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be able to trust another woman as long as I live. If I could get along

without sex I’d never even look at another one. Now the only contact I have

with any of them is for sex, pure and simple. I’ve been doing the swinging

thing for a few months and I’ve learned I’m up for anything so long as it

makes me feel good and has no strings attached.

“You know the whole time we were married I never once cheated on that

bitch. Not that I didn’t have the chance either. I had lots of chances to

cop a little trim on the side and never once did. I even had a few guys

proposition me, like you did back when you were a kid. I can’t tell you how

many times I’ve looked back on that and other offers I had and have kicked

myself for not taking advantage of them.”

I’d been listening sympathetically as Eric unburdened himself, but that

last line nearly took my breath away. There was no doubt that I still found

him incredibly sexually attractive; I’d been jacking off for years

fantasizing about this hunky man. Now it seemed that he was making himself

available to me. Still we’d just become reacquainted and we had a lot

riding on our business relationship. I didn’t, couldn’t do anything that

would jeopardize that. I didn’t know what to do so I didn’t do much of

anything. I made some inane remarks about how hard it must be for him; how

I felt his pain; how he’d meet someone, some day who would make him change

his mind about romance; bullshit like that. We ate a great lunch and

talked business, but it was really hard to keep my mind off what was

between Eric’s muscular legs. We went back to the office with no further

reference to sex.

The remainder of the week was so busy for both of us that we barely had

time to do anything other than the routine. There was still much to discuss

and plan. For this reason on Friday afternoon I asked Eric if he’d be

willing to work on a long range plan with me on Saturday. He looked a

little disappointed, but said, “sure not a problem. What time do you want

to meet?”

“Are you sure it’s alright, you didn’t have other plans made, did you?”

“As a matter of fact I did, but it’s nothing I can’t put off. The meeting

is more important.”

“If you’re sure, I’ll meet you here say 10:00 tomorrow morning?”

“That’s fine. See you tomorrow.”

“Great.”

I couldn’t help but stare at his bubble butt as he left my office. That

night I spent a long, slow session stroking myself to an immense orgasm

just thinking of swallowing him whole. It was somehow very satisfying,

because now I felt that I had a chance to turn it into reality. I just

didn’t know how soon that would be.

The next morning I arrived at the office at 9:30. I was dressed casually

in a polo shirt and a pair of dockers. Eric arrived at just before 10:00,

carrying a couple of containers of Dunkin’ Doughnut coffee and wearing a

pair of baggy sweat pants and an old sweat shirt. The fabric of the sweat

pants was so soft and worn that you didn’t have to look hard or stare to

see that there was a fat cock swinging loose just behind the material. I

began to think that his purpose in life was to sexually torment me.

“So,” I asked, “were you able to rearrange your plans?”

“No. I was going to entertain a couple from Connecticut, and I was hoping

they’d come down later in the evening and spend the night so that we ccould

party after I finished here, but they have a wedding to attend back home

tomorrow afternoon, so we left it for some other time. I gave up at least a

couple of great blow jobs for this meeting. You owe me big time.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, though I thought of a couple of ways, but

I just kept my mouth shut and we got down to work. At about 2:00 it dawned

on us that we were hungry so we call out for pizza delivery. It was about

6:00 when we both decided we’d had enough and it was clear we’d made

significant progress. We worked well together.

Eric stood, giving a man sized stretch. When he did, his shirt rode up

exposing his hard, flat stomach and the flaxen down that surrounded his

navel and then trailed downward toward his prize. As my eyes gazed lower I

stared right at the head of his dick. When he stretched backward it had

pushed forward and was now right in front of my face clearly outlined

beneath the soft material of his sweats. The head alone was the size of a

hen’s egg. I guess my mouth dropped open and I was staring.

The next thing I heard was a chuckle followed by, “see something you like?”

“Yes,” I barely whispered, “and I see something I’ve wanted for almost 16

years. Can I have it?”

“Seems only right. I should have let you have it back 16 years ago, so I

guess I owe it to you. And for sure you owe me a fantastic blow job

because that’s what I missed out on this afternoon.”

“Then,” I said grinning, “I think we can work out a deal. Do you want to

do it here or would you like to come back to my place?”

“Tell you what. I’m super horny, it’s been awhile since I’ve been with

anyone. That’s why I was disappointed at missing out on the Connecticut

couple, they both have very talented mouths. I’m good to go for at least

two or three rounds. If you don’t mind I’d like it quick, down and dirty

here and now. Then once the edge is off we can go back to your place and

do it again slow and easy. You up for that?”

“I am if you are,” I said. Was I ever? Eric sat down in his chair again

and then swung it around toward where I was sitting at the end of the

table. He stretched out, spread his legs and then grabbed the top of his

sweats with his thumbs and pulled it down and hooked it under his large

ball sac. His cock was plumping out and rising right before my eyes. By

the time I got out of my chair, came around the side of the table and

kneeled between his legs it was standing steely hard, a full 6 1/2 inches

of the thickest manmeat I’d ever seen. I was easily as big around as it

was long. In the flesh it was even more beautiful than I’d ever imagined.

I’d waited so long for this. I felt as though I were dreaming. I took hold

of it in my hand feeling its velvety soft warmth. I gently pulled it

toward my face and flicked my tongue out to capture the small clear bead of

man honey that had just formed at the slit. I tasted him for the first time

and went wild. I dove down on that meaty hog and didn’t come up for air

until he was moaning like a bitch in heat. I was determined that he was

going to get the best blow job of his life; I was certain I was going to

give the best blow job of my life.

He couldn’t stand it. He was too hot to just kick back and enjoy it. He

grabbed the back of my head with his strong opened hands and pumping into

my mouth. He began slowly, but as we both became more comfortable and sure

of each other’s rhythms the speed pick up. It was as though he’d been

suddenly unchained. He stood up so that he could drive himself deeper,

never letting go of my head. We bonded, mouth to cock, a virtual fucking

machine. All I wanted was to drink from the essence of his being, to feel

him gushing his pent up juices into my mouth and down my throat. I felt

his balls tighten up, his breathing become more labored and his body

tense. Then it happened. His cock swelled and pulsed and he shot. There

was almost not enough room for both cock and cum, but I took gulp after

gulp. There was no way I was giving up a single drop.

When he’d regained his composure, breath and ability to speak he looked

down at me, my mouth still stuffed with his now softening piece. He was

grinning from ear to ear.

“Hot damn, bossman. That was the best head I’ve ever had, bar none. If

that’s what you can do on your knees with my britches still on I can’t wait

to be naked with you in a bed. I hope you liked it as much as I did, cause

if so it’s my guess neither one of us will ever bitch about working late

again.”

I slid his cock from my mouth, kissing the head as I did. I looked up at

him again and just smiled. But he was right. Naked and in bed made things

much more interesting…but that’s a whole other story.

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“Smell…you could smell me because I was in the room when

it was happening.”

“Bullshit! Bullshit!”

“I was there to make sure nothing went wrong; to make sure he

didn’t mess with you.”

“You were in the room all those times? Then if you’re not a

rapist you’re a goddam voyeuristic creep! But it was you; I know it

was you, and I’m calling the goddam cops on you, you fucking rapist

loser.”

She hung up the phone. I dug the bottle of bourbon out of my

closet, drank half a glass, then walked slowly to her dorm room. A

sheet of lined paper was tacked to her door with large, sloppy letters

commanding, “Go Away!”

I stared at the note for about half a minute, then walked

back to my room.

* * *

The next morning I found a note from her slipped under my

door:

“Dear Creep — I just wanted you to be fully aware of how

much you fucked up my life and ruined my sense of self-esteem.

You have made my sex life the subject of grotesque rumors all over

campus; you have made my vagina public intellectual property. Every

moment that I endure this hellish existence, the knowledge of

how you cheapened and hurt me grows stronger, more painful, like a

cancer devouring my conscience. You horrify me. Your former friend,

Jeanine. PS: Rotting in hell for eternity would be far, far too

gentle a fate for you. PPS: Don’t ever talk to me again.”

* * *

Peggy told me that Jeanine had initiated a series of telephone

sessions with a psychic in order to figure out who the guy was.

“Madame Horowitz is really a fantastic woman. Really empowered

by the purity of nature and the spirit earth. She lives in Los Angeles,

reads Tarot cards, tea leaves, astrology charts, palms, crystal balls.

Actually I think it’s all nonsense. Expensive nonsense. But Jeanine’s

pretty desperate.”

“She’s threatened to go to the cops,” I said.

“I know. But I think she’s afraid of her parents getting

involved. Her program of rigorous debauchery has given her a profound

sense of guilt.”

“She’s not so bad. Not nearly as bad as she wants to be.”

“She says the feeling of having fucked someone she can’t

identify by name or sight or anything else robs her of the feeling of

sexual accomplishment and makes her feel deeply violated.”

“She really enjoyed it for a while. She told me she was in

love with the guy.”

“Sounds like a normal relationship, the way her attitude

changed so drastically.”

“If she’d just screwed some guy at a bar she wouldn’t really

know much more about him than she knows about her Invisible Man. Not

really.”

“Yeah. Welcome to blind labyrinth of human sexuality. Here’s

a cast for your heart.”

Peggy stared at me, beaming with joyous sarcasm, her features

bearing a sinister slant. I wanted very much to kiss her.

* * *

Jeanine began wearing hats, sunglasses, and clothing made from

hemp. She changed her hair: once the color of maple syrup penetrated by

sunlight, she dyed it jet black. I sometimes saw her striding quickly

down corridors with a kleenex held over her mouth and nose. She stopped

painting her nails and wearing make-up. She stopped eating in the

cafeteria, preferring dried fruit and nuts she purchased from an

organic mail-order company. She stopped saying “Hi,” “How are you,”

or “What’s up,” but instead leapt instantly into the substance of the

few conversations she found necessary to have. She stopped inviting

people into her dorm room.

“She says she’s very chemically sensitive,” Peggy said while

we ate spaghetti with clam sauce at the cafeteria. “She threw away her

microwave, dumped her television, and now she’s trying to get rid of

everything made of plastic. She’s disciplining her environment.”

“What’s wrong with plastic?”

“She doesn’t ride in cars anymore.”

“What’s wrong with cars?”

“The fumes disrupt her bodily equilibrium. And plastics, she

thinks they emit toxic waves that distort her thoughts. She considers

it a form of chemical rape. She only listens to chants, and writes

everything in runes.”

“Does she ever talk about that guy anymore?”

“She doesn’t think that men are psychically evolved enough to

register in her world.”

“Does she still want to know who it was?”

“She claims she’s still a virgin, and plans to stay that

way.”

“Jesus Christ. She’s delusional.”

“She thinks people shape their own reality. What you decide,

what you focus on, that’s what’s real.”

* * *

About two weeks later Peggy discovered that Jeanine was

pregnant. Jeanine still denied having had intercourse, believing

instead that she had been procreatively enslaved by environmentally

reckless corporations.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Peggy said with an air

of investigative triumph, “But she thinks that toxic emissions from

the paint on her walls triggered spontaneous life-formation in her

uterus.”

