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And Then

By: gr8_4play



He had taken her on her desk. The staff was gone and the doors were locked and the lights were out. No one would have know that anyone was there. He had slipped in and surprised her. His fire was contagious and before either of them realized the passion of their lips and spread through them both.

There were other options, but it seemed that the desk was the most erotic. He had lifted her gently until her butt was on the desk and it allowed him to stand between her open legs and let her feel his hardness as they kissed.

His hand moved down between them and he heard her breath go quiet. He was beyond his ability to control himself much longer and he laid her back on her desk... on top of the papers as her only cushion.

He found the snap and the zipper of her jeans and tugged the heavy denim from over her hips and downward dragging them down her thighs. He slipped her shoes off and pulled her jeans off both legs to fall in the floor between them. He leaned to kiss the softness of the center of her panties and dragged them downward... feeling her arch her back to make room for them to slide off her butt.

He could only unbuckle his belt and unsnap his pants. She unzipped him and gathering his briefs with his pants she pushed them down until the dropped at his ankles. His stiffness at the right height to press into her softness and the juncture of her thighs

He stroked her with his fingers and opened her. He slid into her as she stroked him, but he was too close to let her continue long. He pushed her gently back on her desk and using his hand to guide himself he opened her lips with his mushroom head. He was so large with his need and she so tight that it took several tries. The first push opened her to allow just the head to disappear. Each movement of his hips and hers gained them about an inch in depth but as he withdrew her legs pulled him back into her until he was sliding fully in and out of her.

He was like a rocket primed for blast off and with her eyes open wide he fired. She could tell she could feel the blast of his jets hitting her deep in her womb. Her legs locked him in deep contact and he emptied himself fully into her but still she clasped him to her, in her.

Long after his hardness had subsided, he still felt the tunnel of her womanhood pulsing and sucking from him every drop of his climax. He looked at her with awe and wonder until the urge to give to her as she had given to him consumed him.

Her chair was nearby and he moved it to sit down between her legs, keeping her laying on her back on her desk. He looked at her shaven lips, now red from such active entrance and dribbling with his white cum from the opened center of her sex. As he moved forward, she lifted her legs and spread them to offer him the most unrestricted access to herself possible.

He kissed her fully on those puffy red lips and felt his own semen coat his lips. He tasted it with the tip of his tongue and found it very erotic. He fully extended his tongue and buried it in the cavernous opening where his erection had been and which was still open from it's presence. He swirled and felt her tremble. He licked with the flat width of his tongue upward and he felt the hardness of her clit flick across his tongue and her legs spasm closed.

He forced her wide for himself again and he moved now with abandon, possessing every part of her womanhood with his tongue. He moved upward and downward. He bathed her and probed her. He nibbled her and sucked her as he would have with the neck of a teenage date... hoping to leave a hickey between her legs. He felt her lips engorge with the vacuum he created and felt her shiver as his tongue passed over them. 

She was so wet. He had sucked from her all of his cum that he could but she flowed with her own wetness until it pooled at the bottom of her cleft and ran down between her cheeks. He slipped his finger across the puckered tightness of her backside and felt her so wet and so open. As he forced his tongue into her depths again, he slid his finger into her and heard a plaintive moan and her legs lock around his face as her hands pulled him into her.

He held his breath and worked her until she stopped the clenching that radiated from her lower belly. He lay with his cheeks against her full wet lips and caught his breath feeling her hands brush his hair in a comforting caresses. He lay with his lips close to hers until his need arose again.

He stood and pulled her legs vertical into the air found the tightness with his head that his fingers explored. He knew she was wet and still flowing and with her wetness he lubricated himself and pressed into the tightness of her bottom.

He heard a muffled, guttural groan as I opened her there too. He looked into her eyes for the pleading to stop, but found a fixed glaze of hot need and he pushed until he felt himself pop past the initial tightness of her entrance. It was a very long and slow anal intercourse. Neither of their need was great, but the closeness was exquisite. When he emptied himself into her again, his fingers coaxed her clit to join in the celebration.

And Then...



Well, after I leave and get halfway to the store, I discover that I've left my wallet behind; so back I drive to fetch it, and get my dark glasses while I'm at it. 

I shout Hello when I walk in. 

From the shower, down the hall and through the bedroom you shout Hello? 

I can barely hear you over the sound of fast running water. I say I forgot my wallet! 

You stick you head out of the shower and say you're in the shower. This, I know. 

I make my way through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom. I stand in the middle of our love-making litter. The butterscotch air is warm with the smell of Cambodie incense and the steam-damp from the shower. The pillows on the floor soak with the delicious, lusty aroma of your body, and my body. Everywhere, our clothing; shirts and blouses and shorts, socks and shoes, jock strap and thong, black satin corset, fire- engine-red stockings, long strings of pearls and body jewelry, Indian scarves, feathered ball-masks, wine bottle and Manhattan glasses, a box of chocolates (and a litter of paper), and bottles of spiced massage oil. 

Through the bathroom door I ask, in my deepest and clearest voice, if you would like me to scrub your back? The water stops, and I hear the rustling and flapping of towels; the sound of wet feet on dry tile. 

You speak as clearly as you can through the steamy haze, teasing- kittenish. You say Please wash my back! That would be wonderful. Please! 

The toilet flushes. 

The water runs again. The errands can wait; plenty of time. I say Nothing would please me more than to wash your back. I whip off my shirt, kick off my shoes, and shuck out of my cargo shorts. I am naked in an ace with half a hard-on, walk straight through the bathroom to the shower, and stand next to you. The water is very hot, but that ain't no never mind. 

You, of course, are as naked as the day you were born, and dripping wet from top to bottom; your hair hangs down in strings as the water pours over your head; your eyes, your mouth, your whole face smiles; your voluptuous breasts, your tight and hard erect nipples (itchy and wrinkly), cascade with water. It pours down your shoulders and arms, through your cleavage, your tummy. Hot water pours, dripping, through the sparkling fluff of bush hair which rises between you legs; down to your feet (which I admit I dearly love to kiss; licking). 

You are very glad to see me, smile big, and look down at my half-hard cock. I know for a fact you cannot wait to get your hands on it. 

I am always glad to see you naked and obviously excited; you have that fresh-fucked half-dreamy gleam in you eyes; ah, me. 

Absolutely the minute we are within reach, we embrace--feet and legs, thighs, pussy and half-hard cock, stomachs, chest and hair, nipples and breasts, lips and faces, arms and hands and fingers. Hot water pours down over us as we share a long moment of lips and tongues, nips and giggles, polite and sloppy, plush and lustful and horny; we kiss and cop feels as if we hadn't seen each other for ever. 

I slip and slide my hands over as much of your body as I can reach; I know you love for me to do this; face and hair and neck and chest and breasts (caressing the cozy, melting warmth of your breasts, your nipples and cleavage), belly button, bushy-soggy pussy hair, the fleshy cheeks of your ass, that voluptuous crease, and the puckered-in little hole the Chinese call the "rosebud." You shiver in that lusty, horny way that everybody in the room knows will end with our fucking. Some days there is no turning back; yes, yes, the car-chores can surely wait. 

Oh yes, darling lass, we'll be fucking up a storm (and that right soon!), but not just yet. First things first; suds and scrubs. 

You reach around and take up the soap and the wash cloth (already dripping with lather), but--of course--the soap slips from your hand. 

You say It's so slippery! You giggle with cheer, and bend over to pick it up. What is it that chefs say, Presentation is everything? The steaming hot water showers over your back, dripping from your dangling breasts and nipples, and down your legs. As you chase the soap between your feet, I step back to admire your arse and your beautiful pussy (tangle of sopping- wet hair and silhouette of lips) between your legs. 

I, of course, cannot resist the invitation, and take my cock by root, step directly behind you and slip it between your legs. Half-hard as it is, the knob and shaft slides through the lips of your pussy (like a hotdog in a bun), and caresses that most velvet-smooth, honey-warm, ticklish and tasty intimate part of you. And that slickery soft texture of mellow pussy is not of piping-hot soap and water, but the hot, tasty crème of self-induced orgasm; what the French call petit jus. I am sorry I missed it; you are so beautiful when you masturbate. 

With my cock nestled between you legs, you discreetly lift a heel just a touch. Enough to let my cock slide through; like a smooth, well-greased bolt sliding home. You keep chasing the soap with one hand, and with the other you reach between your legs and push the shaft of my stiffening cock completely against you. Hot, soft hand and fingers; half-hard cock; tasty- hot, fragrant pussy. A most intimate embrace. 

You say I love the feel of your cock there. Your whole cock against all of my pussy. 

Yes, indeed, I say to myself. Ah, me. 

Then it's back to business. I say Fucking in a minute, lover. First the suds and scrub! And as if my magic the soap and wash cloth appear out of nowhere. You step to the side, facing the tile, and my cock, red and hard from hairs to head twitches in air. I lather up the wash cloth, and commence. Slickery and sloppy, lathery with bubbly froth. I soap your neck and back, your back, your back and buttocks; lathering, lathering; a surfeit of strong-scented lather everywhere; it runs down my arm; runs down my belly and cock. I reach around and lather your stomach and breasts, delicately scrubbing (but in earnest) your nipples; this, I know, always makes your creamy between the thighs. 

I want you to want me. Said another way, I want you to desire me with that completely unashamed and eager, inviting and lustful joy of fucking. Joy, after all, is your name. Joy, joie; indeed! 

Your deepest, langoury voice hums in your throat; it is as if you have no human words for the melting pleasure I am giving you; simply the deepest expression of breathe. This makes my cock even harder, and it twitches more; my groin aches for fucking (the ache like a goddamned drug). 

Yes, I want you to want me fucking you--but not just yet! 

You look down and around, blowing my cock a kiss, and exclaim your delight--my cock just about as hard as hard can be. 

And me? I cannot stop soaping and sudsing and working the lathery cloth up and down and around, and around your body; it is as if I am drunk on the tickly sensation of cloth and lather on skin (mine and yours); drunk on your wiggles and shivers and breathy, whispery sighs; drunk on the feel of drippy lather and hot, hot water on my cock, your hands and fingers on my cock; drunk at the sight of you cupping your breasts and lifting them, full in your hands, into the hot, hard stream of water; flipping the nipples with your thumbs; shaking your head, standing on tiptoe (tightens the cheeks of your arse). I move my hand and soapy cloth between your legs. 

You say Soap there. Do my pussy..., oh, goodness gracious...! 

A long, long moment do I soap between you legs. Bye and bye, you are squeaky clean from your belly button to the small of your back. If there's one thing I know how to do, Joy, it is scrub your back top to bottom. 

It is time for fucking. You step out of the shower to towel down, and dry your hair; singing. I shower and laugh. You waltz into the bedroom. I step out of the shower, dry myself, and shave. When I come into the room, you are stretched across the bed on your side among the pillows. One leg drawn up, luxuriating in the still-damp, warm sensation of pleasant exhaustion. (We were fucking at 4:00 am. We fucked and slept, fucked and lollygagged, had a bit of coffee and toast. Then, day begun, I left for car- chores while you took a shower. We parted with the understanding that today was a day for fucking; we get those now and again.) 

You are all but asleep, but I know you are laying in wait for me. It is the best of games; I tease you, you tease me; back and forth we tease until we cannot stand it any longer, then comes the most delicious fucking. 

I stand near the foot of the bed; my erection thickly curves down against my leg, all but calm. I ask if you would like a massage. After all the pleasure you gave me last night, a full-body, slow-hands massage seems only too fair. Besides, darling lass, a massage is the next best thing to meditation (a gift of touch..., and we are always touching). 

You say that a massage would be a wonderful thing; you know for a fact that the fucking we both desire will soon follow. Ah yes, the wonderful fucking. 

I fetch the oil scented with tinctures of cinnamon and lavender (both aphrodisiacs), and ask you to lie straight on your stomach among the pillows with your arms at your sides. I climb the bed, sit next to your middle, and ask you to concentrate on your breathing. A long breath in, fill your lungs; a delicate pause; a long breath out. I place one hand on the back of your neck; the other at the base of your spine. 

I ask you to make as if to say "ah" as you inhale; and "ha" as you exhale; aware of the breath filling your body. With my hands touching you, I join the rhythm, and we listen. There is power here in this sharing of mindful breathing. We breath--ah, ha--and the calm of exquisite anticipation overcomes the both of us. 

I take up the oil, and pour a goodly amount on my hands. Then starting at the meatiest part of your spine at the neck, I draw my hands down your back, over your buttocks and down your thighs, calves, heels and feet. Time after time, I do this, applying more and more hand-warm oil. Aside the spine, both hands smoothing into your back and buttocks; many, many times. 

I remind you to concentrate on the breathing. 

My hands slide down your back; I draw them up your sides (and the swell of your breasts); more oil; I slide and draw many, many times. Moving around, I oil my hands the more and draw them up around your shoulders; repeating. I take first one arm and then the other, and draw my freshly oiled hands from shoulder to fingertip, pulling each hand down your arm (long strokes, these). 

Then the legs; right leg first. Hands side by side, I slide them up the back of your leg from heel to cheek, over the cheek, and back down the sides to the ankle. Again and again, I do this. Then the other leg, teasing now and again the crack of your arse with the oiled heel of my hand; teasing the little hairs sprouting between you legs; teasing that tiny blush of your pussy with oiled fingers. 

You shiver, goose-flesh rising, and I admonish you to breath, be mindful of your ah-ha breathing, please. You want the massage (and the fucking) as much as I, so back to the breathing you go. 

The back and legs done, we pause; tingling. 

I ask you to roll over on your back. This you are only too glad to do, and spread your legs open to me in the bargain. But, oh no, darling lass; not just yet! 

I begin with your feet; more oil. Stroking from ankle to toes; ankle to toes, like smoothing a cloth. Thumbs circling the arches, the pads of the toes, that curl just under the toes. More oil. Stroking with both hands spread wide, first one leg from thigh to heel; then the other, many times. More oil. The stomach; ribs to bush, ribs to bush; circles, many, many circles. More oil. One hand on your breast, nipple "clamped" between thumb and finger; the other hand sliding down your stomach to bush and pussy. Ah, me. Change hands, more oil; breast, nipple, stomach, bush and pussy; I lavish much, much oil there; fingers and palm. Ah, me. 

You stir and hump against my hand, but I tell you to breath. I lean down and in a long hot, breathy whisper I tell you to concentrate on the breathing and the sensation of physical power between your pussy, up your back, to your nipple. You draw one breath, and another; ah-ha. 

Then the face and neck. More oil. I stroke your forehead; it feels like wiping sweat. You hold my wrists as I stroke. Eyebrows and temples many, many times. Around the backs of your ears, down your neck. 

Your breathing simply eases; this involuntary smile of yours is beautiful to see. Your hands drop to your sides; you cannot hold them up anymore. You are completely relaxed; you exude the aura of luxuriating in those long moments of complete satisfaction after fucking. 

So. Last but not least, your pussy. First, of course, more oil. I spread your legs, then lay the palm of my hand on your mound of fluffy hair, and slid my fingers between your thighs and over your pussy. 

You exhale with a long "ha-a-a-a," and settle in with a squirm. Your delight makes my cock twitch. Ah, me. 

I pour more oil across my knuckles, and wait for it to seep warmly through my fingers; generously dripping over your pussy. You tell me this feels lovely; just lovely. I remind you to concentrate on your breathing; ah- ha. 

Then I spread the oil by drawing my hands, one after the other, from that crease between your rosebud, over your pussy (fingers inside and out), over your beauty mound, and all the way to your belly button. You cannot resist opening your legs even more--stretching open your pussy even more-- as I sweep my warm, oiled hands and fingers over and through that most tasty part of you. 

Hands, warm and fragrant oil, pussy--lusty and sloppy; great balls of fire, we are both hotter than a two dollar pistol. 

You are breathing in earnest, one hand on my cock, stroking it with your fingertips almost absentmindedly. 

I can feel your buttocks flexing, that delightful rolling of the hips. More, you want more.... 

I place my left hand lightly across your bush, teasing up the hairs between my fingers, then stroke my fingers into your pussy and seek your clit, that loveliest of buttons. I stroke, and stroke, and stroke until this loveliest button of yours is erect--the size of a peanut, blush red, and easy to pleasure. 

You lift your knees and plant your heels among the pillows; your beautiful pussy awaits. 

No, there is one more stroke; the tastiest of all--aside from fucking. It begins with my left hand just there at the curl of your mound, gently spreading your pussy for the two fingers of my right hand (just so, as if for the Boy Scout salute). Ever so gently I slide my two fingers inside you, almost to the knuckle, and curl them, stroking as if in a "come hither" gesture against the last great secret pleasure of your body. What is always pleasing to me is that the texture of the oil and the texture of your cum are very different; the difference between silk and honey; just the thought makes my cock twitch in your hand. 

I ask you to tell me when I reach your most secret spot, curling the fingers, curling them, curling; until "Bingo!" And I just keep at it, hooking the tips of my fingers over and over and over, caressing the spot. You are swimming with pleasure; long deep sighs; humping your thighs; crying out; rolling; working your legs, your heels whistling across the fabric of the pillows. It is a great shudder, and a you cum all over my hand. 

You punch your breath Who, who, hom, ho! Who. Who. You grasp my cock suddenly like it is a pump handle (wow!); your squirm and squirm, rolling your neck, twisting and flexing every part of you. 

I love to watch your orgasms; you are marvelous. A long moment I watch you melting into that powerful transformation. 

I know you want me close; I want to be close to you. So I lie down, body to body; embracing you. You are luscious with ease; utterly relaxed, warm. 

A great long moment we pause, easy and intimate; my hot breath in your hair. You hum and um, almost singing, and we nestle and squirm in the utter luxury of graceful, sated touch. 

03. The Cat Nap. 

You are so mellow and relaxed that you drop into irresistible sleep, still deeply and calmly breathing. Those last drifting thoughts are of the great itch I have scratched for you. Ah, me. 

We move against each other as you ascend to sleep; my hand between your legs, tickling the damp, fragrant hair; the petit jus, the crème [of honey], the intimate fresh texture of your pussy. You with your hand gripping my buttock. You hand slacks and slacks, like the tick of a clock, until you are completely limp; literally unconscious. You dazzle and glow with pleasure, knowing way, way back in that most human place in your imagination; knowing that today is a day for fucking, and the hour is still early. A great long moment we hold each other, pleasured in the simple act of breathing and the warmth of smooth, sated skin. #

I ought to wash up; there's chores--dishes and the dog. Let me polish everything off, darling lass, and I'll be back. Sleep tight. 

Slowly, quietly, I rise and dress and practically sneak out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me. 

[start here]

A while later, chores done, I come through the bedroom to take a quick shower (I smell like wet dog). [what you look like in bed; the aura; the gesture; the aroma; the sense of immense space around you, around the bed; peace and calm; the anticipation of dandy fucking.] 

I walk into the bedroom, drying off. You are dead asleep, easy among the pillows; the little light; one leg hiked up; the fluff of fuzzy fur decorates your pussy, glowing with oil, and making for the closet; your beautiful breasts, the curve of your back, that sleek line of your legs. Ah, me. [silk boxers, the hot oil (cayenne salve).] 

Your beautiful pussy. I want to kiss your pussy, to suck and lick. I cannot help myself. I know that you want to fuck more than you want to sleep. Yours will be a most luxurious awakening. 

Kissing you pussy; waking you from a dream of colors, that's all--just colors. And murmurs, you tell me later that you recall murmurs; and rabbits (of all things), lightning bolts of rabbits. 

We exchange bawdy greetings. 

I keep eating your pussy. You roll onto your back and settle your thighs on a pillow under me. I eat pussy till the cows come home; you reach into my boxer shorts and stroke my cock and guide my hand to your breasts; I pinch and pull and twist your nipples (so slowly, oh so slowly). 

You tell me you want me from behind, and turn on your stomach, rising to your hands and knees. We fuck, and fuck, and fuck, like dogs [the talk]. 

We roll on our sides, still fucking, and you throw a leg over my thighs, and reach between your legs to stroke my cock, your pussy and clitoris ("peanut") as we fuck with hot strokes. Humpa-humpa-humpa. My hands are all over you; breasts, belly, kissing your neck; kissing your hands. The bed shakes. 

You say Love this fucking. I twist and thrust; no, this fucking. We hump and stroke, squirming and pulling, pushing; No, you say this fucking. We talk and joke, kissing, and stroking each other while we fuck. It is luxurious, this intimacy.



And Then...



She tugged a little at the cords holding her wrists to the posts on each corner of the bed's headboard. He had tied them quite securely, but loosely enough so that she could move her arms about six inches in any direction. The cords were made of soft green velvet and actually felt good against her skin.

He had tied similar velvet cords around her ankles and attached the cords to two hooks hanging from the ceiling. They held her legs about two feet apart, just wide enough for a body to fit comfortably between them, and about a foot above the bed.

She had just finished a very warm bath and was nude. The rose-colored satin sheets were soft and felt slightly cool against her back and buttocks. She gazed at herself, spread eagled and curious, in the smoky gray mirror covering the ceiling. It was like looking into a September evening sky. A sky that looked back and smiled.

She watched him carefully as he slowly pulled the turtleneck off over his head. She liked to look at his bare chest and felt tiny ripple thrills as she studied his brown arms. They were powerful arms, capable she thought of lifting extremely heavy objects. His neck was thick like that of a well-conditioned athlete, and she was teased by the way his hair rumpled from removing the turtleneck.

