We first saw him at the beach, just down from the resort where we were spending two weeks. He was with a girl as stunning and as gorgeous as he was. While Steve and I first remarked on the absolute lusciousness of the girl, I made sure to comment on the "big bulge" in the crotch of the boy's Speedos, drawing Steve's attention to the ample package of hidden male genital goodies. We shared a knowing smile, both well aware of our common appreciation for such goodies.
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"You will wear the blue skirt!" she tells me, reaching to pull it out of the closet.
I am already wearing the corset; black satin, laced, long suspenders linked on to sheer black stockings. Fishnet, she says, is tacky. Personally I think the whole suspenders-and-stockings thing is tacky, and much prefer bare flesh, but then, it's not for me to decide.
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When you start writing a fiction story, it's fun to think about where to start. But when you're writing a true story, especially one with a lot of threads runnings through it, deciding where to start is really hard. There are so many strands involved in explaining the key event, and people won't understand you if you don't describe them well. They may even judge you.
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I'd heard about the parties at Jeni's. Everyone had. It was a small liberal arts college, and six foot tall plus blonde lesbians were not exactly falling out of the trees. Everyone seemed to know who she was and that she was "that" way, both she and her nearly equally tall and beautiful roommate, Veronique.
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Well, I keep wondering how I got myself into this situation. I'm 53 years old and I have a beautiful 26 year old woman under me, just about to have an earth shattering orgasm. Maybe I should start at the beginning.
As far as Amy goes, I have known her since she was born. Her parents were friends of my parents. She was one of those OOPS babies. You know, a wild New Years Eve party, then on the way home some sexy talk and a little touchy feely so by the time you get to the front door your ripping your clothes off and finding the first soft surface to flop down on and get to the real business.
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Nicole and I used to wait tables together when we were in college and we did a good job of remaining friends thereafter. We'd go out once a month or so with her crazy girlfriends to a karaoke night downtown. She was a party girl in college and she showed no signs of slowing down in her thirties.
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When I first moved to Chicago from the country I was pretty shy and nervous. It wasn't easy to make friends. I started dating a nice girl from work and had great fun for a few months. Then she went away to college and I found myself alone and miserable.
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While in college, as well as now, I was not "open" about being bisexual. I went to school for, and now work in law enforcement…not exactly an open minded group of people. That being said, I've got to admit, still love a big hard cock just as much as, and maybe a bit more than, a nice juicy pussy.
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The wife was gone to her sister's for the weekend. I got up late and was shaving in the bathroom mirror when I noticed a reflection in the closet mirrored door. Someone was looking in my bedroom window. I couldn't make out who it was. I only saw the shape of the head. I continued to shave and moved into a different position so I could have a better view. It was a guy. He didn't move. He just stood still and peeked through the blinds.
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Statement of veracity: This is a true story. Well, everything up to the break point. I'll leave it to you to guess which of these is the full true story.
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