“What’s hard to believe about that?”

“I’m serious. She said that.”

“Her walls are blue and green and red. Paisely slop she

threw up when she was going through her hippy thing. Does she think the

baby will be paisely-colored?”

“Christ, Bobby, I don’t know what she’s going to do. I asked

if I could take her in for an abortion, but she hasn’t gotten

permission from the foetus’ spirit yet.”

“If she doesn’t abort it, is she going to insist that the paint

company marry her?”

* * *

Shortly after Peggy persuaded her to get an abortion,

Jeanine escaped the narrow definition of “human being.” Humans were

creatures of wreckage, exploitation, environmental poisoning. She had

become part of the earth, a silent, passive, but resilient force

that adjusts to each new vile liberty people take with it. She had lain

on her bed blindfolded like a pristine grassy hill tunneled into by

callous metal miners, helplessly allowing, torn open, subjugated.

Ultimately, like the earth being stripped of its minerals, she lost her

child, but eventually endured the awful loss with an amnesiac

forgiveness. She seemed not to realize that any of it happened.

Events came to completion, but the play of natural forces went on.

In the months before I graduated I saw her regularly in the

agriculture department buildings, entering the greenhouses,

transporting tools and pushing wheelbarrows of soil and fertilizer.

She was learning the creativity of the earth.

One afternoon I saw her chatting with Paul outside a lecture

hall. She was gesturing excitedly as he smiled and nodded. I watched

from a cautious distance, half-shielded in a doorway, wondering if at

some level, perhaps unconsciously, she realized that he was the man who

had made love to her and impregnated her. After about three minutes

they walked to one of the campus coffee shops. I kept staring at the

shop they’d gone into, wondering about the quality of their interaction

with each other, the emotional atmosphere of their togetherness. And I

was consumed with sadness for her.

I walked to her dorm room. Standing in the corridor, I tore

a blank page from one of my binders, scribbled a brief note to her,

then slipped it under her door:

forests whose wildlife, I had no doubt, was far more daring and

vigorous than that on campus. It was a conservative school in a

sleepy, often cold environment conducive to huddling and conserving

energy. The academic tone was one of intellectual diffidence,

cultural muting, religious mainstreaming. Students gazed somberly out

library windows, rested their heads on their desks, gathered

in the cafeteria to consume starches. The surrounding roads disappeared

into dense woods, vanished under snowdrifts, and probably didn’t lead

anywhere anyway.

When Jeanine graduated high school at the precocious age of

sixteen and began attending the university, rather than finding it

stimulating she found it insufferably dull. But at least she was

away from her parents, and, after pursuing her studies with such

commendable diligence, she was now determined to spend her time in

pursuit of nearly life-threatening debauchery: to finally cave in to

her roaring lust, to shatter her disciplined mind with a dizzying

variety of controlled substances, to betray friends, to tear couples

apart in torrid trists, to…well, to really live.

This was a lot harder than she imagined; this was the

University of Montana. One of the most popular majors was agriculture,

and Jeanine soon concluded that the future farmers of America had

as much of a capacity for hedonism as the vegetables they harvested.

“You look at these torpid bastards and you get the sense that

all they fantasize about is planting row after row of goddam corn.

These are people whose livelihood depends on fertility, for chrissake,

but do you think that even suggests sexuality to them? Hell, no. I’d

like to run the fuckers over with their goddam tractors.”

Jeanine began buying stacks of pornographic magazines in

convenience stores, tearing out photographs of nude women, then

inserting these in library books in hopes of stimulating a massive

outbreak of libido.

But it didn’t work. In her first semester, Jeanine was asked

out once: to a country music festival benefitting farmers.

“The guy wears nothing but flannel. Imagining him in leather

is like imagining a cow riding a motorcycle.”

“You’re too young,” her friend Peggy assured her. “They’re

afraid of being charged with statutory rape, or something. Once you

get older you’ll get more action.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“How many guys have asked you out this semester?”

Peggy was silent for a moment. “Well, everyone knows that

I’m looking for a husband, not a roll in the hay.”

“Bobby,” she turned to me, “How many girls have you asked

out this semester?”

“I’m too busy planting mental corn to bother with girls,” I

said. She shook her head disgustedly, then grabbed a copy of Penthouse

from her backpack and handed it to me.

I surmised the problem was that Jeanine came off as haughty. She

seemed to disdain all of the guys in school: men destined to spend a

substantial part of their lives shovelling manure, driving tractors.

Her arrogance, partly based on her stellar academic record, came

across as strongly as the Channel perfume she seemed to marinade

herself in. She reminded me of a slab of luminescent flesh yearning

to be ripped apart in someone’s teeth, but which everyone assumed was

lethally poisonous.

* * *

“Ted, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Bob, what’s up?”

I stepped closer to him, turning away discreetly, my gaze

settling on the window. Outside, snow swirled through the cone-shaped

orange beams of the parking lot floodlights.

“You know Jeanine?”

“Not really.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

He hesitated, as if somehow puzzled.

“Pretty what?”

“Pretty looking.”

“Well, sure.”

…End of the part1. To be continued..

extraordinarily sexy woman. Suddenly, I was in lust.

After all, she wasn’t a dummy and she wasn’t some bimbo. I had

reason to believe that she was a sexually intense person, but because of

conventional morality, she didn’t feel free to share that side of herself with

her son. I’d been successful in developing and easy-going and partially

uninhibited relationship with her. There was an unspoken sexual tease to

be sure, but it remained submerged and unacknowledged. How might I

change? That was the question.

Crudeness would never work. That was a no-brainer. Similarly, a

frontal assault would be ineffective and worse, insulting. While she might

be more susceptible to a secret romantic connection because of my father’s

neglect, it wouldn’t be with me, that was clear.

I’d thought of enticing her into something like a nudist colony, even

mentioned it a couple of times. She was mildly interested, but I knew that

that was no more than a blind alley, an emotional cull de sac, and not even

a very sexual one. I feared the stiff and formal behavior I imagined a nudist

colony to be. Too, I suspected that it would provide at most little more

than an avenue for my voyeurism but no entre into sexuality. Nothing

there, I concluded.

Would some innocent approach move me closer? I remembered

that she’d been willing to allow me to massage her feet, even had been a bit

careless in her posture, at least at first. Might that provide an avenue of

approach?

Then I remembered that my mom liked her wine. She wasn’t a

lush, but it was clear that she didn’t stop drinking just because she began

“to feel it.” More than once she’d said, “Why drink if you don’t want to

feel it. I drink for effect.” I also remembered that when tipsy, she became

something of a sloppy drunk. Not fall-down drunk, but certainly risque

often and careless of appearances. I once overheard her say, “I drink to

make my *friends* more interesting.” This wasn’t a common occurrence,

but I had seen it rarely, and only with friends. Well, I was a friend, wasn’t

I?

—————————————————————–

I was waiting for my mother at the arrival gate. Boy, she looked

good as she stepped into the arrival area, an over-night bag hanging from

her shoulder and wearing a light summer dress, uncharacteristically brief

with a hem line well above her shapely knees.

“Hi, good lookin’.” I said to her as I stood there, hands on hips,

looking her over.

“Don’t just check me out, guy. How about a hug?” she asked,

dropping her bag and stepping into my arms.

Whew! I’d hugged my mother lots of times, but I didn’t recall such

intensity, such a full-body press. I was acutely aware of the pressure of her

breasts pressing into my chest and more, somehow her crotch was riding

on my thigh. I distinctly felt her pubic bone as I held her close and kissed

her, first on the cheeks, and then looking at the joy in her eyes, impulsively,

I planted a wet one on her lips. Did I feel a flash of tongue tip?

That fast. It happened that fast. I didn’t have a woodie when I saw

her, but when I stepped away from that kiss, I’d sprouted a boner. I

thought I detected her eyes flitting across my pelvis, but couldn’t be sure.

To hell with it, I thought. She knows I’m not a monk.

“Have anything more than this?” I asked, picking up her shoulder

bag.

“You kidding? You ask me up for a week end, for a dance, and

you think I’ve got it all in that little bag. Why I wouldn’t go to the tennis

club with that little bag alone.”

“A steamer?” I groaned.

…End of the part7. To be continued..

aware of her. Aware of the smell of her hair and the press of her breasts

and the hardness of her pubic bone against me. And, as instantly, I became

hard. I didn’t wonder if she could tell. It was blatant.

“Susan,” I asked – it sounded strange to my ear, “could I kiss you?”

“Of course, Bill. I’d like that.”

“I mean a real kiss. An adult kiss. Not some little-boy-peck-on-

the-cheek kiss.”

“Of course, a real kiss. I never expected less from you.”

She closed her eyes and offered her partially open mouth to me, her

lips wet and seemingly slightly swollen. I opened mine and kissed her lips,

initially very softly, and later with more feeling. She kissed back, making

no effort to end the kiss, seeming to melt into it all the more. We kissed

again, and we mouthed each other, breathing into each other. I gave her

my tongue again and she responded the same way, pushing the urgent,

hardened tip of her tongue deep into my mouth.

I found my self slowly rocking my pelvis into her, rubbing my erect

cock on her thigh. I felt her push back in a slow, grinding fashion, pushing

her pubic bone into me.

“Let’s sit, Bill. I want to be closer to you.” She slowly pushed me

backward toward the couch and as it hit me behind the calves and I was

falling into it, she added, “Can I sit on your lap?”

Without waiting for a reply, she half turned and lowered her bottom

into my lap, wrapping her arms about me in the same motion, her breast

under my chin, her cleavage right under my nose.

“There! That’s better,” she proclaimed, reaching for my right hand

and placing it on her hip while I placed my left hand around her bottom.

She was sitting right on top of my hard-on. She squirmed a few times as if

better defining what she was sitting on. “Isn’t that better?”

“Ummph,” I exaggerated and in a strained voice as if an elephant

were sitting on my chest, I replied, wheezing, “Yesss. So much better.”

“You turkey, you. I hardly weigh anything and besides, you

haven’t paid enough attention to me tonight. Well, at least not in the last

few seconds. I want another kiss.”

I looked up at her and mimicking her surrender, closed my eyes and

offered her my lips. She immediately ran her tongue deep into my mouth

and groaned, “God, you’re delicious,” again grinding her butt on my lap.

Without thinking or conscious decision, I ran the palm of my right

hand up from her hip, across her waist to the side of her thorax. I missed

and was palming the side of her breast. She kissed me harder in apparent

approval so I went for broke and cupped her full breast in my hand,

thumbing her erect nipple.

I don’t know when we broke that kiss. Actually, I suspect we

never did. It just slid into others. I made no pretense of touching her tit by

mistake. Rather, I palmed it and weighed it and rolled her nipple between

my fingers in as provocative a fashion as I could imagine. I wanted to feel

her breast and more, I wanted to be patently blatant about it, that both of

would know and acknowledge that I was caressing her breast and nipple.

We were both moaning and voicing largely incoherent sounds. She

was hugging my head and tussling with my hair in a passionate, almost

frenzied fashion. Our faces were wet from the open-mouth kissing and

licking. I had pulled down the bodice of her dress, exposing her demi bra.

