The "cleanest" sexual relationship I've had was also, in the end, the kinkiest. I lived in a cabin up in Vermont for a short time several years ago. I'd just moved east from California, had a couple bucks in the bank, and was woodshedding some songs for a new album.
First night there I'd pulled all the curtains off the windows and stuck the clock radio in the closet, so every morning I woke up to the impossible shimmer of sunlight off the lake and got right to work.
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It's sometimes amazing how innocent little meetings just turn out to be life's big enjoyments.
I'm Al and my wife's name is Liz and this is our story.
We've been blessed with an amazing financial windfall when the investment's our folks gave to us kept doubling and splitting giving us enough money so that at the ripe old age of thirty five we were able to not have to work to make ends meet.
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What to write about? What to write about I mused to myself, my mind momentarily blank. Glancing through the pages and pages of stories in Literotica you could be forgiven for thinking that just about every topic for a story had already been used. I sat back in the chair pondering on possible story themes and as I did I started thinking about my life so far.
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Even with the air conditioner on, the sweltering heat outside had John sweating. And it was close to bedtime, but Texas heat wouldn't let up until several months later, if the state was lucky.
"How did I know you were here?"
John turned to see Madison standing in the doorway.
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There were three generations of blondes occupying the table at the food court in the mall I had recently begun to manage.
I had seen them before, perhaps each Saturday for about a month now. With each visit they captured more of my curiosity. It didn't hurt that they ranged, in order, from bubbly and precious, to perky and pretty, to downright seductively sexy.
The youngest was no more than a few months old, I estimated, a jolly pink-faced infant being lovingly bounced on the knees of her mom.
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Lisbeth was bored. She idly went through the motions of straightening the shelves of the upscale boutique where she worked on this dreary Thursday morning. Lisbeth was twenty-four and she married less than two years ago, having come from her native Denmark as an au pair originally. The Georgetown lawyer to whom she was married treated her as a trophy wife, insisting that she escort him to his many social events, but once they got home, the middle-aged partner became icily cold to Lisbeth, precluding any carnal activities.
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Sam watched the two girls leave the bar and sighed wistfully. The blonde was stacked and he was in deeply in lust.
"They're way out of your league," commented Darren with a snort. "Besides, I don't think you're the right gender."
"No way," stated Sam with a glare in Darren's direction. "I know for a fact Jenny's into men."
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He had never told me his name.
That realization hit me suddenly, forcefully, as I hesitated in the doorway of the large, immaculate, well-appointed suite. The very upscale hotel clearly lived up to its advertising -- which used words like "discerning tastes," "classically comfortable," and even "the ideal destination for enjoyment of discrete leisure activities."
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Kerri poured herself another glass of wine. She tilted the bottle up, all the way up until the last red drop fell into her cup. She sighed and took another deep swig, feeling the acid of the cheap wine burning her throat slightly on the way down.
She had been sitting in the Pisa airport for nearly 24 hours. The train system, in fact, all travel systems in Italy, was perpetually running late.
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My wife Teri never ceases to turn me on. All I have to do is look at her and I get an instant woody, especially when she's in her nightshirt.
I have always been a tit man. Teri's D cups are not only the beautiful work of Mother Nature, but are also of porn star quality, so naturally she had me at "Hello." And her large nipples are "ON" all the time. Due to her conservative sexuality, she wears padded bras every day in order to contain them.
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