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THEAD1 2 extreme pressure trying boss you
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I can't help but getting that old feeling of nostalgia and souvenirremembrance rising to my consciousness around June 1. That's the day mychildhood and teen-age sweetheart, Rayvon Koch, and I promised each otherwe'd get married when we grew up and got older. We never did. But fromthe time Ray took my virginity a week after my thirteenth birthday (he wasfifteen at the time) until his parents suddenly moved them allcross-country because his dad was with IBM which stands for "I've BeenMoved" and I lost touch with him, he and I had to most incredible, totallymind-fucking-blowing sex any male-female couple could have. Regular sex.Oral sex. Manual sex. Anal sex. Toe Sex. Menstrual sex. Ear sex.Navel sex. Vaginal-Menstrual-Oral-Then-Anal sex. Breast-fucking sex.Clit-fucking sex. Urethra-fucking sex. If it involved "unarmed" sexbetween a girl and a boy, we did it. No lover since Ray has been sototally, completely uninhibited with me, reveling in the deep pool of myfemininity using his masculine submarine to dive deep and explore well. Myentire sex life, not necessarily my life but definitely my sex life, hasbeen a search for my next Ray, my next lover who's unafraid of my unbridledfeminine power and being.It's hard being an average "Jill" with average looks (5'6", 135 lb.s,36B bra size, 32" waist, size 6 shoes, curly brunette hair that I can't doanything with, have to wear glasses when I drive, nipples the size ofhalf-dollar coins, pleasant but rather ordinary-looking face, unblemishedbut undistinguished, if you know what I mean) with an average job (I'm theassistant manager for the produce and vegetable sections at theHarris-Teeter down off Jones Franklin Road) and average education (droppedout my Senior year at 'State because I couldn't pass a required advancedcalculus course that I needed to get my degree in computer science) and anaverage car ('94 Corsica with 53,000 miles on it) and average apartment(had a 1-bedroom unit at Dutch Village near the Harris-Teeter supermarketwhere I work) with an average sex life and track record for someonethirty-four years old (around eighteen-nineteen male lovers over the yearsafter my Rayvon) to attract the kind of male, no, the kind of MAN, someonewho's stable and mature and fun-loving and funny and secure yet who's asmuch of an absolute and complete monogamous slut in bed as I am, as Ray andI taught each other to be, totally free and without fear with each other inexpressing our total sexuality.If it sounds like I'm bitching and pissing and moaning, yes, I am. Withgood reason. I don't know what it is with men my age, myself preferring todate someone who's not close to my dad's age or someone who would be closeto my son's if I had a young son early in life which I didn't, but men myage seem to be either total pussies or total jerks, with very few inbetween. Their dating strategy either seems to be be a total doormat andtry to give you everything you want in order to get your panties off, orjust the opposite, be a total jerk and try to demand and cajole withextreme pressure, trying to boss you in not only taking you panties off butthen making you wash his underwear with yours and fold them up after he'sthrough fucking you like HE wants. Shesshhh. And the few guys that areseemingly in the middle, who are nice and polite but also can be assertiveand strong depending on what is called for at the moment, yep, they'reeither married and looking for some side action or are gay and looking fora date so they will appear straight and won't get fired from their work.About a year ago, my best girlfriend and former roommate before we eachstarted earning enough money to get our own places with our own privacies,Carolyn (and no, we've never fooled around with each other, neither one ofus has those impulses...well, not unless we get drunk and a little sillyand start playfully picking on each other) and I and another girlfriend,April, were sitting around bored silly one Saturday afternoon on whatpasses for an excuse of a postage-stamp-sized deck at the backdoor of myapartment, getting some sun, laying on beach recliners, cooking some kabobson my large hibachi, when April decided to go make a beer and chips rundown to my store.She came back a couple of six's of Mich' and a couple of bags of chipsand a bottle of MontForte red and a local freebie weeklyarts-and-personal-ads rag, "The Independent". It's fun just to read theads, just to poke fun at some of then. "Successful (has at least some sortof job) SWM (single when wife's not around) businessman (sells Amwaypart-time), 37, tall (-er than 4'11"), dark (put too much self-tanninglotion on last weekend), and handsome (haven't been arrested forimpersonating a gorilla yet), drives a Porsche (that I borrow from thegarage where I actually