So many of us shade our sex lives from the light of day. I’m usually a little different, more open, even an exhibitionist about things but still most often omit damming details and specific events that are best left to the imagination or kept between lovers.
So OK so my subscribe banner is a chest that is attached to a woman that I not only know but also love. Trust me any part of her is far more interesting than anything I possess. Ironically I still consider myself more of an ass man than a tit guy. Anyone who pays attention to what I write knows what I’m into and in this case hopefully the Blonde will forgive me because this is one that I just had to share the details of unaltered, without omissions, and intended to recall it with out any embellishment in the least. But that wouldn’t really be that funny so I punched it up a bit for effect or laughs but all in all for once it is an accurate depiction of how my mind works.
The black type is the Gospel of what happened on one specific occasion. The red ink however limited is how I would like to think it went. You know if I was really on my game.
It is if nothing else the quintessential example of the life of Malflic behind the corporate greed, obsession with German cars, occasional distraction by shiny things, distrust of law enforcement, and blood lust for power beats the heart of a man who wants what all men and teenage boys really want at the very core of their beings. SEX and lots of it preferably but not necessarily with beautiful women!!!!
So on this occasion my very, very beautiful companion has plans that didn’t include me, I’m a big boy I can entertain myself for relatively short periods of time with out the need for supervision.
She comes down stairs in black heels (mmm love her in heels), beautifully curve hugging deep dark blue jeans (you really have no idea what you’re missing), a tight black shirt accentuated by her long flowing locks (there’s good reason I refer to her as my Chesty Blonde), and a genuinely pretty face to top it all off. The kind you really don’t see very often. Add to it that she’s a good soul and a nice kind person and you quickly see why people are wondering what she is doing with my ugly, sarcastic, shallow ass. Good question but who am I to tempt fate?
I offer to drop her off and pick her up at the end of the night. No need to worry about a few soda pops if she wanted to imbibe. She agrees and off we go. I kill a few hours out and about doing nothing of particular consequence and head home to stare mindlessly at the TV and wait for the phone to ring.
It finally does a little before 10 and another woman is on the line. Now it’s not another woman in the sense that I have another woman who calls me at home when the Blonde is out, nor is it a wrong number, or a telemarketer flagrantly ignoring the do not call list. Rather it a friend she is out with.
Wait why is she asking if I’m the only one on the phone? Of course I’m the only one on the phone I assure her and she all but screams a few very suggestive things into my ear, not the subtle sensual whispers of a lover’s request, not the playful banter of a phone sex operator reading a script and pretending to get off, but a woman who uses words and made suggestions about the state of my usual companion that were by any estimate the stuff of the very best dear Penthouse letters from the late 80’s (which is the last time I bought a Penthouse so I’m not sure about the current content). And from there it got really, really dirty.
I like people who aren’t afraid to say what they’re thinking. I curse like a sailor and talking dirty isn’t usually an issue unless I do it at an “inappropriate time”. She seemed to be very good at both using profane words and oddly combining them with suggested states of arousal, lewd acts, and suggest how I could in the not too distant future help remedy the situation and building need in a rather shall we say hard and fast manner. The best part is she didn’t need my Amex number, or a case of beer first to talk like that and she wasn’t trying to tempt me just to get back at an ex anything. Sorry boys (and in some cases girls) she’s spoken for, lucky man.
OK the girl got my attention and if a fraction of what she was suggesting was true I was in for a good night she’d drop the Blonde off in a bit. 30 minutes later pouring a drink that kills the last few shots worth of Kettle, the last drops of the OJ and a glass of wine for the companion of mine who should be arriving in the near future. Off to light a few candles, turn up the heat so the house isn’t to cool, and always the hopeless romantic retire to the bedroom to wait and watch sports center sports center since there was no decent porn on cable. (Why this surprised me is in itself a mystery there is never any decent porn on cable yet I hold out hope)
About 90 minutes (or more) later I hear the front door, her foot steps on the stairs, through the loft, down the hall, Sports pale in comparison and I stay reclined across the bed clad in plaid pants and zippered top. She walks in to the room as beautiful as ever and surveys it, says hello and then wonders back out into the hall. I had by that point consumed the vodka, the original wine I poured for her and one or two more. Still stone cold sober but mellow and patient knowing sooner or later she’d be back I waited.
The door opened again as she wondered in smiling, an extra twinkle in her eye and a devilish grin. Trailing a step or so behind her was the quite alluring dark haired body of the verbally creative sexually charged woman that called me earlier making lewd suggestions about states of arousal, potions, lotions, and dildos.
” I see you brought me a present” I offered coyly. The friend grins and then takes a few quick strides followed by a large leap over the foot board and jumps into bed with me.
“JACK POT, FUCKING JACK POT!!!! FUCKING EH, GIRL’S NIGHT OUT IS THE BEST NIGHT EVER!!!” And other similar things run through my head at a million miles per hour I’m thinking something about the number three in French what is it a again twat no that’s not right it just kind of sounds like that. Trois! Trois! Trois! I got it!
In reality my mind is going a million miles an hour with things like “why is this woman in my bedroom” and “now what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
Her elbow and shoulder ricocheted off my head as she came to a sprawling rest next to me but who cares I’ve been hit in the head a million times for a variety of reasons, failing to move quickly enough is probably the most common one.
I’m still drinking it all in, the rest of the universe outside of that roomed ceased to exist completely. She’s giggling, my Blonde joining in near unison watching me closely, things still look very good from my lounging view point. My imagination is still doing the math on the possibilities and required questions like straight or Bi? Kinky or Vanilla? Even if the answer is yes should we save that for perhaps another time? What had they planned? Then after a few awkward moments she rolls out of bed, stands up tall, looks deeply into the dog’s eyes, and starts talking to him.
Cruel vile women! She’s already lost interest in me and is telling the dog how pretty he looks! What a good boy he is! How nice it is to see him. 90 minutes earlier she was talking dirty to me completely unprovoked, 30 seconds ago she came bounding into my bed and now she was talking to the god damn dog rubbing his head, scratching him behind the ears. What the fuck? At this point my tail wasn’t the one that was wagging!
The ladies converse and said it was all her idea to shock me. Shock me? What shocked me was the fact that it was the first time in recent memory if not ever that a woman came at a blinding speed to get into bed with me and then topped it off with paying attention to the dog. She could have brought home a 100 naked writhing sluts that looked like playmates but were really just nuns out on a bender looking for a nice hard fuck and it would have shocked me less than a woman jumping into bed only to jump right back out and talk to the god damned dog. Sure I should have known better and the truth be told am such a Germ-o-phobe that sort of thing wouldn’t have worked for me anyhow even if I wanted it to.
And there you have it life summed up into a simple experience, no threesome, no wild new things to explore just a few giggles, some nice conversation, a dog that felt loved, and me as the butt of the joke. In the end all was made right and ended well but the number involved was not trois but deux and those are the details best left between lovers and to your own imagination but it was awfully damn good.
And in all fairness I uncharacteristically let the Blonde read it before posting and she found my view point less than amusing, but boys will be boys even if all they really want is sex.