Molly had told me not to call, that we couldn’t ever do it again because she’s a friend of my parents. In fact, she taught me French all through high school. But I couldn’t get her out of my mind, and the next time I came home from my freshman year of college, for Christmas break, I did call, and she agreed to meet me at a motel. Maybe she wasn’t over me either!
I’d said I would register at the motel, then text her the room number. While I waited in the room, I flashed back to our encounter over Thanksgiving weekend, my first time home from school. I’d been assigned the part of Mom’s shopping list that took me to the mall. The last stop was at the florist’s, and that’s where I ran into Molly, as she insisted I call her now.
“You’re a grown man,” she said, “and I do mean grown.” She seemed to study my whole body, head to toe, with a lingering stop in the middle.
She’d bought a shitload of flowers and plants, so I offered to help her get it all to her car after I dumped Mom’s stuff in our car. It wasn’t necessary, since the florist had a kid to do that, but she accepted and said, “Then maybe I can buy you a cup of coffee and hear how college is treating you.”
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We’d learned that the owner of some vacant land next to ours had accepted my husband’s latest offer (he had been negotiating for ages), and were all set to meet the realtor at his office to hand over the substantial down payment and sign the contract when my husband was called out of town on an emergency he had to deal with immediately. He figured it would take a couple of days, leaving me to seal the real-estate deal.
I arrived at the realtor’s office a few minutes before five to find the receptionist leaving for the day. She said, “I’ll let Mr. Connor know you’re here.” After calling back to Perry, she said, “He’ll be right with you,” and then left, flipping the closed sign on her way out.
I sat down with a magazine to wait for Perry, whom I’d known and worked with for years. A few minutes later I was greeted not by my Mr. Connor but by his 20-something son Jake. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed what a well-built, gorgeous hunk he’d grown into. He said his dad had been taken ill and left early but left everything on his desk for me to sign.
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When my boyfriend woke me that Saturday, teasing my clit with his fingertip, my plumbing was already in disorder, with the onset of a period I was really dreading.
Really, I hadn’t wanted Gary to sleep over. He’s 15 years younger than me, and still doesn’t get how difficult these things can be. But he insisted he was happy just to keep me company, so I relented. Naturally by morning he had more in mind, so I told him he would have to settle for a blowjob. When he begged for anal, I didn’t think I could feel that much worse, so I dug out the lube.
We continued foreplay till I was horny enough and ready for some anal warm-up. Gary lubed me up and then slid a finger in. To my astonishment, soon I was begging him to fuck my ass! Since he likes to look in my eyes while butt-fucking, as he lubed his cock I drew my knees up near my ears, giving him access to my butthole. He pressed his swollen cockhead against it and pushed. When my muscles relaxed, seven inches of manmeat filled my butt.
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The new gulf pro at the club had been putting the make on me for a good six weeks. Erik was such a hunk that I finally arranged to meet him at his apartment one afternoon when I knew my boyfriend would be working.
Erik is 22, which is, um, significantly younger than me. (I’d rather not say how much!) I like younger men because they’re always so horny. I decided on a simple A-line skirt with a white button-up but added some sexy lingerie to fuck with his head: a lacy white bra that’s partially transparent, exposing portions of my pink areolae and large nipples (this bra makes me look like I’m braless) and light blue bikini panties made of a stretchy material that hugs my bottom like a second skin and creates a neat camel toe. I didn’t wear any hose, thinking it’d end up trashed anyway. I brought a pair of fresh panties in case I needed them for the drive home.
I arrived at Erik’s place 20 minutes late, intentionally. I wanted to give him time to think I wasn’t coming. He must have been watching for me, because he opened the door before I rang the bell! It was a typical young man’s pad, with a half-eaten pizza in a box on the floor by the sofa and soda cans strewn around. But I wasn’t there to clean his house!
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The sun was just peeking through the curtains when I woke up naked in bed in a strange room, wondering how the hell I’d gotten there. The night before was a blur.
The bathroom door flew open and out walked an incredibly gorgeous hunk in jockey shorts, with a towel wrapped round his neck. I realized to my horror it was Charley, the 22-year-old son of my best friend! Suddenly I had a vague memory of running into him at a bar at some point in the lost night. Horrified to think that I had wound up in bed with him, I reached down to my crotch. I was relieved to find no signs of sexual activity.
“Good morning, Charley,” I said. “This is pretty weird. I guess I got pretty drunk last night, because I don’t know how I got here, or for that matter where ‘here’ is.”
He said, “It’s my apartment. I ran into you last night in Rudy’s. It’s a bar my friends and I hang out in. I was really startled to see you there. You were totally out of it and kept saying you were going to drive home. I talked you into coming to my place first for coffee, and when I went to make the coffee, I came back and found you undressed and in bed. I got out a blanket and slept there in the chair.”
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One Saturday morning about a year ago, my live-in girlfriend asked me to stop by her parents’ house to return a saucepan and some other stuff her mother had lent her. When I got there, no one was home. So I got the key from under the mat and let myself in.
