where he'd had about two good friends. He'd never been popular, and never really had the desire to be. David liked who he was and wasn't about to change for anyone. He'd been picked on because of this, but he knew how to stand up for himself. Eventually he'd learned how to stop being so hot headed and let things go a bit more. Rather than viewing derisive comments with anger, he'd learned to see them as stupid and laugh at them. When he finally went back to public high school, for the first time in his life he'd found himself able to fit in with an entire group of friends. They weren't popular either, but they weren't unpopular. They shared his interests, and he generally enjoyed their company. For the first time in a long time he'd felt really at ease with his life. That is, until he met her. Now everyone noticed Lizzy, it was impossible not to. She was just too beautiful, but what David found gripping about her wasn't just her beauty. When David looked at her he saw the sadness in her eyes. The sadness she was trying so hard to hide behind that stare. He'd worn that same stare himself for much of his life, especially his childhood. It was the stare of someone for whom human contact only ever led to misery. He now knew that this wasn't always the case. He felt for her. He smiled deeply when he saw her twist the arm of some jock who'd been bothering her until the poor fool fell to his knees begging her to let go. Again what he noticed was the look in her eyes, the menacing look that said stay away if you know what's good for you. It brought back images of his childhood fighting days. Now David had never been particularly brave around women before, and though this one above all others should have had him running for the hills, he found himself much more comfortable with the idea of talking to her than to anyone else he had ever met. Now David wasn't anywhere near the most handsome guy in school, but he was still a pretty good looking young man. Women tended to call him cute rather than hot. He had short dark brown hair, deep dark brown eyes, and pale white skin. He wasn't overly muscular, but he was certainly physically fit. He was slim, but quick and flexible, and he had a smooth gentle face. The first things Lizzy noticed about him were his eyes and his smile. His eyes seemed to hold such a vast amount of knowledge and empathy in them. They were so deep she felt she could very easily get lost in them. His smile was just so genuine, so caring and happy that she couldn't help but be cheered by it. She had to work very hard not to let it show. He first approached her in Science class. She was a year ahead in that, and had her sites set on eventually becoming a doctor. "That was pretty nice" he said referring to the incident with the boy who'd tried to harass her just before class. They had been told to pick lab partners, and while she scared most people away, he'd gone straight to her. "That was a warning." "And a good one." He said smiling. "I'm impressed." "But not particularly bright, are you?" "Are you kidding I'm the brightest person in the room because unlike the others I chose you for a lab partner and you're the smartest person here. Don't even bother denying it. You're in an honors science class a grade above you." He said smiling even more brightly. "You think you're pretty clever, don't you?" "Smarter than some I guess, not as smart as others." "Alright smart guy, just grab a beaker and get to work." She said and almost smiled before she caught herself. Success, he'd never been so elated in all his life. She wasn't pretending to hate him anymore. It was a relatively small victory, but he'd take it. For her part, Lizzy was a little annoyed with herself. She was beginning to like this kid and that was never a good thing for her. Something in his eyes told her that he could see right through her and that really scared her. Whatever it took she could not afford to let him see how she was feeling. She'd almost smiled at him for Pete's sake. What was wrong with her? After that she didn't talk through the entire lab except to give directions. For his part David just obeyed, occasionally commenting on the experiment, offering up different suggestions on what to do, and commending her on the precision with which she did things. Lizzy thought he was smart and sweet, but she tried to convince herself that it was all an act. Over the next couple of months David continued to partner with her in lab, and slowly he started getting her to open up more and more. It turned out that they had a lot in common. They had similar taste in music and movies, similar philosophies about life and political ideologies. When he finally asked her out she didn't even have to think about it. Of course they wound up falling head over heals in love with one another. She loved his complete and unabashed openness and acceptance of everything. He had a good heart and he was exceptionally sweet. For his part, he loved her for her never ending lust for life. She was so easily able to appreciate the little things in life. She loved going on adventures as much as she did just going to the movies or eating pizza. What's more she had a very good heart. Underneath her façade she was really very kind and compassionate. She was a wonderful person and he adored her. The time came when they confessed everything to one another. After that they couldn't bare to be apart. The taste of her lips drove David crazy, and the comfort of his arms made Lizzy feel safe. Then one day it all ended. Lizzy's father had been reassigned again and she was forced to move with him. She wept for an entire night. David just felt shattered. He promised he'd see her again though. He vowed he'd find her some day, and that he would never forget her as long as he lived. Then he said goodbye with the sweetest and saddest of kisses he'd ever had the pleasure to be a part of, and watched her drive away feeling, as was said before, like he had just died a thousand deaths, his heart shattered into a million pieces. Time went by and neither was ever the same. Lizzy never let anyone in again. This blow had destroyed her. She'd had other relationships and been with men, but none had ever been allowed to touch her heart the way David had. David tried to let others in eventually, but he felt like there was a great big hole inside him that no one else could ever fill no matter how hard they tried. He became a Property Manager for several buildings in New York City. He had a reputation for making big ideas become practical realities. He was really on his way up. Having gone to and graduated from college at an early age, Lizzy was able to graduate from Medical School at the age 25 and become a doctor like she'd always wanted. When they met again 10 years had passed since their parting. David had a very gifted cousin who attended Columbia University on a scholarship. He was studying to become a doctor like his parents before him, and had landed an internship at the hospital. Though they were about 5 years apart in age, David had always seen his cousin as the little brother he never had, and now that he was old enough to go out drinking with David, David frequently invited his cousin out. One night he went to the hospital late to meet his cousin for drinks after work, and while he was waiting for his cousin to finish getting changed, who should walk into the room, but Lizzy. David's heart practically stopped beating. He was speechless. Lizzy noticed him out the corner of her eye, and immediately felt faint. Breaking the kind of news she was about to break was difficult enough, but this was too much. She felt like she'd just seen a ghost. All the joy of their time together and the immense pain of their parting just came rushing back to her. She broke the bad news to the patient's family as best she could. He was alive, but the outlook wasn't good. Then she left the room she had taken them to, to face her past head on. She got up the courage to walk up to him, but once she was there she wasn't sure she had the courage to actually speak. When she did, all she could say was "Hi". "Hi" he replied feeling like his heart might beat out of his chest and his lungs might collapse all at the same time. "You look amazing. I can't believe you're here. I must be dreaming." His words touched her, but she had been so hurt the last time. How could she go through this again? Still what she found herself saying was, "You look pretty good yourself. I missed you." "There's so much I want to say to you, so much I've wanted to say for so long. In spite of all my promises, I never really thought I'd see you again. We have to catch up!" he said beginning to smile, "I want to know everything. God you're a doctor now. That's fantastic! You really made it happen. I'm so proud. When do you get off work? I'm going to a bar around here with my cousin. You must join me." It was his smile that lightened her anxiety. His joy was overwhelming, and she started to get swept up in it herself. For the first time it occurred to her that she'd really found him and that maybe everything would finally be alright. "I'd like that." She replied. "I get off work in an hour. What bar are you going to?" "Ah, I see you two have met." Interrupted a voice that was familiar to both of them. "Oh, Ben" she said startled slightly out of her reverie, "This is an old friend of mine David, and... Wait, you two know each other." "Ben is my cousin, Lizzy. He's the one I just told you I was going to that bar with." "Oh, you've got to be kidding. I mean he's talked about you quite a bit in the past, but he never mentioned your last name. I can't believe this. All this time..." "Ahhmmm," Ben coughed noting that although he was being talked to, nobody was really looking