work) seeks attractive (installed pussy required)SWF (or female in general) for discrete daytime encounters (yep, definitelymarried), will be generous (will buy condoms and spring for my half of thebeer money) to right special lady (who's not a pre-op TS)"...sorry...Ican't help myself, it's just too much fun seeing through the facades.So April (who I have never fooled around with, either...well, okay,except for the one really drunk sloppy kiss we did just to freak a coupleof morons out one night at the Longbranch Saloon & Nightclub) and Carolynand I were having our fun with that week's ads, when April reads the nextone aloud to us, one that got our attention. "SWM, actually single, 31,6'1", Hispanic mother and American Indian father, works as janitor withWake County schools, high school graduate but no college, drive an '81 Fordpickup truck, lives in a tiny cheap rental house in southeast Raleigh,loves long walks and cheap dates and reading poetry by moonlight to myspecial lady as we canoe Falls Lake under a clear night sky, NS, ND, lightsocial drinker but no beer gut, will trade photos before meeting, seeks theone special lady who can see me through this ad for what and who Iam...reply Box@@@@"."I'm going to answer this one, girls!" April cheerfully announced as shetook her last swing from her Michelob, asking me to come around and fastenthe strap of her bathing suit back on so she could rise from having laidflat on the beach recliner sans strap so as to not have a tanline on herback, Carolyn and I mumbling politely "sure, yeah, April, whatever girl, gofor it..."I'd like to be a bit of a snob and tell you that I had never placed oranswered a personal ad through The Indy, but that would be a fib. Sure, weall had. And except getting a couple of one-night stands between the threeof us and Carolyn getting a bout of chlymaedia from her own personal adPrince Charming that time, we all had as much collective luck using thepersonals as a vegan vegetarian trying to get laid at a cattleman'sconvention. But still, when we would have one of our lazy weekendafternoon henparties, invariably one of us would pick an Indy, and beginthe game of poking fun at the poor, desperate people who placed the ads,our own pots calling their collective kettles black.Anyway, April did write to her bald-faced truth-teller, she jumped hisbones on their first date, and she let him move with her a couple of weekslater full-time since he was staying so much at her place or his placeanyway. That was close to a year ago, and they're still together. I admitit, her luck answering her Jose Altimataha's ("call me 'Al' ") bluntlyhonest to the point of self-brutality ad got me thinking. That, and thefact I hadn't been laid in months myself, having had only two real dates inthose same said months.I knew, I KNOW how average I appear to most people. But, I also knowthat, I am NOT. My first Rayvon opened my sexuality up like someonegrowing then picking the first perfect rose, and since then all I had beenever to find were guys who weren't interested in growing and tending myflower, only picking it, but picking it only on their terms. I admit, hellyes, it had been a frustrating twenty-one years going without a man who wasunafraid of my femininity, i.e., who'd didn't think my periods were a totalturn-off instead of a total turn-on like Ray did. Jheezzz. They want youto swallow their Clorox-smelling come and wash their dirty shit-stainedunderwear for them, but then when you have your period, instant fuckingcelibacy like my tiny flow of blood was some sort of fucking communicabledisease that they could catch (yeah, I wish!) or something instead of notjust natural but also such an integral part of my femininity and sexuality.In other words, while in relationships, I was getting damn tired of havingto play with myself while on my period and give way too many damn blowjobsto keep them happy instead of getting some nice hard cock "during" like anyREAL man like my Rayvon showed me that a real man enjoys. And oral sexduring my period? Ha! Forget that.My menstrual flow tastes a lot more palatable than theirvitamin-and-beer-smelling whiteshit that comes out of their wee-wees, justtasting a little metallic but nothing more, but would they ever go down onme on my period after they nagged me to death for a blowjob because theywere just too much like frightened little boys instead of like a real man,because they were too damn squeamish about putting their cocks inside mypre-lubricated pussy, like little boys too afraid to put their wormies on ahook? Nnnnnooooo....damn wusses.But, now, don't read more to this than what I'm trying to say. It'snot, repeat, NOT about me enjoying just sex on my period (most days andtimes that is, unless I'm clotting a lot). No, it's about attitude. Acorrect and proper masculine attitude that says to the world "I am a man,not a wuss...I am man, hear me be quietly strong...I