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For The Fun Of It

By: tarkatony



My first impression of the place was that it appeared unlived in. Everything was so perfectly placed, so unsullied by life. 

Chairs had no apparent depressions from past occupants; coffee table books seemed deliberately angled on pristine tabletops; dried flowers were dashes of contrived colour in contrived places — it was as if the living room had been decorated for optimum affect, and then abandoned. And the other rooms were no different. The spare bedroom had the ersatz feel of a high-end hotel room; the bathroom gleamed as if ready for a photo shoot — even her bedroom was so Vogue-like that when I poked my head in I got not the faintest thrill of titillation. And that's saying something because Susan Cullin is one of the sexiest looking women I had ever seen. She always has been.

In fact, as she showed me around I wasn't so much troubled by the antiseptic environment as fascinated, so I almost didn't catch her words "... and this would be your office."

When I heard the words I was indifferently leaning through a doorway looking absently into a good-sized room that lead to a terrace. It took a moment for her words to register and when they did I almost lost my balance as I looked back to try to read her face. She just smiled, then turned and walked to a chair in the living room and sat down. When I sat on the couch across from her she got up, went to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of beer which she handed to me. "This was why I made you wait in the hotel lobby for a half hour. I realized I didn't have any beer in the place and unless you've changed, you probably still believe that a beer-less place is an empty space."

I smiled and dutifully drank, disguising my revulsion at its tepidity, and waited for her to explain herself. But she waited, too. I wasn't sure if it was to allow me time to guzzle the rest of my beer, so I dutifully drank — as much to steady my nerves as to quench my thirst. "You aren't going to explain?" I was looking over the bottle at her. 

I knew she had been successful, very successful. When I first met her twenty years before she was working as a secretary for a hotel chain. Today, she was a vice-president of the chain and she looked like one. Her apparel was conservative and beautifully tailored, and what lay beneath the smart blue suit appeared to be the results of some very fine work by a very skilled personal trainer. 

"Do you want the long story or the executive summary?"

I looked around for a clock, but there wasn't one. "I'm in no hurry."

She smiled, "Ah, but I am." She hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of herself, "I almost called you at 3 this morning when I figured it out."

This wasn't the girl I remembered. That girl was happy, almost constantly joyful, simple and fun to be around. This rendition seemed to have lost a lot of her joy and had gained a lot more complexity. I thought I noticed this two days before when we had a quick drink after meeting by accident in the lobby of one of her hotels. My initial observations were confirmed during our long dinner last night. I didn't know what she had figured out, I didn't know what there was to figure out.

She was looking straight into my eyes. "I'm not sorry I didn't go with you."

I knew this, she had said as much last night. We had dated for maybe a year and a half then I left town for another job. I had asked her to come with me but she felt her job was more important and declined. I fully understood. I wasn't much of a catch then: I had no solid career prospects; no money in the bank; average looks, and a growing dependancy on booze. At the time, I was surprised she had asked for time to think it over. "I know you're not sorry."

"But I never got over you." 

This surprised me.

"We were good together." She stood up and went to the kitchen again and when she returned she handed me another bottle of beer and put the glass of wine down on the table beside her.

As she sat back in the chair I thought back to the 25 year old woman I had know and, probably, loved. We were good together. We hadn't really share any interests but I liked being with her, liked the way I felt about myself when I was with her. I was usually a fairly rotten date, inconsiderate and selfish, but with her I had always made an effort and, as a result, I had liked myself. I liked her, too — but what was not to like? She had a face that was more pleasant than pretty, very narrow hips, beautiful legs and enormous tits that were sometimes enormously embarrassing, like when we went to the beach, or once, when at a new years eve party the blue lights in the darkened room stripped her of all her clothes but the huge white bra beneath her sweater. I nodded, "We were."

"I want us to be good together again." She felt for her glass without taking her eyes from me.

I waited for more while I watched her sip from her glass, but there wasn't any. "That's the executive summary?" 

"You've said you're researching another book. You said you had pretty much decided to write your book some where other than your home. So why not in this state, why not in this city, why not in this apartment, why not in that room," she pointed to the room behind me, "and why not as my partner?" 

With the last words her confidence seemed to dissipate. She looked a little scared, certainly apprehensive; she seemed to shrink a little into the chair as she nervously crossed her legs, and when she reached for her glass, I thought I could detect a slight tremour in her hand. But I gave her full marks for trying to look composed and poised. And I gave her full marks for the set up — because I couldn't think of a single reason why I shouldn't move in with her. I had never really gotten over her, either. Plus, she had a fantastic, if arid, apartment; the room behind me would make a perfect office, and the large municipal library was only a few blocks away. And the timing was right, I really needed a change. So the idea of moving in with her didn't take long to process. But even at that, all I could think to say was, "Twenty years is a long time."

She smiled, "You still drink beer from a bottle."

"But not as much of it."

"No, that shows."

"And the rules are?" I drank to hide my nervousness. It was slowly dawning on me that I really wanted to be with her.

She smiled at this. "Ah, there's always a catch, isn't there. Always." Her smile faded to seriousness. "You have a single responsibility."

I knew her pause was for dramatic affect and it was effective, I had no idea what the responsibility would be. I guess my face showed that I was concentrating too hard on the negatives because she said, with a little exasperation, "Oh, for God's sake it's not as bad as all that. I just want you to put the fun back in my life. I basically haven't had any since you left." She reached for her glass again but she didn't drink from it, instead, she held it up in front of her as if poised for a toast, "I want to love you again and I want to be loved by you ... again." She smiled and brought the glass up a little higher. "What do you say?"

"Are you sure you want this?" I was pretty sure I did.

She put her glass down, got up and held out her hand to help me to my feet. When I tightened my arms around her she seemed to melt into me and I could feel her warmth instantly. I was savouring the moment and I guess she was too because we just held on to each other, not moving, just squeezing as if preventing the other from escaping. Then she broke away, took me by the hand and we walked to her bedroom. As she collapsed on her bed she pulled me with her.

"Do you want to hear something pathetic?" Her face was just inches from mine as we lay on our sides.

"No." And I didn't.