at him. "I see you really know each other. I've never heard anyone call you Lizzy before Dr. Hunter, at least not without receiving a smack in the head in return." "You'd better can it, or you're gonna receive one of those smacks yourself buddy. Look David, I really should get back to work, but give me the name of the bar and I promise to meet you in there in an hour. Oh and let me give you my cell phone and pager number just in case anything comes up." "Good idea, I'll give you mine too." They exchanged information and Lizzy left, giving David a surprising hug and kiss on the cheek before she went. She barely glanced at Ben as she passed him. All of the sudden, for the first time in years she felt alive again. David and Ben exchanged looks as she left. "You know you're going to have to explain this to me right?" Ben said. "Yeah, I know. Come let's grab some drinks and I'll tell you all about it." They went to the bar and sat down. Ben was taller than David, and very handsome. He was much more of a player than David ever was. He had light brown hair, stood about 6'1", had a slim fit body, brown eyes and a young face. Add to that the fact that he was always exceptionally gifted and bright, and one could see why he was so desired by women. However, though Ben was a nice guy, he tended to be more than a little childish when it came to women. As far as he was concerned they were put on earth for the sole purpose of making him happy. Sure he wanted to find love, but until he did he was going to have as much fun as was humanly possible. David tried to tell him that unless he started treating women better he probably would never find anything close to love, but the boy was too content with his lust for the moment to hear it. David figured eventually he'd grow out of it and become more serious, but until then there was nothing David could do about it. David ordered their drinks, and Ben sat patiently waiting for an explanation. "So," he said, "Let's hear it, what's between you and the good doctor. Don't try to tell me it's nothing either. You're not just old friends. David, she's the ice queen. I've only known her a couple of months, but I've never seen her act that warmly towards anyone. I know something's going on." "Yes, you do. You know part of this story if you care to remember it. You remember when we were on that family cruise a couple of years ago and you asked me if I'd ever been in love before?" "This is her? The one who broke your heart?" "Yes." "Wow!... That's right; she used to beat you up when you did something stupid right. Oh my God, it makes perfect sense." "I never said she beat me up. She hit me; a punch on the arm or a wrap on the head, but nothing overly malicious. It hurt, but not too bad. She was so unbelievably cute when she was angry with me. She'd get all sullen and pouty. And when she was happy, well, she doesn't smile often, but she did for me, and when she did I swear it was like watching the sun come up at dawn. I really loved her. I never thought I'd see her again. You have to tell me about her, what's she like now? How well do you know her?" "She started her Residency around the same time I started my Internship here, and from what I've seen she's brilliant. I enjoy talking to her because she's very professional and she really knows her stuff. The only time I ever really see her get animated is when she's talking about work. Other than that she's nice, but she tends to keep people at a distance, and if you really annoy her she will give you a wrap on the back of the head. She's a no nonsense type of a person, and there's really no room for mistakes with her, at least in terms of work. Other than that, she's certainly as beautiful as you described her to be." "Yes, she is. She's grown a bit, and matured some. I think she's even more beautiful than she was before, if that's possible. But come, we've talked about her enough for a little while I think. I'm being rude. How are things going with you?" They talked for a little over a half hour before she finally arrived, at which point Ben politely excused himself to the two of them and went to flirt with the Blonde at the end of the bar who had been staring at him since he got in. "Hi." She said nervously. He answered back the same way, and the next thing she knew she was kissing him. She didn't know what had happened, but then he was kissing her back, and it got very passionate, until they were finally broken out of their reverie by the sound of people hooting and whistling all around them. They both blushed and sat at the bar. No sooner had they sat down, than gazing into each other's eyes they were at it again. "You wanna get out of here?" he said breathlessly, his hand on the back of her head with their foreheads pressed together. "Good idea. My place. Come." She said taking his hand and dragging him out of the bar after her. They fell into the cab together and she managed to take her lips away from his just long enough to give the cab driver her address. After that they were all over each other; touching fondling, kissing and caressing with reckless abandon. He started with one hand on the back of her head and the other feeling her wonderfully soft ass through her skirt. That wasn't enough for long. Soon his soft strong lips and delicate tongue started caressing her neck, her cheeks and her ears, drawing subtle sighs from her as his hand went under her skirt and started caressing her soft hot womanhood through her smooth silk panties. She gave a start at that. She knew they shouldn't be doing this hear, but a part of her just didn't care. It felt so good and she'd waited so long. Screw it she thought and threw herself into their passion with renewed force; one hand reaching down the back of his pants feeling the soft, firm skin of his wonderful round behind, the other reaching under the back of his shirt caressing his back all the way up to his neck, pulling him closer as she devoured with her soft, silky wet lips every part of him they could reach from his neck to his ears, to his cheeks, to his chin and back to his lips. All the while she grew hotter and hotter down there, pushing back against his warm strong hand savoring her mounting desire, as she devoured his lips, her tongue tasting of his. He pushed her head up against the back seat, removed his hand from the back of it as the other continued to caress her womanhood, now sliding underneath her panties, and placed slid his hand up her shirt, unhooking her bra and cupping her soft, silky, delicate breasts. They were the perfect size, not too big and not too small. They felt like heaven to touch and he felt he had to kiss her, to give her pleasure in return for the pleasure just being able to feel those soft, round, delicate and sensitive orbs gave him. His head not being near her lips, he decided to kiss the thing that was giving his hand so much pleasure. He started by kissing the side of her breast, sucking it in with his soft wet lips and slightly caressing it with his tongue. He worked his way to the top of the breast and all the way around it, doing the same thing, making her nipples grow harder and harder in anticipation of what was to come. When he finally did devour her nipple with his soft moist lips and his rough wet tongue, simultaneously toying with her other nipple in one hand and rhythmically caressing her soft, hot, wet pussy with the other, the pleasure was just too great to contain. "Ohhh My God! Ohhhh, Ohhhh, Ohhhh, OOOOHHHHHH! SHEEE! HOOO, HOOO, HOOO, EIIIIII, OHHHHHH, OHHHHHH, OHHHHH!" Her breath had come out in short labored gasps, the euphoria she felt just kept building, it was unparalleled. He just kept bringing her higher and higher, until finally it burst forth from her like an explosion. She had never cum that hard in her entire life, and they hadn't even had sex yet. She pulled him to her and kissed him fervently on the lips. When they arrived at their destination, he quickly pulled down her shirt, gave the driver a $20 without looking at the fare (though it couldn't have been nearly that much) and pulled her out of the cab. They ran up to her apartment; where the real fun began. They began undressing one another the instant the door slammed shut behind them, kissing passionately as they did so as if they couldn't bare not to be connected to each other physically for more than a few seconds. This is how they were meant to be. They were supposed to be together and they just couldn't take being apart any longer than they had to be. Being apart so long had left very deep wounds in each of them, and it was as if they were desperately trying to fill them with each other as quickly as possible. Love All Consuming They didn't make it to the bedroom before he was in her; his firm hard cock nestled deep within the soft, tight, silky, warm confines of her hungry pussy. He had her pinned to wall of the narrow hall outside her bedroom, kissing her neck once more, one hand on her soft smooth behind pulling her closer as he rhythmically pumped into her, the other on her back pulling her leg up, allowing him easier access to her womanhood. Each stroke was pure pleasure. She was so soft and tight, and so hot. It was like heaven he was part of her. He wanted to be part of her forever. Lizzy's breath came in gasps as the feeling of euphoria wrapped around her. She wanted him so bad. She desperately needed more, more of him. She wouldn't feel complete until she was whole with him. She rocked her hips desperately against his increasing her pleasure tenfold. She just wanted him so bad. Oh my god! Make me Cum! She thought as the euphoria grew stronger and stronger. Make me Cum! Make me Cum! "Ohhh, Ohhhh, OOOOOOOHHHHHHH. Shit! Fuck! Fuck! AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" Her