He smiled, making his entire face come alive, but said nothing. He just stood at the foot of the bed allowing his soft eyes to crawl up the length of her body. He had a way of making his eyes warm when he was looking at her, and she could feel the heat of his eyes bathing her flesh. His eyes stopped their crawl and stopped between her legs. She could feel the direct heat from his eyes burning right into her crotch. A soft wave swept over her body.

He pulled on the ends of the cords attached to her ankles and ceiling hooks. There were actually two sets of intricately arranged hooks, and his pulling on the cords caused her legs to spread several more inches and her feet to raise another six. When he pulled down far enough, it also caused her buttocks to raise slightly off the bed. He let go and her legs dropped suddenly back into their original position. 

The room was candlelit and soft jazz slid from the speakers located in each corner. She could almost feel the slippery notes of the warm saxophone sounds touching her body. Somewhere, out of her sight, but decidedly there, she could hear the sound of a vibrator buzzing. Not being able to see it, but knowing it was there inflamed her, and her thoughts drifted easily to other encounters they had together on this very bed.

Her nipples hardened quickly as he dripped the warm oil down into the center of her body. Then, without notice, he leaned over and kissed the bottom of one of her feet. The kiss slowly became his hot tongue slipping between her toes. She felt a twitch between her legs, right inside her thighs, as his tongue began to slide up one of her legs. He stopped just inches before his tongue touched her cunt, which she sensed was now wide open and wet. 

He dropped his pants and climbed into the bed beside her, but without touching. Now she could hear the saxophones hitting low notes while the sound of the vibrator continued its high-pitched buzz. He lay there, close and naked, and she could feel the heat of his breathing on her shoulder and neck. Then, in that husky tone she knew as his turned on voice, he whispered, "I love you," blowing more warm breath into her ear as he spoke. 

He moved his hand toward her crotch, careful not to actually touch her skin, but close enough to brush her pubic hair. Now in a gentle, circular motion, his finger played in her pubic patch, stroking with knowledge, but never touching her flesh. She was on fire! Her arms strained at the cords, pulling them tightly to their limit, while her legs struggled to be free.

His mouth closed on hers and she felt his tongue dart between her teeth. His finger continued to make tiny circles and she could feel herself opening, dripping, spreading. She felt his breath blowing hot against her cheek while her own breathing quickened. She felt her cunt flare open in anticipation.

He moved away now, watching as she writhed against the restraining cords. Wave after wave of warmth swept over her body and she could feel an incredible tension in her nipples. Her mouth remained parted after his kiss and she became conscious of every part of her body: eyes clouded; legs tingling; arms straining but relaxed; belly rising and falling quickly; breasts heaving; and in her crotch a flood. The still unseen vibrator buzzed and buzzed as though it wanted to invade her. She wanted him to touch her with it; wanted him to push it inside her; wanted to feel herself shaking in concert with its rhythm.

Still, he waited. He watched quietly as she tried to lift her buttocks. She wanted to push her bottom to the mirror; wanted to press it against the image on the ceiling. She imagined that she could see a curious clear liquid pouring from the opening between her legs. 

Now he moved to the bottom of the bed. Placing his head against her thigh, he slipped his tongue between her thighs. The touch of his tongue on her clit moved her to a new level of feeling. She felt herself rising, going higher and higher and higher, and just when she felt she would smash into the ceiling mirror he stopped. He slid his hot tongue down to her knees and waited as she let herself drift back down to the bed.

When she thought she could stand it no more, when every nerve and muscle in her body ached with desire, when the pounding in her head became thunderous, he touched her with his hand again. This time he placed the flat of his hand on her belly just above the line of her pubic region. Sweat formed on her forehead and she could feel a dampness in her armpits. Only her cunt seemed wetter.

She looked at him standing tall at the foot of the bed. His penis was hard and erect. Her mind filled with thoughts of him entering her body. From memory she could feel his touch, feel his soft brown skin, feel his weight pressing down into her, feel his breath blowing on her skin. His penis was thick and brown and long. She ached to feel it sink into her open body. Juices poured from her swollen cunt, and the aching in her crotch was indescribable. 

Then he climbed back onto the bed. Her arms pulled against the cords, straining to get free and pull him to her. He positioned his body between her raised legs and she felt the heat and hardness of his fully rigid penis laying against the entrance to her cunt. She tried to lift her buttocks up to him. Everything in her mind said "move your ass... move your ass up... move your ass up and get him... move your ass... move your ass... move, move, move..." But his weight held her down.

Suddenly his cock was inside her. Not all of it, just the head; just the tip had slipped between the wide-open lips of her cunt. She wanted to surround him; wanted to wrap her aching legs around him; wanted to draw all of him into her. She could feel her pulse pounding in her pussy; could feel all the fluids in her body racing to her crotch, surging downward like a newly released mountain creek surging in the spring. Sweat covered her body now, and she was overwhelmed by the strong smell of her sex wanting him.

Her body sent out sex smells, signals, notices that she wanted him to plunge into her; wanted him to dive deep into her body; wanted him to push his hardness up into her belly. She could feel her ass spread open; feel her mouth open and gasping for air; feel her cunt spread for his entry. She closed her eyes and her mind blew open with the burning rage of an open furnace. Her arms and legs struggled and strained and felt the pressure of her body's need. Little by little she sensed, rather than felt, his cock slipping into her. New fires ignited inside her cunt as he pushed and opened door after door. She felt herself unfolding, throwing off days of wanting as her body opened, and just kept opening. The buzz of the nearby, out of sight, vibrator now seemed to be a roar. Now she could feel his weight nearing its fullness. She could feel her cunt start a soft sucking action. She could feel his dick swimming in her deep, dark, wet, hungry, passionate hole.

Now he sank into her fully. Her belly expanded and rose. Her cheeks flushed. She could feel waves of heat searing through her body. She could feel her hips spreading. She could feel her ass straining to lift. She could feel her arms tugging at the cords. And from every pore sweat poured out, drenching her like a warm Turkish bath of exotic oils.

His cock was big in her now. She sensed that her entire body was going to split open as his hips nestled between her open thighs. Pungent odors, first hers, then his, entered her nostrils, overwhelming her senses. She was aware of his whole body: his chest flat against her swollen breasts; his hard belly against the softness of hers; his powerful legs spreading her thighs even wider; the tight curls of his hair against her face; his hands tightly squeezing her buttocks. His body was her body, and hers was his.

Then a different feeling started somewhere deep inside her body. She couldn't identify where at first, but then it began to spread. It touched her toes; it exploded in her head; it inflamed her belly; it caused her breasts to swell and ache; it pushed her hips apart; it surged into her cunt filling it with heat and light and sound. Now it became a wave, a shock, an incredible sensation she could not really identify because she had never before felt anything quite like it. Then she exploded!

He stood up to watch and she caught a glimpse of her body in the ceiling mirror. Hips bucking, belly heaving, breasts swelling, face flush, legs wide open and straining to spread more. She wanted to come apart as the feeling spread through her entire system. Her eyes closed and she gave in to it totally. Her ass lifted off the bed; her arms pulled so strongly that one of the cords snapped; and from her throat (or was it from somewhere deeper?) a scream started, racing to her lips with incredible force. Then she heard it, heard herself issuing something between an anguished moan and a violent scream. Her hips flew apart; her body expanded beyond belief; her now freed arm flailed about seeking something to hold onto; her asshole opened, along with the spread of her cunt, and she farted, drained, sucked, opened and gasped for breath.

He looked at her and smiled. "I love you," he said, and she could see that in his hand he now held the buzzing vibrator . . . 



And Then, A Few Years Later



It had been a few years since I had seen her, when I saw her upon entering a local coffee shop. We had been lovers years ago, not too serious or involved but enjoying each other, and then had drifted apart. Seeing her now made me feel great pleasure.

She had had a small business in a local seashore town, and had had to close it down due to the recession. She now lived in a small town a few miles inland that was much less expensive, and worked waiting tables in yet another town a few miles north.

I said hello and we sat and talked. She was with someone now, was scraping by on her minimum wage salary and tips, which were down given the current subdued economy, but feeling ok about her life at the moment. I did not ask about her current man, and she did not volunteer any information about him.

She mentioned that she now had a tiny house in a small town, and was struggling with how to furnish it and even more so with how to store her belongings in the small space. My ears pricked up: as an architect I could hardly pass up an opening like that, so I made the obvious response: I could help her with that, especially innovative storage, as I had some experience in that area. She said that she would really appreciate that, and suggested that after finishing our coffee we go to her house, where I could take a look at it, and where she would fix us lunch. Hot dog! Anticipation! I felt like a kid again. I followed her to her house.

She was still slim and very, very appealing, with small but nicely curved buttocks, shown off to advantage by her tight jeans, and small, firm looking breasts. All shown modestly, without flaunting anything. That had always been her way.

I did some sketches and took some dimensions, and made some immediate suggestions as to furniture arrangements and finding storage space. Much earlier in my life I had faced a similar problem, and had solved it by building a four-foot high platform covering about ¾ of the floor space of our very small bedroom. Storage underneath (a lot of it!), bed on top. The higher bed proved useful in another respect, being further off the floor and warmer in our chilly apartment. It was the 1960s, so I hung glass beads in a sort of wall defining what was bed and what was not, and had many fine times with my wife on that platform with its kitsch-but-timely decorations. I described that triumph of tight packing a small space to her, and she liked the idea. We went to the bedroom so that I could take more dimensions and do some more sketches. In the course of an hour, I had a workable solution worked out, complete with materials and cost estimate. I offered to help her build it, but opined that perhaps her current man might not approve of another man spending that much time in her house, and said that I did not wish to cause any problems for her in her personal life.

She said, "no problem, he doesn't come here much, we go to his apartment in town," and she would really appreciate my help on her project. I thought to myself, well, our time together was good, so I don't mind going out of my way to help her out, even if nothing comes of it. In fact, I reminded myself, nothing would come of it, she was with someone now, so just enjoying her company would be reward enough in itself, although I could not help remembering her cute little parts and how much I had enjoyed playing with them. While remembering this, my version of old Vlad the Impaler stirred - I did not ask him to - and she noticed.

She was never a cold or calculating person, and I remembered from years ago that any show of affection and/or desire was always received with acceptance and enthusiasm. I thought that she had not changed much with respect to that fine character trait. She said, "oh, my, you haven't changed bit, have you?" I replied, "well, I have gotten older." She said, well your thingy does not seem to know that. I was actually a little embarrassed, which was pretty silly as there were no anatomical mysteries between the two of us, even if it had been a while. Then I got over that and was pleased by the compliment.

She said, we'd better have a hug, and we did. It was wonderful! It had been so long ago between the two of us, and my current love life was, to understate the matter, not a busy one. I ventured a kiss on her neck, and she did not object. I told her, "Oh, God, it is so marvelous to hug you again!" She nuzzled my neck, and I hugged her more tightly. I wondered what to do now, should I gracefully untangle and and say, "sorry, I got carried away," or to venture further. She resolved the matter by placing her hand on my thigh, actually on top of the axle around which I had revolved most of my life. 

I felt one of her small, firm breasts, just the size I loved, and she rubbed me though my trousers. I slipped my hand under her shirt and attempted to slip it inside her bra, with little success, when she said, "wait." She took off her shirt and bra, I felt I was on a journey towards heaven, and she unzipped my trousers and put her hand inside, gently grasping my penis. I undid my belt and trousers and dropped them around my ankles, and then started to undo her jeans. She put her hand on me, and said, "we can't go too far with this." I groaned. She said, "well, that doesn't mean that we can't play with each other, just that we can't go too far." 

Shortly we were both nude, and slipped under the covers of her bed, as it was very chilly. I slipped my hand between her thighs and started to caress her lovely, warm pussy, which was beginning to show a trace of moistness. I concentrated on her cute little clitty, and she responded. I slipped down to where I could kiss her lovely pussy, and licked and kissed up and down the inside of both thighs, then kissed and nibbled on her outer lips, then her inner lips, and ran my tongue around the entrance to her vagina. She was now into things as much or more than I was, and I moved up to her clitty, and without warning sucked her clitty and its surroundings into my mouth. She said, "Oh, God," and I silently agreed as I continued sucking. I then used two fingers to reach inside her and massage her G-spot, and she really responded. 

She said, "We can't fuck. He is picking me up after work tonight and will fuck me, and he might be able to tell if I had been fucked this afternoon." I disengaged and told her, "no matter, as you said, we can have a great time playing with each other," and resumed action. Shortly after, she came, making appropriate and endearing noises. 

I recalled a story in THE DECAMERON in which a wife and her lover had anal sex. Her husband came home later, was suspicious, and inserted his fingers into her vagina too see if somebody else's semen was there. He didn't find any, but didn't think to check her rectum.

I gave her a short rest, during which I checked out the bedside table to see if she had any Vaseline or KY there, and found instead something even better, Astroglide. I took some and applied it to her pussy, and then to her anus, circling around it and then inserting first one, then two digits, and then my entire middle finger, and began to finger fuck her, enjoying the silky, smooth inside walls of her rectum. She began to move in response to my rhythm, and to moan and say "Oh, oh, oh..." 

I continued to lick and nibble her clitty while I finger fucked her, and then I added a second finger, to her apparent pleasure. I probably occurred to both of us at about the same time, that there was more than one way to fuck. She said, "You can't fuck my pussy, but you can fuck me there if you want to. I remember that you used to really like that, and so did I, and he doesn't go there. I would like it if you fucked me there."

I turned her onto her stomach and put two pillows beneath her pelvis, and applied lots more Astroglide to her anus and to my penis. I placed the head of my penis against her anus and began a firm pressure inwards. She responded by pushing back against me, and in a short time the head had passed the first ring of muscle, then the second, and I was inside. I began stroking and soon was all the way inside her, and it was wonderful. I paused and let her adjust to having me all the way up her, then began pulling back, then thrusting in, slowly at first and then with increasing speed and firmness. She moaned, and said, "More! More!" just like she did years before. I lasted as long as I could, then told her I was close, and she just nodded her head and moaned, and I shot my cum as deeply inside her as I could. I stayed inside her as long as I could, then turned us both on our sides facing each other and hugged her for a while. I then again placed two fingers inside her pussy, and my thumb on her clitty and began to make the vigourous side-to-side movements that I had learned from a middle eastern girl friend some years earlier.

This was just what the doctor ordered, and she came very strongly, and even ejaculated a small amount. One of the best days of my life, and, I hope, of hers.

In the ensuing weeks I visited her several times, we built her storage/bed platform, and had many additional sessions something like the one just described. Sometimes we just played with each other, but most times repeated the glorious experience of the first time. Life was good for a while, then her man decided to move north to a better job, and she told me she was going with him, and we said goodbye, to both our sorrows. Then we got on with our lives, each in his or her own way.

And so it goes.



And Then Came Roxie



The first time I saw her she was empting a wastebasket in my office. "You're new."

She looked up and smiled. "No, just temporary, I helping Maria. I'm Roxie." The gangly teenager dropped my wastebasket back into its holder and then disappeared down our row of offices.

I went back to my paperwork. "Cool."

After the first meeting I saw her around campus several more times and each time she smiled and waved.

One day I asked our regular janitor, Maria, about Roxie. "She's on work release from the jail, they drop her off and pick her up."

I watched Maria's methodical dusting and wiping. "So, is she assigned certain buildings?"

Maria paused. "No sir. She is supposed to work in the Library, but has been helping in other areas." Maria moved on down the row of offices, slowly pushing the rolling barrel along. I am convinced that per hour wages slow the process of work. 

A week or so later Maria was absent from her regular rounds and Roxie showed up to pick up my trash. "Hey Doctor Browne."

"Hey, Roxie." This same innocuous conversation went along for the entire week.

One day when Roxie tapped my door and picked up the trash I asked her, "Where's Maria?"

Roxie dropped the trashcan in her usual manner. "She's PG and has some problems, so you all are stuck with me until she gets back."

"Oh, didn't even know she was pregnant." Maria was a large Hispanic woman whose only identifiable feature was that she was about four foot tall, sort of a short brown ball who appeared in my doorway.

Roxie leaned against my door. "Don't think anybody did. Her ol man probably had to use pepper to find it to fuck." Roxie laughed and bounced out the door pushing the large gray barrel.

A couple of days later I was leaning back in my chair with my feet on my desk when Roxie appeared at my door. "Bust yer head like that."

I glanced up. "Hey Roxie, how's tricks?"

"Tricks? You gotta be kidding, my cell mate is a crazy woman. I sleep with one eye open. Reminds me, I saw a condom in your trash the other day. You must be doin' all right."

Embarrassed, I rocked forward. "Accident's happen."

She leaned against my door jam, a habit she seemed to enjoy with our daily little nonsense chats. "Bullshit. You bang'n a student?"

"Roxie, that's kinda personal question don't you think? Anyway I am holding up your work."

"Naw man, old Maria had this down to a science. It took her half a day to clean this wing. I can do it two hours. I'm ahead of schedule and the van doesn't come for me until four o'clock."

I leaned across the desk. "So, what are you in for?"

Roxie laughed. "About thirty more days. I got caught with some liquor."

I looked over the top of my glasses.

She took a step into the room. "I'm only nineteen."

"Jeeze, how much time did you get? Jail seems a little harsh."

She ducked her head and pretended to be embarrassed. "Well, I kinda conked a cop on the head with a beer bottle. I honestly didn't mean to, I was throwing it away and it slipped."

 There's a story for sure, "Wow."

"Yeah, I got a hundred twenty days in county. This assignment gets me out of the jail for a few hours."

"Oh, I see."

Roxie put a hand on my desk and leaned toward me. "So, when I saw the condom in your trash, you know, it kinda stirred me up." Her short sleeve tee shirt fit her like a sack. But, when she stood up straight it revealed no significant change in the flat surface. 

I tried not to look up at her; she was a tall thin girl with sort of a trashy swagger and look. Definitely, she was not my interest type.

"Like, are you fucking somebody in this office, like at night or something?"

I pushed away from the desk. As soon as my wheels rolled backward I knew it was a mistake, a small boner was starting to grow in my pants. "Roxie, really you need to move on."

"No problem," she said, "but if you ever need to make use of that thing," she pointed at the lump and damp stain in my pants, "let me know."

The next week Roxie showed up at my office about an hour late. "I finished the wing and held your office till last."

I was busy posting grades when she popped in the door. "Oh?" I glanced at my watch, it was three o'clock.

"I need a favor," she started, "and I hope you won't mind me asking."

 oh, crap, she's gonna want me to smuggle drugs or something . "Roxie, you know I probably can't, but let me hear it."

"Fuck me."

"What?"

"I'm tired of finger fucking, and that bitch I bunk with won't do anything but talk to herself."

"Roxie, really, I can't do that."

"Sure you can, just close your door."

"It's the middle of the day, students come and go." I was starting to panic.

She grabbed the rolling cart and stomped down the hallway. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Jeeze, she didn't even empty my wastebasket."

I thought I was in the clear, I didn't see Roxie again that week, and the work schedule went on as usual around campus. Another work release prisoner started picking up my trash and I was sure that my encounters with Roxie were over. My assumptions are always wrong.

One afternoon after classes I was walking toward the auditorium to set up a Power Point presentation when the door to the janitor's closet swung open and there stood Roxie. She had pulled off the tee shirt and her tiny breasts were pointed and erect. Obviously, she had seen me coming down the hallway.

"Come here a sec," she begged.

I stepped toward the door to hear her better.

"Right now, fuck me, a quickie." 

My cock suddenly rose in my pants. I glanced down the vacant hallway. Before I could protest Roxie grabbed me by the belt and pulled me in. She unzipped my pants and pulled out my throbbing cock.

"Perfect," she said. Probably, the first fib she told me. My penis was the embarrassment of the locker room.

She held my cock in her hand and with her other she pulled off her shorts, and then bent over the sink and pulled me from behind into her clit. She was wet but firm and she gasped as I entered her. "Oh shit, oh man, oh fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

I managed to stroke fairly quickly while standing amid mops and brooms. Suddenly, she reached up and put a wad of paper towels in her mouth. Muffled screams followed and I felt her cunt quiver. She pulled me out. "Oh, that was good, jeeze thank you, but you didn't cum."

I was at a loss for words.

She sunk to her knees in front of me and grasped my soaking cock in her mouth. Only seconds later I exploded with a force I had forgotten and she swallowed hard. "Ooh, that tasted so good." She took a paper towel and wiped my cock and squeezed until all the cum oozed out. Then she handed me a plastic trash bag. "You came in here for one of these. She cracked open the door and pushed me out.

I stood in the hallway holding a green trash bag; I realized that my knees were shaking. Dr. Davis walked down the hallway.

"Are you alright? You look a little pale." She stopped walking long enough for a comment. 

"Fine Laura, I think I am catching a cold."

I hurried down to the auditorium, trying to think of why I might be carrying a trash bag. That was the last I saw of Roxie until early this summer. 

There was a gentle tap on my door, and there stood Roxie and a little pixie of a girl. "Doctor Browne, this is Megan. She's under the same work release program I was under. Remember my problem, it's the same for Megan. I told her you could help her."



And Then He Kissed Me



"Have you got any kids?" Lizzy asked as she handed me a cup of coffee on my first day at Haddaway and Tschitte Insurance Company.

"Two girls," I smiled nervously, "the youngest has just started school."

Lizzy and I talked when she took me on a tour of the offices; introducing me to as many people as possible; I chattered about my husband and daughters and explained that I had finally returned to full-time work for the first time in 7 years Over the next few days we became quite friendly as we worked together gradually building up my confidence and workload; we usually had lunch with a bunch of her friends who were all younger than me (I'm 32) and appeared to have exciting social lives; even the married ones.

I joined in the conversation as they seemed interested in my daughters but I still felt old and dowdy in my drab clothes and boring haircut.