embrace my ownmasculinity as much as I embrace my ladypartner's femininity...her humancondition and reality does not scare me, nor does my quiet but very realmasculinity frighten her". Know what I'm trying to say? It's about havingthe self-confidence, self-assurance, self-knowledge, maturity, but alsowhat my dad called "keeping the fun-loving, kid-part of life" always inyou. It's about my real-man partner accepting me as his real-female one,his yang matching my yin.So, perhaps inspired by my girlfriend April's success of meeting her Althrough the Indy personals, I decided to try my luck one more time, oneLAST time, two or three previous tries producing the non-luck mentionedearlier. This time, no-holds-barred. Either I get exactly what I want, orscrew men, well, at least the personals, for good. To get what I wanted, Ihad to say what I wanted. My verbatim ad copy, the first 25 words of whicheach week were free because I was a single female placing an ad for asingle male but the rest of which I had to put on my Visa since it wasgoing to run four consecutive weeks for a total of around fifty bucks, thatI used is below."SWF, 34 (will show DL if requested), 5'6", 135 lb.s, br. hair andeyes, average looks, average figure, ND, NS except when I'm out clubbing,light drink, small feet, average job, car, and apartment, seeks anextraordinary man. He must be within five years in age of either side ofmine and within five inches of height of either side of mine. He must nothave ever used intravenous drugs, or ever had sex with another man underany circumstances. He must be able to read a newspaper aloud to me (I'malso literate) to tell me the funny parts over morning coffee. Beingdivorced and even kids are okay, as long as your ex isn't a nutcase. Musthave job, car, telephone, and not be homeless. If you're online andcomputer literate, great, if not, no biggie. Must not have currentgirlfriend. Must give me a reason in your letter to me to WANT to pick upthe phone and call you. I want someone who's unafraid of their ownmasculinity, but isn't a jerk. I want someone who is unafraid of thetotality of my femininity, but who isn't a doormat. I want someone who isbasically monogamous, but who is totally free in their own sexuality andenjoys all aspects of their partner's sexuality, includingevery-day-all-month long expressions of it. Must send non-nude full bodyand face photo, which will be returned if you enclose an SSAE, along withyour HOME telephone number (absolutely no pager numbers, and no worknumbers either) and best time to call. I'll send you my photo in return,before we meet, if requested. Reply Box@@@@@."Boy, did that ever bring "them" out of the woodwork! I didn't want tocome right out and say bluntly "hey guy, don't bother writing if you don'tenjoy or at least mind having sex during your partner's period", so I usedthe closest non-offensive euphemistic phrase I could come up with,"enjoys...every-day-all-month long expressions of it". Boy, did that everbring "them" out of the woodwork!While I did get a handful of sincere responses from some seemingly niceguys who were "potentials", the perverts really smelled the blood in my ad,pardon the pun. Several sent me tampons or pads to wear for them during mynext period, along with ziploc bags and postage-paid envelopes for theirprompt return. One sent me a maxipad for me to (and I swear I'm not makingthis up) autograph and return to him (I still don't get that....why?).Another handful wanted to buy my used blood-stained underwear and/or usedKotex's and Tampax's. One guy offered me $50 for a set of blood-stainedpanties and fresh-stained maxi from my next period, and hey, $50 IS $50,and sure I thought about it, for all of less than a millisecond. In theend, all the moronic crap went where it belonged in the first place, in thetrash...my neighbor's trash.But among the three out of the over one hundred responses that I keptand meditated on for a few days before beginning to make the initial phonecalls, Sandy's stuck out, so I saved him for last. Reginald Jerome was anice young black guy with a Porsche (his photo showed him shirtless, hisnicely built bare chest, contrasting to the red of his Porsche 911 as hepropped up one knee on the front bumper) but in the end, was still just 24and ten years younger than I, five too many, and Dwight was a nice singleguy who had his own house and was partners in a podiatric practice but whodidn't know what zitta was and who basically lacked self-confidence sobadly that he couldn't string two sentences let alone two thoughts togetherwhile talking to me that first phone call, so that left Sandy.I don't know why, but almost from getting his letter, I just felt thatSandy was "the one". Maybe it was because he lightly scented his letterwith a dab of Blue Water cologne, my favorite. Maybe it was because in hisllllooonnnggg five page letter he didn't talk about sex at all, except