mouth gaped open, and her eyes closed tight as she let the euphoria take her. Her soft sensitive pussy, just felt so much warmth and pleasure. It clamped down on his wonderfully strong dick, and she felt it quiver inside of her, just before she felt the waves of wet warmth being released within her. He was a part of her now, and she never intended to let him go again. Love Almost Lost Emylee sobbed, as she lay curled into a ball after her husband Rex had just hit her once again out of a fit of anger and stormed out the door. She knew she couldn't take it anymore, but was she strong enough to follow through with a divorce? She needed someone to talk to, but who? For some odd reason, she thought of Shawn. Shawn was a sweet teddy bear looking guy who had had a crush on her and loved her since grade school. Despite his pleadings she had always turned him down, thinking of him only as a friend. Deep down she had always loved him, but afraid of what other people would think, she never acted on those feelings. Through it all though, she had always been able to count on him to hold her when she was sad, and to listen when she needed a friend. The problem was though, that he had just moved over 2000 miles away from their small Texas town to a bigger city up north. She had to find him though, the hunger for his presence overwhelmed her. Through some detective like work on the net, she had found his messenger address and looked him up. She needed someone to talk to, and he was just the guy. She told him about what had just happened between her and Rex. As she talked, she thought about the past, and the way Shawn had always treated her. He was always so kind and gentle. He would never ever hurt her like Rex did, she thought. That's when it hit her. She had to tell him how she felt. She had to confess her love for him. It had been tormenting her for almost 15 years. She gathered her nerves and told him exactly how she felt. She explained how she had always loved him, that she just never could get the nerve to tell him. They talked about mistakes they had both made, and reminisced over times shared together through their school years. Emylee had finally told Shawn that she was still madly in love with him. It was the moment of truth. Had his love for her endured the years of rejection, and now the miles apart? Shawn explained in gentle detail that he still loved her. He told her that if there were anyway he could be there, he would gather her into his arms and never let go. Eventually Shawn gave her the strength she needed to leave Rex. To leave the abuse, and noncaring household she was prisoner in. It took 6 months, but she was finally free from Rex. It had been tough and terrifying for her, but she felt as if a burden had been lifted off of her shoulders. Now she had to visit Shawn. She arranged for her vacation and made arrangements to surprise him with a visit from her. She arrived at the airport ahead of schedule. She took this time to freshen up, and change into something really sexy. It had been almost 2 years since they'd last seen each other. Back then Emylee was a hefty 300lbs, but thanks to the divorce, worrying, and a helpful diet, she had dropped to 130 lbs. She had always been told that she was beautiful, but that she'd be gorgeous if she could "just lose some weight." Boy would Shawn be surprised! She changed into a black mini skirt, black sandals and a baby pink short little sleeveless shirt that just showed her belly enough to show off her new belly ring. She had been working on a tan, and had still been keeping the weight off. Her outfit really showed off her long thin tanned legs, and with the cut of the shirt, it just showed off her perfect breasts. She wore no bra and the cool northern air was causing her nipples to push gently against her shirt. Sexy, she thought! She felt like a new woman as she stepped into the rented convertible to go surprise Shawn. She knew he was getting off of work from the casino he worked at 6:00. Despite the butterflies in her stomach, she was more than ready to meet him. Maybe this would change her life for the better, even if it didn't though, she would still have an awesome vacation. She parked down the street from the casino. She walked nonchalantly into the casino, looking for the bar where Shawn would surely be. That's when she saw him. God he was still just as handsome as he always had been. Just seeing him made her heart beat faster. She walked over to the bar, and ordered a drink. As Shawn gave Emylee her drink, their eyes locked. Something seemed familiar to him, but where had he seen this gorgeous woman before? As he made small talk, he asked her where she was from. As she told him, his eyes grew wide with surprise. "Why that's where I grew up!" Shawn said. "Really?" Emylee barely whispered. She placed her hand over his as he sat there deep in though, as she produced a small locket he had given her in grade school with her other. He looked down and saw the locket, and squeezed Emylee's hand. He looked at her with tears in her eyes. "Emylee? Is that really you?" Emylee just nodded in reply. Shawn took off his apron, tossed it on the bar as his shift was close to ending, and whispered to Emylee, "Let's get out of here, we have a lot of catching up to do, and we need to talk." She silently obeyed him as he wrapped his arm protectively around her and guided her through the crowded casino. As they walked to her car, he asked how long she was in town. "For 3 weeks!" Emylee replied. "Great! I'll personally make sure you have a blast!" Shawn said with a grin. They got into her car and he asked her if she'd like to have dinner with him, then maybe go to a show or go for a walk. She explained that after the flight, dinner and a walk sounded heavenly. He knew that she was partial to Italian food, so her took her to a romantic yet cozy little Italian place on the other side of town. As they sat with their dinner, they discussed the events that had recently transpired for her, and what she was planning on doing with her life now. She gradually explained that she had decided to move on with her life, but that she needed to know something before she made further plans. Puzzled, Shawn asked her what she meant. She asked him if he remembered 6 months ago when she told him that she was leaving Rex, if he remembered how she had told him she felt about him. Placing his large warm hand onto hers, he whispered, "Yes sweetheart I remember." "Well," she went on, " I need to know if I'm too late for what might have been. I know how much you loved me in the past, and I have always loved you, but I just need to know, how you feel about me, now. I am terrified of getting hurt again, but I had to come see you face to face to see how you feel. I love you with all my heart as I always have, unlike any kind of love I felt with Rex. This love feels different, and I need to find out why. Shawn stood and seated himself beside her in the booth they were sitting. He put his arms around her and said, "Emylee Faith, I have never stopped loving you and never will. Seeing you right here beside me makes me want you more than anything. I want to swoop you up into my arms and take you home with me and never let go of you again." He looked down at her and saw tears in her eyes as he gently took her chin into his hand and softly placed a kiss on her full soft lips. Emylee's faith had followed through for her. Her heart was so full of happiness she thought it would surely bust. She had come 2000 miles, and to her delight, found that her admirer of early years still loved her, and now, she realized, made her tingle inside like she never had before. They sat close through the rest of dinner as they polished off dessert. As they waited for the bill, Emylee was thinking of the kiss. It had made her cheeks blush, her nipples stand at erect attn again, and made the slit between her legs heat up. She knew that along with the heartfelt feelings between them, there was also a strong sexual attraction. As they left the restaurant they took a walk through town so she could absorb the lively atmosphere. Half ways through the walk Shawn gently pulled her small hand into his. They walked hand in hand back to her car as he asked, "I don't want to sound presumptuous, but would you mind coming back to my place?" She accepted without a second thought. She would be safe, welcome, entertained, and it would save her hotel money! When they got back to the apartment he changed into boxers after a quick shower, as did Emylee. She had put on a tank top with silk shorts bottoms. She thought to her self, "Heck, I might as well get comfy, we've known each other since 2nd grade." They sat cuddled on the couch and talked as they watched a late night movie. By the time the movie was over, there was no denying there was something special between them. As Shawn switched off the TV and light, he tucked Emylee into her bed in the living room before he retired to his bed. He wanted to feel her though. He wanted to feel her soft sensuous body under his hands, taste her kiss, and most of all; he'd love to get rid of the hardness growing between his legs. He hoped she couldn't tell, but as they playfully held one another throughout the movie, every time she would run her hand over his leg, or touch his face, or as they kissed, his cock seemed to be aroused from it's sleeping slump. As he kneeled down to kiss her one last time, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him more passionately and deeply than the other times. As Emylee gently raised her top and laid Shawn's hand on her swollen breast, she slowly let her other hand fall to just below his waist, where she gently let her hand brush up against his cock. God, he was hard and big she