As I set all the stuff on the counter in the kitchen, I accidentally knocked over a vase of flowers, spilling some of the water. I used a kitchen towel to wipe it up, then took the towel to the laundry room. When I lifted the hamper lid to deposit it, I noticed a pair of stockings, along with a pair of panties and a lace brassiere. A strange thrill shot through me, and I began checking the items out more closely. They smelled of perfume, and the crotch of the panties had a definite aroma of musky pussy.
I knew the things could only belong to Eileen, my girlfriend’s mother, and as I thought about her wearing them, my cock began to twitch in my pants. I found myself fondling the panties and bra while I visualized how Eileen would look in those items, and I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to see more of her intimate apparel. It was almost without conscious thought that I found myself going up to her bedroom.
Once there, I searched through some of the drawers and quickly discovered that Eileen had a whole collection of sexy panties and bras. One bra was so low-cut that I was sure her large dark nipples would be on display when she wore it.
Suddenly I heard a car pull up, so I quickly stuffed all the things back in the drawer and darted back downstairs. Eileen met me in the kitchen, and I quickly explained what I was doing there. I must have still been a bit flushed, because she asked me if I was okay. I told her I was, but I couldn’t help letting my eyes wander to her tits, wondering what they looked like squeezed into that bra.
My wife and I live in a small college town, with both children now in college. Teresa is a department head at the college, while I teach science at a local middle school. I often tease her that she’s the chairperson in our family as well. She’s a Latina, and has always been a strong-willed, no-bullshit type of person.
Teresa’s extremely attractive, a dark Latin beauty, and keeps her athletic body in peak condition with regular workouts and running. Over the years she’s had close relationships with several male colleagues, and I often wondered if any of them “crossed the line.” The thought of her writhing with passion beneath another man has tormented me—and sometimes, confusingly, titillated me as well.
We live in a gated townhouse community but still own the small house just off the college campus which was our home when we were first married and the kids were small and money was tight. Now we rent it out, and we also rent out the small pool house behind it, which we converted into a studio apartment. For the past semester Teresa was renting the pool house to an Austrian graduate art student named Bruno. I had never met him, but Teresa described him laughingly as “not much of an artist but a whole lot of hunk.”
Bruno often got behind on rent, and Teresa always gave him an extension. Since she handles the money in our family, I said nothing about it. One night he called and said he’d just sold a painting and had the money to catch up on his rent. She said she would come by for it the next morning, a Saturday.
I had worked hard for weeks to make sure my daughter Priscilla’s wedding went perfectly, dealing with the usual, like selecting a chapel, picking out food and decorations, who to invite and so on. There were no major bumps, and by the night before, it appeared that everything would go off the next day without a hitch. After the rehearsal and the dinner went smoothly, I finally started to relax!
Both Priscilla and my husband retired early, but I decided to relax with a drink since we were in the home stretch. In the lounge where the dinner was held, I was working on my third cosmo when I noticed Marty, the groom, chatting with Annabelle, one of my daughter’s bridesmaids. She is, to put it mildly, a slut, and the way she was making eyes at my son-in-law-to-be, and the way he was responding, made me wary.
To make sure nothing untoward happened, I forced myself into the conversation. Annabelle wasn’t thrilled, and made an excuse to leave, which left Marty and I talking. We had a few drinks, and I felt myself becoming a bit heady. He seemed more than a touch distracted, but I chalked it up to wedding jitters.
I’m a happily married man. My wife Carrie, who at 33 is a dozen years younger than me, is a very sexy young lady. She’s five feet four, about 110 pounds. Our sex life is fine, but the truth is that she needs more than one man. I’ve accepted it. In fact, I’m turned on by her fucking other men, and she always tells me about her sexual experiences.
A few months ago, while returning from a trip, we decided to stop by our friends Mitch and Lottie. They live about 100 miles from us, and we hadn’t seen them in ages. In the course of catching up, Mitch mentioned that their son Jared would be in our town in a few weeks for a ten-day course. Carrie said, “Does he have a place to stay? If not, we’d be happy to put him up, wouldn’t we, Rudy?” I said sure.
When we got home, Carrie began to fix up the guest bedroom. “It’ll be nice to have company, won’t it, darling?” she said. And that night we made love like mad. (She loves having her pussy eaten, so I did a lot of that.)
Before our neighbors Ruth and Larry left on their dream ten-week train trip through Europe, I went to their apartment next door to offer to drive them to the airport. As it turned out, they’d arranged for that, but Ruth said there was a favor I could do her.
When I said was happy to do anything to help, she said it was simple, really. Their son Louis (he’s 19) had gotten a job that would keep him away from home from Monday until Friday evening, so she’d love me to keep an eye on the place for her. Oh, and if I wouldn’t mind watering her violets—this way Louis couldn’t drown them.
The first week, everything was quiet. Friday evening I ran into Louis at the mailboxes. He said the job was okay but his boss was a jerk and gave him all the nasty work. I told him to do it without complaint and prove himself worthy of doing better things. He grinned and said I sounded just like his dad.
The next Wednesday when I got home from work I went next door to water and heard the TV on in the den. Thinking Louis had left it on on Monday, I headed across the plush carpet to shut it off, but at the door to the den froze in my tracks.
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