She brushed away some hair that had fallen into her eyes. "Well I'm going to tell you anyway." She kissed me lightly on the nose. "Years ago, my doctor said I should have them reduced. But I didn't. Do you know why?"

I had just figured out that she was referring to her breasts when she answered her own question. "Because I just knew I was going to be with you again and I knew how much you liked them." 

"That is pretty pathetic." And I felt a little offended and I told her why. "Do you think your tits were that important to me?"

She smiled, knowingly I thought, "You used to spend a lot of time with them." Her smile was mischievous and disarming.

"How have they been?" I took the liberty of brushing the back of my fingers against one.

"Frankly, lonely."

I wanted to ask her why, how could that possibly be true? I wanted to learn more about what she had been doing since I last saw her, but that was back burner stuff. "Would they like a visitor?"

She quickly kissed me on the lips and then moved onto her back. "Yes."

I took my time undoing the blouse beneath her jacket and when I completed the task I sat her up and helped her off with her jacket and blouse and undid her bra and as she settled back down, I took a familiar place on her stomach and she held her breast as I sucked on the nipple. 

I had forgotten how little passion she had during sex, which is probably why I had spent so much time hanging out with her tits. She hadn't been cold exactly but she sure as hell had never been exciting and, it seemed, in this she hadn't changed.

I spent a few minutes with her nipple, enjoying her purring and my slurping sounds and then looked up at her, "Thank you."

She waited a moment before answering, "For what?"

"For keeping them for me." I wanted to add 'but you shouldn't have, you should have done what your doctor suggested' but I didn't, I just returned to the nipple I had thought about so many nights before dropping off to sleep. This got me some tender caresses which tipped the balance. I got up, took off my clothes then pulled off her pants, pantyhose and panties and when I got back on the bed I placed my knees between her legs, opened her up and very slowly put my penis in her and when I had full contact I lightly lay on her and kissed her gently. "Did you notice that I never answered your question?"

"Oh yes you did," she turned me over, and though I flopped out in the process, she put me back in as she lay on top of me. "I know you. You moved into this apartment the moment you entered me, and you know it."

That I did, and I was just now remembering how she liked to fuck. She lay on me and kissed me with little nibbling kisses and she move on me almost imperceptibly until she stopped and squeezed me tightly and groaned into my mouth. Afterwards, she was dead weight and I had to concentrate to get myself off.

As I lay there with her body wrapped around my side the word 'unsatisfactory' came to mind. I wrestled with whether or not to address the problem — lousy sex could continue, I suppose, but for both of us, it would be far better if it didn't. I chicken out, extricated myself from her and padded the unfamiliar path to her fridge.

I had nothing against lousy sex, it was better than none, but since parting from her so many years before I had experienced real insight into the alternative and good sex was a far better way to go: it was more fulfilling, more fun and, as a result, more frequent. As I filled a glass from the cardboard wine cask in the fridge it occurred to me that her approach to sex may have less to do with inclination than with inexperience. I hoped so. If my principal task in this apartment was to bring more fun into her life, sex may not be the first place to start, but it would be up there on my To Do list.

When I got back she was lying regally with the sheet pulled tight to her chin with a very contented look on her face. I put her wine glass on the night table and sat on the bed sipping tepid beer already looking forward to the ones chilling in the freezer. "This business of fun: is it a two-way street?" I asked. "Are you supposed to bring fun and pleasure into my world as well?"

She was a little confused as she looked at me, "Well, sure, if I can."

"You can. Remove the sheet." She hesitated as I thought she would. It's not that she's modest, it's more a case of not understanding that looking at a body, and hers in particular, could be a source of real pleasure to me and, as a result, fun. I don't think she saw bodies this way. To her relationships were all about the mind: the fun she expected me to deliver was, I suspected, mostly verbal. But she did remove the sheet and when she looked up at me inquiringly I said, "Do you mind if I just look at you for awhile?" I pulled a leg onto the bed and nodded to my hard-on, "You can see what you do to me." She smiled with a trace of embarrassment and closed her legs a little.

As I said, she has narrow hips and beautiful legs but I didn't mention her skin. She is naturally dark, as if lightly sun tanned, and even twenty years later her skin looked as soft and supple as I remembered.

"I've aged." Her words surprised me because I was thinking the exact opposite, that she hadn't, or not much.

I guess any woman lying naked under the gaze of a guy she hasn't seen in two decades would make her feel vulnerable but she seemed defensive, too. "You're beautiful, Sue. Actually, you're magnificent."

"I don't feel beautiful."

"Why not?" 

She pulled herself towards me and buried her face under my leg. Her voice was a little muffled but I could still detect the sadness. "I don't know. I just don't. I'm in shape. I know that. And I have big breasts but I've never felt beautiful. Maybe it's because of my chin."

I had forgotten about that. She'd had measles or something as a kid which had retarded the growth of her jaw and, as a result, she had to have a piece of her hip bone implanted in her chin to fill it out. But you'd never know it. "There are effective de-capillaries out there aren't there?"

I could feel the stillness, then her face poked out from around my knee, her eyes narrowed in confusion, and then, I guess, she remembered my fondness for teasing her and she smiled and buried her face back from where it had come.

I began to lightly stroke her belly. It was irresistible: smooth, narrow, downed with almost imperceptible light brown hair. Her navel seemed like a button etched in muscle and her flat stomach disappeared into a wispy triangular tangle of brown silken hair. "I think you should do what your doctor suggested."

Her face popped out again, "You don't mind?"

I settled down beside her and licked at a nipple. "I probably have a few weeks before you could get an appointment." I looked up at her. "Are they bothering you?"

She nodded, "Ya, they're starting to. I'm getting back aches, the doctors said I would. I was planning to do something about it."

"So you weren't waiting for me."

Her muffled voice had an edge of irritation, "You obviously weren't coming. You knew where to find me."

I tried to be cheerful. "So you think our encounter in the lobby was happenstance?"

She rose up on her arm, dumping my head from her chest. Her eyes wide with surprise. "It wasn't?" 

It was never much fun teasing her because she was so innocently gullible. "No it was." Excitement on her face turned to disappointment and when she settled back down in resignation, I nestled back to her breast.

"So why didn't you call me, contact me?" she said, "You've been divorced for almost ten years?"