thought. She felt a burning deep inside her unlike any she had ever felt. She wanted to feel close to him, she needed him. Shawn's senses were reeling. Here he was in his house with the woman he had loved all of his life, kissing her soft lips, tasting her sweetness, and feeling of her soft full breasts. He couldn't believe how unafraid she was of him, but what really sent him moaning into her neck, was when her hand made contact with his very hardening cock. With one sweep, Shane picked Emylee up and took her took his bedroom. As he laid her gently on the satin sheets of his bed, he asked, "Are you sure?" She whispered her approval as she pulled him down to her. They lay there, feeling one another's bodies as they kissed each inch of each other. Shawn was drunk off of her scent. She was so beautiful. He was so turned on by now he just wanted to take her full length and pound until he came, but he knew he wanted their first time to be perfect. Emylee surprised him by rolling him onto his back and straddling his stout body. She kissed his hairy chest, nuzzled his neck, licked at his ears, ran her hands over his chest, and teased his nipples. She slowly slunk down as she trailed kisses over his stomach. Shawn lay there with butterflies, and a very hard cock as his little angel from the past inched her way towards the waist of his boxers. Emylee reached up and stripped off her tank top, letting her large full breasts free. The cool air in the room stiffened her already aroused nipples. His hands went to her breasts as she coated his stomach with more tiny kisses. He pulled her down, and pulled one of her nipples in to his mouth. He gently suckled it, and teasingly bit at her nipples making her grind against him in super arousal. She slid back down his body, seductively, towards his feet, this time slipping his boxers off, releasing his 8 and a half inch swollen cock. "Oh God," Shawn thought, " I want her soft wet mouth on my cock." As if reading his mind, Emylee slowly took all 8 and a half inches of his cock into her mouth, until the mushroom head was slightly more than down her throat. She began bobbing her head up and down slowly, sometimes fast on his shaft. Tasting the precum she moaned and took one of his balls into her mouth and gently sucked on it, as she stroked his rock hard cock with her hand. Shawn lay there moaning, running his hands through her hair, squeezing her nipples, and rubbing her breasts. Emylee teased him more with her mouth until he suddenly rolled her over where he was straddled her. He kissed her neck, stroked her tongue with his, and trailed kisses down to her breasts. He kissed down her belly as she had him, and slipped off her pj bottoms, under which there where no panties. He bit at her nipples as his hand slipped between her legs. What he found was a hairless soft pussy. He could feel the wetness beginning between her legs. She moaned as he slid his hand over her pubic region. His kisses trailed back down over her belly ring, to her slit. He kissed her around her lips, then with one swift lick of his tongue began licking and sucking her clit. He slipped one finger into her hot, wet, tight hole while loving her clit. As he fucked her with his finger, she lay there moaning, bucking against his hand and his mouth. He slid his finger out and let his tongue slide into her hole, tasting her sweetness. As he fucked her with his tongue, licking from her hole to her clit, he slowly inserted a wet finger into her ass. She tensed with this movement, but slowly relaxed as his licking and probing took her to ecstasy she had never known before. As Shawn began moving his finger around in her back hole, while he was sucking her clit, flicking it with his tongue, Emylee tensed and grunted as she came with a terrific force. Her sweet cum flooded Shawn's mouth as he removed his probing finger, and drank her sweet liquid. He moved up beside her with his cock still rock hard, and stroked her hair, face and breasts. He bent down, kissing her, as she tasted the leftover taste of her own cum. She kissed him back with a passion she had never felt before, whispering, "Shawn, make love to me darling, I need you now." On cue Shawn rose on his knees, parted her long lovely legs, and slowly and gently entered her. Emylee had never in her life been filled with such a hard, long cock. Rex had always been on the tiny side. This felt like heaven to her. Shawn gently began to make love to her, gradually going full length into her tight hole. He increased his speed making Emylee moan with great desire. As he made love to her, he could feel the pressure building in his balls. He was stroking slow and deep within her, feeling her tightness. He began to stroke faster and harder, when he suddenly stopped, leaving himself buried inside her. Then as quickly as he'd stopped, he started to begin slowly stroking her again, going faster with each set of strokes. Eventually, he began making love to her, hard and powerfully. He was going full sheath in her, and she had never felt more full or wonderful. He entered her one last time after withdrawing completely, full sheath, and quite hard. With that one quick motion, Emylee came like she had never came before as Shawn also came with a powerful force. She could feel his cock pulsating inside her quivering pussy, filling her insides with scalding cum. He gently withdrew his member from her aching, satisfied pussy, and cuddled beside her. As he held her in his arms, they whispered their love to one another and gently fell into a satisfying slumber. After waking to more earth shattering love making, the two began to plan their future together. Both were sure of their love, and as their lovemaking had proved, their bond was stronger and more perfect than anything either had felt. Shawn's greatest dream had finally come true, as Emylee had finally found a lover, friend, and mate for life. She wouldn't go back to Texas, her home would be here now. Everything would be perfect, just like their sweet, tender, passionate lovemaking... To Be Continued... Love Always, Mom [©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18 WITH IDENTITIES DISGUISED; THIS STORY HAS A 'HARDER EDGE' THAN MOST; BE WARNED: HERE BE DRAGONS; FOR AGES 21 OR ABOVE] [Son is cruelly kicked to the curb at 18 by father; son waits for day to get even and does, replacing him in mom's bed, consigning him to ignominy.] Yes, I know. I couldn't live at home forever. Still, did I have to be kicked to the curb just because I enjoyed my 18th birthday? Seems to me that a three bedroom home with only one being used would have an opening. Oh well, their house had their rules. I was out on my ear. It might not have hurt so much if he had given me a few bucks to get settled somewhere, or allowed me time to pack. Worst of all, he had this lousy grin on his kisser as he saw me fumbling with my few measly possessions as I headed off into the frigid wintry unknown. With nowhere else to go, I had to shiver the night away in the rundown men's mission downtown. The night did not pass without an incident. I might've been stronger than any three of them, but there were a lot of bums there; my wallet was history. The next morning I was sharing a newspaper's want ads with a fellow mission-member, sporting a black eye from the night before. Father drove by in his Audi. I was hoping he had second thoughts, or at least had a few dollars to assuage his conscience. In the event, he just tapped his horn lightly and gave me the 'good bye' gesture, wearing that same lousy grin as he drove away. Having barely managed to finish high school, I was not exactly the 'college kind'. I would have to get by with only the hallowed 'H.S.' degree. Well, it certainly got my foot in the door. Within only three days of training, I was running a fast food drive-thru with the best of them. My mother would've been so proud...if only she ate at a fast food dive like that. Having to work from 60 to 70 hours per week, I was not exactly free to pursue a wild and crazy social life. In fact, my off-time was mostly spent lifting weights while watching TV. If that sounds like the life of a prison inmate, you're not far off. I got a mild 'reprieve' from this drudgery with a call I received from my sainted mother. My mom was 39, a minor star in the constellation of the area's social circle. If you saw 'Beverly Hills Wives', you had a picture of my mom. After hair dye, some minor surgery, and an occasional diet, my mom was a blonde haired, blue eyed, mature, MILF sexpot. I don't know if her boobs were real or 'store bought', but her blouse was always straining to burst open, the buttons about to pop off. With a slim waist, motherly hips, shapely legs and the sexiest smooth feet in America, mom was sizzling hot. If she had spoken up for me, perhaps even insisted that I could stay at home till I got a good job, then I'd have felt something for her. In the event, she was utterly silent as my daddy delighted in shooing me away. The fact that it was freezing cold; I could only carry so much of my things; and I was almost penniless didn't seem to matter. Completely unknown to me, I was kicked out so unceremoniously because my father was frightened that I might take-over the mantle of 'man of the house'. For years he had pursued long distance bicycling, in spite of my mom's concerns. Sure enough, one day he turned up totally, and I mean totally, impotent. My gorgeous mother might've been more sympathetic had she not warned him of this. Now, all he could see was a wealthy wife with a spectacular figure not being 'serviced' by him at home. The specter of a 'hunk' son under the same roof was just too much for him to contemplate, hence my ejection. It turns out he had good cause for concern. My