During the next few weeks I made an effort to update my wardrobe and even had a new hairstyle – a short blonde bob. The majority of women in the office wore dresses or skirts so I followed suit; nothing too short or revealing but as my confidence grew I began to feel good about myself and would join Lizzy and a group of her friends for a couple of drinks after work on a Friday night.

After a couple of months Lizzy told me that there would be some changes and I was going to become a part-time PA for an Area Manager who had just joined the company.

On the Monday of my new job I wore a nice A-line dress and a new pair of black shoes to meet my new colleague.

I tried to hide my shock when I opened his office door when I saw that he was coloured. For some reason I hadn't realised that everyone in the company apart from one girl called Rhea, who was Indian, were white.

"Hi," Sean smiled as he waved me into his office, "you must be Amanda."

"Yes," I gulped nervously, "I've been working with Lizzy for a few months and she recommended me for this role...I don't know why."

"Don't worry; it's all new to me too," Sean smiled as he took a file from me and motioned that I should sit down.

As he flicked through the file he explained that he would only be in the office a couple of days a week so I would be responsible for his diary and logging all of his calls plus liaising with the Sales Team and customers. 

We spent the next couple of hours talking about what he expected of me and how ambitious he was. As we chatted I did notice him stare at my cleavage a couple of times which made me feel a little uncomfortable but flattered nonetheless. As a 32 year old married mother of two any form of male attention was welcome these days!

At lunchtime Lizzy came to find me and wanted to know all about my new boss. The girls were all interested and some even made lewd sexual comments about black men.

"You lucky cow!" Maggie laughed, "I get old man Thompson leering at me everyday and you get that gorgeous hunk to shag you across his desk every morning!"

I instantly blushed, "You can't say things like that....I'm a happily married woman!"

"So am I," she retorted, "but I wouldn't mind a taste of whatever he has between his legs!" She then coarsely mimicked giving a blow-job.

The others giggled but I hid my face in my hands.

We worked quite closely for the next few days; gradually learning each others ways and habits; but he had an aura about him that meant I couldn't help being nervous when I was around him. Most of the other Managers and Directors were bland and boring but Sean was different. Not just because he was black but he radiated confidence and always dressed very well in expensive suits and brightly coloured shirts and ties. His shoes were always highly polished and he often wore tan or brown brogues with dark suits which was unheard of in our company and always made him stand out in a crowd. 

After a couple of weeks; Sean and I were moving some boxes and files in his office when I stumbled and he caught me; one of his hands accidentally touching my breast.

"Ooohhh!" I gasped as I steadied myself. 

"Sorry about that," he grinned, "I just grabbed the first thing I could."

I playfully scowled at him but couldn't help smiling as I straightened my dress.

Sean chuckled, "Well...if that's the effect falling over has on you; I'll trip you up every day."

Puzzled I looked down to where his eyes were fixed; only to see my nipples poking through my dress.

"Shit!" I said with an intake of breath, "That wasn't supposed to happen."

There was a sudden silence as we stood staring at each other for what seemed a lifetime.

"I'm sorry." Sean grinned and shrugged his shoulders. 

"It's okay...don't worry about it." I stammered as I continued moving boxes; acutely aware that he was still watching my every movement; meaning my nipples wouldn't go down making me even more self-conscious.

At the end of the day Sean apologised again for 'you know what'.

"Forget about it." I smiled. "I don't think I can." He giggled and winked at me; making me blush.

The next few weeks fell into a pattern; Sean would work in the office on Monday morning then visit the Agents or customers for a couple of days, coming back to HQ on Thursday afternoon or Friday.

When he worked at HQ he would stay in a nice hotel on the edge of town; not far from where I lived and would occasionally give me a lift to or from the office. My husband of 9 years, Nigel, didn't seem to mind that a tall good looking black man in a shiny new BMW would occasionally call to pick me up at 8.30 or drop me off at 6pm. 

Sean constantly complimented me and praised my work and the way I dressed so our relationship soon became very friendly and we even began mildly flirting. I guessed that he found me attractive and I loved the attention he gave me; even though we were both married. It was all harmless fun.

He told me that he had just turned 40 and had a 12 year old son. After a few weeks: we were working together and as usual Sean was making no attempt to hide the fact that he kept staring down the front of my dress at my cleavage; which always surprised me as my boobs aren't particularly big – 32b.

"Stop that!" I finally chided him. "What have I done wrong now?" he laughed.

"You know what you were doing." I playfully hissed as I narrowed my eyes and sat up straight to obscure his view.

"I'm sorry." Sean grinned.

"You're always bloody sorry...when I catch you perving!" I pretended to be angry with him but was actually revelling in the attention and he knew it.

"You forget how many lonely nights I spend in hotels," he laughed, "and then you come to work dressed... all...sexy...don't you"

I teased him by pulling a face and shrugging my shoulders.

"I can't help myself when you're around ... so it's no wonder I get 'tense'...ha, ha, ha!" Sean looked truly smug as he leant back in his swivel chair puffing out his broad chest.

"Well you'll just have to find another way of relieving your...tension," I tried to look serious, but couldn't, "or at least wait until you get home and see your wife."

"There's not a lot of chance of that these days," he sighed, "that novelty wore off for Patsy ages ago!"

For some reason I raised my eyebrows and smiled at him sympathetically. 

I knew exactly how he felt; these days my husband seemed more concerned about waking our daughters than actually seeing to my needs; so a long time ago I had resorted to furtive masturbation sessions on Saturday or Sunday mornings when Nigel gave the girls their breakfast then took them to the park or dancing classes. In the last month or so I'd really been looking forward to these sessions more than usual; even planning them for days in advance – 'which sex-toy I would use; what I would fantasise about' and I had begun 'borrowing' my husband's 'hidden stash' of dirty magazines; reading the stories and drooling over the photos of couples and threesomes fucking and sucking.

Moments later Sean and I were standing in front of each other gazing into each others' eyes. Then he kissed me; he kissed me in a way that I'd never been kissed before; he kissed me in a way that I knew I wanted more.

At first our lips touched gently; like two feathers in the wind; then realising that I wasn't resisting Sean became more forceful virtually eating my lips; pushing his sweet tongue deep into my mouth; somehow he even sucked my tongue which made me shiver with excitement. I responded by grabbing his head and pushing my body against his; rubbing myself against his groin.

Thankfully his phone rang just as he began caressing my breasts as his tongue nearly disappeared down the back of my throat.

"Oh God!" I gasped as Sean answered the phone. Flustered I made waving motions with my hands and whispered that I had to get back to my desk. Sean tried to stop me but I rushed out and scurried to the ladies room. I hid in a cubicle with tears running down my cheeks for nearly ten minutes; gathering my thoughts. I couldn't believe what I'd just done – I'd kissed another man...a black man... and had bloody well enjoyed it.

I sat at my desk answering e-mails until 5 o'clock; believing that every pair of eyes in the office was looking at me knowing that I was a scarlet woman. 

Sean was in meetings then away from the office for most of the next few days so I put 'the kiss' behind me and tried to forget about it until the middle of the Thursday afternoon. I bent over his desk to pick up an empty coffee cup when I suddenly felt his hand creep up my leg, under my skirt.

"What do you think you're doing?" I hissed and quickly moved away from him.

"What's wrong?" He grinned, "I was just checking to see if you were wearing stockings."

"Well I'm not!" I chuckled as I squirmed away from his advances. 

"That's a surprise," he grinned, "I felt sure that you were the type to wear stockings."

"What type's that then?" I scowled.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Sean playfully apologised; waving his arms in the air as if he was surrendering. "Sexy woman...sexy legs...I presumed...SORRY!"

I took the cups away and 'tutted' at him as I left the office.

At the end of the day Sean whispered, "Sorry about the stockings thing," and gave me a good-natured tap on the bum as I left the office.

I couldn't stop thinking about him all night; I felt like a schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher! Feeling a little guilty and very horny I snuggled up next to my husband when we were in bed and began tickling his Willy.

"I'm sorry darling but I've got to get up early in the morning." He drowsily told me as he pushed my hand away.

"You lazy bastard!" I cursed under my breath, "I was going to do all of the bloody work! You just had to lie there and think of England!"

When Nigel's alarm rang at 6.15 I was still hot and horny after having a very sexy dream about an unnamed 40 year old black man! As soon as I heard the shower my fingers slid between my legs and began rubbing my pussy and clit. I knew it would have to be a quick one so quickly jammed two fingers into my hole and frantically frigged myself to a very satisfying orgasm. I smiled as I sniffed my sticky fingers...that would have to do until Saturday when I could finish myself off...properly.

As it was Friday Sean was busy with meetings all morning so we hardly saw each other which was probably a good thing. After lunch he called me up to his office to discuss some reports.

When we'd finished he smiled as I stood up to leave. "Well?" He asked. "Are they?"

Puzzled I replied, "Are they what?" 

"Stockings of course?" he grinned.

"Sorry to disappoint you but they're tights." I giggled as I wiggled my bum and closed the door.

After work I went for a drink with Lizzy and three girls from Accounts. Lizzy and Kate were going out to a club afterwards and asked me to go with them but obviously I couldn't at such short notice and I knew that they were likely to be on the look out for stray men even though they were both living with their partners.

"She's keeping it for Sean!" Lizzy laughed, "She wouldn't want to shag an inferior man!" "I don't know what you mean!" I giggled as I slurped my large glass of wine. Lizzy had been teasing me for weeks about my relationship with Sean. She had noticed that we were getting closer than was normal within the company.

Kate began joking about me and Sean then the rest of the girls began talking about sex. As usual I couldn't believe my ears; some the things that they got up to shocked me. Obviously I was aware of 'casual sex' but these girls were only a couple of years younger than me but sometimes they made me feel like a Grandma! 

My pussy was tingling so much I was squirming all of the way home in my taxi. I knew I couldn't wait for Saturday morning...I was going to have to 'jump' my husband as soon as possible.

As soon as I arrived home Nigel whined and whinged about having to feed and bathe our daughters and....well you don't need to know what he went on about; but it was boring.

Some of my horniness had worn off by the time we went to bed but I still wanted to shag him.

By the time I climbed freshly showered into bed Nigel was already half asleep.

I sensually tickled his Willy and felt it twitch.

"MMMmmm," I purred as quietly as possible, "does that feel nice?" 

"Yes," he yawned and half-opened his eyes.

"I bet this feels better." I whispered as I pulled the quilt back and slithered down his body until my face was level with his stiffening dick.

"Oh God....Amanda!" My husband gulped as I fed his cock into my mouth and ran my tongue across the velvety tip. "What's got into you these days?"

"You didn't used to ask," I smiled as I turned my head to face him and rapidly rubbed his shaft.

"Sorry." He apologised and sunk his head back into the pillow with a relaxed smile on his face.

I went back to my foreplay; sucking and licking his six inches of glorious manhood. Before and just after we'd been married Nigel had loved me giving him blow-jobs the longer and sloppier the better; always as a pre-cursor to a good fucking for both of us but in recent years...I guess we'd just become complacent. But tonight was going to be different I wanted to make him happy...very, very happy.

Nigel was groaning and virtually gasping as my head bobbed up and down on his thick shaft. My boobs and pussy were tingling at the thought of the mauling that they were going to get in a couple of minutes....then....

"Oooooohhhhh.....uughh!" Nigel grunted as he filled my mouth with hot sticky cum, "I'm...ooohhh....sorry sweetheart...that was...so... good...I couldn't...help myself...sorry."

I wasn't a lover of swallowing but there had been times when I'd actually craved it...if I'd been in a particularly dirty mood. But this wasn't one of them. I'd wanted to ride his cock while he clawed and bit my tits until we came in unison.

Now I was lying unfulfilled with a mouthful of spunk as he rolled onto his side, farted and said, "Thanks for that; goodnight."

I ran to the bathroom and spat his seed into the toilet then rinsed the excess out and cleaned my teeth to get rid of the taste.

As I was about to leave the bathroom I caught sight of my reflection in the full length mirror in the half-light. I still looked good for a woman my age. My tits aren't bad – quite perky for a woman my age and I have a fairly flat stomach; my legs are quite slim and when I turned to the side my arse looked pretty damn sexy.

"I'll teach you!" I angrily thought as I grabbed a shampoo bottle and pressed my back against the towel rail and opened my legs. It wasn't easy but after a couple of tentative pushes the neck of the bottle slid inside my quim.

"Ooohhh," I sighed as all 3 or 4 inches forced my hardly used pussy walls apart. In seconds my wrists were a blur as one hand rammed the shampoo bottle into my twat as my other hand frigged my clit as I stared at the reflection in the mirror.

"Ugh...ugh...ugh!" I quickly groaned as my orgasm exploded inside me like a firework display leaving me panting and tingling all over. 

The following morning I'd already had two fantastic orgasms while using my biggest dildo by the time Nigel brought me a cup of tea and some toast.

"Sorry about last night," he half-heartedly apologised. "It's been such a long time since you...you know?"

I nodded and smiled as my fingers secretly spread my pussy lips and tickled my clit under the quilt. "Maybe you'll last longer tonight." I lied to make him feel better as I slid a finger into my wet snatch.

Much to no-ones surprise we didn't get around to making love on either Saturday or Sunday night.

"Are you busy?" I asked Sean as I kicked the office door closed behind me when I took him his morning coffee.

"It's Monday...but I'll make time for you if it's important." He said with a puzzled expression on his face.

I placed our coffee on his desk, making sure that he got a good look down the front of my dress.

Grinning I stepped back against the wall and looked at the closed door then back at my handsome boss.

"Is this what you were looking for last week?" I nervously asked as I took hold of the hem of my dress and slowly lifted it up to my waist. I did a little shimmy with my hips and giggled as he stared at my stocking clad legs and pink lacy French knickers. Sean's face lit up and his eyes sparkled as he spun from side to side in his swivel chair; at the view in front of him. 

"Come here." He demanded and motioned me towards him. Still with the front of my dress in the air I did as I was told until I was standing right next to him. This was as far as I'd planned in my head; I had no idea what would happen next. 

He gently held his arms out and stroked my black Levee Dreamline hold-up stockings until he reached the red lace top.

"Jesus...Amanda," Sean gasped as his fingers ran along the lace, "it was a joke...I never thought...."

"So you like stockings do you?" I laughed nervously as one hand stroked my legs and the other hovered in front of my knickers.

"Fantastic!" He sighed as he tickled my pubic area through the lace, causing me to shiver.

With a grin on his face he slowly eased the loose leg of my knickers to one side so he could see my pubes.

"I see that you're a natural blonde!" He grinned and raised his eyebrows.

"Is that a problem?" I asked as his fingers teased my curly hairs.

He shook his head and slowly slid his finger between my legs until it was see-sawing in my damp crevice.

My heart was pounding as his finger tip gently eased past my labia and began penetrating my hole. 

When his finger was fully inside me his other hand cupped my arse cheek and he pulled me forward until I was nearly straddling him.

In seconds I was kissing him as he finger fucked me and I fucked his finger. Sean soon added a second finger and viciously twisted them both; probing parts of my sexy hole that had never ever been touched before.

I was writhing in ecstasy on top of him; probing his mouth with my tongue as he furiously rubbed my clit with the palm of his hand as his fingers curled inside my body.

What he was doing was fantastic but I needed to cum, so tried to press my clit and pussy against his hand to help bring myself off. It worked! It was the most glorious feeling in the world as I lay across my black boss' lap as he fingered me to a delightful orgasm as we snogged like furtive teenagers. Sean's phone rang, breaking our spell, but he immediately began fiddling with his belt and zip as I jumped off him and stood up straight...my mind a complete blank.

Sean looked horrified as he picked the receiver up and tentatively said 'hello'. As soon as he recognised the voice on the other end he pretended to mop his brow and feigned a huge sigh. I grinned and winked at him as I picked my coffee cup up and went back to the main office with a spring in my step.

We hardly saw each other for the rest of the day but corresponded by loads of sexy e-mails (being careful to immediately delete them after reading).




And Then He Kissed Me



I eventually agreed to meet him after work 'for a drink'. I rang my mum to say I would be late home by a couple of hours and could she keep the kids until Nigel came home.

Sean was waiting in his BMW when I left the office; as I slipped into the passenger seat he immediately lifted the hem of my dress to see my stocking tops to again.

"Stop that!" I laughed and playfully pushed his hand away, "Someone might see us."

"The way you've got me...I don't care!" he chuckled as he sped out of the car park with his hand still up my dress stroking my red lace stocking top.

As we walked into the foyer of the hotel Sean asked if I still wanted a drink.

"Not really," I anxiously whispered.

Sean signed into the hotel and took his room key from a receptionist that kept smiling at me.

Once inside the room Sean threw his bag into a wardrobe and turned to face me.

With longing in his eyes and an ever increasing bulge in his pants Sean asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"About what?" I taunted him.

He swiftly moved towards me and took me into his arms and kissed me; the most powerful kiss I'd ever had. His lips and tongue nearly sucked the life out of me. I melted into his arms as Sean pulled the zip down on the back of my dress. It took some clever manoeuvring but we managed to get it off without breaking our kiss. Sean's hands seemed to be everywhere as he stroked my legs, caressed my tits and squeezed my arse as I fondled his hard cock through his trousers.

He even managed to unhook my bra quicker and more deftly than I could manage myself. With my tits hanging free he finally broke off our kiss and bent down to suckle and lick my quivering mounds and nipples. Our breathing was now so loud and deep I'm sure everyone in the hotel could guess what we were up to.

"Sit on the bed," he panted as he tore off his tie and shirt and pushed me backwards.

As I made myself comfortable Sean stripped out of his trousers until he stood in front of me wearing just a tight pair of white Lycra boxers...which his cock was obviously straining to get out of.

My chest was heaving and my stomach tied up in knots as Sean dropped to his knees and slowly pulled my legs apart, feasting his big brown eyes on my pussy which my baggy knickers wasn't covering very well.  With his shoulders under my thighs my legs swayed in the air as Sean began kissing my stocking covered legs working his way into the middle where he began showering my hot pussy with a thousand tiny butterfly kisses. Just as I began sighing he used his nose to push my knickers to one side then buried his face into my dripping gash. His tongue and lips sucked and licked my pussy as he drank my oozing juices. My head was rolling from side to side in exact time with my hips which were grinding my pussy against his face.

There was a large mirror running along the side of the room that I couldn't take my eyes off as the vision of this handsome black man's head between my stocking-covered legs held me transfixed. When I watched him slide his fingers into my twat for the second time today I let out a little squeal of delight. 

"Ugh...ugh...ugh!" I grunted as he pumped his fingers into my hole and flicked his tongue across my aching clitoris. "Aiiiiyyyyyeeeee!" I impulsively screamed when his finger touched something deep inside and made me cum as hard as I would ever cum in my life.

The next I knew was Sean peeling my knickers off and lifting my legs onto his shoulders as he pressed his knob against my pussy entrance.  "Are you sure that you want me to do this?" Sean enquired as his cock easily parted my lips.

"Oh God...yes!" I moaned; still basking in the afterglow of my orgasm.

We stared at each for an eternity; Sean wallowing in my nakedness and me admiring his gorgeous black body. I have to admit to being a tiny bit disappointed at the size of his cock; as it stood proud and firm. I'd always been led to believe that all black men had huge dicks – 'twice the size of white men' – according to Layla in the office canteen when she was making fun of me. Sean's cock did look magnificent; darker than the rest of his skin and as smooth as a baby's bottom but roughly the same length and girth as my husband's which wasn't going to be a problem.

My boss's cock soon slid in and swelled even fatter inside my hot hole. "Oh God...Oh God!" I gasped as he slowly withdrew then plunged his cock back inside forcing my knees back until they rested on my chest.

My eyes were nearly popping out of my head because his cock was going do far inside my pussy but I knew that I couldn't take his weight for very long so contrived to get my legs from under him.

I'd never felt this horny in my life as I wrapped them around his waist and he fucked me senseless for nearly 10 minutes. I couldn't speak as I clung onto the bed and stared vacantly into the mirror watching Sean's tight arse banging his glorious cock into my pussy as he mangled and grabbed my tits as they wobbled with the severity of his fucking. The contrast of our colours – his chocolate brown and my English white; really excited me.

"Turn over for me," Sean moaned as he pulled his cock out, "let's do it doggy style now."

"Okay," I wheezed, and crawled onto my hands and knees with my married arse sexily facing my new lover.

As I shuffled back until my knees where on the edge of the bed Sean stroked my stockings and ran his hand between my legs.

"He, he, he....you're really enjoying this aren't you?" He laughed as he scooped a load of goo out of my pussy.

"Yes...yes...yes," I gasped, "its fu...fantastic."

He pulled my bum cheeks apart and nudged his cock against my floppy pussy lips. His cock felt huge as he slowly edged it deep into my pussy. I let out a huge sigh when it finally stopped and his balls slapped against my pubes.  "Are you ready??" Sean asked as he grabbed my hips.

"Yeesssss!" I gasped, "Oh yeesssss!"

He moved his hips and his cock moved back a couple of inches making me moan with pleasure.

"How do you want it?" He panted as he thrust forward nearly knocking me flat. "Yes...yes...just like that." I gasped as he suddenly thrust in and out another three times, "Hard...harder...harder!" .

I had to cling onto the bed again as Sean began hammering his cock deep and hard into my sloppy cunt; each thrust thumping his knob against my cervix. My face was now buried into the quilt as I bit it to stop myself screaming with delight as he fucked me as if it was our Wedding night!

"Huh...huh... I'm cumming," Sean grunted like a bear, "are you...on the pill?"

"Yes...but..." I whimpered but it was too late. Sean froze with his cock buried deep in my stomach and my pussy soon became very warm.