inhis alludation to a menstruation-related quote from a poem by Sylvia Plath"...as the moon riseth high/my heart runneth over gladly/in the endlessnight sky/as deeply as my feminity doth badly...", a perfect coupling of myrequest and his acknowledgment of it. The fact he included two photos ofhimself by himself, and two more of he and his twelve-year-old son. Thefact that without pity or too much pain, he talked of losing his wife twoyears ago, and enclosed a copy of her death certificate, which I firstthought was a tad too morbid for a first letter, he explaining that hewanted to make sure I understood he was definitely single. The fact thathe used his street address at an apartment complex not two miles from whereI lived, not a post office box, for me to reply to, enclosing an SSAE forthe return of his photos and requesting one or two of me with their return.The fact that while he was a Mercedes mechanic at Masden Motors, who soldrebuilt and re-conditioned used Mercedes not too far from where both he andI worked and lived, he only made $35,000 or so a year, and "while I cangive you my heart, my soul, my passion, my honesty, and my eternity, I'llnever be able to give you a Mercedes, not even a used one like the kind Iwork on all day for my daily bread". That WAS sweet.I waited a couple of days or so until I knew the return SSAE with myphotos would have been stuffed in his box, and then called him. That firstnight, we talked for almost five hours, from eight until two a.m., aboutany and everything. Half-bragging, half-complaining, he told me that hehad been to bed with less than half a dozen women before marrying his wife fifteen years ago at age twenty-two, and only had one serious relationshiptranslate:sex since her passing two years ago. He made it very clear hewas looking for a committed, serious, monogamous relationship, though healso admitted that he would consider all and any options that a potentialpartner want to bring up as potential fantasy, reality, or something inbetween as long as there was total one-hundred-percent emotional fidelity,and that he was not just looking for a stepmom for his son, but rather, alifepartner for himself, "as long as she likes to fish, and will bait herown hook". "I've never fished in my life..." I told him honestly "...willyou teach me?".Even though one of the two photos of himself that he had originally sentme was he in front of what looked to be a nice-looking jonboat (which Isoon found out was a very expensive bassboat), hell, I didn't know, it wasstill a great surprise to me that he insisted that for our first date, thathe take me fishing on Harris Lake.When he came to pick up for our first date that Saturday at 5 a.m. forour "fishing date", instead of the jeans and sweatshirt he asked me to wearI had put on a nice, black, form-fitting miniskirt, figuring he hadsomething special planned for me. He had indeed. Two hours later, we wereon Harris Lake, me in jeans and sweats, baiting my own hook at the end of abamboo cane pole with a squirmy, wiggly worm. The conversation was goingwell all morning, almost a continuation of our one long phone call whichhad gone on for several nights running prior to our actually meetingface-to-face that morning, but our words were paced between and betweextcasts from his various rods and reels he was working with. Alongmid-morning, I was getting tired of killing innocent worms and crickets andeven a couple of live coachroaches (yyyeeccchhh!) he had brought for me touse as live bait yes but more of a test of my sincerity I think and wasn'tcatching my first fish ever anyway, so he gave me a rod and reel and showedme how to cast it. My second or third cast, I caught a large, largemouthbass he said it was, which weighed in at six pounds or so, Sandy saying itwas the largest anyone with him had ever caught. He caught a couple ofsmaller ones a while after that, and for the rest of the day, we just bakedin the sun and ate Nabs and drank old Milwaukee and Rolling Rock pulledfrom beneath the icey water from the built-in cooler in his BassmasterClassic boat.Around noon-ish, we hadn't had any nibbles in over an hour, so he firedthe engine up and kicked it in and went zooming down the expanse of HarrisLake to a small cove within sight of the massive nuclear cooling tower ofCP&L's, which Harris Lake supplied the cooling water for. Gently, I askedhim if it wasn't time or close to it for lunch. "Why do you think I broughtyou back here for, Patricia?"Easing the boat up on a shallow, sandy part of the shore, he helped meoff the boat and onto dry land. Boy, did my legs feel wobbly. Not so muchfrom the rocking of the boat in the waves, though that was part of it, butfrom my Sandy's devastatingly handsome smile plastered across that secureface atop that nicely built but obviously thirty-seven-year-old frame ofhis and those deep brown almost India-ink-black eyes as he smiled andtalked