beautiful mother was indeed very horny and my maturing physique and good looks had not gone unnoticed. More than once she had thought of me as she played with her battery-powered 'little friend' that she kept in the nightstand drawer. All of this was academic as mom called me one day: Mom: "How are you doing, dear? I know we haven't spoken since you moved out, but your father said it would be better for you. I'm sure that you could use some extra money these days, so how would you like to 'tend bar' for us during our big annual party? You would only have to make drinks and clean up the bar. So, how about it?" Me: "Okay, sure. I'm off on Saturday night. Did you e-mail me this list?" Mom: "Yes, honey I did. I hope it wasn't presumptuous of me, but I thought since you were coming here, why should I have to make a separate trip?" Me: [Reviewing the printout from my mom.] "Okay, I went shopping with you every week as I grew up, so I know the veggies you like, etc. One thing, though, you listed FunTex, those things with the strings, I guess. Do I have to get those?" Mom: "No, you don't." Me: "I can't believe you still need those things." Mom: "I don't think this is a subject we should be discussing." Me: "You're right! So, I don't have to get them...good" Mom: "On second thought, I might need them. Your father has my car--mine is in for service. I don't want to discuss my cycles; suffice it to say that I might need those things. Your father would never pick them up for me. So, be a dear and pick them up. Like I said, I don't want to discuss my personal cycles, like whether I am 'safe' or incredibly fertile at the moment. I will just tease you and say I am one or the other. See you at the party, sweetheart." Well, I arrived hours before the party was to start, handing mom all the party supplies that she had forgotten to pickup during her weekly shopping. Oh, I also handed her that box of Funtex. I was glad to be free of it. To my utter shock, my society mom kissed me in thanks. She then turned away from me in the kitchen. Wearing only a green house robe, she ripped open the box and inserted one of those things inside of her. What was even more unexpected was that she moaned ever so slightly as she shoved that cotton thing up her damp, welcoming vagina. For the first time I wanted in there. My cock suddenly erected, pumping to nine inches of titanium hard metal. My seed reservoirs just below it expanded like small balloons being inflated. As my mom turned back towards me, she proceeded to close that short robe. She was a bit slow though; before she could button back up, I saw that she was nude...NUDE...underneath that damn robe. I caught a glimpse, perhaps picoseconds, of her perfect breasts, nipples and all. We were talking playmate foldout quality, too. That did it! Somehow I was going to combine getting back at my snooty father (for making me sleep at the homeless shelter just after leaving home) with bedding my beautiful mother. I looked into my wonderful mother's sparkling blue eyes. To my bewilderment, she then nodded to me. If only I had known what that meant. I was welcome 'in there' at that point; as it turned out, there was no need for the extreme steps I took at the party. My plan was not all that clever, really. I was going to be the bartender for the soiree. I would give everyone very mild drinks. If there was a mature babe there that I wanted to have a 'go' at, I would use some 180 proof alcohol to spike her drink. Towards the end of the party, I would spike both of my parents' drinks. Being petite and loving, I would spike mom's drinks much, much less than his. With any luck, old daddy would be out like a light while mom would be awake, but open to 'my attentions'. Well, that's how it all played out. Most everyone liked the drinks I made (I had to use a cheat-sheet since I was not a drinker.) No one complained that I barely put any booze in drinks, since I always used a proper measure when they were looking. During the drama that was that cocktail party, I had one goal, bedding mom. I had no idea that I would briefly be sidetracked. But, being a male, I was a hunter of opportunity, and another MILF presented herself to me: ************************************************** Subplot No. 1->ME AND MRS.Z. Everyone was actually rather nice to me, except of course my father. He told me I only had to work the bar, but soon I was serving along with the white livery dressed catering staff. I had to fetch drinks and ice when we ran out. It was tough. Only one couple was snooty to me, besides him. The absolute zenith of local society, Aubrey Z. still had that haughtiness, the arrogant air of a debutante. Well, she acted as if she just had her 'coming out' in society; in fact, it was only 30 years ago. Now, at 46, she was just the town gossip and the second hottest MILF babe in the region (after my sexy mom.) Okay, I thought. This would be a great rehearsal for my main event (mom and dad.) I gave Aubrey Z. and her husband quite a jolt in their last cocktails. I then gently guided them to my parents' room. On mom's big bed was a pile of coats about four feet high. I pushed those coats off the bed. I then grabbed a swaying, tipsy, Mrs. Z. and gently placed her on her back on the bed. Not forgetting anything, I stood back up, grabbing her useless wealthy husband and put him down in a chair. As I was doing this in the middle of mom's party, and someone could ask for their coat to leave at any second, I didn't have time to even strip that sexy woman. I didn't know that my effort to save time would be helped by open front panties, but she was wearing them. Talk about easy access! I put my huge babymaker into Mrs. Z.'s tight, hot, pussy. She did not muster even a slight protest; nor did her weakling husband. I rolled that society dame up towards the bed board, my cock getting deeper and deeper with every thrust of my relentless hips. My rough, uncut cockhead was exciting her hypersensitive vaginal walls as I performed the task of putting a hard cock into a sopping pussy. To my amazement, her neighbor poked her head into the room. It was quite a sight, seeing a young buck between her friend's mature, but shapely legs. Mrs. Z.'s expensive color-keyed (to the outfit) blue velveteen shoes were up in the air as I went like a jack hammer, pounding in and out with increasing intensity. It was such an arresting sight that Mrs. Z.'s friend couldn't tear herself away. From her vantage point, she could see my testes flying up and down, those family jewels swollen to the size of mangoes, heavy with seed. As Mrs. Z. quietly moaned in ecstasy, I manfully grabbed her behind in a powerful grip. Looking down at this snooty society woman, I thought how great it would be to get her pregnant. Now, THAT would show her! To that end, with my oversized cockhead, I penetrated this inner chamber of her inner chamber. There, I proceeded to pump squirt after squirt, shot after shot...drip, trickle, ooooooze, drip. It was over; Mrs. Z. was mine and fairly won. I carefully went to my mom's bedside nightstand. I knew she kept her 'little friend' in there. I didn't turn that battery powered thing on; I only used it as a ramrod, pushing my potent seed deeper and deeper inside Mrs. Z. fertile depths. I then carefully pushed down her dress and lifted her off the bed. I rounded up both she and her husband and whisked them to their car. I offered to get them a cab (on me) or that free tow-truck service for people near or over the drinking limit. To be unbelievably cold about it, I didn't care if he drove into a tree, but I didn't want harm to come to my lovely lady: Aubrey Z. Well, somehow, he made it home safely with Mrs. Z. That worked out great, as our love lives got more and more daring; finally, we would f-ck right in front of her cuckolded husband. Mrs. Z. had gone from staid, stolid society butterfly to a cock-crazed slut. It was such a turn-on to service his sexy wife within inches of him as he sat, wincing slightly, watching the business report on cable TV. He was pretty cool about it, actually, and only reacted when Mrs. Z. cried out in orgasm, her shout being heard throughout their mansion. Even better, her considerable household staff would be in their quarters, watching TV too as they overheard our action. Somehow they managed to tape the action and secretly put it on YouTube. They did that every time we did 'it' after the 1st time. Better yet, as Mrs. Z.'s belly expanded beautifully, heavy with child, they filmed that too. Eventually I caught on to them. Instead of 'ratting them out', I enjoyed the replays, especially the child's delivery which I obviously couldn't attend. It WAS a hit of the web, for a while. Knowing that we might be on camera, I actually put a towel over my head when I snuck into their private hospital room. With the little pinhole YouTube camera whirring away, I was bold enough to suckle her warm, sweet, breastmilk right in front of her impotent hubby in that hospital room. Just before they checked out to take the new tyke home, I actually was bold enough to go to the side of the hospital bed. I spun Mrs. Z. 90 degrees so she was perpendicular to the bed, allowing me access to her just-had-a-baby womb. It was much too soon, having just delivered a beautiful, healthy baby only three days before, but I proceeded to pump my vibrant, healthy teen sperm deep inside of her matronly but once again fertile pussy. It was medically impossible to get pregnant in such a short period post-partum; that made it all the more surprising when a few hours after leaving her side, and unknown to anyone, she once again conceived a baby of mine. That was mostly after that cocktail party. Let's return to the party to see how my original plan went... Subplot No. 