"Ooooowwwwww!" Sean wheezed, "That was soooooo....goooooooood!" Then his whole body went limp and he flopped on top of me forcing me flat onto the bed. It felt wonderful as he lightly moaned in my ear and he gasped for air to fill his depleted lungs while still gently gliding his slowly shrinking cock along my slippery love-tube.

A few moments later he gently kissed my neck and rolled off me; leaving his excess spunk to dribble out of my well fucked hole onto the bedclothes.

I rolled onto my side to look at him, making sure that my tits gently touched his sweaty chest.

I couldn't stop myself fixing my eyes on his cock. It was no longer hard and stiff but it still looked bloated as it swayed between his legs.

Tingling with excitement I gently stroked the hair on his tummy until I plucked up the courage to run my fingers through his tight curly pubes until my fingers hovered over the base of his lovely smooth black dick.

Sean lazily opened his eyes and kissed me on the tip of my nose as if to encourage me to 'go further'.

Not knowing if this was to be my one and only fuck with a black man I decided that I had nothing more to lose and ran my red fingernail along his soft shaft.

"MMMmmm," Sean purred, "I thought that you would want to run away as soon as we'd finished."

"Who said I was finished?" I smiled and wrapped my fingers around his twitching cock as I swivelled my body until my face was only six inches away from the black cock that had just been inside my white pussy. I was so close to it I could smell the love-juices that were making it glisten in the half-light. 

His ebony cock looked beautiful as I slid his fore-skin backwards and forwards; exposing then hiding his purple cockhead. Just as I opened my mouth to suck his sweaty, spunky cock I felt a guilty pang as a shaft of sunlight caught my white gold wedding and engagement rings; making the diamond twinkle on the third finger of my left hand. It was too late though...I had to taste his magnificent penis. 

His cock felt like steel covered in a velvet cloak and tasted salty and bitter as I took two or three fat inches into my mouth and swirled my tongue around the tip and his prominent veins.

Sean let out a low groan and began stroking my stockings and arse as I sucked and blew my first ever black cock. It only took a few seconds for it to twitch and fill with blood as I gobbled as much cock as I could fit into my oral cavity and I stroked, squeezed and tugged at his massive bald ball-sack.

"God Amanda;" he chuckled as his fingers played with my dripping pussy, "I haven't seen a muff as hairy as this for years."

I stopped sucking him and looked inquisitively over my shoulder without letting go of his cock with my hand.

"I thought everybody shaved these days." He grinned as he playfully pulled a handful of my blonde pubic hairs.

"I've never thought about it." I smiled, "Is it a problem?"

Sean made a funny face as if the question was too deep for him, "I prefer a shaven haven...I like to see what I'm doing and...the bald ones are smoother on my face!"

Obviously I wasn't his first lover and probably wouldn't be his last!

"I'll have to see what I can do about that then!" I giggled as I returned to sucking his stiffening black cock as he stroked my legs with one hand and lazily fingered me with the other. We stayed joined like this for nearly 10 minutes until I noticed the clock on the TV.

I kissed the tip of his dick and rolled off the bed telling Sean that I had to go home. He lounged on the bed naughtily tugging at his long black penis as I left the bathroom door open as I brushed my hair and washed my face and breasts; I then sexily floated around the room picking up my discarded clothing and got dressed.

"Well?" I asked him.

"What?" Sean replied.

"How am I getting home?" I smiled with a 'little girl lost' pout.

"Shit!" he laughed, "I got carried away with the floorshow!"

He then pulled on a pair of jogging pants from his bag and a t-shirt.

Twenty minutes later he pulled up at the bottom of my drive.

"Do I get a kiss goodbye?" Sean cheekily asked as he leant forward. "No!" I hissed as I sharply pulled away and punched him in the side.

At that moment I looked up to see Nigel waving from the kitchen window; I waved back as Sean asked, "Can I have your knickers as a keepsake then?"

"My knickers?" I looked puzzled, "what do you want them for? Oh...you dirty bugger!" I giggled.

"Can I have them?" He grinned and lifted the front of my dress.

I quickly looked around to make sure the street was empty then wriggled out of my pants and pressed them into his hand.

I jumped out of the car and ran knickerless up the drive towards my door. With a yard to go I turned for one last look at my lover. He was pretending to wipe his nose with a handkerchief but was actually sniffing the gusset of my bright pink knickers like a pervert. I was so excited as I put my key in the lock I could feel Sean's cum leaking from my pussy and running down my thighs into my stockings. Feeling very naughty; I swiftly lifted the back of my dress to give him one last flash of my naked arse and stocking tops.



...And Then, I Met Her Mother



This is a Halloween contest story. Too many readers don't vote. Please vote. I need the support of your vote.

A man falls in love with a supermodel looking woman, that is, until he meets her mother at Halloween. 

*

A year and a half after Jayne and I first started corresponding and a year after we first met last October on Halloween, having lived together six months, since May, and with it already being October again and Halloween again, it was our one year anniversary. Being that I had just popped the question and surprised her with a diamond, I was supposed to meet her mother. An understatement, especially in the way that I look compared to her, I was so nervous.

My fiancée, Jayne, looks as if she materialized from the pages of a Sports Illustrated, Swimsuit Edition magazine, photo shoot. I kid you not. Seriously she does. Honestly, she really does. 

She has the kind of hair that always looks as if it's blowing in a breeze, even when there's no wind. When you look at her face, unable to look away, lost in a sexual fantasy of fun days and hot nights. When with her, you're transported to some faraway tropical island with white, sandy beaches and crystal clear, blue water, while sipping Pina Coladas. This is the kind of women that men not only leave their wives for but also they leave their mistresses. Oh, yeah. She's that hot.

A woman that the song the Girl from Ipanema could have been written for, she has a sensually shapely body that makes men gnash their teeth and grab their genitals, whenever they see her from the front, the side, and/or the rear, especially from the rear and especially when she's wearing her barely there bikini. Then, whenever her big, blue eyes are directed at you, husbands would sell their souls for the chance to be with her and wives would threaten to cut off their penises for even looking at her. That's my Jayne, the love of my life.

"I love you, Jayne."

"I love you, Charlie."

As if in a remake of Billy Joel's Uptown Girl video, we are quite the odd couple with me looking as much like Billy Joel, as she looks like Christie Brinkley. Actually, with me looking a bit like a mutated version of a cross between Danny DeVito and Joe Pesci, I'm no Tom Brady, quarterback of the New England Patriots. Yet, when I'm with Jayne, I feel as if I'm as tall, as athletic, and as handsome as Tom Brady, while walking with Tom's supermodel wife, Gisele Bundchen.

We met on one of those online dating sites and wrote to one another exclusively for months, before exchanging photos. Compatible astrologically, an important criteria for her, from all that she wrote about herself and all that she read about me, we had so very much in common. Families, traditions, religions, hobbies, movies, music, sports, foods, and likes and dislikes, we're a perfect match. As if we were made for one another, as if it was meant that we were to be together, we were fated to be with one another. Never have I felt such a strong connection with a woman so soon before.

Admittedly, being the shallow man that I am or was, a stretch for me to write this but, honestly, after reading all that she wrote and with her hitting on so many similar interests, I truly didn't care what she looked like. Fortunately for me, hitting the jackpot big time, I never figured she'd look like a supermodel. I figured she'd look much like me, average or below average. For the first time, after having developed an online correspondence without focusing on appearance, I'm a changed man and Jayne is responsible for the man that I am today. That being said, of course, like everyone else, I'd like to plant my seed, propagate the planet, and have children one day.

Specifically looking for a woman that comes from good stock, since I didn't start out my life that way, held back by my below average looks and inferior intelligence, what I failed to accomplish in my life, I hoped my children would succeed at doing. If I can give my children an edge by improving their genetic code and jumpstarting their lives by supercharging their DNA in picking them a mother, who is genetically superior, one that comes from a family that has had generations of superior genes, then that's even better. Jayne was my potential candidate. 

So long as Jayne has good genes, from the connection we made through our hundreds of daily and nightly e-mail correspondences, a bigger man than I thought I was and ever could be, I was willing to accept her more for who she was on the inside than how she looked on the outside. With stars in my eyes, without having even met and without having even seen a picture of her, falling head over heels, I was already in love with my female correspondent and she confessed the same to me.

"I love you, Charlie."

"I love you, Jayne."

Not totally blindsided, we briefly described what we looked like to one another, of course. Yet, from the image that I received of her from her description, she sounded too much like a Baywatch Babe. Where others, when they step in shit, come up smelling like a rose, when I step in shit, neck deep in it, I always smell like shit. Truth be told, I didn't believe her description for a second.

Too good to be true by her description of herself, even though we were just corresponding, haven't yet met or exchanged photos, the thought that someone, who I imagined looked like her, would be interested in someone who looked like me, was cockeyed and crazy. Seemingly too good to be true, to be honest, the attraction didn't add up, especially after I bit the bullet and reluctantly and ashamedly described myself to her, 5'7" short, 200 pounds heavy, give or take 20 pounds, mostly give, and bald. Looking much like a short and heavier version of Homer Simpson, other than a Booby prize, I was no one's prize.

"Wow!"

Knowing it wasn't true, figuring she was just exaggerating and painting a picture of someone else, a girlfriend, perhaps, just as I wanted to do with my description, but didn't, she probably assumed, just as I did, that we'd never meet in person. Nonetheless, with the image that I had of her, I spent many sleepless nights with my hand firmly around my cock, while masturbating and fantasizing about her looking exactly as she described herself. Just once, I'd love to get a hot girlfriend.

"Oh, my God, if only she looked like that. Oh, my God, if only I was taller, thinner, and had hair."

Then, when she finally sent me her photo, a photo of her beautiful face and her shapely body in a barely there blue bikini, I couldn't believe my eyes. Shocked is an understatement. I was stunned. Stunningly beautiful, she was absolutely drop dead gorgeous.

Now, sadly, knowing this bathing beauty wasn't her, if only it was her, I was filled with lustful desire and a sexual excitement I had never known for an imagined supermodel that, no doubt, wasn't Jayne. If only, just once in my life, I could get lucky and grab hold of that brass ring to catch myself a real American beauty, I'd be the happiest man in the world. Only, having learned to stick to my lot, I was, no doubt, doomed to marry an average or below average looking women, someone who would birth me plain looking children that looked much like the both of us, unfortunately.

"God help me. Wanting to end the cycle of ordinariness, I want to break the dumb and ugly mold. Not fair to me or to my future children, I didn't want to continue down the path of below average and have ordinary, dumb, and ugly children."

Just once, I'd like to break out of my strikeout cycle with a homerun, even an in the park homerun. It doesn't have to be a high flying, out of the park homerun, so long as I can run around all the bases and make it to home, before I'm thrown out by some handsome outfielder, who looks like Johnny Damon of the Tampa Bay Rays. It doesn't even have to be a grand slam. At this point in my life, I'd even take a cheap single, so long as I scored."

"Yeah, right, the little engine that couldn't, I'm infamously known as the Little League strikeout king. In more than 100 at bats, I've never even so much as hit a foul tip. Why I'd hope to hit a homerun now, is beyond me?" 

Already having established a track record with all the plain, mean, miserable, and bitchy girlfriends I've had in the past, there's just no way I'd hit the jackpot to have a hot girlfriend who looked like the photo that Jayne sent me and purported to be of her. Truth be told and chagrined to admit it, but someone like her coming into my life never happens to someone like me. A real loser, someone like me is more apt to be struck by lightning than to win the lottery and/or to have a hot girlfriend who looks like Jayne supposedly looks.

Unfortunately born to live an ordinary life and enjoy nothing better than status quo, I'd never get this lucky to have someone like her, not in a million years. Truth be told, knowing full well that she didn't look like that, I never believed the photo was really her. Truth be told, wishing she really looked like the bikini clad photo she sent me, yet knowing she didn't, I took her photo as the joke that I thought it was and laughed.

"Ha! Ha!"

I laughed, that is, until I cried. I was sad, so very sad that I wasn't tall, witty, and good looking. We had been hitting it off so well in all our numerous daily correspondences and even started talking on the phone, and now, by that appearance of a fake photo, I questioned everything she had written and said to me as a lie or an exaggeration. Why couldn't she be as honest with me with her appearance as I was with her with my appearance? For sure, after describing myself to her, the fact that she knows what I look like proves to me that she doesn't look like her photo. If she looked anything like her photo, she'd never want to be with someone who looked like me. 

For sure, without doubt, if I were to merely judge her by her phony photo, she looked too much like a supermodel in that fake picture. Knowing people always lie on those dating sites about what they look like, how old they are, and how much they weigh, knowing she was lying, exaggerating, and/or kidding me, too, about her looks, I was disappointed that she didn't trust me enough to send me her real photo. Excited seeing her photo but disappointed that the photo wasn't her, I figured she looked much like me, short, overweight, and not very good looking.

Nonetheless, because we wrote for months, more attracted to who she was inside, for once, I really didn't care what she looked like. Maybe my children will have better luck improving their lot by finding someone more superior to them in every way than I did. With our heads down and our noses to the grindstone, maybe people like me are just doomed and destine to continue down the same ordinary low road in life drinking coffee and eating toast, while the beautiful people shoot for the stars and walk on the unreachable high road of life sipping champagne and eating caviar.

Looking a bit like George Constanza from Seinfeld and figuring she'd relent and send me her real photo, once she saw my ugly puss and pudgy body, I sent her my real photo and not a phony one. When and if we met finally, I didn't want her to think that I was trying to deceive her. Taking a chance by being honest and forthcoming, I wanted her to like me for the man I truly was, pot belly, bald head, bad teeth, and all.

By sending her my real photo, I wanted her to know that everything that I had written was the truth, instead of an exaggerated lie, which is what I've done before with every woman I met online. Knowing we'd never meet, just hoping the women that I corresponded with would send me topless and/or naked photos of themselves, when corresponding with a woman online before Jayne, I was always taller, better looking, and had a high paying career.

Even though I figured the photo she sent me wasn't really her, when I saw her in that bikini, just in case it really was her, not wanting to embarrass her by being seen with me, I joined a gym the next day and started working out faithfully. If I couldn't change my face, if I couldn't get any taller, maybe I could improve my body. Imagining, fantasizing actually, Jayne looking like her photo, but knowing she didn't, never have I seen a woman more beautiful, as I did in the phony photo she sent me. God, if only she resembled that photo somewhat, I'd be a happy man. Then, when I finally met her, stunned, she was all that she was in person that she was in that photo she sent me and more.

"Oh, my God. That really was her photo. Be still my heart."

Now, six months later, to think that she's with me and wants to marry me, I pinch myself every morning I wake up in bed with her beside me. My wildest dream come true, a surreal sexual fantasy, I never could have imagined, the thought of what's wrong with this picture, while waiting for the other shoe to fall, constantly goes through my mind. When standing in front of a mirror with her by my side or when I see our reflection in the glass of a department store window on the street, the stark contrast of appearances are shockingly obvious to me, as they are, no doubt, to everyone else. She's so beautiful and I'm so hideous.

Women who look like her aren't supposed to be attracted to guys who look like me. Unless I was a rich, rock star, women who look like her never marry guys who look like me. Look around, just as it doesn't make sense, it just doesn't happen. For someone who looks like her to get with someone who looks like me, not only would she have to be blind but also dumb, very dumb.

No matter how the rest of the world perceives us as a couple, every time I'm with her, I feel six inches taller, fifty pounds lighter, somehow more muscular, smarter, quicker witted, and have millions of dollars squirreled away in secret Swiss bank accounts. Every time I kiss her, I'm floating on a Heavenly cloud of bliss. Every time I make love to her, even in my wildest sexual fantasy, did I ever imagine bedding a woman as beautiful and with such an absolute sexy body as has Jayne. For her to ignore my so very average appearing outside package and be in love with the person I am inside, she's a better person than me. If I died today, I'd be happy that Jayne has been part of my life.

With her lush, blonde hair and her long, shapely legs, whoever thought of the word, sexy, was envisioning her. To be honest, a puzzle that I don't bother pondering the solution, a riddle I hope I never decipher, and a question that I need not know the answer, I don't know why she's with me. To be honest, I don't care why she's with me, so long as she is.

Still, I don't get it. I'm not rich. I'm not even good looking. I don't even have a high paying job. If I had to use a word to describe myself, aside from being short, fat, and bald, ashamed to admit it, I'm shallow. That's me alright, shallow Charlie. One dimensional, small minded, trivial, and not very deep, yet, being with Jayne has made me a better man.

Everything was perfect, better than perfect, that is, until I was invited over her house to attend her mother's annual Halloween party. A big, family tradition, Halloween is her mother's favorite holiday. She decorates the whole house with ghosts and goblins and has plenty of festive foods on hand, such as green and orange frosted homemade cupcakes, a pumpkin cake with chocolate spider web looking frosting, cookies fashioned in witches, monsters, and plenty of Halloween candies. Figuring Jayne was genetically perfected over generations of Scandinavian types, figuring her mother would look the same, albeit an older version of how Heidi Klum, no doubt, will look in twenty or thirty years, I was eager to meet her mother. Boy was I surprised, stunned actually.

"Hello," she rasped between cigarette puffs. "I'm Edna and you must be Charles," she said blowing a long, lingering cloud of blue cigarette smoke in my face that somehow improved her looks.

"Charlie," I said. "Please call me, Charlie. I'm so pleased to meet you, Edna," I said taking a cautious step back instead of taking a friendly step forward.

I wanted to put out my hand to shake her hand but she was holding a drink in one and a cigarette in the other. Not looking as if she was going to put down her drink or extinguish her cigarette for the sake of shaking my hand, I just smiled. Being that she was Jayne's mother, wanting to make a good impression, just as I wanted her to like me, I wanted to like her. I really did want to like her but, being such an odd looking, gnome like woman, with a blockish figure, she was nothing as I had expected. 

"Jayne has told me all about you," she said giving me the eye, not sexually, but with an obvious and disconcerting look of disappointment. She looked from me to Jayne and back to me, before stating her criticism. "I thought you'd be taller," she said, "and better looking."

Suddenly, I felt much shorter than my 5'7" frame. With the happy mask of love concealing my less than average looks, I felt unmasked. Exposed, for the loser that I am, I felt so naked. Suddenly, I felt out of my league with Jayne. Someone who looked like her, deserved someone better than me.

If her Momzilla of a mother didn't like me, a real curmudgeon herself, I was in trouble. Hoping to pave the way to a safer ground in changing her perception of me, I made light of an uncomfortable situation to show her that I can roll with the blows. I persevered with a bit of humor. 

"At six foot tall, Jayne has height enough for both of us. As far as looks goes, no man or woman can compete with Jayne. She's a real stunner," I said laughing.

She didn't think my attempt at humor was funny. With her standing barely as tall as my shoulder, as if I was talking in a foreign language that she didn't speak and/or understand, she looked up at me and stared, while sipping her drink and smoking her cigarette. Oh, boy, if her mother didn't like me, I was in trouble.

Being that at my short 5'7" height, I dwarfed her diminutive height, her mother shouldn't talk about height, when she was barely 5'0" tall. If I had a tape measure handy, I bet she wouldn't hit the 4'10" mark. With that one remark, her mother made me feel not worthy of her daughter. Suddenly, I felt embarrassed standing next to Jayne. In heels and with her hair up, she looked to be 6'5" tall.

"I'm just thinking about the children, my grandchildren, you'll be giving my daughter," she said inhaling her cigarette and blowing out more smoke in my direction. "I rather they not turn out looking like me...or like you," she said with a mean look, a horrible laugh, and a vulgar snort. 

"No kidding," I inadvertently blurted.

Figuring and hoping my kids would look more like their mother than their father, and now that I met her, definitely not like their grandmother, I never considered that the our children would look anything like me. Oh, boy, beginning to perspire under Edna's inspection, I'm in trouble here. Just as I didn't like her mother, it's obvious that she didn't like me either. Now what? When I'm older and sexually frustrated, when Jayne no longer pays me the sexual attention that I need in bed, I won't be writing any mother stories on Literotica about Edna. That's for damn sure.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I work in a supermarket," I said proud of my job before and suddenly feeling disappointed about my career choice now.

"You bag groceries? You're kidding. Is that what you do? You're a bag boy?"

Being that it was Halloween and the decorations she had in her house were spooky, expecting her to pull out a knife and stab me to death, she gave me the hairy eyeball look.

"No, I don't bag groceries," I said with a laugh, even though I have bagged groceries, when the market is busy and/or we're shorthanded. "I'm in management," I said puffing out my chest knowing full well that I was just a stock clerk.




...And Then, I Met Her Mother



Maybe because it was Halloween night that the mood was so uncomfortable. Maybe a full moon may have explained some of the strained feelings that we had between my future mother and her future son-in-law, but there wasn't a full moon. Maybe because the lights were turned down low for an eerie atmosphere for the trick or treaters that still came to the front door, but I had to look hard at Edna's face to discern if she was wearing a mask. I was frightened to see that she wasn't. Who was she to talk, when that was her real face, big nose, crooked mouth, bad teeth, and moles and all?

How could a woman so short, so overweight, so butt ugly, and so opposite in physical appearance, have a daughter that looked like Jayne? That was as much a mystery to me as why Jayne would want to be with me in the first place. Hopefully, maybe Jayne got her DNA from her deceased Dad, Theodore, but I discounted that, when I saw his photo hanging on the wall. He was a hairy, little man that resembled the elf, Dobby, from Harry Potter.