with me as we stretched our legs walking along the shore, his armreaching and pulling to him. As a crazy seagull a hundred miles too farinland buzzed us looking for a handout from us or dead fish that we mightthrow to back in the lake, my arm clutched at his waist, and he planted oneon me. He didn't try to do the tongue thing. He smiled through his kissof me. I kissed him right back, and smiled, my tongue licking his lips,not piercing between them. We turned and hugged and kissed for a moment,connecting. Damn, he felt good holding me. It felt great being held, heldand kissed like that. I didn't pull away until I felt that roll of dimesstart to grow into quarters inside his pants pocket.Leading back to near the boat, he pointed to a faded, worn old blanketlaying on the ground in a clearing under a big oak tree near the shore.Lifting it up, a picnic lunch, no, a picnic buffet awaited us. He musthave gotten up at three that morning to make his way to this isolated spotand set everything up. Impressed, yes, more by the fact that he had goneto all that trouble just to try to impress me. Sweet.Champagne, a decent domestic, inside a small Igloo cooler along with twofluted glasses. Inside a larger cooler, several kinds of cheeses and delimeats. Inside a woven picnic basket, several pieces of chicken heconfessed that had been bought from the Colonel, a loaf of French bread,and a couple of different boxes of crackers. Nice. No, not nice.Perfect. Popping the plastic "cork", he insisted I have the honor of doingthe toast. I felt like offering "to us", but this was our first date, myrising hormones and horns for this man aside. So, I partook of "to aperfect day with a nice new friend, and many more hopefully to share".Glasses clicked. Cheeses and meats and crackers were shared, feeding eachother. My sweattop was getting hot, as the heat of the day was risingalong with my desire for my Sandy. So, it came off. He looked a tadshocked for just a second, realizing quickly that I had put on a bikiniswimtop and not a regular bra underneath, almost looking disappointed for asplit-second, poor thing.Despite having slathered on half a bottle of SPF 35 sunscreen earlierthat morning, my arms unaccustomed to being out in the sun all day werestarted to show some redness where my short-sleeve sweatshirt hadn'tcovered. Sandy noticed them and noticed my slightly less-stage of dressand offered to lather my arms and my newly bare lilywhite almost pale skinup with more sunscreen. His lathering up of me turned into a slow, sensualmassage of my back and neck. His hands opened my backclasp of my swimtopopen, as my folded arms held the front part of it in place still, coveringmy breasts from his view, not teasing, just not letting things get out ofhand. His strong, somewhat rough hands from grinding his living working onhis Mercedes millstones during his workdays worked their strong but tendermagic into my back and neck muscles as he continued to lather enoughsunscreen on me to protect me if we had been on Mercury instead of Earth. Ididn't mind. His attentive touch felt sssooooo good to me, not having beentouched in sssooooo long. As he leaned in and began trying to nibble on myearlobe as his hands reached around to try to pry my hands away fromholding my swimtop tight to my breasts and away from his eyes and touch, Ibounded standing up, telling him but making sure I used the right tone ofvoice not to discourage him too much that "this is our firstdate...Sandy...I like you, I really do...but not...this much on our firstdate...I only meet you four hours ago, Sandy...I hope you understand".He seemed a little miffed as he knew he had to feel and a lotdisappointed as I also knew he had to feel, but my Sandy was a keeper, andI wasn't going to let him get away by breaking the line by trying to reelhim or let himself be reeled in too fast. Later that afternoon, as thefish continued to refuse to bite any more and the sun began baking us, Iasked him to retreat to a shady cove I noticed on the other side of thelake. In the shade, as we both fished beers from the cooler,simultaneously bending kind of down and to one side, our mouths camedangerously close to one another. Rising up a tad, I planted one on him.God, how I wanted him.