I had already established from our earlier conversations that she had taken a real, if distant, interest in my life. "Honestly? This is going to sound like so much bullshit, but I wanted to think that you were living an absolutely blissful life. I didn't want to know that I could improve it."

It was the right thing to say. She pulled me up and kissed me with more feeling than I thought she could show.

I pulled away, kissing her in the eyes and forehead, "You've done fantastically well, Sue, I'm proud of you."

"Up until about a year ago, I would have agreed."

Her face had lost its glow. "What happened?" 

"The annual property managers meeting." She was concentrating on the ceiling, as if trying to remembering the exact circumstances. "It was always my place to shine. But for some reason, and I still don't really understand why, at the last moment I sent my assistant. I knew then that it was more or less over for me. I no longer cared as much about something that had been, up until that precise moment, my one consuming interest in life: my job. When that happens you look around and take stock of your life. I didn't like what I saw."

"Thus the need for fun?"

"Thus the need for you." She turned me over and climbed onto me and lay her head on my shoulder, her lips almost brushing my cheek. "I've had all the business success I want, I have all the money I need. Now I want a life. I want a life with you."

I was my turn to stare at the ceiling. I was a little afraid of the desperation in her voice. "How hard are you prepared to work at it, because building a relationship is going to take some hard work, all relationships do?"

She leaned up on an elbow that dug into my shoulder, "Harder then I worked at my career, and no one has worked harder," then she smiled, "and no one had to work harder. I was never a natural, at that or, obviously, at relationships. I'll do anything to make this work."

"Do you mean that?" It sounded like she did.

"Try me."

"How should I take that?"

"Any way you want ... just hurry."

The pots and pans in the place hardly seemed used but they were easy enough to find and the lack of food in the fridge made the choice for dinner really easy, an omelet, which was just about done when she joined me from her bath. I noticed the smile on her face first, she was really happy, that was obvious and it gave me a flush of excitement. Well, the flush may have actually come from what she was wearing, a really sexy, flimsy teddy that stopped mid-way on her panties, the teddy was red, the panties were yellow. She looked unbelievably desirable — that may have been from the smile.

"Do you like it?" She turned in a tight circle with the grace of a dancer.

"I don't believe the word 'like' quite covers it."

"Good," she said, as she came up beside my and studied the omelet, "'cause I have drawers of the stuff."

This surprised me. A lot. The clothes I had seen her in so far had been practical, business-like and well tailored, but never seductive, and I knew she didn't think of herself as sexy, so why would she have drawers of lingerie? It didn't make sense to me so I asked her.

"Saturday with the girls."

Most every Saturday, she and a few others shopped. They bought everything, she explained, by cooperative consultation so when one wanted to buy lingerie, they all went to the store together and, well, a few 'you'd look great in this' usually meant that they all walked out with something. After a few years, she said, the drawers can get pretty full.

"But I've never actually worn most of the stuff, not really. Oh, the bras and panties, but never any of this," she was feeling the hem of the teddy and she just shrugged.

"And how do you feel about it now?" I took her in my arms and squeezed her with one hand as I removed the omelet from the burner with the other.

"I'd like to finally wear it."

"Good answer," I said, kissing her. Then I hugged her for so long the eggs got cold.

A half hour later we were settling onto the couch when I noticed for the first time there was no TV, no stereo, no electronics of any kind. "What have you got against music?"

She got up and walked over to a small, ornate desk that was pressed against the wall. I hadn't noticed the Boise radio, which now filled the room with Brahm's violin concerto. 

She settled back on the couch and smiled at me as she tucked her legs beneath her, "I've got nothing against music. I've just never had much time to listen to it."

"Did you work that hard?"


For The Fun Of It



"Hard? No. Often? Yes. And you had the tense right. I was a workaholic, past tense. I'm not going to be any more."

I handed her her glass and took mine, "Let's drink to it," I said, "more play, less work — the magic formula." 

She laughed and we drank, then she twirled the glass in her hands, "I'm happy with you here, John. Really, really happy." 

She seemed to be waiting for me to say something, "I am too, but I'm a little scared, too."

"Scared?" She looked at me intently, the word seemed to surprise her. "Why?"

"Because you may want more out of me then I have to give, and because I can see a little desperation in you, which I find a little ... unsettling."

"Relax," she waved at me dismissively, "you can't do any wrong with me, and I'll only take from you what you're prepared to give."

I put my glass down and pulled her legs to me, "I can't do any wrong?" I asked, then I buried my face in her stomach. She was still for a moment then I could feel her hands on my head and they began to tug gently at my hair, something I loved, maybe something she remembered I loved.

"As I said, you can't do anything wrong."

I moved down and pressed my lips against her elegant panty-clad pussy and when I looked up at her she opened her legs a little more and smiled at me. She didn't try to conceal her excitement. 

I loved this intimacy and I loved that she was OK with it but I wanted to make a bit of a statement, too, so I chewed gently on her lips for a few minutes then without taking my face away, I took the glass from her hand, put it on the coffee table and insistently twisted her over, pulling her bottom up so she was kneeling on the couch, and when I buried my face in her ass she went rigid. I figured this had never happened to her before; she didn't know how to react, which was fine by mean; I wanted to see what she would do with it, I wanted to see how libertine she could be; I wanted to test my theory that it was her lack of experience, not her lack of interest that made our sex so lousy.

After a minute or two of pressing my tongue at her anus, I pulled her panties aside and tickled her with my tongue. I was really pleased to feel her relaxing and when I put my finger into her cunt, I was thrilled to find it soaking. I gently caressed her clitoris. 

She had her head on her arms now and she was moving with me and moaning, then her finger were on mine, pressing me into her and after a total elapsed time of maybe three minutes she shuddered frantically, let out a deeply guttural groan, became perfectly still, then collapsed on the couch entirely spent.

I put her panties back in place, kissed her ass and I was reaching for my glass of wine when she said, "What was that?" Then she struggled to sit up, reached for her own glass and downed the contents.

"I was testing you." I was tremendously relieved that she didn't appear disgusted.

She laughed, "Do you want to test me again." Then she grew serious, "Testing me? What do you mean?" It took just a moment to tell her about my theory and when I finished her response was, "Was I that bad?"