God help me. After meeting her Mom and seeing her Dad's photo, it suddenly occurred to me that maybe Jayne is the one hoping to better the DNA of her children by hooking up with someone like me. Suddenly, I somehow felt taller and better looking, especially when standing next to Edna.

Maybe her good looks skipped a generation and her grandparents were the ones responsible for her beauty, but I discounted that, too, when Jayne showed me family photos of her grandparents. Monstrous looking people, I said a silent pray for Saint Michael to protect me, while in her house and looking at her family photos. What was I getting myself into here with this strange family that now reminded me of the Addams family?

Looking from her mother to my fiancée, I wondered if Jayne had work done. Her mother had long, stringy, mousey brown hair that was nothing like her daughter's long, lush blonde hair. Having already had sex with Jayne, I knew she was a natural blonde. Maybe Jayne was wearing hair extensions, but having put my fingers through her hair enough times, while she was sucking my cock, I'd know if she had hair extensions. She didn't.

With her mother's big honk of a nose, wrinkled brow, bad skin, and a protruding chin that rivaled the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz, maybe Jayne had a few plastic surgery procedures. Perhaps, she had a nose job, Botox injections, a tummy tuck, or cheek and chin implants. Yet, after seeing all of her childhood photos, she looks the same now, as she looked than, only taller, shapelier, and more beautiful.

Shorter and more rotund, her mother, Edna, looked how Rosanne Barr used to look, only worse, and with a touch of Phyllis Diller and Ruth Buzzi thrown in the mix, along with a extra big dash of Supreme Court Justice, Ruth Bader Ginsberg. Oh, my God, Edna was as homely as Jayne was beautiful. With a face only a mother could love and a body only admired by a pig farmer, sharing Edna's concern, I was suddenly worried what our future children would look like her, too.

Would they look like Edna or would they look like Jayne? Should I take the chance and roll the dice to spend my life with Jayne knowing one day, when I wake up beside her in bed that she'll (gulp) look like her mother? God help me. Or her father? God help me. No! For the sake of my children, for the sake of my future generations, and for the sake of me, I had to somehow preserve my ancestral line by not taking a step backwards to the Neanderthal evolutionary stage.

Never considering myself much of a gambler or one known to throw caution to the wind, I decided to break off our engagement right then and there. Just as how I'm so proud now to be seen with my beautiful and shapely girlfriend, I'd be so embarrassed for anyone to see me with those monster babies that I'd, no doubt, have with Jayne. Children that should not be allowed out of the attic, the closet, or the basement, I imagined having to cage them up like wild animals for fear that they'd kill someone and eat their dead bodies.

With twins running on both sides of our families, after Edna showed me photos of her twin sons, Dwayne and Wayne, men who grew up to be even homelier than their baby photos and more horrible looking than her and Theodore combined, I pictured myself pushing a baby carriage with babies that were a cross between Edna, Theodore, Dwayne, and Wayne. God help me. Rather than go down that nightmarish road of having monstrous children, even if my sexy woman is an eleven on a scale of ten, I decided to end our engagement.

"The wedding is off!"

Being the insensitive, shallow man that I am and, no doubt, always will be, I didn't have the guts to tell Jayne how I felt in person about meeting her family and the reason why I was calling off the engagement. Instead, I asked her for her engagement ring back, a quarter carat rock that I saved for nearly a year to buy, on the pretense that I wanted to have it engraved. Then, when she called and texted me, I didn't return her phone calls, texts, and/or her ring. 

"I don't understand, Charlie? Why aren't you returning my calls. I thought you loved me."

The message she left on my home phone made me feel bad, but not bad enough to return her call and give her an explanation, and certainly not bad enough to give her back her engagement ring and get back with her. We were done. After meeting her mother, there was just no way that I wanted Edna in my life, even if it meant breaking up with her daughter. I had to think of my future children.

A doomed venture in genetics, the impending marriage was off. As a couple, after meeting her mother, our life together was over, before it even began. Now, no doubt because of her freakish family, I knew why Jayne, as strikingly beautiful as she was, wasn't married. 

Searching back on the Internet, it didn't take me long to find a new girlfriend, Rosemary, a sweet girl, but not as beautiful as Jayne. No one is as beautiful as Jayne. Yet, Rosemary has a good personality, a nice smile, and she can cook, where Jayne never learned how to cook for fear of breaking her nails.

Yet, even when I was with Rosemary in bed, I couldn't help myself from thinking of Jayne. Where Jayne was shapely, Rosemary was a bit stocky. Where Jayne was beautiful, Rosemary was, at best, average. Yet, my life turned for the better, when I met Rosemary's mother, Julie. It was then and there that I knew I had made the right decision to dump Jayne in favor of Rosemary.

"Oh, my God! Her mother was so very beautiful. What an absolute MILF!"

Rosemary's mother, a doctor, was as tall as Rosemary was short. She was as shapely as Rosemary was chubby. A cross between having the body of Angie Dickerson and the face of Katherine Zeta Jones, if Rosemary turned out to look anything like her mother later in life, I'd be a lucky and happy man. Then, when I met her father, Hank, a scientist, who looked like a carbon copy of Robert Redford in his prime, I was assured I had made the right decision. More importantly, I could only imagine the beautiful children we'd have. I could see our children being models, movie stars, and/or brain surgeons.

As fate has a way of spoiling my happiness, just when I thought my world was complete and perfect, I ran into Jayne flashing a two carat engagement ring, along with her new man. As tall as she was, he had shoulders wider than two of me. With a big smile as engaging as was his positive personality, he made me want to be his friend.

"Hi, Jayne," I said. "How are you?"

"Happy," she said coldly with a stare that made me feel as if I was floating on an iceberg.

"This is Rosemary, my fiancée," I said turning to look at Rosemary. When seeing the two women together, as if seeing Rosemary for the first time, she sure was no Jayne. Oh, my God, for the sake of my perceived children, I hope I hadn't made a terrible mistake.

Jayne gave her a look and I knew what she was thinking, without her verbalizing it. Why be with her, when you were with someone like me? Why have fatty hamburger, when you could have had tender filet mignon? Why have fried, dried out fish, when you could have feasted on succulent lobster for the rest of your life?

Difficult to stay positive at a time like this, difficult to know if I had made the right decision in cutting Jayne lose and setting her free in exchange for Rosemary, I felt better when I imagine a brood of children, as good looking and as intelligent as Rosemary's mother, Julie, and father, Hank.

"Why? Just answer me that, Charlie," she said. "I deserve to know why you called off our engagement."

"It wasn't you, Jayne," I said feeling so much like the cad that I was.

Only, I had to think of my future children. The decision that I had made now would affect generations later. A selfless act on my part to give up my dream, sexual fantasy woman for the sake of my children's children, for once, being so smart and selfless, I felt good about myself.

"What was it then? Why, Charlie? Why did you breakup with me? I don't understand. I thought you loved me."

"I did love you, Jayne," and still do, I wanted to say, after seeing her again and seeing how truly beautiful she is. "I assure you that it wasn't you."

"If it wasn't me, why then? I don't understand, Charlie."

"After I met your mother, saw a photo of your father, then saw photos of your identical twin brothers, Dwayne and Wayne, and more photos of your grandparents, well, I could only imagined our children looking like a mutated combination of Edna, Theodore, Dwayne, and Wayne. I'm sorry, Jayne, I really am, but I had to think of my children and my children's children. Knowing how it feels going through life looking like me, I couldn't bear having my children face the same fate, only worse, looking like your family."

Because she was so damn beautiful and because I still had strong feelings of love and sexual desire for her, unable to look at her, I looked away from her and looked down at my feet.

"I'm adopted, you moron," she said walking away.

Adopted? Adopted? Adopted! The word echoed through my mind endlessly. Feeling much like the fool that I was, I wish I had thought that she may have been adopted. Duh! How could I not have thought that she was adopted. I am a moron.

As if I was suddenly thrown in a tunnel at high speed, my vision narrowed. As if I was recklessly driving drunk at high speed in a car that didn't have an airbag, a seatbelt, or brakes, I was out of control and out of my mind. I watched my supermodel ex-girlfriend, the women I so loved, wanted, and desired leave for the sake of our children. Had I not found Rosemary, the hope for carbon copy of her mother, Julie, and her father, Hank, I would have been devastated.

Thankfully thinking how much my sons would look like their tall, handsome, intelligent grandfather, Hank, I took comfort and solace in the fact that my daughter would be as beautiful as her beautiful and intelligent grandmother, Julie. Better that I sacrifice now for the future of my children later. Better that I exchange Jayne for Rosemary knowing that in the long run, my decision will pay off in spades.

Then, I thought, what if, no, that's not possible, hardly probably, a definite long shot. Never much of a gambler, what would be the odds of that? Nonetheless, I needed to make sure. I needed to know. I needed to ask Rosemary the question.

"Rosemary," I said. "I know this may sound like an odd question and I apologize in advance for asking it, but is Julie your real mother?"

"My real mother? Yes. Of course, she's my only mother," said Rosemary with a sad smile.

Relieved that I had made the right decision, I took her hand in mine and kissed her.

"Good," I said satisfied that my children's heritage was preserved for the sake of my selfless sacrifice.

"I love her, as if she was my natural mother?"

"Natural mother?" Knowing immediately what she meant but not believing my ears, I had to be sure. I had to hear it from her lips. "What do you mean, natural mother?"

"Just as Jayne was, I was adopted, too," she said.

As if my brain had caught fire, as if there was an explosion inside my chest, as if I had just won a one hundred million dollar lottery but lost the ticket, it was then all that I had given up and missed out on for the sake of my children hit me in the way of a baseball bat to the back of my head. Now what? What now? What do I tell my children now? I imagined myself showing my children Jayne's photo.

"This is the woman you were supposed to look like, had I not lost my mind and dumped my supermodel girlfriend, Jayne, and married your mother, Rosemary."

As if my life was suddenly flushed down a drain, I imagined my babies looking exactly like Rosemary, short, not very good looking, and dumpy. I imagined the beautiful children that I may have had with Jayne, tall, beautiful, and well built. Not really caring about Rosemary, only wanting her for the children that I thought she could give me, I ran through the mall.

"Jayne! Jayne! Come back!" In the way that little Joey called after Alan Ladd in Shane, I ran through every store looking for her. "Jayne! Come back! I was only kidding! It was just a stupid Halloween joke, when I dumped you on Halloween! Trick or treat! Trick or treat! Jayne! I love you!"

*

This is a Halloween contest story and I need the support of your vote. Please vote. Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading, voting for, and/or making a comment on my story.



...And Then, I Met Her Sister



This is a Valentine's Day contest story. Please vote.

*

A Valentine's Day surprise, a man meets a woman online but falls for her sister.

I'm an older man and new to the technological age of the Internet dating scene. After my wife died, my son, Anthony, and daughter, Emily, pressured me to find a girlfriend. My kids didn't push me right away, of course, but it had been five years, since the sudden and untimely death of their mother. They became concerned when they started seeing some negative changes in me and in my mood because I was saddened, alone, and lonely.

"I'm too old for a girlfriend," I protested. "What woman would want me? Look at me," I said looking in the mirror. "I'm old. I have bags under my eyes, jowls, and half the hair I used to have. I'm half the man I used to be."

"Dad," said my daughter Emily. "You haven't been the same, since Mom died. You don't go out and have fun anymore. You just sit at home watching TV and tinkering in your workshop. The house is a mess and every time I come to visit, I feel compelled to clean and do your laundry. Besides, you don't eat right and you're losing weight. You don't have a decent meal, unless you come to my house or Anthony's house and we cook for you."

"I have breakfast every morning?"

"What do you have for breakfast, Dad," said Emily persevering.

"Toast and coffee."

"What about protein, Dad?"

"I make stuff in the microwave," I said defending my poor diet.

"Stuff? What stuff? Soup out of a can and TV dinners don't appear anywhere on the nutritional pyramid, Daddy."

Every time she calls me Daddy, she brings back memories of her as a little girl and how happy she was to see me, when I came home from work.

'Daddy!'

Where did the years go? From working too many long hours, I feel as though I lost twenty important years of my life, those years watching my children grow. And now look at them. They're not kids anymore. Now that my wife is not here to spend the rest of my life with me, what was it all for, when I'm home alone and feeling so lonely? No one should be alone but I was growing accustomed to having my little routine without having someone there to nag me to do stuff that I don't want to do.

Maybe I should get a dog. I like dogs. I haven't had a dog in years. Dogs are good companionship. We can go for walks in the dog park and maybe I'll meet someone there, I thought to myself, knowing that I'd never get a dog to meet anyone at the dog park.

"I was married to your mother for almost 30 years," I said suddenly thinking of Margaret, hearing her voice, and almost seeing her. "She did all the cooking. Now, if Ronald McDonald, the Colonel, Angelo's Pizza, or Mr. Wong doesn't cook my food, whatever I can make in a microwave, the toaster, or eat raw is what I eat. Besides, along with everything else, I don't have much of an appetite for food these days. I'm depressed. No one would want me."

Margaret was never the same after her hip replacement surgery. After she recovered, she said it hurt to walk, so she didn't and then sometime during the night, she had a blood clot that went to her heart. She died peacefully in her sleep, I like to believe. I knew right away, when I woke up to her so cold, so blue, and so stiff that she was gone.

I should have sued the hospital for allowing her to come home too soon. I should have sued the doctor for killing her, but I was too out of my mind with grief to want to go through with any of those legal entanglements and civil aggravation. Besides, they insisted, since she died a month after the surgery, that the blood clot wasn't from the surgery, my ass, but from her medication that she stopped taking because of the headaches it gave her.

"Dad, you should see the guys out there, bald, toothless, and overweight. Compared to them, you're the six million dollar man. Trust me. You look good. If I was your age and not your daughter, I'd date you," she said with a laugh.

"Kinky," said Anthony.

"Shut up," said Emily.

Some things never change, even though Anthony just turned twenty-eight and Emily is twenty-six, they both still bicker in the way they used to do as children. Anthony thought he was funny. He enjoys sitting down at the piano and playing background music to all our conversations, in the way they used to do with the silent movies of old. Sometimes it's really funny, but most times, it's just annoying. Still, sometimes, with us laughing over the songs he picks, he breaks the tension enough with his comedic piano playing to assuage an argument.

"Thanks, Em, but no one can replace your mother. I'm too old to start a relationship with a woman now."

"Of course, no one can replace Mom," chimed in Anthony, while playing music set to all that we were saying, first something light, and then as my perceived and imagined romantic romance blossomed to sex with my potential new girlfriend, he changed his music to something haughtily heavy. "Start off with friendship, someone to go out for lunch, bowling, or to see a movie. You never know what may happen next. You may even get lucky," he said with a laugh, while playing striptease music.

"Eww, Anthony. Gross. What's wrong with you? Dad's not interested in sex," she said giving her brother a dirty look and lightly slapping him across the back of his head. "He's all done with sex. He's too old for all that nonsense. He's just looking for companionship. Right Daddy?"

When Emily looked back at me, she almost caught me winking and giving the high five sign to my son. Instead she saw me sorrowfully shaking my head and agreeing with her that I wasn't interested in sex, that I was too old for sex, and that I was done with all of that nonsense. Gees, I'm a widower. I'm not dead.

Unless I'm infirmed and drooling all over myself, I'll never be too old for sex. If an attractive woman my age offered me some naked, under the cover hanky panky, I'd be crazy to say no. That's the companionship that I need and want. Matter of fact, still able to drive at night and get an erection, I'll be a big hit with the ladies in the nursing home in fifteen years.

Not much of a computer geek, my children spent the rest of their visit signing me up for one of those online dating sites. They helped me to write a profile and took my photo to download that on my page. They even gave me a separate e-mail account.

Just like that, no more bars, no more blind dates, no more friends having me over to dinner to meet their widowed cousin or an old maid friend, while making polite, albeit uncomfortable conversation. Now, a man with the times, I was surfing the net. I was out there, really out there looking for love, romance, companionship, and sex on the worldwide web. Holy mackerel.

"Oh, my God. Sorry Margaret," I said under my breath, before saying a prayer for her departed soul to make it to Heaven.

As soon as my profile posted, it read 'new' in the headline for all the available women to see that I was fresh meat and to come and get me, and to come to get me they did. Where did all these available woman come from? I had no idea. There were dozens of them looking at and reading my profile because every time someone looked at me, their picture and profile posted in my box, under the heading of those who viewed me. 

Within the first hour, I had dozens of views and several replies. After the first day, I had more than a two hundred views and two dozen replies. After that first week, I received nearly one hundred e-mails, solicitations, and offers to meet. Wow.

This Internet dating is so immediate. This Internet dating is alright. I still have it. Only, now, I was faced with wading through too many available women to find the right one. Only, how do I know which is the right one for me?

It was easier when I was a teenager. Typically a girl I liked in class, I'd take her to the drive-in Saturday night and make out with her, while trying to reach first base. Now, having not played the game in so long, I had no idea what the rules were.

After the smoke cleared and I had time to sit down and read all that was sent to me, there was one woman, who caught my interest. She was wicked pretty. Her name was Trudy, short for Gertrude, I imagined. I liked the name Trudy, but not so much the name Gertrude. She was a 5'6", pretty blonde with a few extra pounds, which is how she described herself.

Margaret was always heavy and I was never the type looking for a Barbie doll, although I'd never turn one down, if Kim Basinger was suddenly in my e-mail box looking for love and romance, now that she dumped her husband, Alex Baldwin. Or if Christie Brinkley contacted me, now that she divorced her 4th husband, after he was caught paying a teenaged lover to have sex with him, I wouldn't mind having her as a hot girlfriend. Always attracted to Diane Sawyer, I imagined Trudy being my Kim Basinger, Christie Brinkley, and Diane Sawyer all rolled into one. 

Only, for sure, I was setting myself up for failure, as no woman could ever fulfill my fantasy of being with any of those women, never mind all three of them. Moreover, no woman could ever take the place of Margaret. Still, a guy can dream, can't he?

After exhaustingly exchanging e-mail information about ourselves and talking on the phone a few times, Trudy agreed to meet me on Sunday. Appropriately and symbolically for both of us looking for love, romance, and companionship, our first meeting was the day before Valentine's Day. She asked me to her house for coffee and homemade cake.

I was so nervous. I didn't even know what to wear. Should I wear a jacket and tie or something more casual? I decided to go with a nice pair of corduroy slacks, a button down shirt, and a wool sweater with a light jacket, along with my matching Polo cap.

Not much of a beer drinker and not possessing the beer belly that all my friends have, after getting a good night's sleep the night before, with the bags under my eyes nearly gone, I looked pretty good for a middle-aged man. To enhance my image and the sudden playboy that I had imagined I had become, I only wished I had a sports car, a convertible, a Mazda Miata or a Ford Mustang, to drive there to impress her with, instead of my ten-year-old Buick sedan. Maybe it's time I made some real changes in my life. Maybe it's time for a new car, a brand new Buick.

Since Valentine's Day was the very next day, Monday, I bought Trudy a rose and a Valentine's Day card. The Valentine's Day card was more of a friendship card and a funnier card than it was a romantic one. It had the picture of a dog on the front and since I knew she had a dog, I figured the card would help to break the ice. If nothing else, if our first meeting didn't go well, maybe the dog would like the card and pee on it, after I left.

I wanted to buy her a dozen roses, but I felt that may be overkill and be setting myself up to look like the big spender that I wasn't. Besides, what if we didn't connect? What if we got along over the net, but we didn't connect in person? What if she didn't like me because, I dunno, I had a habit of tapping my foot, when nervous, and what if I didn't like her because, I dunno, she snorted every time she laughed, or because of some other annoying idiosyncrasy one had that the other hated?

Then, I thought about Margaret and started comparing Trudy to her, which was wrong to do. What if she was nothing like Margaret? Chances are she'd be nothing like Margaret. What if she just wanted me for sex? Well, assuredly so, that last part would be okay with me, at least, in the beginning, as it's been a long while since I had sex last. Yet, there would have to be more of a connection for our relationship to last than just sex. At this stage in my life, I'm looking more for companionship than sex. 

With Margaret needing a new hip and never recovering from the operation, it's been years, since I've had intimate relations with a woman. Even before her hip replacement, she was never very sexual. We rarely had sex, once we aged past our late forties. Now that I think about it, I haven't so much as kissed another woman, other than Margaret in more than 30 years. Never sexually used or physically abused, I've never been one just to be wanted just for sex. I'm no George Clooney, Mel Gibson, or Bruce Willis. I'm just me, Mr. Average.

It was a different time back then, when I was single, footloose, and fancy free. Now, after the scare of AIDs diminished, sex is everywhere, even more than it was during the sexual revolution of the sixties. With cable TV and pay-for-view, they have more sexual orientated television shows than they had in the movies during my day. Everything today is sex. 

Still, it would be quite a refreshing change at my age, if some woman wanted to use and abuse my body, just for the sake of having hot sex. I'd have something to tell my friends about at the local bar, which I wouldn't do anyway. I'd never kiss and tell. Still, it would be fun to feel that I was wanted and lusted over again, while spending time with a woman.

Trudy lived nearly an hour away from me at the most southern part of Connecticut. It was a pleasant drive, since I had never been that far down Connecticut before. Her house was right on the coastline. With Connecticut being the richest state in the country, the most southern tip is where all the really rich people live. As soon as I turned off the highway, I started seeing houses that were much better than my house and when more closely following my GPS is when I started seeing hints of mansions. 

She lived so close to the ocean that I could see Manhattan across the way. New York was just a few minutes ferry ride. Wow. It was such an idyllic community. Everything was so clean and new. It reminded me of Disney World.