Her dark areolae were plainly visible through the lacy half cup. Pulling the

bra cup down, her hard nipple popped out as I bent my head toward her tit.

“Yessss,” she hissed, “kiss me there. Suck me, Billy. Suck my

nipple. You’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, haven’t you?”

“You could tell?”

…End of the part12. To be continued..

I woke up late the next morning to the delicious feeling of
my cock in Jenny’s hot, wet, magic mouth. I loved feeling it
grow rigid as she slurped and sucked and licked it. I relaxed
back into the pillows and enjoyed her expert cocksucking. In
just a few minutes, Jenny was fucking me with her mouth, and I
couldn’t hold out any longer. My cum shot out of me and into her
accepting mouth.
When I was done, Jenny looked up and smiled, “Good morning,
Lover. I just want you to know that I have never felt sexier,
hotter, more like a complete woman, than I have since your
birthday.”
I smiled back at her. With my fingers I dabbed some of my
cum from her chin and she sucked my sticky fingers into her
mouth.
“So, it looks like a foreign cock every now and then is all
we need to keep you happy.”
“Ron, it’s so sexy knowing you’re watching. Last night, I
kept thinking about you being five feet away, watching everything
I was doing. It turned me on so much!”
……
And it must have. Our sex life was wonderful. Between the
different hours that we worked, and my longer commute time, Jenny
usually arrived home a little after 4 p.m. and I dragged in after
6:30. Instead of Jenny starting dinner and watching the news
until I got home, we developed a pattern of love-making I really
enjoyed.
When I got home, Jenny was almost always naked or
almost-naked in bed and ready for me. She insisted that I eat
her already-wet cunt, first, and then she would attack my body
with her hands, tongue, mouth and cunt, ending in a terrific
fuck. We’d then shower together and enjoy the rest of the
evening together.
……
One day in late March, my office went out to lunch to
celebrate a huge sale I had made in the morning. None of us
returned to work, and, as a result, I turned onto our street at
about 4:15 p.m. — just in time to see three figures enter our
front door.
I stopped the car still a half-block from the house, and
wondered what to do. One of the figures had obviously been Jenny
— her car stood in the driveway. Who were the other two people,
and why were they waiting at the front door for Jenny to get
home?
As I sat there, our bedroom light went on, and a thought
began to form.
I parked the car at the curb, walked down to our house and
into the backyard. I quietly climbed the steps up to the deck
off the kitchen, and climbed from that railing onto the deck off
the bedroom. I crept over to the french doors, but couldn’t find
enough opening in the curtains to observe anything inside the
room.
Desperate, I climbed up on the railing and peeked into the
top of a window. Perfect! The miniblinds were open enough to
see a sight I couldn’t believe!
Inside, Jenny, Danny and Danny’s friend, CJ were undressing!
When they were all naked, Jenny laid back onto the bed and
Danny moved his hard cock close to her lips. My wife moved her
head until she could suck it into her mouth. At the same time,
CJ was kneeling between Jenny’s spread legs. His hands were busy
at her cunt for a few seconds, and then he moved his cock up to
her pussy. He slid it in it’s whole length in one quick shove.
Jenny let go of Danny’s prick and began to really hump CJ,
lifting her hips to take each of his thrusts. Danny moved down
on the bed and took Jenny’s right nipple into his mouth.
I couldn’t believe this! This was my wife who said she did
it only for me, fucking and sucking the neighborhood schoolboys!
I also couldn’t believe it, but she never looked sexier!
CJ soon came and quickly rolled from between my wife’s
spread thighs. Danny rolled over and pulled on her hips until
she was kneeling on all fours in front of that big cock of his.
Danny was not gentle as he shoved his cock in to the hilt and
started to bang away at Jenny. CJ moved his head under her
swinging tits and grabbed one with his hand and the other with
his mouth.
Through the windows I couldn’t hear a thing, but I could see
how much Jenny was enjoying being an easy piece of ass for these
two young studs. She had her first orgasm as Danny was pounding
his meat into her, and he came soon after that.
They all rolled apart, and I expected them to start getting
dressed, but, instead, Jenny took Danny’s shiny, wet cock into
her mouth and began sucking it.
Both kids had erections within minutes, and this time, Jenny
straddled CJ’s hips and rode his cock to a hard, fast cum for
both of them. She played with Danny’s prick with her hand, until
CJ shot his load, and then my wife-whore rolled over on her back
and spread her legs, yet again.
She fingered herself and said something, and they all
laughed. Bill was right. She was a slut! They were still
laughing as Danny slid his pole up her very pink cunt.
This was the fucking Jenny really got into. She wrapped her
arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. From where I
was, I could watch Danny’s cock rise out of her cunt, almost its
full length, and slide back in to the hilt, his big bag of balls
slapping against Jenny’s ass. I knew then that Jenny had taught
him how to fuck. He was giving her exactly what she wanted –
her eyes shut tight, her mouth open — she was enjoying the
fucking tremendously.
She began to cum, and it lasted for minutes, until her arms
and legs fell slack and she was still on the bed. Danny didn’t
miss a beat, continuing to pump away at her cunt until he, too,
finally came.
……
They rested a few minutes and then dressed. I carefully
climbed down from my perch and made my way back to my car. I sat
in it until my normal arrival time and pulled into the driveway.
As usual, Jenny was naked in our freshly made bed, fingering
herself as I walked into the bedroom.
I was incredibly angry with her for cheating on me, but I
had never been more aroused in my life then when I was staring
through the window at my slut-whore-wife put out to the
neighborhood.
I stripped in seconds and jumped on top of Jenny, pushing my
erect cock at her pussy lips.
She smiled at me, “No, Dear. I want you to eat me, first.”
In anger and sexual frenzy, I held her hands to the bed and
pushed my cock up inside her with all my strength. I looked down
at my sweet-faced wife and said, “I told you, I don’t eat other
men’s cum, you cheap little slut!”
She tensed her body for just a second, and then smiled,
again, “That’s what you think. You’ve been eating it out of my
pussy every day for months!”
That second, I shot the juice of the best cum of my life
into her well-used and cum-filled cunt.
……
Later, Jenny told me that when Danny came back the Monday
after my birthday, she did tell him what she told me. Except,
she said he looked so crushed and broken she offered him “one
last time.” By the third fuck in an hour, Jenny admitted she was
really enjoying Danny’s attention and youth and stamina, and, of
course, his big cock.
That day was the first instead of the last. Almost every
workday afternoon, Danny stopped by the house and thoroughly
fucked my very willing wife.
She explained that over Christmas break, CJ’s parents went
out of town and he was staying with Danny. They were best
friends and Danny had already told CJ about Jenny (against
Jenny’s wishes), and CJ sat in the livingroom while Danny and
Jenny got their rocks off upstairs. On the third day of this,
Jenny felt sorry for CJ and his raging teenage hormones and told
Danny to send CJ up when he was dressed. Only two days later, it
was a threesome, and has been a threesome since.
Jenny said she thought the whole thing was more than I
wanted to handle, especially everyday, a teenager or two, and a
neighbor, so she kept the whole affair a secret from me. When I
wouldn’t eat her pussy after Bill fucked her, she said it was an
incredible turn-on to have me eat her out almost every day, after
her two young studs had filled her pussy up with their gooey cum.
She always cleaned away any excess drips on the outside of her
pussy, so it wouldn’t be obvious. I told her I honestly didn’t
know, and thought she tasted great. To me, she just tasted like
sex.
……
So, in the end, I got what I thought I wanted, but more than
I expected. I knew I’d enjoy watching another man fuck my lovely
wife, but I had never expected my wife to enjoy other men fucking
her so much!
Are we happy?
Jenny certainly is, and I still like to watch — but she is
certainly fucking a whole lot more than I’m watching. Just
yesterday, she even mentioned that CJ’s older twin brothers will
be home from college for the summer — and she had a real sparkle
in her eyes when she said it!

That evening, we set up our own private party. Just the three of
us in our little private apartment near campus. The light dimmed and
a slow rhythmic beat played in the background. The scent of heavy liquor
was in the air. We sat in the living room on the long leather sofa. All
three of us sat very close to each other. Jennifer sat in between me
and Joe. We laughed at the thought of us three sleeping together, it was
the topic of the night. There were no objections from anyone. Jennifer
was in her quiet little self making remarks here and there.
Somehow, in the midst of our conversation, there was suddenly nothing
else to say. We were quiet….
I saw Joe place his arm around her and started to passionately kiss
her lovely lips. I felt Jen’s hand crawl up my knee and started to carress
my thighs. Joe’s free hand crept up Jen’s mini skirt searching for her
soft wet cunt. I started to get hard seeing the action. I breathed heavily.
My right hand went down Jen’s blouse feeling her soft tan breasts
underneath my fingers. I felt her hand reach up my pants and squeeze and
carress my crotch. I moved closer to her neck and started to lick her sweet
skin. My lips were hot on her neck as my fingers worked to unbutton her
blouse. I felt her hand stroking my hardness through my denim jeans.
hhhhh..hhh….I muttered. I heard Joe’s breath and Jen’s mild moans of
ecstacy in between breaths of kisses. Jen’s blouse soon fell from her
lovely body and I anxiously threw it aside with my free hand. Jen did not
wear a bra, and all her beauty was exposed in front of my eyes. An animal
being took over me and I burried my face between her breasts painting
the beautiful mounds with hot saliva from my tongue. I heard her groan from
the expertise of the men surrounding her. Joe’s hand pulsated in and out
from under her skirt torturing her with wild sensations.
Somehow, Jen managed to unbutton my pants with her free hand and
release my hardened dick from its cage. She gripped it commandingly and
stroked it and squeezed it, my pre-cum instantly dripped from its
head. I played with her hard nipples teasingly with my probing tongue.
I sensed Joe trying his best to unbutton his pants. Jen took over and
finally was able to remove it completely revealing his prized possesion.
With Joe’s free hand, now wet and slippery with cunt juice, started to
stroke himself.
The action was too much for Jen to handle. She squirmed on the
leather sofa and eventually fell on her back with ME on one end and
Joe on the other. All three of us panted furiously as we try rearrange
ourselves to better positions. Jen reached for Joe’s cock and hungrily
inserted it into her mouth alternating the sucking from the head to
his balls and back. *FUCK* I thought. I was given the opportunity to
try out Jen’s wet pussy as her beautiful ass pointed my direction.
On all fours, Jen offered me her sweet cunt. I stood on my knees on the
other end of the sofa and gently entered the sweet offering with my
throbbing dick. It was tight, *Geesus*, it was tight and wet. Ohhhh…
Jen…*FUCK*…In and out I rode her savoring the sensations of every
nerve on my prick. Her muscles inside contracting at every push. I
was leaning on her back and I saw Joe on the other end receiving what
seemed to be a heavenly blow. His face contorted in pleasure, he looked my
way and grinned a devilish grin of sweet pain. He moaned and I moaned,
Jen screamed a little out of sweet pain while I penetrated her deeply.
We were like wolves howling in the night. Jen’s dripping saliva was too
much for my sight to bear. She swallowed Joe over and over and over again.
Our motions and the sight of each other FUCKING was too much for us
to bear. Faster I went, I could feel my prick tingle. Uugghh…unghhh…
Jen…I’m CUMMING…uhhh…*FUCK* “Don’t CUM in her pussy man!” Joe
managed to shout between grunts. “Wait for me to CUM man!…ungghhh..uhh”.
“Hurry Joe!…uhhhh…” I said.
In the back of my mind I knew what he wanted to happen. We always
talked about it when we watched porno movies that someday we’ll get to do it.
Jen stroked and sucked Joe faster that his dick was red and sore. It
was ready to burst. Jen reached her orgasm berfore anything happened. She
screamed a small little scream of pleasure as she continued to suck on
Joe’s prick. “Mmmmhhhm….mhhhhh” she muttered.
“I’m CUMMING man! uhhh…”
“Ohhh man! I’m CUMMING too!…ahhh..uhh” I replied.
Jen pulled away and placed herself between our pulsating pricks.
sucking both of alternately. I came first and spilled my white hot cum
on her face,”Geesus..uhhhh”, soon after, Joe shot his cum on her face
as well, “Ahhh..Jen!..”. Our shots were so strong and violent that Joe
splattered some of his CUM on my body, it was dripping hot, and
I splattered some of mine mine on his chest. Jen licked the CUM stained
flesh on both sides. She slurped every trickle of white sticky sperm on
my navel and on Joe’s prick.
All three of us breathed heavily. Spent, tired, and relieved, all three
of us collapsed on the slimy leather sofa. Our legs and arms entangled
together, with Jen between Joe and I.
Before I drifted into sleep, I remember thinking of what our future
would be…This FUCK is too much for me to take. I really enjoyed it.
I know I would want some more. How long will this relationship last?
Tomorrow is another day, we’ll see how it turns out…*FUCK*