"Well, not bad, but we have a lot of room for improvement. I just wanted to get a sense of whether or not you were up for it."

"And?"

"Well, as long as I have my tongue up your ass, you seem to be."

She hit me, harder then she meant to, and then she sprang on me and wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me hard. "That was fantastic. Thank you." She kissed me again, lightly this time, then she pulled away and looked at me, "What do you want me to do to you?"

I was going to protest, going to say that there didn't have to be a quid pro quo, but I quickly changed my mind. Why blow an opportunity, so I sprawled half on, half off the couch and asked her to do to me what she would.

She was on her knees on the couch looking down at me, her face pinched in concentration. "Well, at least give me some options."

"Nope," I said, trying to get comfortable, "do what you will."

She leaned down and kissed me gently on the lips and as she did, she muttered, "At least give me some hints."

"I'll give you a hint. Hurry, I'm not exactly comfortable here."

She got on the floor, pushed me onto the couch and then undid the buttons of my shirt and when she pulled my shirt open she did as I had done to her, she buried her face in my stomach and she kissed me all around the navel, and when she finally kissed stuck her tongue inside my navel she seemed to have made up her mind, because her fingers found my belt and in a minute she had pulled my pants and underwear off.

While she was doing this I was kind of holding my breath. I had gone out with this girl for about 18 months, 20 years ago and never once had she given me oral sex. What was she going to do? I snuck a peak and almost laughed as I could see her trying to summon courage. But she did and when her teeth raking my member I almost awakened the neighbourhood.

"What?????" She sat back on her heel, staring at me, shocked.

"You don't have to do this."

"No, I know I don't. I want to but, obviously," she laughed, "I don't know how to do it. What do I do?"

I laughed and squeezed her hand, "I don't know, I've never done it either but I'm pretty sure the best way is to completely avoid any use of teeth."

She pulled her fingers from mine, retook my cock and placed it carefully in her mouth, her eyes now locked on mine, trying to anticipate, I guessed, any approaching pain.

But there wasn't any. She coated the head in spit and very gently sucked on it like she was sucking on the top inch of a popsicle. I'd say I wasn't getting anything from it, but that wouldn't be true, I was: love for a woman who was doing her very best at something she had never done before. I bent forward took her head in my hands and pulled her up on me and kissed her, feeling the spit on her tongue seep into my mouth. "Thanks."

She pulled back and looked at me, "For what?"

"I know you don't want to do this, so don't." I made to pull her into me, but she pushed me away.

"You're wrong," she said, sliding back down to kneel on the floor, "I do and I will." She took my prick in her hand and kissed it. "It just may take me awhile to get it right — but you have to tell me what you like." 

She was about to take me again, but I stopped her. "What I'd like? I'd like this off," I was fingering her teddy.

She didn't hesitate, it was off in a flash and so went her panties and when I reached for a breast she scooted over to make it easier for me and as I felt the heft of her tit and brushed her nipple with my thumb, we went to school together.

She was a good student. As she gently sucked, I gently thumbed her nipple and told her what to do, that the sensitive part of the prick was not in the head but just below it and caressing the long member itself brought its own rewards. She cupped my balls when I asked her to and gently squeezed them. And she poked a finger down towards my anus when I suggested it. I'd hoped she'd press her finger on it but she didn't and I decided to leave that for another time.

When I shifted my weight she looked up at me, "I'm just about there," I said, knowing that I had already fallen in love with her again. "When I tell you, pull away and just stroke it until I cum." With my words she became more determined and I squeezed harder on her tit, careful not to hurt her and when I felt her stiffened nipple I felt the charge in me begin to build. "Now!" I said, but all she did was look up at me and suck harder and in a moment I was squirming in ecstasy, emptying myself into her throat.

Even when I was fully spent she didn't let go of me. She continued to suck, she continued to squeeze my balls and then she pushed at my hip, pushing me down and when I went as directed, she sucked hard on me and climbed onto the couch, nestling her pussy into my face. 

We both turned sideways on the narrow couch and it took us awhile to get comfortable. I had my head on her inner thigh, she, I guessed, was resting on her arm. Her voice had a dreamy quality to it, "For the last 20 years, I've held you, your head was always on my breasts. I just held you and smelled your hair. I went to sleep like that. A lot."

I kind of lost it then. I pulled her to me and pushed my face into her, shocked at how wet she was and I roughly sucked at her and only sobered up when I felt her pulling away.

When she sat up, so did I and she scooted over onto my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her cheek into mine. "God," she whispered into my ear, "you absolutely reek of sex."

I chuckled. "Great isn't it?"

"Do you want me to get a face cloth?"

"Are you kidding? Hell no, I'm loving this."

She pulled away and looked intently at me, this was becoming a bit of a habit of hers, "This?"

"This and you. I didn't think you had any mink in you."

"Mink?"

"As in fucks like a ..."

She leaned in, kissed me lightly on the lips and pulled away again. "Do you think you can love me, John?" She hesitated for a moment then added, "Honestly."

"I want to. I think I can."

Sorrow clouded her eyes, "Then you don't now?"

"Oh, I absolutely do now, I've never been more excited to be with someone. Ever. Never. But you mean love you over the long haul, don't you? And how do you know unless you take the journey?"

"And do you want to take it?"

"I'm on it, Sue and I couldn't be happier."

She was going to phone her shopping buddies and opt out but I convinced her otherwise. I knew she enjoyed her Saturday forays into the stores and the last thing I wanted to do was to get between her and her friends, between her and her traditions.

I was thinking about her, her child-like excitement while making coffee when I heard the knock on the door. Sue was having a bath so I answered it. The woman was about maybe 55, very attractive, a little overweight and really stern looking, a little scary. She was obviously surprised to find me filling the doorway and it took her a moment to express her thoughts. "You are?"

I nodded and said playfully, "I am, indeed, yes I am."

"Who are you?" It was a demand, there was no mistaking it.

"A friend of Sues. Are you one of the shoppers?" I didn't wait for an answer but stood aside and with a dramatic gestured waved her in. "I'm just making coffee, please join me."

She marched in, that's the only word for it. "So you aren't a shopping friend?"