The mansions were hidden by shrubbery and trees and, because the large houses were on such large lots, set back from the road, they were concealed from view from the road by mature trees. Still, I knew they were there. I was impressed and I couldn't help but wonder if she was a rich widow. This looked like quite the exclusive community, even more exclusive that those homes that surround the golf course, a mile from where I live. These homes make those homes look like slums, which means that these homes made my small house look even worse than a slum. 

Having lived in a racially mixed community all my life, I couldn't help but notice that I didn't see a person of color. It was just all white people, mostly middle-aged white people my age. I never saw so many BMW's, Mercedes, and Porsches in my life. Then, as I drove closer to the ocean, I started seeing the really expensive cars, Ferrari, Lamborghini, Bentley, Rolls Royce, and Aston Martin. I was getting a rubberneck from quickly turning to look at an exclusive car that sped past me. High priced luxury and sports cars were as plentiful here as Honda Civics and Toyota Camry's were where I live.

She mentioned that her late husband was a General Electric scientist, but I never knew scientists made this kind of money to afford to live down here. Maybe he invented something. Then, I remembered that GE owns NBC. With a hop, skip, and a ferry ride from Connecticut to New York, I figured celebrities lived down here to be close to the NBC set and New York, too. I wondered if she knew any celebrities. Then, when driving through the center of their small town, I started seeing some. Isn't that Jose Feliciano, walking with that woman? Gees, that looks like Carrie Fisher. And isn't that Joanne Woodward? Isn't that what's his name, one of the Rolling Stones? No way!

I pulled up to her house. It wasn't a mansion but, with a manicured lawn out front, it was a big house, bigger and much more expensive looking than my four bedroom ranch, for sure. She had a dog, an Irish Setter, and the dog was first to greet me at the door. I like dogs and he was really friendly.

"Down Redford," she said, when opening her door and seeing me squatting down to pat the dog and the dog jumping on me and licking my face. "I thought you'd be taller," she said with a laugh.

"I am," I said standing and we both laughed over her wit.

"How are you, Trudy? It's a pleasure to meet you," I said handing her the rose and the Valentine's Day card, while taking the liberty to give her a hug and a kiss her on the cheek. 

"Oh, thank you for the rose and the card. Happy Valentine's Day to you, too," she said. "Come in," she said ushering me into the living room. "Please, have a seat."

"Redford? Why Redford? I realize that he's an Irish Setter but--"

"Robert Redford used to live a few streets behind me, next door to Paul Newman and down the street from Jose Feliciano. An animal lover, Robert Redford was always rescuing dogs and Redford is the puppy of the mother that I got from him, so long ago."

"Wow. I think I saw, at least I thought I saw Jose Feliciano and Joanne Woodward in town, along with Carrie Fisher, and one of the Rolling Stones, not the drummer, but the one they never mention."

"You may have. They are always out and about. When Paul Newman was alive, he'd ice skate on the pond behind my house. That was his pond, of course but, with all the leaves off the trees, I could see him from my back porch. He was very friendly and personable, always signing autographs and posing for photos."

Well, my first impression of her was that she had posted an older photo of herself. She was older, for sure, than her posted age and even looked a few years older than me, instead of the few years younger that she stated she was. Moreover, still a bit slimmer than Margaret, she was more than a few pounds overweight. Imagining her looking more like her photo, I was disappointed at first, but she was still the Trudy, who I had hit it off with online. I decided to ignore the age and weight differences and give her a chance. Moreover, I'm not the shallow type of guy to discount the person, just by the outside package, that is, until her sister walked in the room.

Oh, my God, love at first sight. This was what I imagined Trudy to be and, instead, it was her sister who stole my heart. Here she was in person, all the woman that I could ever want, Kim Basinger, Christie Brinkley, and Diane Sawyer all rolled into one, my beloved Susan. Only, how can I romance her, instead of her sister? What the Hell am I going to do now? Sorry, Trudy, but I don't want you. If you don't mind, if it's okay with you and with your sister, I want your sister. I'm sure that will go over big with the both of them.

Desperately trying to think how to weasel out of this, for sure, Trudy falsely advertized herself. First of all, she was older than the age she posted. The picture she sent me, along with the photo she posted online, had to be close to ten years old. The ten years in age that she thought she could conceal with makeup, she couldn't. Nor could she hide the more than a few pounds that she said she was by wearing a black top and black pants. She was at least, thirty pounds heavier than I imagined she'd be. Not that her age and weight should be a deal breaker, but when I compared her to her sister, it was. Without doubt, her sister, Susan, was the woman of my dreams and the woman that I wanted.

"Hello," I said standing and smiling, while making eye contact.

"Oh, this is my sister, Susan," said Trudy.

"Susan, this is Rick. The man that I told about that I met online."

"Hi," she said. "Nice to meet you."

I even liked her voice. Where Trudy had a smoker's voice, even though she lied in her profile and wrote that she didn't smoke, when there was an ashtray, cigarettes, and a lighter on the coffee table in front of her, Susan had a young sounding voice. Susan had a voice that I imagined her talking dirty to me in bed, while giving me hot pillow talk, after we made love, and before she gave me a blowjob. 

Susan was a carbon copy of her sister, only younger, prettier, slimmer, and with bigger breasts. Her tits were huge. Without doubt, where Trudy had an obvious B cup, Susan had D cup breasts. A definite breast man, be still my heart. 




...And Then, I Met Her Sister



Sorry, Margaret, but I'm only human. Are you seeing this from Heaven? Did you have anything to do with me meeting, Susan, my dream woman? Why wasn't Susan the one writing to me and not Trudy?

"Hi," I said again, this time offering her my hand.

When I held her hand in mine, as if the mere touch of her had just turned on my libido, I imagined standing at the altar saying, 'I do,' before the priest said that I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.

Well, fortunately, Trudy and I didn't hit it off, that's for sure, by no small help from her manufactured profile that falsely represented her. The real deal breaker was that she was a smoker and her sister was smoking hot. Then, even though we made a connection through the e-mails we exchanged and over the phone conversations we had, when we finally met in person, the connection wasn't there.

Our dialogue wasn't as free as it had been before we met. Now, with a lot of uncomfortable silences, the conversation was forced. Moreover, she was easily five years older than me and much heavier than she said she was. Susan, a few years younger than me and possessing a body that sexually excited me, was the woman of my dreams. Susan was the woman that I wanted.

Saddened that my connection with Trudy wasn't there, I was so looking forward to meeting her. Then, after meeting Susan, I was even more saddened that I wouldn't have the chance to have Susan in my life. Having grown up with three sisters, I know how sisters are and Susan would never go out with me, after I rejected her sister. Only, it isn't as if I rejected her sister, there wasn't the magic in our face-to-face meeting that there was in our e-mails and telephone conversations.

I made my good-byes and was walking down the long, winding driveway to my car, which had I known the driveway was so long and winding, I never would have parked out front. I would have parked in the driveway. So, there I was walking and walking, while thinking of holding Susan and looking in her big, blue eyes, before kissing her and fondling her big tits when...

"Rick! Rick! Yoo-hoo! Rick."

I turned to see Susan jogging towards me. It was just like one of those Irish Spring commercials of old, only instead of her hair blowing in the breeze, her enormous boobs were bouncing up and down and side to side. I was mesmerized watching her magnificent breasts dance beneath her bra, blouse, and sweater. I was hypnotized by the motion of her big knockers. I could feel my lips pursing, as if a baby ready to take a bottle or a goldfish wanting food.

"Yes?"

I turned imagining her running up to me and kissing me, before telling me she loves me and wants to be with me for the rest of our lives. Love at first sight, I imagined her being just as smitten with me, as I was with her.

"You forgot your hat," she said smiling wildly, while making solid eye contact.

We stood there looking at one another and not moving. Even though my vivid imagination imagined me holding her and kissing her, while fondling her enormous breasts, I wasn't far off the mark. She was giving me that look that all guys imagine women give them. She was giving me the eye. I was getting the go ahead sign and the green light.

"Oh, thank you," I said putting my baseball cap on my head without taking my eyes off of her.

"My sister asked me to bring it to you. She's unable to chase after you in the way that I can," she said giving me a look that melted my heart and hardened my cock. 

What did she mean by that? Was she chasing after me figuratively, as well as literally. There it is again, that look. Undeniably, she just gave me the eye again. The drawbridge is down and the gate is open to her heart.

I don't remember if it was her who kissed me first, or if I kissed her, or if we kissed one another at the same time, but we kissed and I heard music. Actually, I imagined that I heard my son, Anthony, playing a love song on his piano in the background.

"What the Hell was that?"

I pulled away from her and stared in her blue eyes.

"Sorry," she said. "I don't know what came over me."

"No, please don't apologize. I didn't mean your kiss. I meant that I heard music."

"My neighbor across the way has a grand piano," she said with a laugh that burst my bubble of Heavenly music. "She plays all the time."

"Your kiss was beautiful, magical. That was so very perfect," I said taking her hand in mine. "That was the best kiss I've ever had in my life."

The thought of asking her to marry me, did cross my mind, after seeing her, falling in love with her at first sight, and then kissing her, but oh, my God, I'm in love. Never in my life, even with Margaret, have I ever experienced such romantic feelings towards a woman.

"There's just something about you, Rick. I don't know what it is, but as soon as I saw you, I wanted to lock my sister in the closet," she said with a laugh.

Whether it was fate or because it was Valentine's Day and Cupid shot an arrow hitting both of us, we've been together ever since.

Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading my story. 



And Then It Happened



We all have dreamed about the moment in time when it happens, when you think life has set your course and then something changes it. I was not expecting it to happen to me at this time, with this person, but as we kissed the whole world for me changed. I have heard, but I never knew that what I was feeling was possible, that someone could make such a different is such a short period of time. And what a difference he made how he set me on fire, sent me to...... well I'll let you read it and find out what I am talking about.

"Your turn", as I hear you say those words my thoughts are lost. I can feel you breath on my ear and your hands on my shoulders. All I can do is look into your eyes. My senses are alive with anticipation. The desire I have for you, I see reflected in your eyes and I feel in your touch. You look at me with a smile that tells me you want to pleasure me in a way I have never known. You take my hand and ask me to follow you. You turning the shower off and lead me to the hot tub.

As we enter the room, you lean over to me and whisper in my ear, 'Let me take that suit off, let me see what I have been wanting so long to see, to hold, to love.' You slide the straps off my shoulders caressing my skin, sending electricity through my shoulders. You slowly move your hands to the front and gently pull the suit off my breasts. I hear you moan as they are exposed, 'Oh god, they are beautiful'. I feel you body tense, I know you are holding back wanting to take your time, but wanting to feel them in your hands, in your mouth. You slip the suit to my waist freeing my arms. You cannot stop yourself any longer as you see my nipples rising under your gaze; you reach up and flick the tip. ' OH YES', it is almost a scream as I say it. But you stop, 'Not yet, I want to experience your whole beauty before I continue.' And with that you continue to remove my suit, sliding it over my hips, past my mound and down my thighs letting it drop to the floor. Then you lead me to the hot tub stepping in and holding my hand as I do. 

You place me so that the jets are brushing at my breasts and pussy. Then you slide your hand down my thigh, down my calf reaching my foot. You set down across from me messaging my foot and I lay back and enjoy the feeling of the jets, they keep me at a constant state of arousal without letting me go over the edge. As I drift in and out of constant highs and the feel of your hands on my feet, I am caught off guard when I feel your tongue on my toes. I open my eyes in shock, seeing the smile on your face and the look in your eyes, I watch as you suck on each toe. Kissing it, licking it, almost as if you are making love to each and everyone. When you finish with them you kiss the bottom of my foot to my heel then across my ankle, and up my calf to the back of my knee. Massaging my leg as you go. Just when I think I can take no more, you stop. Once again I open my eyes and see you looking at me. You reach for my hands, pulling them away from my tits. "Not yet babe, I'm not ready for you to cum and no playing with yourself." Without knowing it I had been pulling at them while you were working your magic on my foot. You then pick up the other foot and work the same magic to it you had to the first one. But instead of stopping at the back of my knee, you slide up between my legs and kiss from the valley between my breasts to my lips stopping only to caress my skin with your hands. 

You brush over my lips and before I can react you pulling back. I look into your eyes and with one movement you pick me up and set me on the side of the tub. This puts my pussy at the same height as your face. But you don't even look at it; you go back to my legs. Kissing, licking, caressing and stroking you work your way up my legs first one side then the other, not missing a spot. With each touch I cannot stop moaning. I touch your hair with my hand, trying to keep my mind on the ground, because you are sending me to such heights, I am alive like never before. You kiss my inner thighs and that does it, I cannot control myself any longer, I moan out as I cum, "Oh yyess. Oh God Please stop teasing me, please gives me that cock of yours. I need to have you in me, fucking me" I hear you chuckle and answer, "Not yet, I want to taste your sweet nectar, I want you cover my face, before, you cover my cock." 

With that you bring your hands to my pussy, gently, slowly running your finger down my slit, spreading my lips as you go. I catch my breath with anticipation of what is next. You lower your head, I hear you breathing deeply, know that you are trying to take the scent of me deep in your mind. I look down just in time to see the twinkle in your eyes as you open your mouth and take all my pussy in your mouth sucking it like you were sucking one my lips during our kissing. I feel your tongue fucking my hole like a cock, with the tip curled stroking all the right spots. Just when I think I can't go any longer, I feel you finger stroking down my crack and teasing my bum hole. That is all I can take, I start shaking like I have never before, I cum with such force, I don't notice that you have inserted your finger in my ass and are pumping it. I hear myself screaming with such pleasure, that it brings me back to some consciousness, as I grab on to your head and rock my hips, fucking you back, and riding the orgasm not wanting it to end. 

Before I have time to recover you pull me off the edge of the hot tub and onto your lap. With just a slight push you ram your cock into my pussy as it is still pulsing for my orgasm. The feel of your cock in my cunt and the smell of my cum on face send me into yet another uncontrollable orgasm. But with this one you pump me with you cock.....my hands on your shoulders holding as you pinch my nipples and knead my tits. All I can do is moan and cry out with pleasure. Knowing I will never have this kind of experience again, knowing that all the weeks of watching you and having you watch me has brought us to this point. Knowing that this is pure sexual satisfaction and total abandonment to our needs. As I come down for this last orgasm I notice all the water splashing out of the tub, I notice the look on your face and I know that this will soon end. I lean in and kiss you, licking as much of my cum from your lips as I can. Your hands slide down my sides to my hips as we continue to fuck. You lean over and whisper in my ear, " I am going to cum soon, it is your choice where my seed goes, your pussy, your ass, or your mouth." 

With that an evil look crosses my face. I figure why not finish this where it all started. "I want to taste you one last time", I say to you, "Please cum in my mouth, let me suck you dry and lick you clean." You shift yourself onto the edge of the tub stroking your cock in front of my face. I kneel between your legs and open my mouth. You slap at my tongue with your cock but I reach up and grad it placing my mouth on the head and once again sucking you into my mouth pulling the base to my lips. That is all it takes and you shot your load deep in me. I pull off and suck you back in getting another wash of sperm filling my mouth. I look up to your face and see your eyes rolling back and your face showing the same pleasure you have been giving me. With that I release your cock and lick at your balls. Then I lick your cock clean. Just as I am about to stand up to kiss you we both hear the outer door closing. Giggling we scramble and gather my suit. You walk out as I slip it back on. You come back and let me know it is okay to leave.....but as I do you grab me and kiss me one last time. Thanks for being my swim mate.



And Then It Is Tuesday



And then it is Tuesday, at seven o'clock. Or ten minutes to. And I'm in what passes for a changing room. The art teacher met me at the door, saying nothing about anything, certainly nothing about the fact that the last time she saw me I had just ejaculated in front of her, giving no indication that she had shown me her genitals for that exact purpose. Really, she barely looked at me, which, if I'm honest, is what I was expecting, and what I wanted.

I stood in a cold bathroom, with a sink, a small wooden chair, a toilet and a mirror. A draft of cold air was seeping in from between the glass and the wooden frame wall of a small frosted window. This wasn't going to help with anything. I really didn't know whether the audition, so called, was going to be the exception rather than the rule, either way I knew I didn't want to walk out in front of a class of strangers with a wind chilled penis. I opened the door, looking for something, for someone, looking for the teacher I suppose. There was nobody there. I took a step towards what I thought was the art room door, behind which I could hear some voices. Then I could hear some steps coming towards the door. For some reason, for the usual reason of not wanting to get caught doing something slightly silly I retreated, back to the bathroom. I closed the door again and waited. She spoke.

"How are you doing in there?"

"Well, uh."

"We're ready, when you're ready. Just come out through the door to your left."

"Uh, yeah, uh"

"You don't need a robe or anything do you?"

I did, this is what I wanted, something, anything, so I wasn't walking naked through another corridor, so that I wasn't going to step through a doorway with nothing on, into a room of clothed people, something, anything to delay that moment.

"No, uh, of course not, it'll be fine."

"Uh-huh. We shall see you shortly then."

Of course, we'll see you. I looked at myself in the mirror above the sink, wondering whether I had the nerve to go through with this, whether I had the nerve to back out. I shut the toilet seat and lid and put my foot on it to take my shoe off, then the other one, then my socks. I stood with bare feet on the cold tile floor, my toes clenching involuntarily. I pulled my jumper off over my head, then my t-shirt, stood for a few seconds to try to acclimatise. It was cold, the breeze was giving me goose bumps. I undid the button on my jeans, undid the zip and pulled them down over my legs and stepped out of them, quickly slid my pants off. My cock had again retreated. It had been crushed by my jeans anyway, was stuck to the bulge of my testicles, standing out about an inch or two from its bed of dark pubic hair. I folded my clothes, lay them on the top of the toilet seat, stood, naked and freezing. I looked down at myself again. Was it worth trying to coax some life into it? Would I feel better walking out with something resembling a man sized penis? I was about to fondle myself.

"Are you ready? Are you coming? The class is expecting to start at seven."

"Yes, I'm ready, ready."

I opened the door. She was standing directly in front of me, looking at my face, quickly down at my chest, my legs, my exposed genitals. I looked at her, at the outline of her breasts, the familiar peaks of her nipples. 

"Excellent. Follow me then."

"I might just go to the toilet." 

"Of course."

I went back into the cubicle, lifted my clothes off the seat and held my cock over the pan. I needed to go, I knew I needed to go, yet I couldn't. I pressed down, shook my penis. Nothing. Maybe I was still delaying this. Did I want to go through with it? I took a deep breath, turned and went out. 

I walked down the short corridor towards the art room, listening to the voices, wishing I was warmer, wishing I could at least feel my penis sway in front of me, it felt stiff, a solid but small, a little pointing ridge of flesh sticking out, almost bouncing horizontally in front of me I wished I could feel my balls hanging. There was nothing. Perhaps this was good, I told myself, this was what they wanted, look at David, look at all those old statues and paintings, all with small cocks. I looked down as I reached the door. My scrotum was tight, my penis was still protruding out but at a length that barely extended past my balls, a slim funnel of pale skin. 

"Oh fuck it, fuck it." I opened the door. I stepped in.

To a class of about fifteen, about ten women, five men, mixed ages, the youngest seemed about twenty, oldest fifty something. All with paper in front of them, pencils and sticks of charcoal, sitting in a circle of seats that had been placed around the platform I had stood on the other day. They all looked up as I entered, I did not catch anyone's eye, I tried my best not to do this, but I could sense them all looking at me as I stopped in the doorway, as I stood on front of them all. The teacher approached me.

"Well, we'll leave it up to you how you stand, or sit, but if you could pose for half hour periods and then we'll have a ten minute break. Okay?"

I nodded. 

"Right."

She looked me up and down, seemed to allow her gaze to linger over my midriff. I walked to the platform, felt the wooden floorboards beneath my feet, felt a breeze stiffen my own nipples, shrink my exposed penis even further. I felt the gaze of the room upon me, felt each set of eyes appraise my form, I stepped onto the platform, my cock wobbling, my balls bouncing just slightly as I did so, still I felt each woman staring at my naked body, each of the men – two in their early twenties, one thirty something, the others at an indeterminate older age – looking at my penis and scrotum. I could sense them looking, looking there, looking at this part of me, perhaps pleased, perhaps glad that this model was not bigger than them, that this model did not have a cock like a horse, in fact had a small, had a little dick really. I allowed myself to let them stare, and judge, I reassured myself that it didn't matter, small, huge, buried within my pubic rug or hanging down by my knees, they didn't really 

care. 

Though I knew they did. I knew they did. The men and the women. I stood and faced the room, stood in as neutral a pose as I could manage, my hands behind my back, left wrist held by my right hand, standing with my right leg slightly bent, my weight on my left hip, my head turned to my right. I knew they would not be able to look at me without appraising, in the coldest manner, the size and appearance of my genitals. It didn't matter they were here to draw, did not matter they may have paid for this, that they were artists, they were also people, and even if they didn't care, they looked, even if they didn't know it they had already looked at my nude form with sexual criteria before they began to look with more artistic interest. The women looked at my cock and thought of – what? Were they straight? - thought of how small, how pointless, how disappointed they would be if a man undressed for them and revealed that, they might not think it aloud, or even acknowledge the thought, but there it was. Perhaps the more experienced would know, they'd know that soft and small does not always mean hard and small. If there were lesbians present I was sure they were looking at me, at my bare and chilled organ and were thinking what, what is all the fuss about. And the men, were they straight, if they were they were looking with aforementioned relief, with no small amount of glee, but also with some affection, with some feelings of warmth, friendship. It was possible they were also admiring, not my cock, or not quite, but me, for not caring, for standing here, naked, in front of fully clothed strangers, and not caring that my penis was as it was. They would be protective almost, whether they were large themselves or not, they would feel welcoming. They would also have seen this before, not just in life drawing class, but in changing rooms, in locker rooms, if they were gay, they would have seen it in bedrooms, they knew, for certain, even if my current state was an example of surprising smallness, that men's cocks came in a variety of shapes and sizes, that even large men had small moments. 