The next few days was strenuous for me. Joe still treated
Jennifer like she was his girlfriend. He came in and out of our
appartment dragging her wherever he liked. It tortured me deep
inside to see Jennifer glance my way everytime she was with Joe.
I was extremely jealous. I became angry at how Joe was handling the
situation. He wasn’t treating me as a friend, he was treating me
like an outcast. He didn’t even consider my feelings towards Jen,
and he acted as if Jen exclusively belongs to him. After what happened
between the three of us, I expected that I would be a part of that
relationship. I was hurting inside. I reconsidered my feelings about
my friendship with Joe. I was flaming with hate. I wanted to punch
him and beat him with my fists. Images of blood dripping down his
forehead, and sore bruises all over his body. For a moment, I thought
of death. I wanted to hurt Joe badly, but I’m too smart for that.
Physical pain is so easy. No…I’m angry because he has what I want.
He should not have toyed with me and offered her body to me. What did
he think? After going for a three-way FUCK, he can parade Jen in front
of me? What the FUCK for? To brag to me that the best FUCKING BITCH
still belongs to him? He can swallow my CUM and eat my SHIT!
If he knew me well as a friend, then he would have considered
my feelings. I always considered his feelings, and that’s the reason
I held back from FUCKING Jennifer and back-stabbing him. I guess
I’m only one of those FUCK ‘friends’ who means nothing to him…I had
to hurt him, I had to teach him a lesson…I’ll FUCK him up really
bad, and he’ll regret he ever FUCKED up with me…
One wednesday afternoon, I came home early from school. I
…End of the part2. To be continued..

Her body was stirring now and it felt drawn to this

stranger’s strength, in a way that few men called her. Moistness

began to spread itself on her thighs. It made her acutely aware

of just how fascinating he really was.

The man readied to shave. Cold water in a small pan, razor

and shaving cream laid out on the table. He hung a small mirror

from his kit on the side pole of the tent.

Jessie was mesmerized.

He began with long strokes on the sides of his face. Each

was perfectly executed. They were strokes of a master painter

working on a canvas. Each pass of the blade was strong, and each

had their own symmetry as uniquely apropos as the verbal passages

of Shakespeare.

He finished, wiped his face with a towel and raised his head

to catch Jessie still intent upon his face.

“I have never had such an attentive audience before,” he

laughed, “nor such a pretty one,” and he surveyed her face. “Are

you making sure I have done the job properly?” he offered with a

twinkle to his voice.

Jessie gently laughed out loud. “And what would you do if I

tested your handiwork with a kiss?” she countered.

Hal was tempted to say, “I’m old enough to be your father,

sweet lady,” but he was both intrigued and attracted by her youth

and her sublime grace. Instead he said, “Be my guest beautiful

lady.” It surprised him even as the words left his mouth.

Jessie rose from the bench where she had been surveying the

proceedings and walked over to Hal’s campsite. Smiling, she took

a finger and traced a path across his upper lip. Then she

stroked the side of his face softly with the back of her hand.

It was as smooth as a satin shirt. Flawless. He smelled of lime

and soap and maleness. It was as heady a perfume as the pine

trees, and she wondered what it would be like to love a man like

that and have his scent on her pillow to drink in, every morning,

along with his body. She gently kissed his cheek.

Hal cleared his throat. “I suppose this means that I ought to

introduce myself, as I’m not in the habit of having people I’m

not acquainted with pass judgment on my handiwork. Especially

when I have not had my coffee nor caught their name,” he teased,

“If you find me suitably proficient, you may call me Hal.”

Jessie barely suppressed the urge she was feeling to bring

her body close to his, and run her fingers through the grey at

his temples. She said, “My friends call me Jessie. I wouldn’t

know what is usual in this sort of situation, but my compliments

to the artiste for his deft touch.” She smiled and quipped, “It

passes muster in my book, Michelangelo,” and she touched Hal’s

cheek again with her lips, very softly, lingering just a bit at

the last.

Jessie had the feeling that Hal was about to draw her deeply

to him and engulf her with his arms and soul, but his reserve

held fast and the moment passed. She turned and went to her camp

spot, returning in a moment with the thermos and a spare cup. “I

understand that you also start your day with an infusion of dark

caffeine. Would you care to share some of mine?”

Hal extended an arm for the cup and Jessie poured the hot

brown liquid till it reached the rim. His eyes teased her over

the top of the coffee and he said, “My thanks to the chef. I

never was able to wait very well while I brewed up my first batch

of the day. You seem to be a very handy camper to have nearby.”

Jessie raised her eyes to his and said, “You’d be surprised

as just how handy I am and all the things this camper knows how

to do. Or just maybe…you wouldn’t,” and she flashed the big-

gest, brightest look that was such a mixture of gentle, friendly,

wickedness and pure exuberance, that Hal was momentarily caught

off guard. He lost himself happily in enjoying it, until his

sanity returned.

“You ought to be spanked, young lady,” he retorted, “And I

might be tempted to do it myself if you don’t get dressed and

stop endangering an old man’s heart like that,” he threatened

semi-seriously.

Jessie shot back a gleeful smile and countered, “Looks to me

as if your heart is strong enough to take it,” and she headed

back to her site in a hasty but reluctant retreat, before she

could get her rear end swatted.

She called over her shoulder as she passed, “You wouldn’t

…End of the part2. To be continued..

-From “Jokes for women only” (Men, please excuse …. :-> )
by Susan Savanah. You may have heard them, but they were new to
me …

A man came home from work early one day, and found his wife naked and
panting on the bed. “Honey”, she said, thinking quickly, “I think I’m
having a heart attack!” While rushing to call the doctor, he nearly
stumbled over his crying four year old, who told him there was a naked
man in the closet. He ran to the closet, opened the door, and there was
his best friend. “Damn it, Dave” he shouted, “Jill’s having a heart
attack and here you are scaring the hell out of the kids!”

–

— | I was fucked by GUMBY.
____/ | – _ |
/ | | | | | It was years after the TV series was set that
| (0) (0) | | / | this disgusting thing occured, Gumby had grown
| o | | | | up as had the boy owner of the books that Gumby,
___| -___- |_| | | Goo, Prickle and Pokey called home. That boy
/ | | owner was now thirteen and Gumby was about 17 or
| _ ___/ | 18.
| | | | | Anyhow, being a thirteen year old boy, he had
| | | | | porno magazines, which, like the other books in
| \|_ | | the room, could come alive and be interacted with
\ _| 6 | | by Gumby.
\__| | | Gumby, being stuck in a children’s book, didn’t
| /| |\ | | get much action so he was fairly desperate. He
| |_| |_| | | had given Prickle a poke and Pokey some of his
| |_| | | prick and he had also filled Goo with -er- goo,
| \_/ | | but he wanted some real stuff- with a human.
| | | | So, strolling around the room one day he
| | | | stumbled across the place where the boy hid his
| : | : | | pornos and he didn’t waste anytime entering that
| :… | :… | | text.
|______|______| | I was one of the guys in there making sure the
| girls got their fill.
—————————+ Gumby’s groin bulged forward and his plasticine
penis became hard. Now, it was that all the orifices of the females were
already occupied by someone so Gumby had to choose something else to get into.
This didn’t worry him, though, he had only ever grown up with males: Prickle,
Pokey and the blockheads were all males and Goo- well- Goo was a lump of Play-
Doh.
He looked around to find a male’s orifice that was within reach and
accessable, apparently he chose me.
I was too busy to notice him at first because, being a plasticine dick, he
had made it really thin and just slipped it in. It didn’t take me long to
realise something was amiss, though, for, once he had it in me, he let it
expand.
I’m not going to deny anything here- It felt good.
When he had gotten to what felt like normal size (its hard to judge when you
cannot make a comparison) he sighed and asked “Can I go deeper?” Having never
been aroused like this before (fucking for a living takes the fun out of sex)
I didn’t hesitate to say yes.
I felt his plasticine manhood moving into me, through my anus, up my rectum,
into my intestines. My arse was crushing his dick and oh it felt good!
It took him a long time to get through both my intestines and he stopped at
my duodenum. Then he stayed there awhile, sending ripples of plasticine up and
down his penis. Hmmmmmm.
Then, suddenly, he began to withdraw, slowly at first then faster, and if you
have ever done this kinda stuff you’ll know that this feels *great.*
I had three orgasms, and boy did I scream with pleasure! I must have because
the boy owner heard me and picked up the porno. He stared down at us a while
then ripped his pants down and started thrashing himself.
It was amazing! I had a guy (a Gumby) pulling his thirty foot dick out my
arse and I was watching a thirteen year old giant jerking off his immense
penis. I had another few screaming orgasms just to show the kid I appreciated
him.
Then I felt Gumby come, pumping hot plasticine sperm into me for a few
seconds and then he was out of me and I could relax, or so I thought. It was
at that time that the kid came: it was frightening, I looked up and there was
this immense wall of come hurtling towards us. It splashed into the magazine
and filled up our photo. Lucky the girls were there to drink it all up, Gumby
helped a bit, too after he had tended to me.
First, he asked whether I had enjoyed it. *YES!*
Then he asked if he could retrieve his stuff. I nodded. He went behind me and
I felt his warm wet tongue lick my anus before entering. It, too, elongated
and went right up inside, searching for his tasty semen. I just quivered in
ecstacy as his tongue probed.
When he was sastified that he had every drop, he pulled out and I came again.
Then he gave me two dollars and left.
My magazine (my home) was thrown out because the pages were stuck together.
The boy grew up with a plasticine fetish and a homosexual tendency.
And Gumby moved into the book called ‘Atlas of the Human body.’