"No, I am."

"Coffee?"

"Yes. Black." and when she belatedly added a "thanks," I took it as a small victory.

When I returned with the coffees she was sitting on the couch, a pair of yellow panties were dangling on her finger. "I found these on the floor." She flicked them onto the couch.

"Haven't had a chance to do the housekeeping yet. If you find anything else, just leave it there and I'll get it later." I was trying to be a little cutting. I could tell she got the message. 

I studied her as she drank from her mug. It was hard not to get the vibe that she wasn't happy to see me here, either that or she didn't much like men. Hard to say. "Do you often experience dislike at first sight?"

She was inspecting Sue's desk and addressed her response to it, "Not often, but sometimes, yes."

"Would it be any different now if the coffee was any better?"

She looked at her mug and nodded, "I hate drinking coffee from a mug."

I put my mug down, "I was thinking it tasted more of the filter than the coffee."

She put her mug down, too. "That, too, yes."

I wasn't going to let this woman get to me, "What are you fishing for today?"

"Fishing?" She cast a glance at the limp yellow panties on the couch.

"An angling metaphor for shopping. Maybe a man thing."

She shrugged indifferently and mumbled, "Whatever lures us in."

Sue came into the room and was surprised at the visitor, "Oh, Laura, I'm sorry, I must be late."

Laura got up, "No, it's fine, I'm probably just a bit early." 

"You've met John?"

"And shared a coffee with him."

Sue walked over and kissed me on the cheek. "We'll see you at 2:30?" When she turned around to leave she spotted her panties on the couch and she quickly positioned herself between the offending knickers and Laura and ushered her from the room. Neither of us volunteered a 'goodbye.'

I shouldn't have done it. I knew better but I did it anyway. I picked up the yellow panties, took a single sniff, walked to the bathroom, dropped my pants and settled back to entertain myself. I had a lot of images floating around in my brain that I wanted to revisit: Sue in her teddy and panties; Sue with her legs open; Sue with her bum hovering for my tongue; Sue's magnificent tits flopping around as her mouth closed around my prick; Sue's smile, her happiness, her laughter. I needed some quiet time to review the past 12 hours; I needed some time to be alone with her ... images.

Every house has it's quirks. This place was no different. Here, it was the lock, it worked with one of those credit-card like cards you find with hotel rooms. It opened soundlessly and so did the door. And she didn't make any noise, either. So I saw her before I heard her. And she saw me, sitting on the toilet with her panties at my nose and my fingers gripping my cock. When she stopped, shock registered on her face. But just for a moment. When she moved to lean against the door jam she had a smile growing on her lips and eyes.

This had never happened to me before. Never. My immediate reaction was to feel ... busted! That flashed through my consciousness, but dissipated in an instant to be followed by a flutter of embarrassment. But that passed just as quickly. She had barely settled against the door jam when I said, "Do you have any idea how exciting and sexy you are?"

Her face positively glowed with pleasure, "Really."

"I was just remembering you. You've just walked into the kitchen with that teddy and these yellow panties so, if you don't mind, I have a lot of memories I want to relive."

She quickly came in, kissed me on the lips, whispered almost soundlessly, "And I've got to go shopping." Then she turned and left, heading for the bedroom. I settled back at it, more excited then ever but conscious now of her foot steps, which didn't slow as she passed by the open door. She threw her teddy at me.

I'm a walker. At home I'd spend hours each day walking through the bush, lost in thought, never encountering anyone. This was different. Stop lights, pedestrian congestion, noise, everything but the solitude I was used to. It was irritating, something I knew I had to get used to, so I wasn't in a very good mood when I showed up at my planned meeting with Sue at the food court of her shopping mall. She wasn't there but I recognized Laura with three others, so I bit the bullet and approached her and I didn't risk her being polite. Instead, I sat down and introduced myself to the others as a Sue's friend.

I felt like an antique at an auction. Not because of any disparity in ages, we all had about the same milage on us, except for Laura, of course, whose additional decade seemed to have embitter her. No, I had the feeling that the four pairs of eyes were critically appraising me, not to find favour, but to search out my fault, and judging by the looks, all had succeeded. "Sue?"

"She's coming," volunteered Laura, reluctantly. The table fell silent. 

As I said, I didn't show up in a very good mood so I didn't feel like trying to ingratiate myself to my less than loving critics so when I heard a voice at the next table, barely two feet away, speculate about an author I knew I abruptly changed seats, much to the surprise of the women at both tables. "It is his second marriage," I told the three startled women. "His first wife died five years ago in a car accident."

What a contrast between two tables. As I explained that I had met the author at a few writers' festivals, the three woman seemed genuinely pleased to meet me. And at the other table? The four were deathly silent, the better to hear what was going on at ours.

So, I was having fun but when Sue arrived, or rather, when the bags arrived with Sue I scooted back, feeling a little like a coward for having escaped their enmity. "What'd you get," I asked her, with phony enthusiasm.

She had a wide smile on her face. "Things," she said coyly.

I was about to leave it at that but something in Laura's aura made me press on, as if I was somehow making her a little uncomfortable. "Things? Like what?" I asked, with a lot more eagerness than I felt.

Sue moved the coffee cups to the side of the table then hoisted up a bag. "Like pants," then she hoisted another, "and shirts," she hoisted another, "and unmentionables." She had a triumphant glow on her face, in stark contrast to the wooden pusses that looked on, mine included. I peeked in one bag and confirmed that she had shopped for me. 

I hate new clothes but I quickly hid my irritation, I didn't want to add any gloom to the glow on Sue's face, but I didn't want the clothes, either, so I chose my approach adroitly, "Ah, Jeez," I said, with deliberate exaggeration, "I hate new clothes, I always feel like such a wuzz in them. What's wrong with what I've got on, and anyway, when am I going to wear them? To the library? I doubt it. At my computer? I don't think so. And oh by the way, I get all my clothes from outdoors stores. I like stuff that's made to go up Everest, not to a frigging symphony. Some people like this kind of stuff, but I'm not one of them, I'm ..."

"Living in a city," Sue interrupted, "not in the forest you came from. This is what men wear here."