And the gay men, I assumed some of them were, what did I think of this, what did this make me feel? That I was exposing myself in front of men who were turned on by my nudity? Who wanted to see me nude, who wanted to draw me but who would be as aroused as I might be if a young, reasonably toned, let's say small breasted but quite pretty girl was standing in front of me without any clothes on. There was no way it could be avoided, at least half the room, including the teacher, were at, were willing to let themselves get to some level of arousal over the fact that I was exposing myself for them. 

I could hear them drawing. I stood, I forced myself to look at nothing but floor, I felt cold air against my body, I felt every breeze and eddy as it swirled over my penis and testicles. It still felt strange, of course it did, it felt odd, nice, but odd to be naked, here, in a room this size, in a room that wasn't my own bedroom, or a changing room, with chairs and windows, desks. And in front of people, people who were dressed, who were not naked, it wasn't a beach, it wasn't any sort of nudist colony or spin the bottle, naked party. This was just me, I was the only one here who was naked. But it was nice somehow, it felt good, suddenly, being looked at. I wasn't relaxing, quite the opposite really, I was becoming tense, but quite pleasantly so. It was suddenly like a medical examination, like fifteen doctors were looking me over. I felt the room's gaze on me, I felt each of the women, each of the men looking at my naked body. It felt good being looked at. 

I was beginning to enjoy the sensation, honestly, I was beginning to enjoy the ridiculous imbalance of power in the room, I was naked, they were not, I was showing them my body as they were clothed, and yet they were all staring at me, none of them could take their eyes off me, all of them absolutely had to keep looking at my naked torso, at my chest, my face, my legs, the dark tangle of my genitals. It was nice getting looked at, I felt good, having the details of my body studied. 

I allowed my eyes to rise from the floor. I took a quick glance around the room, I stole some swift looks at who was drawing me. The young girls looked like students, which I supposed they all were, full of youth, fresh skin, charity shop clothes and earnest expressions. The older women looked as if they were getting their second wind of bohemia. They were wearing long and loose dresses, baggy shirts with buttons undone, hair tied in messy knots, large and pendulous breasts. This, of course, I noticed, having still only had just one orgasm in three weeks, I noticed the breasts in the room, full and heavy, small, pert, none of them encumbered by a bra, all of them shielded from view by thin layers of cotton, all feeling the cold, or all feeling the erotic pinch caused by my own exposure. I looked, without looking, could see eight or nine pairs of swollen and pointing nipples. The room was cold, I was still cold, my cock was continuing to stick out, stiff, small, from on top of the barrel of my balls, my own nipples were stiff and rigid, and I could see the taut pricks peaking from all of their breasts. I looked, they looked back, I looked at the face of one of the older women, I felt safer doing this, safer than catching the eye of any of the younger ones, I looked up at her just as she looked obviously down at me. She looked back up at my face, smiled, just, barely perceptibly, and looked back down at my penis. And this also felt good, it felt good, everything did, that this heavy, grey, big breasted artist was looking with intent at my prick. 

I shift my gaze. I feel my cock relax, it begins to hang down slightly, over my balls, I can sense it become heavier, I somehow sense the room change, I can feel the eyes of each man alter. They notice this first, not the women, not even the older ones (though I think of this, I think of the cocks they must have seen, as artists, as mature women, married, widowed, divorced, they must have been places, seen places, I think of the years of sex, the decades of fucking they have lived through, how old are they? They would have grown up in the seventies, right, when everyone was at it, when penicillin and the pill meant everyone was screwing themselves senseless, because they could, because they felt obliged to. And I thought of her, the one I had looked at already, with the long grey hair, the big hanging tits, heavy under the tent of her vest top. She looked me up and down again, perhaps she had noticed the slight extension of my cock, I looked at her and imagined the other cocks she had seen, the strange and familiar cocks she had held, that she had held in her hand, in her mouth, between the valley of her tits, the tens, the hundreds of erect and soft pricks she must have fondled, she must have had in her bed, in her, inside her, inside her cunt, I imagine her cunt, I picture the hang of her belly burying the expanse of her black and grey pubic hair, I picture the dark pink dripping ripple that is her cunt, and the pricks that have entered, the stiff members that have parted her labia and stretched her wet hole, and I visualise her arse, I think of her, years ago, days ago, this morning, bent over a bed, across a mattress, a man hunched over her back, I think of her demanding, because she can, because she has no reason not to, that he fuck her now, that he stick his fat cock inside her now please, I can hear her, see her say it, fuck me now, stick it in me, stick your stiff cock in my arse, stick it up my bum, fuck me senseless, fuck me hard, fuck me like you hate me, come on you worthless shit, fuck me with your fat cock). 

And the men in the room, accustomed to all sorts of penile behaviour, see immediately that the cock on display has gotten bigger, just a bit, but bigger. They will assume that I have relaxed, that the atmospheric conditions have changed, not, no, not that I am getting an erection, no, but they would have seen it. I look at the men in the room, this also feels safer, than looking at the younger women, it is okay if I catch their eye, even if each one of them is gay, no man would care, certainly no man here, if a look is exchanged, we are all men, we are all men with cocks, with testicles and scrotums that shrink and expand without any apparent reason. The men will think I am looking at them with intent, or they will not, they will think I want to see them after class, for a lift, for a drink, for a quick or long fuck, so they can suck the cock they are now looking at (this would be it, it would be if I was drawing a female, if I went home with one of the young women, we would re-enact the class, I would stand, in silence, she would stand in front of me, she would remove her top, she would stand, still without obviousness, with her breasts bared, and my cock would stiffen, this would be it, I would hold my pose and my cock would become erect and she would approach, as if for a closer look, and she would hold it, she might pull back my foreskin, still for a complete look, but she would keep hold of it with one hand and draw with the other, then she might lick the end of it, she might run her tongue over the shiny smooth tip, she would dip her tongue into the slit of my piss hole, then draw, then sketch, quickly, then drop her charcoal and bury my cock in her mouth. But suddenly I can only imagine the older artist doing this. I look at her again, does she think I am looking at her, does she think this is a flirt, her nipples still show, is she, she would be wet, now, there will be heat between her legs, a sweet trembling sensation, moisture will have invaded her groin, wetness would have spread from inside her, would have flowed out of her cunt, she would be feeling it, she would feel her pussy lips become soaked with juice, the gusset of her panties is stained, is dark and wet, I can imagine her taking a close look at my erect prick, I can imagine her sitting up close, not needing to pretend this is a game, not needing to pretend nothing is going on, she would be calm, she would refer to my stiff cock, "I am going to hold it now, okay, I am going to hold your penis, to get a feel, I shall grip it for the texture, so I can feel, so I can draw each of its veins, all of its ridges. Now I will pull back your foreskin, so I can see the tip, okay, when I am ready I might suck it, yes, if I want to, if you also want me to, I need to draw it first, I need to get this, but I am quite aroused myself, as you obviously are, even though I am older, by what, twenty, thirty years, yet you have an erection, and, I will tell you, I have a wet vagina. So, you stand still, please, I will hold your prick, so I can better draw it, but, I am not about to kid you, so I can also feel its warmth, its heat, its stiffness, so I can turn myself on as well, you are a young man, it has been a few years since I have had a young man's prick in my hand, and, as I said, the sight of this, the sight of your hard prick and the feel of your big stiff prick in my hand is making me really wet, hold still, wait, the sight and feel of your dong, we used to call it this, the feel of your fat dong in my hand is making my vagina extremely wet, God, yes, perhaps I should show you, I am looking at you after all, perhaps you would like to see an old woman's wet fanny," and she would show me, she would stand and without ceremony strip off her skirt and knickers and perhaps her vest and stand and then sit back down and take a fresh hold of my fat dong and show me her enormous tits, show me her swinging sacks of flesh, white and ripe, with huge dark brown areola and thick long erect nipples, she would show me the dark thatch of pubic hair, she would spread her legs and show me the wet lips below and then "okay, so now we are both naked, you with your prick sticking out and me with my dripping pussy. I'll draw, okay, I know you want to come, yes, and so do I, but I will finish this, then, if you want, I will suck your cock, I can suck it so you come into my mouth, and, unless you mind, masturbate myself to an orgasm. Would that be okay? I'm sure it would, I'm not even touching you now and your prick seems to have become stiffer, is this possible, I don't want you to come before I have finished drawing, and until I am ready to catch your cum in my mouth, I'm making myself wetter with this, can you see (I can see, I am seeing all of this, I am imaging it all and feeing the tiniest of swellings in my cock), your prick is getting harder and my fanny is getting wetter. I think I might have finished, so, shall I hold it again, or would you like it if I simply placed it in my mouth, hmm?") so they can hold it in their hand, so they can hold my cock and their own and wank both of us onto both of us. Whichever way it won't occur to them that this is anything other than a look. I look. 

"Okay, that's the half hour, shall we take ten minutes."

The class moves, people stand, stretch. I relax, look for the art teacher, step down off the platform, ready to return to the toilet, where I think of pissing quickly, where I think to splash cold water over my penis and balls, to quell any notions of arousal. 

"Perhaps you'd like to see what the class had drawn?" 

I look at her, wondering if she means it, wondering if she is making a joke.

"Uh, well." I try not to look down at myself, try not to acknowledge anything.

"Most models like to see we make of them."

I look around for a robe, something to cover myself with, I think perhaps I should ask for something.

"Come on, we'll need you ready again in ten."

And I follow her instruction, it seems natural to do this, obligatory. I step down off the stage, still nude, with my penis relaxed enough to bounce in front of me, I walk across the room, cock swinging now, bobbling against my balls, swaying side to side, I walk to the first of the group, she steps aside and lets me stand to look at her sketches. And I look, I look at myself in shades of black and grey, I look at my nude form, my cock is small in her drawings, perhaps she didn't have time to draw it later, once I had softened, I cannot help but study my penis, the dark smudge of pubic hair, the round sack of my balls, the length of my dick, all a contrast against the rest of my pale skin. I walk to the next stand, one of the younger girls who holds our her sketch pad for me to flick through, I take it, cannot help but notice her glance down as I approach, she smiles, sort of sheepishly and can't stop herself from lowering her gaze down to my penis, I let her look. What else can I do, I'm the one who is nude, I'm the one standing here with my cock out. I look at her drawings, again I'm drawn to the sketches she had done of my penis, pubic hair and balls, again she caught me at my most taut and withdrawn, my penis does look unmistakably childlike, if it wasn't for my patch of brown, here black pubic hair, snailing up to my navel, and the round and wrinkled pouch of dark skin underneath my cock. She caught me all right, I think I look good, slim but reasonably well toned, fairly good looking I suppose, and if my cock looks small it looks nice, it looks like the penis of a model, of a statue, which is what I hoped earlier, if I'm honest my penis might be small but she has drawn my balls and scrotum like their huge, I look at each of her drawings, it's the same in each, my penis is a mere dab of light in the shade of my pubes, my scrotum massive, thick, swollen with my heavy testicles, dark against the paler skin of my thighs.




And Then It Is Tuesday



"What do you think?"

"It's uh, their good, really, I like them."

"Thanks, I enjoyed drawing you."

I move on, I step away from her, noticing, perhaps, there was a small element of arousal, looking at myself, looking at nude drawings of myself whilst I was still nude, standing next to the fully dressed and rather lovely girl who had drawn them. My penis had come out of its state of terror, had lengthened into a state I was more familiar, more comfortable with. I wasn't getting hard, but my cock was getting bigger. I forced myself to carry on, forced myself to assume that this was also normal, that the model would usually stroll around the room naked to look at their drawings, that his penis would unravel before them all. I walked, with everyone quiet now, or quiet except from a murmur or two from the teacher as she also appraised their work. I walked to the next student, one of the men on the class, around my age, stood next to him. He also couldn't resist dropping his gaze so it fell on my cock, just briefly, with just enough confidence that told me he was used to looking at cocks, that perhaps he liked it. I stand next to him and give his sketches a look. They are a little more impressionistic I think, less recognisably me, my body is a blur of lines and shading, my cock and balls a fuzz of cross hatching. I like the drawings, but I can't see me. I move on. 

To the older lady who had been catching my eye, who had looked at my cock when she saw me looking at her. 

"Hello young man."

"Hello, yeah, hello there."

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"um, well, enjoying?"

"Yes, you seemed very nervous to begin with. Is this your first job?"

"Well, it is actually. Can you tell?"

"Yes, no offence, everyone has to have a first time, I remember mine, few years ago now, very nervous, very odd to begin with isn't it, standing in front of a groups of strangers, completely naked, getting drawn."

"It is strange, yes."

I look at her drawings. She has gone for various details, no overall, an arm, a thigh muscle, my shoulder. She is good though, I think, she seems to want to practise on very small parts. I think my penis in its original state would have appealed. I laugh inwardly at this bad joke.

"I'm afraid my eyes are not too good, I mean I'm not trying to make you feel bad, but when you were first there I had trouble seeing your penis."

This is enough to lessen my state of looseness. I feel my cock shrink again. She takes another quick look down.

"Sorry, again, no offence, I thought you were very nervous, perhaps in one of the next set of poses I'll be able to see more of you. Although what I can see is lovely, don't worry"

"right." 

I cannot help but look at her tits again – what is it with these older women, with these older hippy types – I let myself look at them, not as saggy as I'd thought, quite nice really, big, heavy, her nipples still making small protrusions under her t-shirt.

"I hope I haven't made you feel bad."

"No, don't be silly."

"You have a nice body" she looks down again "And a very nice dick, it will be nice to draw, and your balls are quite big aren't they? Now I can see them up close. Yes, once you relax I'm sure the room will enjoy the challenge of capturing all the textures, all those curls there, all the beauty of your little dick."

"Yes, yeah, thank you."

I move. Was she trying to humiliate me I wonder, my little dick though has responded to her attempts to dominate me, do I like this? Do I like being humiliated? My cock seems to, I try not to look at myself but it feels bigger, it is dangling now, as I walk I can feel my balls press my dick outwards, I can feel it circling in front of my thighs. 

I pass each of them, looking at the way they have rendered my body, remaining naked, feeling a dark pleasure now as I walk between them, as they look at me close up, as I stand nude as they sit and stand clothed. I approach the young girls with most nervousness, they have the most power over me, they have the ability to destroy me with a look, which in my current mood is likely to give me an instant erection. They seem to spend most attention on my dick, in their drawings, I am most recognisably me in the sketches of the younger women present. I stand next to one who has remained sitting, she flicks through the pages of her sketch pad for me and doesn't even try to pretend she is not looking straight at my cock, which is about level with her chest. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, allowing me a glimpse between her thighs, a hint of white cotton, just, maybe, I look at what she's drawn, at my balls, my pubic hair, my little dick, and shoot a look at her chest. She has left a few buttons undone, I am able to look down, as she looks across, as she leans forward – deliberately? – she offers me the quickest of glimpses of her breasts, small, almost flat, but with long and stiff nipples. 

"Like what you see?"

"Well, yes."

"I'm glad"

My prick solidifies. I walk past the last remaining member of the group, one of the men, he hands me his pad to flick through, takes a step back and watches me look. He was the closest to me. He has really drawn nothing but quick sketches of my genitals, or at least my waist area. I look at each of them, look at him in his grey sweat pants, the small bulge of his own prick just visible.

"you're good to draw."

"Thank you."

And with that I hop back on the platform, my cock jiggling up and down as I do. The teacher approaches, speaks to me quietly.

"How was it? Your first session?"

"Well, good, I think."

"You were nervous again, to begin with, your cock was so small, like it was when you posed for me alone."

I stand in front of her, feeling somewhat like a schoolboy getting reprimanded.

"but this is okay, don't worry, this group has seen all sorts of cock, small, tiny ones, medium, fat, thin, huge ones too of course, which are less pleasing to look at, but good to draw, easier to, when you can see every line, every vein and ridge, our last model but one had an enormous dick, really enormous, when he walked into the room for the first time, when he took off his robe, the whole class took in its breath, he never became aroused, we never got to see what it would be like in its erect state, but flaccid it was near his knees, no, I exaggerate, but to the middle of his thighs certainly, thick, full of veins, and cut, you know, circumcised, so we could see everything, see the head of it, the urethra. Not like yours."

"Yes, thank you"

"Not like yours at all, so small, almost hidden by your pubic hair, by your big balls."

"Thanks, again, thanks very much."

"But, you have a nice little dick, we know this, yes, and I think you like this, you like me talking to you like this, like you also enjoyed the ladies and gentlemen sizing you up, you enjoyed Susan talking to you about it didn't you, you like it when people tell you what to do, when they dominate you, I think this might be true after all, I watched you, when she spoke about your cock being too small to draw your little dick gave a little jump."

My little dick gave another jump. I stood and watched her look at it. 

"Pose again then please, perhaps you could sit down, face the class, on the edge of the seat, yes. Right then."

I sit and face the room, my hands holding the edge of the chair, my legs bent in front, my knees together, my thighs touching and pushing my balls upwards, which push my dick up so it sticks up vertical, still small, still very much soft, but sticking out from my pubic bush like it is erect. Which feels, of course, good, it makes me feel small but pleased that my cock is conspiring to humiliate me in front of everyone, that it looks as if my dick is only an inch or so long even when it's hard. I let my head drop slightly, so I am able to look out over the class, so that I can check the state of my cock. 

The class begins to draw me again. I savour the sensation of the cold air against my body, of eyes roving over my naked flesh. I look across the room. One of the younger girls, the one who showed me her breasts, has uncrossed her legs again, is sitting, with a look of complete concentration on her face, with her legs just slightly apart. Is this on purpose? Her sketch pad is on her lap, I suppose it would be more comfortable if her legs were wider than normal, I should look away, I know this, I carry on looking between her legs, at the tiny patch of white between the light brown of her skin. Then she sits forward, she edges forward, as if for a different look, and her skirt stays where it was on the seat, it rides up, just a bit more, up her thighs, showing just a bit more skin, and casting more light on the thin cotton of her panties. The she parts her legs a little further, I look away, then back, she must want me to see this, she must have wanted me to look at her tits, she is trying to play with me. It works, my dick shakes, I tighten my sphincter without thinking, my cock wobbles as a result, sticks suddenly further forwards. 

I take a grip of my imagination. Despite everything that happened at the interview I don't think I want to get an erection now, I don't think I want my penis to get hard in front of the class, I can't imagine it happens very often, I can't imagine the room would stay free of looks, glances, smiles and jokes, at my expense, I read before I applied that a male model getting hard was at the least likely to lead to a lost booking. I look back at the floor. I can see myself in my peripheral vision, see myself in the room, I can see my bare skin, my feet, my legs, the darker thicket at my middle that is my pubic hair, penis, balls. I look around again. 

I catch the older woman's eye again, she seems to hold my gaze for long enough to allow me to notice her breaking it to look down at my cock, and this look, this apparently deliberate gesture causes my stomach to dip, causes the skin around my balls to tighten further, causes a flicker of excitement to shoot through my prick. I look away. I look back at the floor, then cannot help but look at one of the other older women, one of the ones in her early forties, slimmer, large but still firm breasts pushing out from under a grey flannel shirt. The shirt is unbuttoned and exposes the crack of her tits. She looks at me, looking at her, also looks deliberately down at my penis. I feel another jolt of nervous pleasure shoot through my groin. I feel my anus clench, look away, allow a sideways look at what I am feeling below. My penis has lengthened again, is sticking even further up, out from my pubic bush, up from between my legs. 

No, come on, no, I can't get a hard-on, not here, not in front of everyone, the teacher was okay, just one person, who ended up showing me her pussy, that was sex, strange, weird sex, but sex, this is not, this is an art class, this will be embarrassing if I get stiff.

I think dull thoughts, I think of essays, and cleaning my bathroom, I try not to look anywhere, I try not to look at that one, that young one who is still sitting with her legs spread, who is virtually showing me her crotch, no, NO, I look, I can't help looking, she widens her legs again, I can see most of her panties now, I imagine I see the shadow of her bush, the crease of her labia, no, NO, this is not going to help. She looks at me, does she, is she looking at me? She looks down at my lap, I look down, it is noticeable, noticeably fatter, she looks down at my prick, I think I see the flicker of a smile. Then she looks away, puts her pencil on the floor, hold her sketch pad in one hand, studies it, as if working out what she wants, and lets her other hand flutter to her thigh – is this, this must be on purpose, she must be trying to get me hard, she is trying to turn me on, so she can see my cock become stiff in front of everyone – her thighs that are still slightly apart, she looks at her pad, and allows her free hand to drift up between her legs, she strokes her inner thigh, and scratches herself through her pants, where her own pubic hair would be, then she places a finger inside her knickers, apparently still to satisfy no more than an itch, and she pulls the material away from her leg so I can see a flash of darker skin, I can't help myself, I watch her rub a finger along the length of her vulva, dip just enough inside herself. She looks up at me, stops, as if she didn't mean to flash me. I look away, knowing this has affected myself. 

The tension is not relieved, the room is still looking at me, first at my cock at its smallest, now after it has noticeably expanded, I think of packing this in, walking away, somehow this decision is more difficult than staying, even though I can feel my cock getting thicker, heavier, I should turn and leave, I know this is preferable to sitting here with a growing penis. 