2->Forced out of my home with only a trunk, I went into a funk. I was sunk. Mom gets drunk; touches my junk; mates with this hunk; being a punk, I fill her with my spunk. I had spewed. Sure it was rude, but I was crude. I went and got some food. Later we again got lewd, both of us in the nude. I threw away that 'lude, didn't need it, dude. Mom pointed down there, so I was cued that she was in the mood. No need for her to be wooed, next step? Get her gooed, onto her ovum sperm got glued. The first of our brood. So we did it, in the nude...dude. SOLID... As much fun as it was to show Mrs. Z. and her puny hubby who was boss in these woods, my primary goal was still getting my parents tipsy so I could get a chance to bed my gorgeous mom. As I said before, my 'MO' would be to spike their drinks towards the end of the party. They had dozens of parties, each of which ended at midnight sharp. So, by 11:30pm on, my parents enjoyed mixed cocktails with a little 180 proof firewater mixed in. By midnight, I had to say the last goodbyes. My old pa was looking very glassy eyed, sitting in a sedan chair as if he were part of the furniture. With all of the guests safely gone, I proceeded to search out my mom. Anticipating a whale of a good time, my cock instantly pumped to iron hardness. As I walked, it started tunneling upwards, escaping the confines of my jockeys and even bursting up thru the belt to rise above my navel. My balls were drooping with the weight of seed; I had amassed an enormous load of sperm-laden cum and I was anxious to pump it deep inside my own mom. I couldn't wait to ruin that spectacular figure of hers—couldn't wait for her belly to be swollen with my baby. Maybe, just maybe, my old man would have second thoughts about the way he treated me, kicking me out of an empty house just to 'show me who was the man of the house'. Well, with my mom sporting a big belly, heavy with child, heavy with MY child, I guess he would have to accept a new 'man of the house'. Leaving my old codger of a daddy in the living room, I went to their bedroom. The coats were now all gone, of course. The only thing on that bed now was my dear mother. I was careful not to make either one of them blind drunk, as that would be no fun and might even be 'wrong'. No, in the event, they both could see and say no to anything I might try. In that spirit, I scampered onto that bed and proceeded to strip my glorious mom into her birthday suit. For someone who had never seen his mother in even a bathing suit, this was a particular thrill. Removing that big-cupped 36D bra, you could imagine the thrill, the shivers that vibrated through me. Removing that skirt to reveal her bikini-waxed smooth legs, my hands went to work feeling their showgirl perfection. Shyly sticking a finger inside of her, I found she was furnace hot even in this drunken haze. Little did I know that mom had spent hours, and I mean hours, just to look good at the party...for me! The expensive and painful process that made her legs incredibly silky smooth and sexy, the waxing, was something she had only done once...for this party. She spent an hour just selecting her outfit. If I had known that mom's nipples popped and she got sopping wet as soon as I arrived for the party, I might not have wasted the effort getting HER drunk. I kissed mom--hard. She gave me a sloppy kiss back, opening her mouth and offering her tongue. It was messy, but the idea of 'making out' with my snooty mom was mind-blowing. My hands made up for lost time, caressing and stroking every square inch of her unbelievable body. Totally nude, I had a field day kissing each pouting nipple, her Bo Derek-like chiseled toned midriff, and finally that welcoming warm place down there. Though she dyed her hair blond, her forest of fur above her entrance was reddish-brown, betraying the illusion of blondeness. I was about to unceremoniously slam myself deep inside my gorgeous mom when I remembered something. Reaching down there, I found the string in question and removed that item from inside her. I then jumped up from the bed and checked her medicine drawer. I knew that mom used to complain about her diaphragm. I was hoping (against hope) that she had given that up as her hubby got older and more and more useless in the bedroom. Sure enough, there it was in a protective plastic case. Next to it were her treasured 'pills'. She used to use them religiously, even showing me once the date on the blister pack. Well, I found her old prescription and she had stopped using them too. Dear old mom: so lovely, so loving, so fertile, so totally unprotected. Well, I proceeded to show both of them who the new 'man of the house' was. That very day I pumped a lot of potent seed into my very own mom. Often, she would protest that I shouldn't, that I might get her pregnant. I'd ignore that and come, deep inside of her. By the third time we mated, mom had dropped the pretense that she objected and begged me to come, deep inside of her. She wanted my baby. Now THAT was enticing. I was completely done before any final (fourth) go-round. Mom took the lead at that point, saying she was sorry that she hadn't breastfed me as an infant; she vowed that she wouldn't make that mistake again if we were to have a baby. Well, that got my motors running just enough to do her that fourth and final time. Each time I came, I thought of the idea of her being pregnant with my baby. That just made me pump harder, drive deeper, and linger longer. I had no idea of what her cycles actually were. To be absolutely certain, therefore, I proceeded to f-ck my own mom some four times in the first night together (the one with the cocktail party.) At first she actually struggled against me ever so slightly. Later, she would just lay there on her bed, as if she was doing some adult feature. 9 times out of 10, you could walk by her and see a waterfall of thick, opaque, white liquid dripping out of her sperm-filled cunt. I was amazed when he came out of his drunken stupor, saw that 'creampie' dripping out of mom's well-fucked cunt, and said nothing. It was only poetic justice. He'd thrown me out of my own house; a boy who had just turned 18. I now returned to re-pay that 'favor', successfully installing myself as the new 'man of the house'. To my amazement, it came off flawlessly. Neither of them uttered a single word of complaint when I moved into the master bedroom with mom, consigning him to move out as I had been forced to do. Love Always, Mom Mom became so addicted to my cock and our unending love-fest that she didn't object when she found out that I had gotten her pregnant. Apparently she had conceived that very first night, the night of the party. This was all unexpected and more than I even dreamt of. To be honest, on that wintry night that I was forced to leave home, I was too cold to think about 'revenge'. Later, after seeing a glimpse of my incredibly sexy mom, I knew my revenge would be to somehow supplant that old man, insinuating myself into my old home and sending HIM to the men's shelter. I only wished that I could one day go past that shelter, seeing him outside. Mom and I would be driving one of those huge mobile homes, with a dozen children inside. Well, we couldn't quite manage that. What we did do was take mom's new ID cards with her restored (from divorce) maiden name and get married in our neighboring state. A few years later, we found the time to go by and see him outside the mission, waiting for the 'pea soup and government cheese elegant evening'. Holding hands with my beautiful mom, our station wagon was filled with six children. As he looked at us, his face covered with week-old stubble and some sort of rash, I kissed my gorgeous mom, told that throng of kids to be quiet, and slowly drove away. Justice had come full circle. Now HE had to bundle up against the cold and contemplate his fate, sleeping at the men's shelter. On the other hand, I had replaced him in mom's bed. He thought of that as the same pack of bums that had fought with me confronted him on his final night. Unfortunately for him, he was not built like me and couldn't take on any three of them. So, he got much more than a black eye. We weren't notified for several weeks as his ID's had been taken that night. As he spent that very night shivering then brawling in that dank shelter, my cock pumped to steel hardness as I lay under the warm covers of our Egyptian cotton comforter. I was thinking of that very turn-of-events, and what was coming out of that bathroom in a few moments. Sure enough, my gorgeous mom emerged, wearing a diaphanous peignoir that revealed, well, everything. I proceeded to put mom in the middle of our king-sized bed and vent my passion deep inside of her. Just thinking of the manly triumph of him shivering downtown while I was living the high life got me hot. I began pumping my potent sperm into my mother's incredibly fertile womb. Rising up from the huge reservoirs swaying manfully in their sack, my cum (which was 97% pure seed) filled her womb. This would be our seventh and last child. As it turned out, the babies were triplets, all three being male. We were blessed with a final total of nine children. That was okay, because his life insurance settlement was paid to us just after the unfortunate events at the mission. I had replaced him in mom's life, and in her bed. A million wasn't that much anymore. It would be just enough to cover college for those who wanted to go, and pay for some wild times for me and dear old mom. Love Among the Elk "Damn it, Les, you know how I feel about reporters. After the last time I said I'd never take one again!" My boss looked at me wearily over the piles of papers, maps, and samples of antler on his well worn GSA desk. "I also know that