She didn't appear particularly troubled by my out burst so I took another task. "And anyway, you shouldn't be buying me clothes, you shouldn't be spending money on me, not yet, you hardly know me. This stuff is expensive, you should ..." While I was talking she put another bag on the pile, this one with the open end facing me so I couldn't help but see what was inside, "On the other hand, I think men who won't let their women buy gifts for them are insensitive and unfeeling. A present now and again reinforces the relationship, it lets one show how much she cares, and it allows the other to express his admiration on her perspicacity, to accept the gift with the same love and understanding as it is given. Like now."

"What is it," Laura said, dryly, "a power drill?"

The others laughed but not me, I was too busy pulling the package out of the bag, the Boise speakers for my iPod, I didn't even know there was such a thing. I couldn't wait to get home.

I said goodbye to the women next door, who had clearly enjoyed my rant more than Sue's friends, and I followed the quintet from the food court, me with my prized Boise speakers, Sue with her pants and shirts, the others, pathetically, with next to nothing.

I don't know why, it was probably my excitement over the speakers, but I felt a little giddy so when we were passing Victoria's Secret, I caught up to Laura and took her by the arm and stopped her in front of the store window. I didn't say anything, not for the longest time, then I said, nodding to a section of the display, "Personally, I think green is your colour. Is it called a camisole? Is that it? A green one, that'd be the ticket." She was trying to get away, but I held her by the arm for a moment, just to make my point and when I let her go she stormed passed her friends, who, I was relieved, were snickering.

"Laura is an old friend," Sue explained to me as we walked home. "She started with the company about the same time I did. We both started as secretaries. She had three kids and unappreciative husband; I had ambition."

"The unappreciative husband ..."

"... she left him about six or seven years ago and the kids have long since flown the coop. They're all out west."

"So she's all alone and bitter."




For The Fun Of It



"Alone, but she isn't bitter, she's actually very intelligent and quite a lot of fun. You'll like her when you get to know her, I guarantee it ..."

"But will she like me?"

"She likes everybody, in her own way. You'll see."

We walked along in silence for awhile, I had the impression Sue was hard in thought about something. And I was right. "The masturbation," she said, as we started walking after a long stop at a red light. "I'm not sure I get it." She didn't wait for a response but pressed on, "I mean we had sex last night, a lot of it, and this morning." She laughed, "How much sex do you need?"

I laughed a little, too, but I thought I detected some concern in her voice, as if I had an insatiable sexual appetite. "I had a whole iPhoto library of images of you ..."

"i photo?"

"Sorry, it's an Apple term, a photo database," I could see she didn't understand me so I shrugged, "it's a metaphor. Anyway, I had all kinds of images of you, really sexy images, images that really turned me on. They were floating around in my head," I laughed, "I was probably a little intoxicated by them, just a little bit dizzy," she had a curious look of confusion on her face so I quickly added, "And why not. You have a fabulous body, you were far more into sex than I ever expected, and, well, it was just great stuff. Fine. Then I picked up those panties and the rest, as they say, is history." I was really pleased that I didn't feel a shred of embarrassment. In fact, I was really glad to be talking about it. "Do you disapprove?"

She nudged into me, "Of course not. It was just the timing. I was barely out of the house when ..."

"Hey, what can I say. I wanted to scroll through all the pictures. Do you think I could do that without my prick in my hand? I mean, how much control do you think I have?"

We continued on for a few minutes in silence. I didn't want to interrupt her thoughts. If she had anything more to say on the subject I wanted to hear it. And I was looking for a segue into asking her about her own masturbatory proclivities.

"And now? Are the images gone?"

I stopped her for a dramatic effect. "I don't believe you quite understand, my dear. My intention was never to masturbate the images out of my mind. My intention was to masturbate the images into my memory, to reinforce them so I could draw on them in my mind's eye, as if I was opening a photo album. I never want to lose those pictures. Ever."

"Me sucking you ..."

"You got a problem with that? You were beautiful. But that's not what I remember most. What I remember most is that you were enjoying yourself and you were absolutely radiant. That's what I remember: the smiles, the laughs and the passion in your face. That was really, really sexy and I never want to forget it." We started walking again. We had covered a few yards when I said, "Really, I'm surprised I have to explain this. To me, it's a no brainer. Don't you masturbate?" 

She hesitated before she spoke, as if she was a little uncomfortable with the subject. "Sure. Ya, of course."

"How much?" I snuck a peek at her and could see she didn't like the question, so I gave her a choice, "Daily, weekly, monthly, yearly?"

"Weekly, maybe."

"Well, when you do, aren't you thinking back to sexual experiences, or experiences you want to have?"

"Ya, but my databank, as you call it, isn't exactly full."

I laughed, "Well it's fuller now then it was 24 hours ago?"

"God, no kidding."

"Well, wouldn't you like to review some of the images from last night ...?"

"...or would I like to re-experience them?"

"Both, but you can do one alone, you need ..."

"I know." She nudged me again, harder this time, "And please don't make me go shopping again when the last image I have is of the man I love stroking his penis while smelling my panties. It was hard to care about bargains. It was hard to concentrate."

"I can tell you for an absolute, unalloyed fact that if our positions had been reversed, there would be one chance in hell that I would have gone shopping. Be there no doubt about that."

She laughed. "Maybe you should have this conversation with Laura. She knows a lot more about it than I do."

"Shopping or masturbation?" I laughed, intrigued.

"Masturbation. I shouldn't tell you this and I'll kill you if you tell her, but she masturbates virtually daily, or at least, so she says."

I was fascinated with this. "You talk about masturbation?"

"We talk about ways of coping, with work, with time, with pressure, with our man-less lives. Sure, we we talked about it, or, at least, she did. She's a very sexual lady."

I thought back to her stern countenance and found this powerfully difficult to believe, and I said as much. Sue just shrugged. But I couldn't leave the subject. "I've read that were men stroke themselves a few times, wipe themselves off and go about their business, women make a great production out of masturbation, candles and baths and clothes. Where does she find the time?"

Sue laughed. "I remember asking her the same question. She said she did it during the time she saved not having to cook and clean for a man."

I laughed, too, "God, she must really be able to go at it."

"You forgot something."

I didn't understand what she meant, "Forgot?"