And yet I stay, feeling the class's gaze upon me, upon my cock. I glance down. I am getting hard. I do nothing, I hope this is quite common, for the male model's penis to become stiff, I hope they see this every other week, I carry on sitting and looking at the floor, avoiding all looks and glances, I sit nude and try to look completely calm, as I haven't noticed, as if I am unaware that my penis is now undeniably stiffer, that it has not just relaxed, expanded slightly, I have a stiffened cock. I know this is terrible, this is bad form, this is embarrassing, I know this doesn't happen every week, I know they are looking at me now and laughing, smiling, sniggering, my cock treads some water, I feel it pulse and quiver, I stop myself from glancing down at it, I maintain my gaze out over the room, I feel my penis sticking up, not quite vertical, its heaviness dragging it down slightly, not erect, not fully, but a way from the soft inch of two minutes ago. I force myself to ignore this. I have to. I also try to forget the game, that now several inches of swollen penis protrude from my lap, that everyone can see this, but that somehow it does not matter. This is the erotic moment. My stomach is flipping over. If I can pretend this is normal, somehow, if I can pretend to myself, believe that it is okay that my penis has stiffened, because it is only slightly, we can all pretend, nothing abnormal, nothing obscene, just a slight engorgement.

I hear a chair shift, can hear the scratch of pencil and charcoal on paper. My cock jumps, wobbles some more, perhaps, no, swells further, shrinks, I force myself to try to ignore it, ignore the situation, I am naked, yes, I am modelling for a life drawing class, that's all, I ignore the quivering of erotic excitement in my belly, which makes it worse, my penis has become a little bit harder, fine, yes, so what, I think of leaving, I stay where I am. I carry on sitting and posing for the class, nude, my penis still pointing up from my lap, still some way from being fully erect, but still vertical, still pointing up in front of me, harder, thicker, a tremulous - what? – four odd inches of engorged flesh. 

I look quickly around the room. No-one has changed, Susan looks at me, smiles, looks at my fat prick and moves her pencil. The younger girls carries on sitting with her legs apart. I look at the men in the room, to see if they're smiling. Three out of four are smiling, or not, just a bit, I can't tell, they can't help it, this is funny, for them, and how often would the straight ones have seen another man get the beginnings of an erection, in the flesh. I try not to grin sheepishly, this would ruin it, I cannot appear embarrassed, because that would make be embarrassed. I have to play this straight. 

I glance at the man nearest me, on the edge of the group, the one in the grey sweatpants. He is looking without ceremony at my erection, drawing furiously, but sitting it seems in a slightly awkward position. I try to work this out, he has his legs crossed, is sort of at an angle, away from the rest of the room, like he is shielding something. He moves a fraction, I get it, there is a big bulge in the crotch of his jogging bottoms, which he is trying desperately to hide from the rest of the class, he has a stiff cock of his own to deal with, in trousers loose enough that it would not be restricted. I look at him, glad someone else is going through this, I look at his crotch, at the outline of his fairly large looking dick pressing against his trousers. I look up and we see each other looking at the other's prick, he stops drawing, holds my gaze (why don't I look away, this is like the shower room again, why am I still staring at him, why did I want to see his dick at all, why am I not getting up and leaving), I look away, I look at wall, I can feel every breath of air, every particle as it passes over my exposed sex, each gaze sends another waft of terrible friction towards my bared and sensitive penis. I glance back, he has shifted his pad to his side, just enough to shield the room from him, has kept his legs crossed, but not so much he cannot but show me the full extent of his arousal. I'm impressed, despite everything, I see the quite massive length his cock is filling in his pants, I do not look away even as he drops a hand from his paper and touches his erection through his trousers, rubbing it, rubbing the tip of it, awkwardly, easing his discomfort, trying to push it down. And still I look, and still my own cock stands up, feeling almost rigid, and I feel the forbidden and transgressive thrill of another man's even more engorged member being offered to me. I look away.

"Okay, let's break."

I look over at the teacher. 

"Come and see what they made of you this time."

"Well, perhaps..." I stop myself, I can't start to feel ashamed now, I have to carry on. 

"Of course."

And of course I do, of course. I stand and step down from the platform, I feel my cock bounce up and down in front of me as I walk towards the first of the group, this is when it becomes even more apparent, now I am upright again, and my penis is hanging down, no question, but also out, it is longer, and it is at enough of an angle to suggest more than relaxation, I think I feel it sticking out, almost outwards as I stand next to the first artist and look at what she has drawn. I stand still, look down, with my cock between us, lower, softer I think, that I had assumed. I look at her drawings of me, of my cock jutting up proudly from between my pressed together legs. I get this some more, I get what everyone wants to think is happening, I have to pretend this is nothing, and so do they, I am to pretend that my prick becoming slightly harder is no thing at all, that I am not aroused, that it is merely an accident of engorgement, and that they are barely noticing, certainly not aroused themselves. They want me to parade my nudity and swollen dick for them, it is not embarrassment, or humiliation they want, not quite, but the denial of erotic feeling. This is foreplay, but unacknowledged foreplay. 

I stand and look at the drawings, walk from student to student, my cock swinging from side to side, losing more of its turgidity now, pointing now more down than out as I walk. I stand next to Susan again, look at the drawings she has done, whole pages, entire sheets with nothing but my cock, fifteen inches long, five, six inches wide, my actual cock dwarfed by her representations of it. 

"Hello again."

"Hello"

"Good to see you have relaxed, that you're beginning to enjoy yourself."

"Well, yes, sorry, really."

"Oh don't be sorry, seriously, never apologise for becoming a bit hard, certainly not when you have such a lovely dick, when your dick is so lovely when it is hard. I knew it would be, I could tell that you are one of those men whose dicks are lovely and small when they are flaccid, but big and thick when they are erect."

"Well, thank you."

"Thank you, for allowing us all to look at it. I wonder if we will see more of it tonight, whether you will become fully stiff."




And Then It Is Tuesday



"Uh, yes, I hope not," and I cannot help myself. "Does that happen often, do many of the male models get erections?"

"No. Not many really, not to become fully hard that is, and to walk the class and still remain hard, a lot of the men's dicks swell a little here and there, like yourself, but not many stiffen up completely."

"Oh, right."

"No, again, please don't be ashamed of this"

She actually gives my cock a tap with her charcoal stick, making it sway to the side and back.

"There's nobody in the class that will not love drawing you now, that will not love drawing this." 

And another tap, and again my cock wobbles and swells with the attention.

I walk to the younger one, the one who flashed me, who got me going to the state I was in. She is still sitting down, still ready to turn her pages for me, still taking a look at my prick, hanging down now, long and heavy still, the tip showing from under its taut skin, the largest vein bulging against the side more or less level with her face. She talks quietly, perhaps so the room won't overhear.

"You have a nice cock"

"Thank you. You have some nice drawings of it."

"Thank you."

I look at what she's drawn, wanting her to look at me, at my still semi-hard prick, like normal, all normal. 

"And you, you don't mind this do you?"

I leave this alone.

"I know men like you, cocks hard when the wind changes direction, and you love it don't you, when you are looked at, you're so proud of yourself, of your cock, I mean look at you, walking around the room, still nude, why haven't you asked for a robe, why haven't you splashed some water on yourself, no, you're getting off on this aren't you, you want people to see you with your stiff cock, you want to parade yourself, expose yourself in front of us."

My cock quivers again. This is not over, the temperature may have been lowered, but I'm simmering alright. 

"I'll bet you're almost ready to come, aren't you, I bet if I gave you one or two firm strokes you'd come in a second."

I look at her, I look at her looking down at my organ, without shame, with caring who might see her looking.

"I think I might like to see that, it would be a first, I mean a few of our male models have had erections, not many, but some, some men get aroused by being stared at, and we look, they rarely get asked back to other classes, bad form or something, but we have all looked at quite a few stiff cocks in this class, none of them has come though. That would be something, if we could see that, if one of our models ejaculated in front of everybody."

"It's not going to happen" although I sounded surer than I felt.

"We'll see, you stand back on your little platform, make sure you have a good view of me, and we'll see if I can't make you fucking come all over yourself, I know you won't be able to control yourself this time, you will become erect, your cock will get completely hard, we'll see then, we'll if we don't see you orgasm before the end of the session."

I move on, I was quickly getting nowhere with her, nowhere I wanted to go anyway. I walk the room, I do exactly what she said, I parade in front of everyone, accepting their gaze, feeling each set of eyes on my exposed and tight balls, my thick and pendulous dong. I stand next to each of the men, not caring if they're enjoying this, embarrassed by it, feeling insecure now that my prick is nice and big, thanks very much, that it is swinging at a good length and girth despite what initial appearances may have led them to think. But it is, it still feels unusual. I have been naked in front of a few women, naked whilst they were not, naked and erect, even in front of two women...

(when was this? One drunken night or other, with quite a close female friend as it happens, and another of her friends, that I knew less well, I was spouting some nonsense or other about why we should feel able to just fuck, no problem, why not, and for it not to mean everything, or even anything, and I talked myself into daring myself to get naked, really hoping we all would, and did, they joined in the dare, they developed the challenge, said that if it wasn't such a big deal why didn't I get undressed and spend the rest of the evening nude, I asked, well, I said come on then let's get undressed, let's get nude, they told me, in no uncertain terms, that I would be the only one naked, if I was man enough. This was weak of course, but they egged me on. "Come on, get your kit off then, let's see you, let's see what you've got, come on, show us your cock." So I did. So I stood up and stripped, whilst they kept their clothes on, I took it all off, shirt, trousers, pants, which took no small amount of nerve, and exposed myself for them, stood in the middle of her living room for them, naked, turned and showed them everything, did a little dance so they could see my cock and balls jiggle and bounce and sat back down between them, determined to remain naked. And this, of course, was not enough, they said nudity wasn't what I said, they told me I said sex, they told me to get myself ready then, show them what I had, get myself ready for sex. What? "Show us what you've got, come on, get yourself hard, we want to see that in its full glory." And I did this too, I played with myself, I persuaded them to show me their tits, which they did, together, standing in front of me and pulling up their tops up in one quick go, then they stood there, tits very much covered, pale expanses of soft skin, their nipples stiff but covered, and watched me sit and pinch and squeeze my prick until I was fully erect. Then the next part of the negotiation, I was to come for them, I was to show them what it looked like when a boy had an orgasm, which they'd not seen, not properly, so I was to carry on masturbating for them, but only if they undressed for me, which they did. So I carried on wanking as they took their turn to undress, hesitating once they were down to their underwear, I managed to persuade them to take this in turns, first one bra, exposing one set of breasts, then the other, overweight, but at this point I wasn't about to quibble, one set of huge hanging tits and hard pointing nipples, then one pair of knickers, mismatched, taken off to show a triangle of thick brown pubic hair, and the other, pulled down to reveal a sparser, blonde bush, but so thinly covered that I could see the raised split of her labia between her legs. They stood, with their arms folded underneath their breasts, perhaps a leg apart from the other, and watched me masturbate for them. I tried, I really did ("don't you want to join in? Why don't you play with yourselves."), but they were having none of it, were enjoying the sight of me pumping my cock, were getting off on making me do it. "How, where do you want me to come?" They said the bathroom, onto the tiles, so we all walked to her bathroom, me behind them, their bare bums wobbling as they stepped, my stiff penis bouncing and circling in front of me. And they sat, still naked, on the edge of the tub, and I stroked my hard cock in front of them, facing them, really knowing what I was doing, and felt myself nearly there, and allowed my hand to speed up now, so my foreskin was ripped back and forth, my balls were slapping hard against my thighs, then I stopped moving completely, the tip of my cock utterly revealed, and came for them, on them, three huge ribbons of spunk shot out from my cock and landed on my friend's huge tits, on her friend's shoulder, on her friend's chin. They squealed of course, and jumped up, tried to scoop my semen off themselves and smear it onto me, which caused me to run, with all due irony, away from this, into the other room, with them following, so I was running naked through her house with two naked girls chasing me, their tits bouncing as they ran, my balls jiggling, my still semi hard dick swinging as I evaded them. For a bit at least, until I let them catch me, and pin me to the sofa, I accepted a face-full of my own cum in return for four tits pressing against me, as payment for a stray hand here, a squeeze of my prick there, two noticeably wet vaginas open over each of my thighs as they sat on me and rubbed cum off their own bodies and onto mine. Then, almost ironically, or with a shield of fun, then they "made me" pleasure them both, which was quite thoroughly erotic, even if at the start of the evening I'd not found either of them especially attractive, they sat on the sofa, side by side, and told me to give both of them orgasms. Which I did, I think, I went down on one, as I played with the other, I could hear them both getting into it, encouraging me, the one whose pussy I wasn't licking would tell me what to do, "Go on, lick her clitoris now, gently, hold your whole mouth over it, kiss it, suck it, gently, now keep it there, now lick her up and down, go on, put your tongue inside her, as far as you can, reach in, taste how wet she is, now run that up over her lips, and really go for her clit, touch her, oh god, oh this is so arousing, let me see you touch her wet cunt, let me see you kiss her little clit and push your finger inside her tight little cunt" all the while I was rubbing the other one with my fingers, penetrating her, feeling how soaking wet she had become, feeling my cock begin to swell again as they did, swelling with every moan, as I could feel each of their vaginas become thick with blood and drenched with moisture) and, needless to say, naked in front of other men, changing room, locker rooms, once or twice naked with a hard-on, once or twice exchanging various forms of pleasuring, never though, never naked when other men were not. But here I was, standing naked in front of another man with my cock half, no, maybe quarter stiff. 

"Having a good time?"

I smile, I laugh this off. 

"Yes. You?"

"Mmm, I am, it's a good class."

And then to the final artist, and my fellow erectee. Less so though, under control now it seemed. He stood to show me his work, looking at my dick without shame. 

"What do you think?"

"Good, yeah, they're good." What else, what else was I going to say. I looked at his representations of me, the dark marks of charcoal, at me, my face, my body, my bare prick, sticking up, not hard, you wouldn't say, but a thickly visible prong pointing up from the dark curls of my crotch. He leans towards me, whispers.

"This is really inappropriate but, sorry, I mean, I want your cock in my mouth, god, I think you're so fucking hot, your cock is fucking lovely, I really want to suck your cock, and feel you, god, I want your hard cock in my mouth, I want to taste your cum."

I looked at him, knowing really what he wants me to say, not quite up for it, I stay though, wanting to hear him say what he said, for some reason. I control my penis.

I glanced down at him, saw his cock begin to show again through his sweatpants.

"I should get back up there."

I did, stepped back onto the platform, where the teacher was again waiting for me.

"So, here we are again."

"Yes."

"Your prick has become quite stiff once more, I knew it would, I hoped it would, if I am honest." 

"Yes, a little, I am trying to control it."

"Do you want to masturbate for us?"

"What's that?"

"An idea, I'm sure the class would like it, if you masturbated, slowly, so we could draw this. You know Klimt? Schiele? Many artists, mostly they have drawn women, of course, but women as they masturbated. Reclining, their vaginas red and vivid. It would be a nice study for the group if you allowed them the chance to draw a male figure as he held his erect penis."

"Well, that would be strange."

"This is not?" she smiled, inclined her head. "You stand in front of strangers nude, myself, last week, with a hard penis, last time I saw you you were masturbating for me, and think it would only be strange if you were to hold yourself?"

"Well, yes, this is, nothing really, an accident, I cannot do much about this, if I was to masturbate in front of everyone..."

"And yet you did for me, when I asked you to, you masturbated, you came for me."

"That was, that felt different."

She turned to face the class. "Who would like our model to pose more sexually?" I look around the room. The older and younger women both raise their hands. "I mean, who would like him to hold himself, who would like to be able to draw him as if masturbating?" More hands are raised. "He thinks it would be strange. Perhaps it would be, a little, but productive I think." I am standing on the platform again, facing the room, my cock is hanging down by my legs, still long and thick, still able to win an argument, perhaps on points, that it was un-erect. My balls are still drawn up by the tightened skin of my scrotum, which makes my cock look bigger, makes my groin look like its nothing but cock. I don't mind this. I look at the younger woman, the one who said she'd make me come, she is flashing me again, sitting with her legs apart, oh-so casually, allowing me to look at the patch of white cotton that covers her pussy. She lowers her hand, threads a finger under the gusset, rubs herself, as she looks at me, appears to sink her finger inside her cunt, close her eyes at the sensation of this, pulls her finger out, raises her hand to her face, runs her presumably wet digit under her nose, before licking it, dipping it into her mouth and sucking it, all the while looking at me. And of course I have reacted to this, my cock has, has swollen again.

"Okay, if you could hold your penis now? Yes? Hold your penis with your right hand, and drop your left shoulder, stand on your left hip? Will you do this please?"

I look at the class, I know I should walk away from this now, before it gets even more weird, but I don't, I suppose I have to admit this, I stay, for no reason other than I want to remain aroused, I am turned on by the situation, and want to get more turned on, I feel unable to walk away from the eroticism of my own submission to this. It's a game, I know this, perhaps one not everyone is playing, and one we are all willing to deny, but it's a game nevertheless, and I stay because I want to carry on playing. I am ruled by my erection. I drop my left shoulder and hip, move my right hand to my penis, grip my prick at the base of the shaft. I look around the class. She s still showing me her panties, he has folded his legs again, to shield himself from the room again, and allows me to see the stretch of material covering his own stiff cock. I look at Susan. She scratches her breast, perhaps rubs her peaking nipple, certainly winks at me and smiles. 

"And if you could pull back your foreskin please, so it is as if you are masturbating, yes? If you were arousing yourself, if your hand was there you would have retracted your foreskin yes, we would be able to see the head of your penis. So, show us this please."

I release my hold on my dick, let it flop down again before move my hand up so I can place it over the tip, move it back down, still holding, so my foreskin moves back with it, exposing the fat and glistening and dark red glans. I stand still after this single stroke of masturbation, realising the end of my prick is already doused and slick with pre cum. 

I hear the scrape of pencil and charcoal across paper, I see the teacher walk behind each student, looking at their work. She stops and look at me, then down at my hand and cock. I see her smile. I glance down and see why. A tear of my pre-cum has dripped off the end of my penis and is hanging down by a thread from my urethra. I look at the girl who threatened to make me come. She is not on her seat. I find myself unable to resist looking at the guy on the end. He notices me looking at him, feels encouraged to scratch his own cock beneath his jogging bottoms. I watch him do this, I watch him stroke then squeeze. The younger artist comes back to her seat. I can take a guess as to what she might have done. I want her to have done it. I don't want to come, I don't want to ejaculate in front of the room, but now this is more because I want this to go on for longer, I don't want this to end just yet. I don't care if I do orgasm, I am ready to do it if the teacher asks me to, I will masturbate for them, I will wank for them and shoot my load onto the stage (as I did before, as I enjoyed doing for my two friends. And as I had done previously. These are episodes that are only now becoming significant. My first girlfriend, or, the first girlfriend who let me do anything other than feel her tits, the first one who reached into my own trousers, past my pants, and placed her bare hand against my bare cock, stiff and bent underneath my jeans. She was the first one who when we were snogging took my hand and placed it on her breasts, who would place it under her T-shirt if I wasn't quick enough for her, who would not break from kissing me as she placed my hand underneath her bra and onto the cool and smooth flesh of her tits, broken by the tough point of her nipple. And who would, as I felt her breasts, would first squeeze the ridge of my semi-erect dick through my trouser, would then unbuckle my belt, undo the buttons of my jeans, would then dip her hand into my pants and take a firm hold of my cock, I would pinch her nipples as she moved her fingers over the shaft of my penis. She was the first to say

"Can I see it then? Can I get your willy out?" to which I nodded. And allowed her to unzip me the rest of the way, lifted my bum off the chair to allow her first to pull my trousers down to my ankles, to spend a second or two looking at the outline of my willy poking up from under the blue material of my pants, and who was the first to pull down my pants, stretching them first over my dick, but persevering with it, pulling my pants down to where my jeans already were to let my dick spring free, spring out, erect and exposed from the bed of dark, still quite sparse pubic hair, up from the tight pouch of my balls. She stopped kissing me to look at it, I sat there as she studied my erect willy, her first she told me later, the first time she'd seen one close up, that wasn't her dad's or her brother's, and the first one she seen when it was big. "Nice."

"Thanks"

"Are they all that big?"

"Well"

"Are all your friends' willies this size?"

"I don't know. I, I haven't seen my friends' like this."

"Really? I heard you had, I heard you had wanking parties, wanking competitions."

She stopped this though, had other things on her mind. She held my cock in her hand, she gripped it and started moving her hand up and down the shaft.

"Is this how you do it? Is this how boys wank themselves?"

"Yes"

"And all boys do this do they? All boys play with themselves like this?"

"I reckon."

"It's funny."

And it was, as she slowly and methodically pulled my foreskin down and up over my willy. Stopping the first time the purple helmet was shown to her, to anyone other than myself. 

"Oh wow, look at that. It's shiny, and wet. Is that cum? Or wee?"

"it's, sort of, it's not really cum, but it's not piss."

She stopped wanking me for a second to touch my glans with the fingers of her other hand, to run them over it, squeeze it gently. Then she carried on wanking me, we didn't kiss, I had stopped feeling her tits, made no move to get my hand into her knickers, just sat and let her rub my cock. 

"What happens?"

"Well, if you carry on doing that, maybe a bit quicker, a bit harder."

I placed my hand over hers, got her into a nice rhythm, without breaking contact, without losing hold of my foreskin. I felt confident enough to take her other hand and place it on my balls.

"Like that, keep doing it like that."

"This is so weird, so odd. I can't believe I'm doing this, I can't believe I'm giving you a hand-job." She sped up, moved one hand up to brush a strand of hair from her face, which allowed my balls to slap against my thigh.