the budget axes are being sharpened in DC. Saving elk has to compete with everyone else's pet program for funding. A dramatic photo feature in a national magazine will go a long way toward keeping your program going next year." Les knew he had me there. He pulled a scrap of paper from one of the piles- don't know how he does it, but he can find anything on that desk effortlessly- and held it out. "Here's the number. I spoke to her a little on the phone and she seems like a decent enough gal. Go call her and make plans to take her on the roundup next week." No matter how many sexual harassment seminars the Civil Service sent him to in his 30 years with Fish & Wildlife, Les could never break the Westerner's habit of referring to any female under the age of 70 as a "gal". I don't think he cared, and since he was a perfect gentleman to every woman he encountered in his work the PC Police gave up making an issue of it. "Les, come on..." When you reach the limit with Les you know it for sure. His eyes turned to ice. "I ain't asking, son. Go make the call." The he smiled a little. "Hell, you might be lucky. Like I said, she sounds like a decent gal, and she may even be pretty. No way to tell on the phone. Lord knows there's not many cute single gals around here." "Yeah, not since you grabbed up the last one!" "Hell, son, that was twenty-seven years ago come next June. Which reminds me, Sharon said to tell you to come over to supper Sunday. She thinks you're looking too thin again from eating your own cooking." Sharon may have been a bit plump and answered to "mom" when I jokingly called her that, but there was no question she had been a beauty in her day. Still was, as far as Les was concerned. "Tell her I have all the buttons on that microwave figured out." "That's what she's afraid of. Be there about four." He knew me well enough. A choice between Sharon's home cooking and microwaving whatever I had stocked up on the last monthly trip to the Costco seventy-five miles away was no choice at all. The number Les gave me started with "212". Great, a city girl from New York. This was looking like a disaster already. I got passed through several operators before I got to the right desk. "Miss Erskine?" The voice, a musical contralto, was decidedly cool. "This is MS Erskine. Who's this?" Maybe I exaggerated my Western drawl just a little. "My name's Jim MacNeil, ma'am. I was told you wanted to come report on the elk roundup we're planning here in Oregon next week." She warmed up just a little. "Oh, right, I was expecting your call. I mainly want to take a lot of pictures of the process, and interview you and the other wildlife biologists about why you do this. I'm hoping the magazine will turn it into a feature that will grab the armchair adventure crowd." "Well, that sounds just fine. I want you to understand what you're getting into, though. We spend long days way out in the mountains wrangling scared wild animals that can weigh up to a thousand pounds. It can get dangerous in a hurry, and I don't have a catering staff for reporters." "Don't worry about me, Mr. MacNeil. Just let me know when and where to be there." So I had pissed her off. Who cares, I don't like reporters anyway. We arranged for her to meet us at the parking lot where the crew was gathering to head up into the hills and hung up. My crew wasn't any happier about her than I was. "Another one? Christ, remember that bimbo they sent out the last time? Who the hell goes out in the mountains in a miniskirt and high heels?" "I didn't mind that, since she did have nice legs, but I didn't appreciate her attitude. I haven't seen that much whine since the Yamhill Harvest Festival!" We all groaned, and Chuck tried to give Ben a knuckle rub. The worse the pun the better Ben liked it. I stepped in. "All right, guys, knock off the grabassing. This could make or break our funding for next year, so give this gal a chance. I already told her it could be dangerous and uncomfortable and she still wants to come." The guys settled down and we got on with planning the movement of fifty elk from an overpopulated area to an underpopulated one. When we got to the grocery store parking lot where we were meeting to start the roundup the next morning, a teal Taurus was already sitting in the lot. A long figure in jeans and a fleece pullover unfolded itself from the front seat and walked over. "Mr. MacNeil? I'm Wendy Erskine." I took the hand she stuck out. Tall, slender, with dark red hair (is that what they call "auburn"?) and green eyes, she was the type you might pass over on a first glance, but a second one would definitely stick. Classic beauty with no hint of flash. Tall works for me, too; I got dumped in college by a little cutie who explained that she didn't consider herself short at 5'3", but couldn't see spending the rest of her life standing next to a man a whole foot taller. The "Mr. MacNeil" drew a chuckle from Ben. "Call me Jim, please." Ben's voice from behind me: "Or do like the rest of us and call him oof, damn it, Chuck...." I turned. "It's too damn early to be starting this crap, guys. How about letting us get some coffee first?" I turned back. "Sorry about the language, Ms. Erskine." She laughed. Reminded me of a carillon ringing. "Wendy, please. And I'm from New York, remember? I didn't know there were still men who are embarrassed to swear in front of women." "Well, we try to act a little better out here. Look, let's put your stuff in my truck and you can ride with us. No sense taking more vehicles than we need, and that Taurus isn't built for rough roads." "Yeah, and the rental agency wants everything but my first born child if I bring it back dinged up. Let me grab my stuff." "Need a hand?" "Well, if you don't mind, sure." Points to her; the last one had just said "please have your people load those cases" and gone off to apply another layer of makeup or something. My guys will pitch in on anything if asked politely, but they didn't appreciate being treated like dude ranch waiters. Following her across the lot, it struck me that her hiking boots looked well broken in. Good sign. Something else struck me as she reached into the trunk: her well worn jeans fit her trim hips VERY nicely, and she appeared to be wearing the world's smallest string bikini panties under them. Bless me, Gloria Steinem, for I have sinned: I was checking out a pretty woman's panty lines. Pathetic, I know, but attractive women were few and far between out where we worked and lived. She straightened and handed me a well used Kelty Redwing backpack. "Would you mind holding this while I grab something out of the back seat?" Why, no, I wouldn't mind watching her bend into the back seat at all. The Redwing was a good sign too: it's a classic piece of gear for serious hikers, and I had one myself. She came up with a couple wide, flat white boxes and walked over to where the guys were pouring coffee out of Thermoses on the tailgate of my truck. "I passed a Krispy Kreme on the way from the airport, and they had the 'hot and fresh' sign lit. No way I can eat all these by myself. Can you guys help me out?" This gal was one smart cookie. She knew that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and these guys would be falling over themselves to help her the rest of the day. The residue of hostility the last reporter chick left was vanishing as fast as the donuts. I didn't even get any attitude when I told the guys that she got the shotgun seat next to me in the Suburban. Once we were out on the road she pulled out a notebook and turned to me. "Can you explain to me from the beginning what you're doing here today?" I took a sip of coffee from my oversized travel mug and got started. "Did you get the AAA map of this area before you came out here, or do you rely on GPS?" "I don't rely on GPS." "Smart woman. Every winter we have to rescue some city people whose GPS led them up a closed mountain road. Anyway, when you look at the map you focus on the roads, right?" "Pretty much, yeah." "If elk could read maps they would do the opposite and focus on the roadless areas. The unsettled mountain areas are the elk habitat. People settle and build roads along the valley floors, and that breaks up the traditional elk migration routes. Once a farmer plants crops he doesn't want a herd of elk tramping through eating everything in sight, even if they've been using that route for the last thousand years. He's going to fence them out, chase them off with dogs, or sometimes do something even shadier to get rid of them. Same with the Roads & Highways people; they fence off major roads to avoid car-game collisions. If you colored in the elk habitat on your map it would look like a chain of islands." She pulled a map out of her backpack and unfolded it without jostling me. "OK, I see what you're saying." "Now, sometimes the elk population on one island, so to speak, will get bigger than the habitat can sustain. They start eating everything down to the ground, which causes erosion, and wander into populated areas where they get into trouble. Come winter, they die off from lack of food and stored body fat. The solution is to capture a bunch of them and move them to another 'island' that's underpopulated. That's what we're doing today." "Hey Jim!" I sighed. "What, Ben?" "Did you bring the barrels of Margaritas and suntan lotion for them elk on islands?" Scattered chuckles. "Don't laugh, you guys, it just encourages him." Wendy shook her head, but I could see a faint grin. Cute dimples, too. "How exactly does it work?" "We have a long set of fences set up in a V shape near a meadow where they like to graze. We use horses and ATVs to push the elk into the funnel, and before they know it they're in the corral at the point of the