On June 22, 1975, Jaws, the first summer blockbuster movie, opened nationwide in 409 theaters. Earlier that day, under a dazzling blue sky filled with great puffy white clouds looking like immense sheep dogs at play, I packed my 1971 Ford Pinto with a sea bag stacked full of uniforms, a duffel bag filled with neatly folded civvies and several cardboard boxes of books.
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There are fifteen candles strategically placed throughout the room, one for every year they have been together. They lie on the bed, side by side. Their fingers are laced together and are wedged between their two steaming bodies. Beads of perspiration glisten upon his chest hair.
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I wiped the condensation from the bathroom mirror and leaned close, applying my mascara in the small window I'd made on the glass. The tiny room was full of steam and the smell of shampoo and soap.
"How can you take a hot shower in this weather?" I said, capping my mascara and leaning in even closer, scrutinizing my face. I'd had a shower a half hour ago and could already feel a thin film of sweat on my back; it was going to be another boiling hot day.
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I had just closed escrow on a house I found in Manhattan Beach, a better part of Los Angeles County than my old digs--closer to the beach. I spent the day moving in my furniture, and as the sun went down, to celebrate I drove to a restaurant I saw on Sepulveda Boulevard. I sat at the bar and ordered a Knob Creek and soda--a little 100 proof whiskey was just what I needed.
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We'd only lived in the neighbourhood a few weeks, so when I first saw him mowing the lawn as I pulled into the driveway, I thought it might have been my own mistake. But no, I checked the house number, and I saw my wife's car in the other parking spot, so I knew I was in the right place. I shrugged and got out of the car.
I reached back in for my briefcase, and then watched the young man mowing our lawn as I walked to the front door.
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My parents had prepared a welcome home party for their Marine Sergeant son coming back from a tour of combat duty. It was a food and booze feast attended by various relatives, neighbors and family friends wanting to hear war stories.
As glad as I was to be home among relatives, I had a problem that overshadowed all feelings. I was horny, extremely horny after a year of living in a hostile land, masturbating to keep my sanity.
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Nothing, and I mean nothing, in sex gets me off more than the scent and taste of my woman's ass. I don't mean when it's squeaky clean and perfumed. I mean when it smells and tastes like what an ass is and what it does.
Nothing beats the erotic blast of kissing her soft, satiny fanny and parting the cheeks to expose her sexy anus.
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"Why am I even here?", Kelly wondered as she walked into the Halloween party. It looked pretty boring but she couldn't leave. She had already told the hostess, her coworker Samantha, that she would spend the night. Samantha knew Kelly loved to drink, and definitely should not be on the road later tonight. Plus, Kelly's costume was a hit!
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i sat nervously sipping coffee and trying to eat a muffin, in the small outdated hotel lobby. business men came and went, with barely a glance at me, but the desk clerk seemed much too interested in my top. my breasts swayed back and forth in my low-neck shirt, unbound as my Master had required. and i felt as self-conscious about that as the thought of whatever else would be required of me this morning.
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"Hello. I'm Mr. Devereux to see Ms. Hill," I said to the receptionist. My voice was clear and authoritative, but not overly aggressive. I was standing in front of her desk, which had the usual assortment of secretarial accoutrements; a large phone, pens, paper, rolodex and computer, which she was busily typing away at.
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