"Toys. The candles, the clothes, the baths and the toys, 'a girl has got to have her friends,' that's a Laura quote." Then she added, "We often take a tour through her favourite sex store together."

Regrettably, we had arrived at our apartment building and the doorman was so quick on the buzzer that I had no time for follow-up questions. Well, that and her attack as soon as we got into the elevator, and in the apartment I didn't even have a chance to set-up my iPod on my new Boise speakers. 

She was in my arms and her legs were rapped about me and her four limbs were almost crushing me in their vice-like grip, the girl is toned. "OK, you've had your release," she said referring to my panty sniff flog, "now give me mine." 

I was about to say, 'get it like I did: do it yourself' but I didn't.

I know I have made this point a few times already, but it's been on my mind a lot: was our lousy sex in the past due to inexperience or lack of interest. I had another occasion to find out, because rarely have I wanted sex less than the person I was with. This was one of those times, or it sure appeared to be. She was squeezing me for all she was worth and she was hungrily sucking all the fluids from my mouth. I waddled her into the bedroom and tossed her roughly on the bed, well, not that roughly, she was laughing.

My plan was simple. I was going to be really tender, really sensitive; I was going to take my time, hours if necessary, to slowly strip her, item by exquisite item and to tease her to a point where she would beg me to fuck her. That was my plan. Hers was to tear off her clothes and to beg me to fuck her.

It sounded like a good plan to me, although I didn't much like the Laura part. We had encountered each other a few times in the few weeks after I moved in but our icy exchanges had yet to enjoy a warming trend. I liked her, as Sue said I would, it's just that there wasn't any of the warmth of a shared experience between us. Maybe this trip could provide it. Sue and I and Laura and her on-again, off-again beaux of a few months were to meet in a small town three hours away where we would get on the houseboat we had rented and over the next four days, slowly motor through a lake and lock system to our cars, which would be waiting for us at the other end. The weather probs. were great; the coolers was filled with beer; what could possibly go wrong?

Jerry could go wrong. He was a no-show. They had planned to meet at the boat on the morning of the afternoon we were to leave but he had sent word that he couldn't make it. As planned, Laura went ahead and bought all the food anyway, but when we showed up she was standing by her car, getting ready to leave.

Sue wouldn't hear of it. If she left, we all would leave, so she ultimately relented, although her heart wasn't in it, and we got on the boat and cast off.

It was a bit like sailing to a funeral. We motored down to the end of the lake, went through a lock and had just passed into the second lake when I opened by first beer, which meant I had an hour to find a mooring; the cops didn't piss around with we weekend warriors.

It was a beautiful night, miserably spent. Laura tried, but couldn't conceal her disappointment and because we has such an icy relationship it was up to Sue to make the evening as fine as the weather. She couldn't pull it off, no one could have pulled it off, so we were all in bed not long after nightfall, happy to be alone with our thoughts.

Laura proved a trooper the next day. The squall that had followed her the night before had lifted. She appeared to be as sunny as the weather. Was she faking it? I didn't know her well enough to know, but I appreciated her efforts, cut her all the slack she wanted and we had a great day of sailing, sunning and swimming. It was her idea to moor close to the little town and hit the pub. It was a good one, both the idea and the pub.

Why does beer taste better when you're relaxed. Why does food taste better? Why are people more interesting? Why is it easier to laugh? Why is life always more enjoyable in a small town than in any city? We spent three hours in the pub and were in really good spirits, no pun intended, when we took our little dingy out to the houseboat, moored about fifty feet from shore.

It was a beautiful night, warm and still, with a clear starry sky. I was leaning back in my chair looking at the sky when I announced my decision. "I'm sleeping up here tonight."

"Good idea," said Sue, "but I'm not sleeping on this," she said, thumping the flat, wooden roof.

It took us only a few minutes to drag the mattress from our room onto the roof and only a few more to ablute. It was such a beautiful night that a sheet would be all we'd need and we were under it, staring at the sky within a half hour of my rather inspired decision.

"This isn't fair."

"I know, but fuck the rich," I said, happily, "they love their country clubs."

"No, it isn't fair that we're up here and she's down there." Sue got to her feet, "Come on, give me a hand."

By the time I got up, found my pants and made it down to Laura's room, the protests were over and Sue was tugging at the mattress. In a few minutes our three heads were peeking from under the sheets as we lay in a straight line, girl, girl, boy staring at the twinkling stars.

No one said anything for about five minutes, it was that perfect, then Laura turned away and the squall of last night seemed to come storming back — even though she said nothing, you could feel it: the stars seemed less bright, the air seemed cooler, a chill had descended.

"Forget him." Sue sounded angry.

Laura's voice seemed muffled by the mattress, "I have." A gloomy silence ensued, then the muffled voice spoke again, clearly plaintively, "I want to share my life, I want to share somebody else's life. Evenings like this don't exist unless they're shared."

"Hello," Sue said, in her best Valley Girl imitation.

"You know what I mean," she said. We did. "I can't tell you how much I was looking forward to this weekend."

When Sue turned and gave Laura a hug I've got to admit, I felt the distinct feeling of the beginning of an erection. Under these circumstances, that simply wasn't on. It was one thing to be discovered masturbating, it was quite another to be caught enjoying the sight of one woman's consoling hug of another, both in negligees — I pressed the fingers of my right hand into the wrist of my left and thought about sliding down a bannister that turned into a razor blade — that had always stopped growing hard-ons in the past, well, sometimes it did. 

The two were talking in whispers, consoling talk. Although I couldn't hear what they were saying, I found their whispers soothing so after a few minutes the squall felt like it had passed through and I relaxed and began to nod off, oddly dreaming about my new Boise iPod speakers.

I don't know how long I was asleep, not long, but Sue got up by almost rolling across my back, then she went downstairs I guessed to have a pee. When she returned she got back in bed, but on my left side, pushing me over on the mattress.

"What are you doing?" I whispered the words, not wanting to wake up Laura.

"I'm giving you some more images for your databank," she whispered, as she continued to bump into me, forcing me more towards the edge of the mattress. I didn't have any idea what she was talking about, but I moved as directed. 