V. Once they settle down a little we pull them out one at a time, sedate them, give them a quick checkup, ear tag, and vaccination, and put them in a horse trailer. Once the trailer's full another crew hauls it to the release area, unloads them, and watches them until they're on their feet and walking steady again." "Why do they watch them?" "Until they can take care of themselves they're easy prey for coyotes and feral dogs. Cougars too, but a cougar generally won't try for a kill in front of a bunch of humans. Some places have had problems with two-legged lowlifes trying for an easy kill, so we want it known that there's guards with rifles sitting right there." "You guys would actually shoot someone for poaching?" Uncomfortable silence. A couple years before a "guide" from the next county had started letting it be known that for the right price- well over $50,000- he would guarantee a world record trophy, without worrying about little details like licenses, tags, seasons, or National Park or Game Refuge boundaries. When he didn't return from one trip, the locals had unanimously claimed they were too busy to help with the search- something totally unheard of. I suspected that one or two of the guys in this very truck knew exactly why he was never found, but we never talked about it- especially not in front of a reporter. "In these parts the only thing lower than a poacher is a child molester. I have no problem with honest hunting- I couldn't keep this program going without help from hunters and hunting organizations- but no one hates a poacher more than an honest hunter. Anyway, it's never come to that. It's just easier to run them off when it's clear that they aren't going to poach an elk without a fight. They wouldn't poach if they wanted to do things the hard way." "So how do I fit into this?" "I thought we'd start by putting you behind the fence near the mouth of the V, where the drive will go right past you and you should get some good action shots. Then you'll be close to the corral and you can move over there to follow the action. From there you can watch us process the elk, and if you want to go with one of the dropoff crews that shouldn't be a problem. Let's see how things develop." "If you think you're going to just set me in a corner out of the way, you can think again." "I'm not trying to do that. Sometimes an elk will panic and try to bolt out of the trap, and the riders scramble to cut it off. If you're out in the middle only watching what you can see through a lens one or the other will run you over. I just don't want anyone getting hurt." "Well, OK, let's see how this works before we start fighting over it." "Makes sense to me." When we got there I showed her where I wanted her to stand and went to deal with the real work of the day. Once we had the elk in the corral we broke for lunch while they got a chance to calm down from the chase. I found Wendy sitting on a log with a small laptop in front of her and a one person audience. Lindsay Collins was one of my favorite people in town. A precocious, twelve year old bundle of bones and hormones, she still played with dolls when she wasn't driving our lone teacher crazy trying to keep up with her prodigious intellectual hunger. They were flipping through pictures on the screen and exclaiming over them. "Isn't Uncle Jim handsome? All the moms think he needs a girlfriend, but he's too busy with those dumb animals." I couldn't let her answer that one. "Did you get some good pictures?" Wendy greeted me with a bright smile. "Hey, you were right, I did get a great view of the roundup from where you left me. Come have a look." "Glad it went well. Hi, Lindsay, how are you doing?" "I'm helping Ms. Erskine, and she's showing me all about photography. I think I want to be a photographer myself when I grow up!" "That's great, kiddo, but I think your mom's wondering where you got to. Why don't you go show her you're still alive and then come see if Ms. Erskine needs any more help this afternoon?" The roundups had developed into a family event years ago when the original volunteers started bringing their wives and kids. The younger women tended to jump on their own horses and ATVs and dive in as enthusiastically as the men, while the older generation sat in the shade, gossiped, and kept the little kids out from underfoot. "Oh, all right. Hey, isn't Ms. Erskine pretty? Why don't you ask her for a date while I'm gone?" "Lindsay, remember that talk we had last week about asking grownups personal questions? I think I just heard three or four too many. Don't you want to be my girlfriend anymore?" "Don't be silly, Uncle Jim, you can't be my boyfriend. You're old!" I ignored Wendy's chuckle. "I bet Johnny Smith will be glad to hear that." Lindsay blushed and stuck her tongue out at me. "He's just a dumb boy. I don't need any boyfriends!" "You sure don't, young lady, and I hope you remember that. And it's unladylike to stick your tongue out at people. I bet Ms. Erskine doesn't do that." Wendy promptly stuck her tongue out at me, sending Lindsay into fits of giggles. "I should have known better than to take on two women at once. Run along and find your momma and give me a fighting chance." Lindsay scampered off and Wendy turned to me. "I keep telling her to call me Wendy, and she just ignores it." "Kids around here aren't allowed to call adults by their first names. You shouldn't put her on the spot by telling her to- she knows she'd get in trouble for it later." "Now it makes sense. She's a really bright kid." "Yeah, she is. I think she's read every book I and every other adult around here own. Answering her questions about things I haven't read since college gets to be a real strain." "I noticed there's some you didn't answer." Was she flirting? Suggesting that she'd like me to ask her out? "I'm a Federal employee, remember? At the last sexual harassment seminar I was told that I'm not allowed to notice if a woman's pretty or not while I'm on duty." She gave me a Mona Lisa smile and retreated to safer ground. "So Lindsay wants to be a photographer?" "Last week she wanted to run for Congress. I think she's just impressed with the glamorous, globetrotting New York City reporter." Wendy rubbed at a streak of dirt on her "New York City Marathon" t-shirt. "I'm hardly glamorous today." I rapidly pulled my thoughts back from the track her gesture sent them down- healthy B cup at least, hint of lace, this gal has good taste in lingerie and would feel great against my chest... "I doubt your sister gave you that haircut in her kitchen, you didn't buy those jeans at Wal-Mart, and you smell of Joy. By our standards you're pretty glamorous." Her turn to blush a little. "Thanks, I think. How are you related to Lindsay?" "Technically I'm not. Her bio father disappeared a couple months before she was born. Said he had a job offer fishing in Alaska, but who knows? Never came back, anyway. Her momma worked her way up to being one of the local forest rangers. Good woman, but she's got her hands full. I met Lindsay when I came to town and started using the basketball hoop behind the ranger station in the evenings. Before I knew it I was coaching the pee wee basketball team. Somehow the ones that don't have a father in their lives kind of stick out, you know? I got in the habit of doing stuff with her once in a while. It's not like there's a lot going on most evenings around here." "Well, she seems like a great kid." "She is. Thanks for letting her follow you around." "My pleasure, believe me." We smiled at each other and I heard a yell from the fence line. "Hey, Jim, no romancin' on government time! Let's get 'er done!" Wendy shook her head, grinning. "How do you put up with that Ben character?" There was a startled shout from the corral. "Watch this." A cow elk had wiggled loose and made a break for freedom. Ben straightened from his lean on the fence and made what looked like a casual gesture with his right hand. A lariat snaked out and looped itself around the animal's flying front legs, and Ben brought it crashing to the ground unhurt with a pull on the rope. Before the elk knew what had happened its legs were tied together, it had a gunnysack over its head, and it was being gently loaded into a horse trailer. Ben casually looped up his lariat and went back to leaning on the fence. "Ben makes it look easy, but even out here there's not a cowboy in a thousand that could have done that. I'd put up with more than dumb jokes to have him on my team." "I thought you roped animals around the neck?" "Do that to a wild elk and it's either going to fight the rope until it strangles or charge and kick you half to death. Roping the legs is harder, but it's safer for all involved." "I wish I'd had my camera ready for that." "If you ask Ben he'd be thrilled to show you what he can do with a rope. He's won national championships. Look, I do need to get back to work. Feel free to watch anything as long as you're not underfoot, and if you leave here please let me know so we aren't searching for you half the night. Otherwise, meet me at my truck about 5:30." She winked. "Sounds good. See you later." I went back to work slightly dazed, but shook it off fast with the amount of work we had to do. Wendy was around with her camera constantly, shooting on the edge of the action but never having to be told to get out of the way. I noticed that I wasn't the only man there who was slightly distracted by those long legs and well filled T-shirt, but any ruffled feathers among the women were quickly smoothed by her unpretentious manner and genuine interest in what we were doing. Before I knew it the shadows of the mountains were getting long and the corral was empty. Wendy met me at my truck as ordered, looking tired but happy.