Anyway, I need to go now, I have something to tend to.
[ PS- the story- it's all true! ]

–

Benny was inconsolable. As he thought about it, he recalled
that, except for that first meeting, the genie had never mentioned a word
about not shaving. Besides, now that Benny had everything he wanted, he
could keep the genie in the lamp and it would never know that he’d shaved.
So, he got out a razor, ran some hot water, lathered up, and shaved. While
he was at it, he felt a bit apprehensive, but nothing seemed to be happening,
so he went ahead. Just as he zipped off the last whisker, a lightning bolt
shot out of the clear blue sky, burst through the roof of his penthouse,
struck him dead center, and burned him to ashes. The genie then issued forth
from the lamp, wearing an apron and carrying a little dustpan and a wiskbroom.
It swept up the ashes, deposited them in a mauve and puce urn of indescribably
ugliness, sealed it, and flew off to Damascus to deposit out poor hero in
his final resting place.

Which just goes to show that, a Benny shaved is a Benny urned.

[Father Goose #37]

Roy Rogers gets a new pair of boots, but a mountain lion eats the
boots. To get even, Roy chases (insert colorful description as needed) and
kills (after long fight – to be described in vivid detail) the lion, and
returns carrying the lion back to camp. When he returns, Dale Evans
exclaims, “Pardon me, Roy, is that the cat that ate your new shoes.”

[Father Goose #38]

There was once an agricultural extension of a community college that
was into growing big fruit. Now we’re really talking big fruit here:
they grew blueberries the size of oranges and strawberries the size of
grapefruits. Not only were they big, but they were also the sweetest,
juiciest, most luscious fruit you’ve ever tasted. Realizing the
commercial value of such fruit, before attempting large scale
cultivation, they decided to insure these fruit. But in order to get
something insured, you need to have it valued for insurance purposes.
What do academics know about insurance anyway? So they look in the
phone book, and call the first entry: the Acme Insurance Valuation
Service. These two guys show up and they are pretty shady looking
characters; they’re not wearing lab coats, they’re wearing
trenchcoats! The guys from Acme pick up the fruit and start walking
out with it. The scientists are surprised and incensed, and ask “Are
you going to value them here, or give us a receipt, or what?” The two
guys from Acme reply “We have come to seize your berries, not to
appraise them.”

[Father Goose #39]

Hans and Gretchen were walking along the shore one Sunday afternoon when
they spotted a dock projecting into the harbour. They decide to walk
to the end of the dock and sit down to rest (chat, have a smoke or
whatever).

Gretchen, in her infinite boredom, suggests to Hans, “While we walk
to the end of the dock, why don’t you count the number of slats used
to build it, and I’ll count the number of slits between the slats?”

Hans replies, “Ja, sehr gut, I will count the slats, and you will
count the slits.”

So the couple merrily troops down the dock. Hans counts, “One
slat!”

Gretchen counts, “One slit!”
“Two slats!”
“Two slits!”

And, well, you know how the natural numbers work. Eventually Hans and
Gretchen approach the end of the dock.

“327 slats!”
“327 slits!”
“328 slats!”
They reach the end of the dock. Gretchen is puzzled.

“Hans! There are no more slits! What does it mean?”

Hans turns to Gretchen and says (brace yourselves),

“When you’re out of slits, you’re out of pier!”

[Father Goose #?]

Once upon a time, these two women were talking and the one asks the other how
many times she’s been married, and the reply was 4. ‘Four times!’ exclaimed
the first girl, why so many?

So the other girl said:
‘Well, I first got married when I was very young, and I married this
wonderful man who was a banker. However, one day just a few weeks after
we were married, his bank was robbed and he was shot and killed.’

‘Oh my gosh, that’s terrible’ the first girl said.
‘Well, it wasn’t that tragic. Soon after that, I started seeing another
man who performed in the circus. He was really a great guy, but he lived
pretty dangerously because he performed his high-wire act without a net.
Well, a few weeks after we got married, he was performing a show and
suddenly a gust of wind came by and knocked him off his wire and he was
killed.’

‘Your second husband was killed too?!!? That’s horrible!’
‘Yes, it was terrible, but at the funeral I fell in love with the minister
and we got married soon after that. Unfortunately, one Sunday while he
was walking to church, he was hit by a car and killed.’

‘Three??? Three husbands of yours were killed? How could you live through
all that?’
‘It was pretty tough, but then I met my present husband. And he’s a
wonderful man. I think we’ll live a long happy life together.’

‘And what does your present husband do for a living?’
‘He’s a mortician.’

‘A mortician? I don’t understand something here. First you marry a banker,
then a circus performer, then a minister, and now a mortician? Why such a
diverse grouping of husbands?’

‘Well, if you think about it it’s not too hard to understand…

One for the money…
Two for the show…
Three to get ready…
And four to go!’

[Father Goose #40]

Once upon a time, in a far-off land, there was a kingdom
in which the king was fond of history and ancient things.
He would collect historical objects, dress in royal threads
from bygone eras, and generally try to live ancient traditions.

One day the king issued a royal proclamation, as kings are
wont to do now and then. Of course, he wrote the proclamation
in the language of 200 years ago, rich in antiquated spellings,
obsolete words, now-defunct verb forms, etc.

The general population, of course, could make neither head nor
tail of the proclamation. A vast legal muddle ensued. The
courts, called upon to untangle the mess, pronounced a ruling
that, henceforth, all royal proclamations must be written in
modern, currently accepted prose. In other words,

We can’t have archaic and edict, too.

[Father Goose #41]
…End of the part7. To be continued..

“Dee, who flaps last, flaps left”

[Father Goose #29]

Once there was a great (or almost great) pitcher by name of Melvin
Famie. Like so many others, though, Melvin got old and lost his touch.
He was such a boost to the spirit of the team, however, that the manage-
ment could justify keeping him on the bench just to offer “Hooray!”s.
Melvin, not having to work terribly hard at his new job, took to sipping
a wee bit o’ the malt punch at games to keep HIS spirits up, so he could
keep his teammates’ spirits up.

Well, they were hard at work in a long, drawn-out battle with their
cross-state rivals when the manager realized that they were out of
relief pitchers, out of pinch-hitters, and the poor fool on the mound
was looking for a pounding. He called our hero off the bench to pitch
the top of the ninth, and Mel, on his way up the steps from the dugout,
groped back for not only his glove, but five or six cans of brew, which
he stuffed into his shirt on his way to the mound. Needless to say, Mel
had a very hard time locating the catcher from the heights of the mound,
and did all the damage required for a loss of the game by the time the
manager swapped him with the right-fielder. When the inning was finally
over, Mel collapsed against the fence next to the home-team bullpen,
and snored his way happily through the uneventful bottom of the ninth.

A youngster on the opposing team, totally amazed to have seen such in
“The Majors”, inquired of one of his fellows about the hulk up against
the fence. “That’s the great Melvin Famie”, said his elder. “What’s the
bulge in his shirt?” asked the tyro. The reply?

“That’s the beer that made Mel Famie walk us.”

[Father Goose #30]

Once there was a King who was loved by all of his subjects, especially
because of the hunting excursions he shared with them. As will happen,
one day he died and his eldest son took the throne. Now this new king
was an animal-lover to the core, and immediately outlawed all forms of
hunting and fishing. His subjects accepted this for only a short time
before they ousted him. This is a truly significant event, because it’s
the first time a reign was called on account of the game.

[Father Goose #31]

Late in the previous century, the well-known folklorist
Vivian McNabb was collecting ballads and tales in the
Scottish Highlands, and found a previously unknown musical instrument,
something in the lyre-lute-dulcimer range. It was sitting unused
as a family heirloom, and the family who owned it no longer
knew exactly how it should be tuned or played, nor did anyone
else in the region. McNabb purchased it, and showed it
in every village he passed through. Nobody could give him completely
accurate information, and nobody could tune it or play it, but some
clues began to fall in place. Several people mentioned Seamus
O’Pernokkety, who lived in Ireland, as a great authority on stringed
instruments. McNabb determined to go over and consult Seamus.

(Insert shaggy description of McNabb’s difficult travels, and the
frustrating search for Seamus O’Pernokkety.)

Finally, weak and confused, McNabb stumbled up to the door of the
cabin at the top of the steep hill. Success at last! Seamus recognized
the instrument, and agreed to tune it and teach McNabb how to play, but
only if McNabb would serve as his apprentice for a full year.

(Insert description of McNabb’s arduous year of servitude at the feet
of his musical guru.)

When the year was up, Seamus took the instrument out of the cupboard,
spent the rest of the day tuning it up, and played all night and all
the next day. It was the most remarkable, beautiful tone McNabb had
ever heard. He stayed on another month, until he too had some proficiency
at playing. At last they parted.

McNabb skipped and jumped down the hill, exulting in his newfound
skill in playing the instrument, and in the precious object itself.
So unbridled was he in his joyous carriage, that he tripped and fell,
and went tumbling arse-over-teacup down into a ravine. A large boulder
finally broke his fall, and also his leg. The instrument, however,
did not seem to be damaged. But when he tried to play it, it proved
to be badly out of tune, and he could wring from it nothing but harsh
discords. There was no help for it: he painfully crawled all the
way back up the terrible hill, arriving at Seamus’s cottage late that
evening.

“Oh, Seamus, the most terrible thing has happened!” he gasped out, and
explained about his accident. “Please, maestro, help me in my despair.
Retune the instrument! And perhaps do something about my leg, if you
can.”
“Certainly, McNabb, I can set your leg, and you’re welcome to
food and lodging while it mends. But I hope you realize I can’t work
on that instrument again.”
“But why not? Please, you must.”
“No, I cannot. I thought it was well known:
O’Pernokkety tunes but once.”

[Father Goose #32]

In the 23rd century the solar system was wracked by constant
warring between the fragmented states of the Asteroid Belt.
Particularly successful in these wars was one tribe (I’ll call
them Joes) which managed to total up a surprising war record
despite its amazingly primitive weaponry through sheer ferocity.
After having dispatched a fleet from a rival nation (call them
Jacks), the Joe general went over to his adversary’s flagship to
sign a treaty of peace. After the diplomatic niceties were
taken care of, the Jack general (who had been wounded in the
previous day’s fighting) took a moment of his time to talk shop
and mention his injury. Their exchange follows:

Said the Jack general, “What was that laser you sawed me with
last night?”

Came the reply, “That was no laser–that was my knife!”

