Warning: I write love stories with graphic sex. Sometimes the lovers are of the same gender. So if love offends you, you'd best move on. MJL
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As I sat in the unknown room, blindfolded, my hands tied behind my back, I was apprehensive, but not really scared. While it’s true there had been stories around for years about hazing stunts gone terribly wrong, resulting in serious injuries and even deaths, nothing like that had ever happened at my university. Also, the fraternity I was pledging was probably the last one where such a thing ever would happen.
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I've been in a depressed mood lately. My husband has totally ignored me sexually for months on end. I know it is somewhat my fault. I have gotten heavier over the past couple of years. My husband always said he liked a full figured woman, but no longer it seems. It's Sunday morning and my husband went golfing with his buddies. I was in bed naked and rubbing my pussy. I hate to admit this, but I am thinking of my son, Tommy.
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The rhythm of your steps on the stairs announces your presence and I look up from chopping the peppers as you unlock the latch. Still dusted with flour from work at the bakery, you look just as juicy as that day last fall when I picked you up at the gym. You slip the bandanna off your head and shake free the mop of red-gold curls it contains. "I got the stuff you wanted from the market. Angelo is bringing it up." I raise an eyebrow, wondering what you are up to. That impish look is all over your face, and your cheeks are flushed. Girl, don't I know that look!
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CHAPTER 1
The Davidson's middle daughter Monet was a worry to her parents. The 19-year was a gifted sportswoman and had taken a job as an attendant at the city's indoor aquatic center instead of going to college whereas her older sister Lisa would graduate this year with a Master's degree in computer science. Younger sister Colleen was the top female in her year class as a high school senior.
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The air conditioner kept the tractor cab to the same comfort level as my living room in spite of the ninety-five degrees of searing, July heat. I hit the hydraulics to raise the cultivator, made the turn, and lined back up on the next eight rows of soybeans. Another tap on the hydraulic lever caused the gleaming sweeps to bite into the rich, black, Illinois soil. It used to be hotter and harder work, but I liked it more when my ears were filled with the sound of the tractor exhaust instead of the local radio station, and when I could smell the freshly turned dirt and herbal scent of the weeds.
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Gently closing her bedroom door, she felt her heart start to pound as her excitement rose. It was his birthday and time to prepare her special gift.
On the dresser were the black garter belt and dark nylons she'd bought earlier in the day. She knew he'd love them -- a garter belt and stockings were among his greatest turn-ons, and hers, too.
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Last night after we made love and you left me, I replayed our conversation in my head. We've known each other for a long time, so I admit that it surprised me to hear you say that sometimes you have a hard time telling me your desires. It seems like you're embarrassed, or ashamed. I don't ever want you to feel that way. You can trust me, you know.
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How long can you last just sitting by the hotel pool on holiday without getting bored? I can go about an hour before I start to shuffle.
Have you every got so bored by the pool you played imaginary games? Looking at the bikini clad women and guessing if they have shaved, trimmed or hairy little cunnies, if they had a good pounding last night, what they look like when they come and, my favourite, my top ten shagables in each position.
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My dad was always working hard to give me what I wanted and needed. Since my mom died he'd been overly protective but super nice. Every summer since I got into high school, I would work at his tiny little taco shop around the corner from our house. It was very successful and every summer dad was opening up a new one. He still left me working at the old shop with the men I called uncles. I was always a skinny little kid and half the time people confused me for a boy.
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Shauna was my first experience with another girl. She and I were roommates in our freshman year at college, crammed into a two-bed, two-desk, one-closet dormitory room on the third floor of a six floor dorm. We didn't pick each other; we were assigned our rooms by the college's computer. In retrospect, that computer did a wonderful job.
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