I flinched when my ass touched her and I could feel her almost jump at my contact before scooting away. "What are you doing?" My words were loud now and a little angry.

"Nothing," was all Sue said, then she turned into me, wrapping a leg over me and put her hand on my cock.

I froze physically, but my mind whirred rapidly. This was an all-time first for me and I wasn't at all sure I liked it. Sure I had dreamed of it a few times, me and two women in a bed, but I sure as hell didn't know how to deal with it. But when my heart stopped its irregular palpitations, my first thoughts were how exciting Sue had become. Imagine, having sex with your lover with your best friend in the next bed, hell, virtually in the same bed. I was scared but not so scared to scare off an erection. 

She was nibbling on my ear now and occasionally sticking her wet tongue into it as she slowly pumped my organ. "How do you feel?" she whispered in my ear.

I whispered back, "Like I'm about to have sex with Brenda Waddling on the gym mat at Phs. Ed. — with the entire class watching."

"Whose Brenda Waddling?"

"What are you doing?"

I could barely hear her whispers in my ear, "You don't have to do this, but I want you to, honest, I want this a lot. I want you to turn and take Laura in your arms. I want you to hold her, to squeeze her to you. She'll probably fight you a bit but hold her awhile anyway and when she relaxes I want you to play with her, if she wants to and I'm pretty sure she does."

I was terrified, "You're fucking kidding."

"Do it. Do it for me. Please." Then she took her leg from me, took her hand off my stiff prick and gave me a bump with her hip.

It was something in her voice, I know not what, that told me she meant it. So, what the fuck, I had no idea why but I did precisely as I was told. I turned away from Sue, toward Laura, put my arm around the icewoman, taking her by the waist and I pulled on her while pressing myself, and my hard-on, into her back. She went as stiff as a board and remained like that, without protest, until I said, about a minute later, "I'm a loaner."

"A moaner?" Laura whispered.

"A loaner," I stressed the 'L', "From Sue."

"Sue?" The word was loud and with a really curious tone to it, which I won't even try to describe.

"Fuck Jerry," was Sue's response, as she pressed herself into my back, forcing me closer to Laura.

Was I to be a revenge fuck, or was I a Jerry stand-in, I wasn't sure of Sue's meaning, but whatever it was, the hardness in her voice clearly sounded like she meant it.

I waited, not having the first clue of what to do. But nothing happened ... for a couple of minutes while, I guessed, Laura contemplated her options. Then I felt her hand on mine and when she pushed it up to her breast I stabbed her with my hard-on.

Jesus, this was going to happen! I could feel Sue's fantastic melons pressing into my back; I could feel the heat from Laura' s somewhat smaller, but, at the moment, oh so much hotter breast in my hand and, but for a throbbing prick, I was frozen motionless, having no idea what to do.

But Laura did, and it didn't really involve me. I could feel the motion, it was almost imperceptible, but I could feel it so I took my hand from her breast and followed her arm to its source. Near as I could figure, she had three shimmering fingers in her pussy, wedged sideways between her tightly closed legs. It seemed a bit awkward so I gently pulled her on the shoulder, encouraging her onto her back. She came willingly and before she settled, I pulled up her negligee, took her nipple in my mouth and caressed the hand that caressed her pussy. 

It was then that I noticed that my back was now naked of Sue's breasts so I pulled away from Laura's nipple and looked over my shoulder at Sue. Her head was propped up on her arm and even in the grey light I could see the angelic smile on her face. Honest to God, she seemed proud of me, or proud of both of us. She seemed happy she had got her wish.

Lying on a woman's chest, sucker her nipple while she plays with her pussy isn't all that uncommon, even to me. But when the woman you love is watching you with an approving smile on her face, well, you can take that basically one of two ways: either your woman is large-hearted and sexually magnanimous, or she is small-brained and sexually depraved. I was going to want a full and detailed explanation later, but for now, I saw Sue as enormously large-hearted (and delightfully big breasted) and I was going to do what I was told and I was being told, with a push from wet, sticky fingers on my chest, to lie on my back.

When I settled, she had my cock in her mouth and her hand between her legs. I felt a bit like a blow-up doll, that is, until Sue leaned over and with a mouth positively soaking with saliva, as if our exploits had been drool-worthy, she kissed me passionately, deeply and so forcefully that I thought her tongue tickled my tonsils.

Was this getting to me? God yes, I was on the verge but I didn't want to explode before Laura because it would be all over for me and this, I gathered, was supposed to be all about her, although I was determined to check on that later. But I was close, so I pushed Laura off my cock, gently at first and then insistently, because she really didn't want to leave. 

But I sure didn't want to piss her off so I pulled away from Sue and brought Laura's leg over me and allowed her to settle on my face. She liked that, she liked it a lot, I could tell by the way she pushed her pussy into me, and I could tell my her moans, which had now climbed up the decibel range from a whisper to a roar. I stole a look at the blackened town to see if any lights were coming on.

This may sound a trifle self-serving but good sex to me has always been about pleasuring the other. Of course, that's a two-way street: you want the other to be just as intent on pleasuring you. Well, in this case, it was a three-way street because Sue was cupping my balls and really gently licking my prick, suspecting, I think, that one good suck could end it all for all of us.

This was great. Beyond making sure my tongue was rigid, all I had to do was lie there, enjoy Sue at my prick and Laura at my face. It was wonderful. I felt great about life. I even was enjoying the noise, which was so blatantly and primordially sexual that it occurred to me that for the first time in my life I was hearing the sound of hunger.

And then there was silence, but for an almost soundless whimper. She had collapsed on my face smothering me so I gently twisted her onto her back and I turned over and scurried between her legs to rest my head on her soft belly, putting my fingers into her soaking wet pussy to gently caress her nub, wondering if it was over.

Though she moved on my fingers, I guessed it was because she was caressing my hair and then the silence was filled by, "Thank you. God, Sue, thank you both."

My eyes had been closed, and when I opened them I saw Sue's knees. She was leaning over Laura and when I looked up, I saw her kissing her, on the forehead, on the cheeks and on the lips, lightly. "You're welcome, that's what friends are for." When they both laughed, I thought it strange, then I remembered that this was the line they used about dildos. In other words, I was a ...