[Father Goose #33]

It seems there were three monks who enjoyed raising plants
and were trying to keep a flower shop running, selling unique
and exotic plant life.
One day, some children where playing behind the shop and
were eaten whole by an extremely rare man-eating plant.
The parents, needless to say, were outraged, and demanded that
the friars get rid of the dangerous plant. The friars refused.
So the parents and the people of the town tried several ways to get
the friars to consent, but finally they asked Hugh, the town blacksmith,
(undoubtably the strongest man around), to run the friars out of town.

Your waiting for the moral… Can you guess?

“Hugh, and only Hugh, can prevent florist friars!”

[Father Goose #34]

…End of the part5. To be continued..

Two guys were stranded on a desert island.
The only way they could get food was to kill
sea birds by throwing rocks at them.
By the time they were rescued,
… They had left no tern unstoned.

[Father Goose #22]

There was once was this guy who developed a bad case of flatulence. The smell
was quite embarrasing, but what was worse was the sound which was a loud
“HONDA!” He went to a number of doctor (of course) and none of them
could help him (as is always the case in these tales). Finally out of
desperation he went to an old chinese doctor and explained his problem.
Without any examination the doctor said, “You have an abcessed tooth, have it
fixed and your problem will be solved.” So he went to a dentist, and sure,
enough he did have an abcessed tooth, which he had repaired, and his “HONDA”
farts went away as well. So he went back to the chinese doctor and said,
“What’s the punch line?” — or was it, “How did you know that I had an
abcessed tooth?”

“Because”, said the chinese doctor, “everybody know that …

… abcess make the fart go HONDA!”

[Father Goose #23]

Once in a land far, far away there lived a group of people called
Trids. The Trids were happy except for the huge ogre that lived
on the mountain. The ogre would periodically terrorize the Trids.

The Trids tired of the ogre and sought to reason with him. They thought
one of their religious leaders would be a good intermediary. So a group
of Trids and their minister went up the mountain and before they could
even say one word the ogre kicked them down the mountain. Not being
dismayed the Trids thought that maybe the ogre was Catholic, so they sent
another delagation, this time led by the local priest. But alas, as they
approached the ogre he once again kicked them all down the mountain.

The Trids were upset until they thought that perhaps the ogre was Jewish.
Unfortunately, no Trids were Jewish, so they wrote to the people of another
land and asked them to send a Rabbi to help them with the ogre. The
Rabbi arrived and led a delegation of Trids up the mountain. The ogre
saw them coming and kicked all of them, except for the Rabbi, down the
mountain. The Rabbi, having been told of the previous expeditions, wondered
why he alone had not been kicked down the mountain, so he asked the ogre.
The ogre laughed and replied:

“Silly Rabbi, kicks are for Trids!”

[Father Goose #24]

During the invasion of Sicily in World War II, General
George (“Blood ‘n’ Guts”) Patton was preparing to take the
city of Palermo. He checked with his meteorologists and learned
the day he had chosen would be incredibly rainy. So he issued
an order to place copies of the New York “Times” immediately
beneath the tailgates of the transports carrying his troops.
In this way the men could keep their feet dry.

His staff was mystified. Why the “Times”? Why not the New
York “Daily News”? Patton was adamant; and one did not argue
with the General. As five tons of old copies of the “Times”
were being loaded, the General issued one of his greatest
quotes to the assembled war correspondents:

“THESE ARE THE ‘TIMES’ THAT DRY MEN’S SOLES.”

[Father Goose #25]

Henry the Plantationer was the Lord of the best flower plantation
in all the land, but he had lost his family’s corner on the market of
fleur de lis (hard won by his father).
This loss enraged his cousin Richard, a nasty, deformed, but clever
man who was lord of the fields of white roses, and who raised 400 pound
attack boars for a hobby.
Henry’s other cousins, who lorded over the fields of red roses
were merely annoyed. They felt that Henry was a good man. He was a quiet
visionary gentleman, with a good raport with the heavenly father.
As time passed, Richard’s fury grew, and he openly proclaimed
that he, not Henry should run the plantation. This of course caused many
bad feelings.
These feelings came to a head one spring evening, when Henry
was hosting a fancy feast, with all of the local royalty attending
except (for obvious reasons) Richard.
When this fest was in full swing, Richard burst in, with five of
his biggest
most viscious attack boars. And they tore up the feast, and the people
turning it into a grotesque study of blood and flesh. When this was done
and only Richard and a few others were left alive, Gruesome Richard
proclaimed

“Now is the dinner of our wistful gent wrent gory assunder by this
ton of pork !”
[ The story draws from several Shakespeare Histories and the saying from
his Richard the Third, "Now is the winter of our
discontent made glorious summer by this Son of York."]

[Father Goose #26]

There was this troupe of dancers that traveled around
the country dancing in clubs and theaters. They were called
the Steppers. At one club, the Steppers did such a good job
of pulling in patrons that the management gave them all the
drinks they could drink after the show.

Well, they all got plastered and were having a big party.
When it came time to get on their bus to travel to the next town,
they did not want to stop partying, so they just moved the party
to the bus. As they rode down the highway, you could here their
yelling, singing, and laughing for miles.

At a house along that very highway, there lived a family that
had a pet snake. It was a viper, and it’s name was Peter. That
night, Peter Viper was asleep in his snake house in the back yard.
Suddenly, he was awakened by a loud racket. It was the bus
carrying the Steppers still having their party. But Peter didn’t
know that. In his confusion, he thought he was back in deep dark
Africa being pursued by Pygmies. He slithered out of his snake
house, headed across the yard as fast as he could, and crossed the
highway just in front of the bus. The bus driver, who was a little
sleepy, saw Peter Viper in the road, and mistook him for a giant log.
He swerved, and the bus landed in the ditch, drunk Steppers
lying everywhere.

The next day, the headline in the paper read “Peter Viper
wrecks a truck of pickled Steppers”.

[Father Goose #27]

President Eisenhower’s Mother had a sister; this lady constantly
had trouble in bright sunshine because her nose was so sensitive
that the skin peeled off every summer.

Her doctor made a simple remedy, a small cone of paper (like a
Dunce’s cap) which she stuck onto her nose at the first sign of
sun.

Do you believe this?

I didn’t until Mick Jagger sang about it.

Ike’s Aunt gets nose hat is fact, son

[Father Goose #28]

…End of the part4. To be continued..

Chapter 19. Barbara

Chapter 20. Lisa

Chapter 21. Secret Codes

…End of the part10. To be continued..

We were attired as typical tourists: they were in swim wear; I was
wearing a flat Bahamian straw hat, aloha shirt and walking shorts, and Ellen
was attired in a white sundress with a broad yellow ribbon tied into a
headband around her black hair. Now, as Ellen laughed at a joke, the ribbon’s
long ends were flapping about in the warm breeze. It was difficult making
conversation above the pounding surf and whistling wind.

Jeff, a brawny six-foot-plus with a booming voice, leaned across the
table and asked, “You here in a boat?” His reddish hair was tousled by the
breeze. His stunning blond wife, Virginia, was leaning back in a sun-chair,
which squeaked as she fidgeted and appraised us.

“We flew over,” I told him. Two years before, we’d been here in our
twenty-foot boat. A troublesome storm convinced me I’d never take anyone
else in a small craft, so this time we’d flown commercial, as we have each
time since. “We’re checked in at the hotel.”

Jeff gulped his drink, gestured toward the distant docks, and murmured,
“We’re staying at the marina. They charge an arm and a leg to hook up to
electricity over there. We’re down here from Texas. Where you from?” When I
told him, he responded, “Yeah, well your state’s doing a lot better than mine.
You have Disney World and a state lottery. We have these closed down oil
wells and one hell of a lot of empty offices. We’re thinking of moving to
Florida.”

I grinned, “Doesn’t make Floridians too happy to hear that. Too many
people coming in now. I tell people who’re thinking of moving there that
alligators come out of the lakes at night and drag away little babies.” He and
Virginia chuckled.

Ellen’s a natural conversationalist, but now she was particularly
animated; she’d won them over. Jeff invited us for a tour on their sloop to an
out-island. We declined, explaining that we’d made reservations for an early
dinner at a local calypso club, so Jeff offered, “O-kay, what if we make it an
evening trip, around 7, 7:30? Think you could make that, ol’ buddy?”

I was considering it when Ellen grabbed my arm and blurted, “Come ON,
Bill, let’s DO it!” Turning to Jeff and Virginia, she smiled, “Takes him
forever to make changes in plans!”

I grinned, “Sounds like a great idea.”

That evening, over dinner, Ellen admitted her excitement. I’d noticed her
observing Jeff’s handsome, muscular features at the cabana. She remarked, “I
think they have MORE than just a tour in mind. We’ll see.” We skipped the
floorshow, donned our swim suits in the hotel room, and walked down to the
harbor where Jeff’s 38-foot sloop bobbed amid a line of boats at the unpainted
docks.

Virginia was tossing crumbs at a flock of seagulls swooping and
squawking around her. Jeff looked up from his blue canvas deck chair and
acknowledged,”You’re right on time.” He cast off as soon as we climbed aboard.
The Atlantic was now red beneath the setting sun. I noticed Ellen and Bill
stealing glances at the other now and then, until finally, they were openly
staring. When she turned away, Jeff gazed at her long legs and full,
half-exposed breasts thrusting out beneath the one-piece black suit, completely
bare on the sides except for four thin black ribbons on each side securing the
front and back.

By the time Jeff cut the engines, a half mile from the island, stars were
blinking like diamonds on black velvet. This close to the island, the five-
foot waves we’d plowed through most of the way had calmed. The waters’
crests, silver beneath the moonlight, softly slapped against the hull. The sloop
rocked gently as Virginia and Ellen clambered up the galley stairs to the
deck. Jeff anchored as we stared at the scene off the bow. Beneath the puffs
of gleaming clouds, the island seemed to float on the midnight-blue waters.

Virginia stood on her toes, stretching her arms, as she said, “This
breeze is wonderful!” She casually reached to unhook the top to her red and
white striped bikini; that isn’t unusual for boaters when the sun’s up, but
this was night. Ellen smiled as if to say, “I told you so.” I stared at
Virginia’s breasts, firmed by exercize. Her legs were as long and well-formed
as Ellen’s. She stretched again, her blond hair blowing in the soft warm
gusts. Outlined by the Bahamian moon, she looked like a goddess.

So Ellen slipped out of her suit. She stood nude alongside Virginia, who
turned to evaluate the similarity of their figures; “You’re beautiful,” she
told Ellen, staring down at Ellen’s shaved mound. The contrast between
Virginia, the half-nude blond, and Ellen, the nude brunette, was stunning.

Jeff’s engorged manhood had been evident even before then. But now,
appraising them, he smiled, turning to me as he whispered, “Are you two
swingers? You see, Virginia isn’t, but she’s a ‘watcher,’ and if you are,
we’re interested.” Then, he added, as if I might misunderstand, “I mean I’m
straight, not gay.”

I grinned, almost laughing. I could hardly wait for his reaction when I
told him, “Actually, Jeff, I’m a watcher too. Think Virginia would be jealous
if she saw you with Ellen, while your wife and I watched?”