++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++The Ad, Chapter 2God, how I wanted him. I just wanted him to kiss me back with all thepassion that I felt rising in me, throw me down on the floor of the boat,and take me right then. But my Prince Sandy, after being gently rebuffedearlier from proceeding further, wasn't going to take the chance of beingrebuffed again, not today. So, I let him get to second base. Using thetrolling motor to slip in this tiny slip of a shady alcove part of thiscove away from any possible prying eyes save someone coming clear acrossthe lake and dead right on us, Sandy sat down atop his captain's chair asmy still-jeans-covered butt ground into his lap. We made out for a halfhour or more like two high schoolers, not two grown-upmid-thirty-somethings. Pulling his hand to the back of my bikini top, hetook the hint and flicked the clasp open, letting my top drop. His faceburied itself in my cleavage. God, Sandy, I wanted you soooo baddddlllyyy,right then. We kissed and kissed more as he passionately sucked on mynipples and played with my boobs. I'm glad he took the hint. I wantedhim, and wanted him badly, not just all the way, not just right then. "Iguess I 'better not start something that you don't want to finish on ourfirst date..." he mumbled with trying smile through his mild frustration,as he stood up and I slid off of his lap, retrieving my swimtop from thefloor, eeerrr, deck.Our second date was a more conventional but none the less not lessboring one. Dinner, and a movie. Not just any dinner, and not just anymovie. Another picnic meal, but this time not at a lake, but inside ahuge, white, stretch Mercedes limo with eight passenger doors and more roominside it than my apartment that he had been reconditioning at work andwhich his boss let him have permission to take to test drive and use on ourdate. Eating from two large grocery bags full of assorted chinese take-outhe had ordered from Canton Cafe, we just snuggled and smooched in thecavernous rear passenger area as we stuffed food down each other's gulletas a friend of his drove us aimlessly around Raleigh. He having pickedthat part of the date, he let me pick the second part, the movie. Wantingto show him I was no prude and hadn't been fibbing in the intent by thewords of my original ad that had brought us together, I picked "Sands OfPassion" playing over at the Carolina Theatre in nearby Durham, a foreignfilm like the Carolina was wont for scheduling a lot."Sands" was according the reviews in the "Weekend" section of the paperan import from Israel about two women archaeologists who meet and fall inlove while excavating some archaeological site in Palestine. While thereview mentioned it had nudity and sex, I hadn't expected half the footageto show the two main characters in bed, actually, in "cot" together or inbathtub or anywhere they could be naked and screwing together. Their lovestory as portrayed on screen as we continued our non-offensive mild PDA(public display of affection) snuggling and light kissing was hot,passionate, believable. Their incredibly hot lesbian lovemaking asportrayed on screen as we continued our non-offensive mild PDA (publicdisplay of affection) snuggling and now full-blown kissing was hot,passionate, believable. Coming out of the theater, our door being openedby Sandy's friend dressed out in full chauffeur's uniform playing his partto a "T", we couldn't keep our hands off each other, and could barely keepour clothes on. Sandy told him our date was about over, as he winked thatsly wink of his at me, and for him to drive on home, that he'd take overfrom there.My Sandy took over from there alright. After his friend drove us andhimself to his apartment in north Raleigh, Sandy speed through town,sometimes going 40 or 50 through downtown's 15 and 20 miles per hour speedzones, until we got to Brown's Mill Lane, a dirt road that used to be aninfamous "parking spot" when I was in high school. Off of Lake WheelerRoad, with the best view of what there is of Raleigh's modest skyline, itwas the closest thing our little hometown had to offer to be a relative ofMulholland Drive. As the traffic lights bleed their colors onto I-40 waybelow our vantage point and the light of the Raddison Plaza and One and TwoHanover square sparkled downtown several miles away like giant concretetrees covered in early night moonlit night dew, Sandy eased himself fromthe driver's seat to his king's throne beside me in the passenger livingroom, it was way too big to call it anything else, in the back with me.It was already close to midnight, and it was a weeknight. Damn. Whycouldn't it have been a fri or sat night? Shit. "Sandy...what about yourson?" "What about him?..." he half-fussed at me as we tore into eachother's clothes, unzipping and unbuttoning ourselves and each other as fastas our fingers would let us. "What about his school tomorrow?" "He's twelveyears old, Pat, don't worry...ever since his mother died, he's become quitethe indepedent young man, he has his own alarm, he gets his own self up inthe morning and gets his own self dressed...okay?..." he replied withrising irritation "...don't worry, he'll be fine...here, I can't unbuttonthis damn collar button...here, do it for me, please, Pat...I WANT YOU,NOW!!!"Naked, we jumped each other like two snakes coming out of our respectivelong, dry, celibate winter hibernations. Writhing around on the massiveleather-covered benchseat, our legs never touched the "suicide seat" facingus, the passenger cavity inside the limo being so big, as our tongues andmouths and