When we told Ellen and Virginia, the coincidence seemed neither as
humorous nor as surprising to them as I thought it was. I learned later that
Jeff and Virginia had met many other agreeable couples during their travels.

We made small talk as if no one had mentioned “watching.” Ellen stared
at Jeff’s face and body, occasionally looking down at Jeff’s penis bulging
beneath his red biniki trunks. Under a pretense that we going down the stairs
to turn on the stereo, we made our way down to the dimness of the sleeping
quarters where moonlight streamed through a line of portholes. Virginia and I
stood in the doorway. Jeff and Ellen sat on the bunk, looking through compact
disks, selected one, and inserted it into the overhead stereo as Virginia poured
wine. When Ellen passed a wine glass to Jeff, their hands brushed. I could
almost feel the electricity as their eyes locked. Ellen’s soft breasts heaved.
Setting aside the glass on a bunkside table, Jeff leaned to kiss her neck,
moving down to her breasts. She moaned lowly, her lips trembling.

Virginia nuzzled her breasts against my side as I put my arm around her.
Leaning into the doorjam, we gaped, breathing heavily. Jeff and Ellen melded
in a deep kiss, their arms entertwined. Ellen’s hips rotated softly in desire as
she lay alongside Jeff. Virginia looked up at me, her lips trembling, her blue
eyes wild with passion, as she muttered, “God, aren’t they beautiful?” I
agreed, my shaft swelling beneath my trunks. Ellen, her nipples taut,
disengaged to slide to floor on her knees. Her lips grazed his thighs. Gulping,
as if in fear, she took Jeff’s long, raging cock in her mouth. He closed his
eyes, groaning, as her full, pale lips slid over his glistening member. Tears of
passion welled in Ellen’s eyes as she moaned. Her tongue and slender fingers
glided along his dark rubbery shaft.

Now, as Virginia peeled off her bottoms, her hand was massaging her
clitoris. I slipped out of my trunks as I stroked my hardness. Virginia pressed
against me. I slithered an arm around her, cupping a breast, her nipple
standing out like a spike through my fingers. Ellen’s eyes were now wide with
passion as he thrust into her greedy mouth. The intensity of their tempo
increased. Ellen moaned in rapture. His cock had ballooned to massive
proportions, straining her lips as she whimpered.

Withdrawing from her mouth, Jeff lifted her to the bunk beneath a line
of portholes. He kneeled on the floor between her long legs, kissing her
shaved mound. Ellen wailed in desire! Her hips gyrated beneath his tongue’s
manipulations. Her body quaking, she locked her thighs about his head, lost in
their own distant universe of adulterous passion. The smell of their lust
permeated the warm night air.

Virginia placed her arms around my waist, her hips grinding her clitoris
against my leg. “They’re so beautiful,” she breathed ecstatically. She looked
down, her lips trembling as I pumped my shaft.

Jeff’s strong arms enveloped Ellen’s quivering body. He hovered above her
splayed legs, his shaft swaying above her pussy which was quivering up to
touch it. Her lips were parted, her eyes wild and fearful of his large
instrument pushing apart her vaginal folds. She wrapped her legs around his
hips, drawing him deeply within, and yelled out in painful pleasure. Her
vagina was stretching to accommodate his large tool. They shared a sigh as he
buried his full length.

Whimpering, Ellen turned to watch us. Virginia had grasped my cock and
was stroking it as I squeezed the fullness of her breasts. The sight drove Ellen
into ecstasy as her arms enveloped Jeff. She bucked against him, meeting every
thrust into her steaming cave. Virginia’s nostrils flared, her breath huffing,
her mouth open in wild desire. I felt a kinship with Virginia as we watched
our respective mates, united in sin, her husband’s cock plunging into my wife’s
vagina; she mewed, “Oh, god, Bill, don’t you FEEL it happening BETWEEN
them, between US?”

And, yes, I did. Virginia’s soft fist pumped my shaft as she grinded her
blond mound against my leg. Her lips brushed my neck and ears.

Ellen’s head thrashed from side to side, her wide eyes rolling as Jeff’s
thickness filled her. She wailed as her tremoring arms encircled his neck, her
hips lifting to meet her lover’s. Her groin swirled beneath his fervid fucking
as she threw back her head, pleading for him not to stop. His jaw slackened
as he stared down at her, his eyes glazed with lust. Then, Ellen screamed, “Oh
GOD Jeff, I’m going to COME! Please come WITH me!” She mewed helplessly,
her body shivering with the building climax.

Virginia’s hand pumped furiously as she looked up to me, parting her lips.
We kissed deeply. Everyone was moaning, sharing the climactic thunder that
was engulfing us in an emotional hurricane.

At the last moment, Virginia spread her long, taut legs, guiding my cock
into her creaming depths. She screamed in pleasure. Then it happened, the
sexual energy crackling throughout the cabin! I exploded as everyone was
wailing; Ellen and Virginia were crying and writhing madly. Virginia fell to her
knees, taking my length deeply into her mouth. Ellen and Jeff now turned on
their stomachs to watch as Virgina brought me again to hardness, her hair
tossing as her lips slid along my full length. I’d lost track of time until my
semen burst into Virginia’s throat. Ellen and Jeff were applauding. Virginia
bumped to the floor, her arms around my knees, as we turned to look at our
spouses on the bunk. They were laughing.

That was the only time that either Virginia or I had experienced even
that slight an adultery with anyone. Neither of us were sure our spouses truly
understood, but what we had was just perfect.

Section One – The Early Years
Chapter I – Baby Bimbo

Everyone in Larchmont knew that Chance was a tramp the day she came home
from the the hospital. At that point in her life it wasn’t the rubber pants
that gave her away, or even the fact that when someone picked her up for
burping, she blew in his ear. Let me put it this way: She did things with her
pacifier that most women still haven’t done with their husbands. Is that a
tramp, or what?
It was almost unthinkable that we would ever become friends, especially
to my mother. She considered anyone who wore open-toed shoes an exhibitionist.
Chance and I were SO unalike. I mean, when I had diaper rash, she had
herpes. I’d fuss about going to bed; she’d hit the mattress the minute
someone unzipped her bunting. I slept with stuffed animals; she slept with
real ones. You get the picture.
Chance stayed different from the rest of us. She never went through a NO
phase (her first words were “Sure, sailor!”), never sucked her thumb if she
could suck someone else’s, and when she waved “bye-bye,” it was with her
panties.
Even before she was toilet-trained, that tramp’s name was on bathroom
walls!

Chapter II – Toddler Tramp

Before we even entered kindergarten, Chance was raising eyebrows as often
as her skirt. Think I’m exaggerating?? Well, how many four-year-olds do
you know who’ve had their birthday parties raided by the police? I’m serious!
She jumped out of her own birthday cake!
My mother never let me go to any of Chance’s parties after I told her
about the one where we played Simon Says with a whip. (Simon says, “DO THIS!
DO THAT!”) She’d probably never have let me see Chance again if I’d told where
that preschooler poptart had hidden the marshmallows for the treasure hunt!
Like men in later years, Chance’s toys said a lot about her; all of it
unprintable. Her dollhouse had a red light on it! Her coloring books had dirty
pictures! She was the only kid in the neighborhood who had an anatomically
correct G.I. Joe doll – and it was battery operated!!
She also had an advanced Erector set. What she did with that is better
left unmentioned.

–

1. You can always turn on a car.
2. You are always in the driver’s seat.
3. You can drive a car anywhere.
4. You can share a car with your friends.
5. The car will always do what you make it do.
6. You can always buy a new one if you want to.
7. A car doesn’t complain about lack of attention.
8. If a car breaks down, you can always fix it up right.
9. A car doesn’t mind if you drive around in other cars.
10. There’s enough room in a car for 4 to 6 people.
11. You can swear at a car, up and down, and it won’t get offended.
12. If you kick a car, it will still run strong.
13. You can toot a car’s horn anytime and it won’t get upset.
14. You can feed a car and it will go as far as it can for you.
15. A car won’t give you any suprises no matter how many times
you get in and out of it.

Remember:
Man’s equivalent of a woman’s diamond ring is a car.

–

The girl was covered with a light sheen of sweat,
(perspiration, you asshole… Ladies don’t sweat), as he watched
her do exaggerated pelvic thrusts, supported by her feet and
shoulders, in a position that reminded him of a wrestler’s
bridge.

“Oh baby….could you and I do great things together, was
the last thought that flashed through his mind before Bodo’s
Lincoln pulled to the curb outside his apartment….

Bodo had him back to his apartment in less than an hour.
Just a few minutes of light work had netted him $150. He’d
walked right up to the man’s front door carrying a can of Blatz,
and confronted the deadbeat while his family watched tv in the
living room.

“OK, asshole. We can do this easy…. or we can do it hard.
Your choice.” His voice always surprised people, they thought it
sounded funny, kind of a raspy whiskey tenor that seemed out of
place emanating from his massive body.

“Who are you? What do you want?” that night’s victim
stammered.

“Guido sent me…., he said you’d understand.”

“Ahhh… I’m two days late…., and he sends a collector?”

“All I know is I’m supposed to bring back $300, and that’s
all I’m gonna do. Either that or a piece of your ass. Your
choice. I see Dead President’s in one minute, or I start taking
you apart…. Right here where mom and the two kids can have a
front row seat to watch the mud and blood and the beer.” He
emphasized his statement by dumping the dregs of the Blatz on the
man’s burnished cordovan wingtips.

“Jesus, I don’t have $300 in cash on me…”

“Like I said. Your choice….and you’re down to thirty
seconds.” Leon rose to the balls of his feet, and began pulling
on thin black leather gloves.

“Hold it…, come on…, hold it…. I’ve got maybe $150.”

“I’ll take it,” Leon rasped. “You still get a beating and
you’ll still owe this week’s $300. We’ll consider the $150
interest. And next week’s $300 and this week’s $300 are both due
on Monday. Or I’ll be back.”

“Jeez…I’ve got the money in the bank. I just don’t have
it here….”

“So….?”

“So follow me over to the bank machine…. I’ll get you the
whole $300,” came the whining reply.

“No fucking around?”

“Just let me get my wallet,” the man begged.

“You’re not gettin’ outa my sight. Just holler at your
wife, and have her bring it to you.”

The guy was practically groveling, begging Leon not to get
his family involved….., but, he did as he was told. The lady
of the house, (not a bad looking piece of beef either) looked at
Leon questioningly until the guy went into a song and dance about
a water leak at his office, and how he had to go look and would
be right back.

Leon rode with the welcher while Bodo trailed them in the
Lincoln. The trip and the rest of the transaction were
uneventful, almost anti-climatic. He got the $300 and made a
strong suggestion to the man that he keep his account current.

As Bodo drove him home, Leon peeled off $150 and stuffed it
into his pocket, handing Bodo the other half.

“Wanna drink?” Bodo asked.

“Nahh…I’m too wound up right now. I really was looking
forward to pounding some lumps on that whuss…”, Leon remarked
as he started to crawl out of Bodo’s car.

“Maybe next time,” Bodo laughed, as he began to drive off.

Leon watched the Lincoln turn the corner and was about to
start up the walk to his building when movement in the window
across the street caught his eye. It was ‘her’ apartment.

Leon crossed the street, and drifted closer to the building,
changing his angle to the window, until he had a clear view into
her bedroom. He’d caught part of this kind of action an earlier
night, but from across the street (even with binoculars) he could
not see too well.

This was a different story. He had a clear, close-up view
of ‘her’ as she lay naked on her bed. He watched her hands
glide over her torso and cupped her breasts. Her fingers busily
teasing her coral pink nipples, and he watched carefully as they
became firm and erect before his eyes.

She shifted slightly and reached to a bedside table, and
then while one hand continued to torment her tits, the other used
a bumpy pink dildo to get herself off, over and over again.

Leon watched the drama unfold, captured by its sheer
eroticism, and didn’t notice the black and white cruiser as it
turned onto his street, and accelerated toward where he was
standing, close to her window.

“Freeze, motherfucker,” a voice barked, jerking Leon back to
reality.

The two cops had spread-eagled him across the hood of the
cruiser, patted him down, and cuffed him. Leon had been through
the drill a time or two, so he cooperated…., as much as they’d
let him. The $150 jammed into his pocket had raised their
eyebrows, as had the $200 and change in his wallet.

They’d called in on the radio, using his driver’s license as
an ID, and glared at him, while they waited for an NCIC report.
Then it finally was radioed back, it was lights and sirens all
the way to the Cop Shop.

He stayed cuffed during the booking, and while he was
finger-printed, one of the bulls had his opposite arm in a
hammerlock. He guessed they didn’t get many yellow sheets like
his….

When the detective finally got around to interviewing him,
he was asked, “What were you doing when the officers apprehended
you?”

“I just got home and was starting into my apartment, when I
saw something in that window. It looked like a fight or
something, so I walked across the street to be sure. I was just
checking it out when your guys jumped all over me.”

“They said you were acting like a peeper.”

“Like hell…when did you ever see a peeper standing on the
sidewalk… without a raincoat…under a streetlight?”

“You’ve got a point there, Ace.”

“Damn straight.” Leon wasn’t worried and it started to show
…End of the part4. To be continued..

A young man wanted to buy his sweetheart a birthday present. So, after due
consideration, he decided on a pair of gloves. Accompanied by his sister, he
went to the ready-to-wear shoppe. He bought a pair of gloves, while his sister
got some panties for herself.

In the delivery, the packages became mixed. She got the gloves while he got the
panties. Without examination of the package, it was sent to his sweetheart.
The following note accompanied the package…

This is to show you that I haven’t forgotten your birthday. I chose
them because I noticed that you are not in the habid of wearing them
when we go out in the evening. If it hadn’t been for my sister, I
would have gotten the long ones with buttons, but she said the short
ones are more in style.

These are a very delicate shade, but the lady I bought them from
showed me a pair that she had been wearing for three weeks, and they
hardly looked soiled. The clerk tried on a pair and they looked very
smart. When you take them off, blow in them, as they may become damp
from wearing. How I wish I could put them on you for the first time.
No doubt many men’s hands will come in contact with them before I have
the chance. I hope you will like them and wear them on Friday night.

P.S. I just think of how many times I will kiss the back of them in
the following years…

–

Ive been seeing lots of requests for the old beer is better posts
so here they are along with (for the women folk of course) all
about cucumbers.

======================but first=====================================
A Sunday school teacher was telling her class about the difference between
right and wrong.

“All right children, let’s take another example,” she said. “If I were to
get into a man’s pocket and take his billfold with all his money, what would
I be?”

A little girl raised her hand, and said, “You’d be his wife.”
======================its true its true=============================

25 GOOD REASONS WHY BEER IS BETTER THAN WOMEN

1. You can enjoy a beer all month long
2. Beer stains wash out
3. You don’t have to wine and dine beer
4. Your beer will always wait patiently for you in
the car while you play baseball
5. When you beer goes flat, you toss it out
6. Hangovers go away
7. A beer lables come off without a fight
8. Beer is never late
9. Beer doesn’t get jealous when you grab another beer
10. When you go to a bar, you know you can always
pick up a beer
11. Beer never gets a headache
12. After you’ve had a beer, the bottle is still worth
5 cents
13. A beer won’t get upset if you come home and have
another beer
14. If you pour a beer right, you’ll always get good
head
15. A beer always goes down easy
16. You can have more than one beer a night and not
feel guilty
17. You can share a beer with your friends
18. You always know you’re the first one to pop a
beer
19. Beer is always wet
20. Beer doesn’t demand equality
21. You can have a beer in public
22. A beer doesn’t care when you come
23. A frigid beer is a good beer
24. You don’t have to wash a beer before it taste
good
25. If you change beers you don’t have to pay
alimony

86 REASONS WHY A BEER IS BETTER THAN A MAN

1. A beer makes life easier.
2. A beer NEVER leaves the toilet seat up.
3. A beer lasts longer than seven seconds.
4. A beer doesn’t want to watch pro wrestling.
5. A beer won’t expect you to cook dinner when you’re
not hungry.
6. A beer will never leave dirty socks on the floor.
7. A beer will never expect you to sit in the wet spot
IT makes.
8. A beer doesn’t care if you go shopping.
9. A beer doesn’t mind when your mother visits.
10. A beer does as many chores as a man, with a LOT less
complaining.
11. A beer won’t leave you for a younger woman.
12. A beer won’t leave you for a younger man either.
13. You don’t have to worry about getting AIDS from a bisexual beer.
14. Having a beer can’t make you pregnant.
15. A beer won’t tease you because you once liked Barry Manilow.
16. A beer will never smell like a man.
17. A beer doesn’t wouldn’t trade you in on a sports car.
18. If a beer did have a sports car, it wouldn’t love it more than you.
19. A beer doesn’t want to go out alone with the other beers.
20. A beer doesn’t sulk.
21. A beer wouldn’t waste its money on Playbeer magazine.
22. A beer won’t switch the TV channel.
23. A beer doesn’t have to sleep with the windows open.
24. A beer doesn’t snore.
25. A beer can’t interrupt.
26. A beer doesn’t care that you can’t find your car’s carburator.
27. A beer doesn’t think black leather bikinis are neat.
28. A beer doesn’t belch.
29. Or fart.
30. A beer doesn’t mind having pantyhose dry in the bathroom.
31. A beer doesn’t care that you don’t balance your checkbook.
32. A good beer is easy to find.
33. Tall, dark, good-looking beers are common.
34. A beer can’t pout.
35. A beer doesn’t have a mother.
36. A beer doesn’t have friends who will drink your beer.
37. A beer wouldn’t yell if you dented the car.
38. A beer won’t get jealous if you enjoy another beer.
39. A beer won’t even mind if you have another six pack.
40. A beer doesn’t buy everything labelled “turbo”.
41. A beer won’t care if you gain five pounds.
42. A beer will be there for anytime of the month.
43. A beer doesn’t want children.
44. A beer doesn’t think poetry is queer.
45. A beer isn’t ready until you’re ready.
46. If the beer is finished before you are, you can have another beer.
47. A beer can’t talk about the women who had it before you.
48. Hangovers go away.
49. A beer tastes good.
50. Having a beer doesn’t make you want to take a shower.
51. A beer would never leave hair in the bottom of the bathtub.
52. A beer is never late.
53. A beer will never invite friends home for dinner without calling.
54. A beer’s life does not revolve around the world series.
55. A beer won’t think less of you if you can’t name the Steelers’
quarterback.
56. A beer won’t even act amazed if you can.
57. A beer would never make fun of your new outfit.
58. A beer never needs a shave.
59. You don’t have to let a beer win.
60. A beer doesn’t care what toppings you get on the pizza.
61. Just because you have dinner with a beer doesn’t mean you
have to sleep with a beer too.
62. A beer doesn’t have morning breath.
63. A beer never wants to go to the drag races.
64. A beer is happy to go where ever you want to go.
65. A beer helps with the houswork.
66. A beer will never drink the last beer.
67. A beer will never fumble with your bra.
68. You can’t get herpes from a beer.
69. A beer will never take the newspaper apart before you’ve read it.
70. A beer always lets you read the Sunday comics first.
71. A beer is seldom messy.
72. When a beer is finished, it doesn’t roll over and go to sleep.
73. After you’ve had a beer, all you’re committed to doing is
throwing out the container.
74. A beer container is recyclable.
75. A beer wouldn’t mind if you wanted it to wear a condom.
76. A beer will NEVER call you “Babe”. Or “Sugar”.
77. A beer is never tempermental.
78. A beer will never complain about your cooking.
79. A cold beer is a good beer.
80. A beer is not kinky unless you want it to be kinky.
81. A beer will never worry about losing its hair.
82. A big, fat beer is nice to have.
…End of the part1. To be continued..

1. Each player shall furnish his own equipment for play – normally
one club and two balls.

2. Owner of the course must approve equipment before play may
begin.

3. Play on a course must be approved by the owner of the hole.

4. Unlike outdoor golf, the object is to get the club in the hole and
keep the balls out of the hole.

5. For most effective play, the club should have a firm shaft. Course
owners are permitted to check shaft stiffness before play begins.

6. Course owner reserves the right to restrict the shaft length,
so as to avoid damange to the course.

7. Players are cautioned to play the correct hole, as indicated by
the course owner.

8. The object of the game is to take as many strokes as necessary until
the course owner is satisfied that play is complete. Failure to do
so may result in being denied permission to play the course again.

9. It is considered bad form to begin playing the hole immediatedly upon
arrival at the course. The experienced player will normally take time
to admire the entire course, with special attention to well-formed
bunkers.

10. Players are cautioned not to mention other courses they have played or
are currently playing to the owner of the course being played. Upset
course owners have been known to damage a player’s equipment for this
reason.

11. Players are encouraged to have proper rain gear along, just in case.

12. Players are advised to obtain the course owner’s permission before
attempting to play the back game.

13. Players should assure themselves that their match has been properly
scheduled, particularly when a new course is being played for the
first time. Previous players have been known to become irate if they
discover someone else playing what they consider to be a private
course.

14. Players should not assume a course is in shape for play at all times.
Some players may be embarrassed if they find the course to be
temporarily under repair. Players are advised to be extremely tactful
in this situation. More advanced players will find alternate means
of play when this is the case.

15. Slow play is encouraged; however, players should be prepared to proceed
at a quicker pace, at least temporarily, at the owner’s request.

16. It is considered outstanding performance, time permitting, to play the
same hole several times in one match.

17. The course owner will be the sole judge of who is the best player.

18. In some states, it is illegal for a course owner to require (or for a
players to offer) a greens fee in excess of the price of dinner.
Course owners must be careful that play not be proposed to members of
the vice squad.

19. Players are advised to think twice before considering membership at
any given course. Additional assessments may be levied by the course
owner and the rules are subject to change. For this reason many players
prefer to continue to play several different courses.

20. It is considered bad form to reveal your score to other players,
or even that you have played the course.

–