hands found whatever they were looking for in our sharedpassions.I wanted his cock and wanted it NOW. Sandy urging me for a blowjob, Itold him "no way, Sandy-Zay, that hunk of manhood's not going to be wastedin my mouth, it's going in my pussy, and it's going there NOW!!!".Shoving me roughly but not cruelly against the back of the seat as hisweight and mass scrushed my tits flat into the flush leather as I kneltfacing away from on the seat, his Trojan-rolled cock slammed it's way home,popping open vaginal muscles that had become too tight and some atrophiedfrom lack of recent use. His hands reached for my breasts and mauled themas he literally screwed me, rotating his butt and leg motions into randomclockwise and counter-clockwise circular rhythms, as I craned my neckaround to kiss him and his hand one moment ago on my boobs now found myclit as he reached around and his fingers mashed at it. "Yourface...Sandy...flip me around...fuck me on top...I want to see yourface..."He didn't just flip me he tornadoed me around, throwing me down onto thelimo's passion furniture as he plunged once again into me. "Kissme...SANDY...KISS ME!!!" I screamed at him as the tip of his cock finallyburrowed its way to my cervix, making me hiccup a few times from painfulpleasure as it bumped its pointy end into the eye of my femininity.Grabbing his ass, begging for more by my own assertive actions more than mymere passive words, I pulled him even tighter to me as he thrust deeper,rubbing my clit and G-spot inside me with his cock-motions, forcing not onebut two quick cyprinne-squirting orgasms from not just inside my cunt butfrom inside my very soul. No, well, yes, it was the passion of the moment,but it was also the epiphany of patience rewarded, that I knew right thenwhat our future would be. Sandy looked at me with a mild surprise at myflooding him out with my liquid G-spot come volume, but just smiled,continued to kiss me as he continued to pound even harder if possible awayat my pussy, with a "wow, Pat, that was great, you ARE all woman, aren'tyou?.Feeling his hard dropping maybe just a tad but it also pulsing slightlywith the impendence of his orgasm to come soon, having had mine, I rolledhim off me, pulled his condom off his beautiful hard, and sucked his cockwith every bit of skill and passion I could. And, for the first time in mylife, in thousands of times making love with my toes-and-fingers-full-countof lovers past, actually enjoyed swallowing his load as he pumped it like aClorox-y geyser to the back of my throat. From feeling almost tooooo good,he simultaneously tried to shove my head further down on his cock, then aninstant later from the same pleasure wave would tell me to stop as hepushed my head away, then would be beg me not to stop, this going for afull minute or more until his hard finally went limp and the last of hiscome slid into my stomach.Being ever my Prince Sandy, after a moment's recovering his mouth soughtout mine, as our tongues exchanged saliva and the residue of his come frommy mouth to his. He didn't mind at all. He reveled in it, his tonguescraping mine clean as we kissed and our hands pulled our passions tighterto each other. Nudging me back down, his face buried in my cunt, lappingat me like he was licking a large bowl of cyprinne-come-icing clean.Though a hair surprised I think by the volume of my come, he wasn't afraidof it, wasn't shy about seeking to swallow every tasty drop of mine as Ihad done with his moments earlier. My eyes closed and my lips smiled as mylegs fell open wider and his fingers poked and prodded my happy pussy ashis oral ministrations of me continued. Then, he stopped as I half-fakedhalf-realed another little orgasm, knowing we both had to go to worktomorrow. As we got dressed in the light of the dim domelights andinterior door lights inside my Dear's borrowed limo, a Raleigh cop pulledup behind us and flashed his blue lights and siren. Being fortunatelydressed by the time he walked first to the driver side window and then toone of the rear ones, he quite literally laughed at us when I rolled thewindow down and he saw that we weren't teen-agers. "You two old farts goon home now, before you have a story which will be funny to tell yourgrandkids fifty years from now but won't be funny for the next twenty-fourhours for you two, if you get my drift". We did. Dropping me at my frontdoor in my white princess carriage that had to be turned back into apumpkin once more in a few minutes, we kissed at my door for the longesttime. I didn't want Sandy to leave, I wanted him to come in, but we bothneeded at least a couple of hours of sleep before work the next day. Ididn't sleep at all the rest of the night, hugging my extra pillow tight tome as I dreamed a waking dream of my Prince Sandy.
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Posted on : Sep 1, 2008
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