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The people and interactions in this story are real; the emotions, filtered by 40 years of life, are as factual as memory can hope to be. The major bits of fiction are: moving an event that occurred in 1975 into the present; putting us on bicycles instead of in a car; changing names to protect the somewhat innocent; and of course the dialog, the actual words spoken, which I can’t claim to remember accurately.
It was Sunday morning, not too early. Sunlight drifted in the window and across the wall, painting shadows of wind-stirred branches from the trees outside. We were just waking up, sipping our coffee, reading the paper in bed, when Deb looked up from her pile of ads and asked one of those impossible-to-answer questions. “What do you want for your birthday this year?”
“I don’t know. A sweater and a blowjob like last year?”
“You never wore the sweater and you get blowjobs all the time. Try to think of something else.”
“OK, how about an evening with 40 virgins?”
“We don’t know one virgin, much less 40. And I think it’s 72 virgins and you have to blow yourself up to get them.”
“Getting blown up isn’t as much fun as a blow job. And I’d only get to do it once.”
“So that’s no virgins and no sweater, right? How about you let me pick your present.”
Perhaps she was right, I thought. It would be my 35th birthday; maybe I should let her pick something special. “I’d still like the blowjob. It’s OK if you think of something else to go with it.”
“That’s a deal. But just for that, no blowjob until your birthday. So there.”
Deb flipped the covers off, slid her nightgown up over her head, and lay on her side looking at me. Since there was no reason to get up in a hurry, I could just sit there and admire her. The morning sun highlighted her short dark hair, crossed over her pert small tits with dark, hard nipples, and touched the edge of her tight round ass. Partially in shadow was her furry pussy. Deb doesn’t trim her pussy or shave her armpits, which is just the way I like it, but not exactly in style. It seems that women are supposed to shave everything below the neck and inflate their breasts into bulging boobs. Deb’s looks do it for me, though, since I’ve always been more of an ass man than a tit man. Deb has the ass that continues to turn me on whenever I see it, clothed or not.
As if she could tell what I was thinking, and I suppose she could, she rolled over, putting her sweet round bottom right in front of me, reached around, and pointed to a spot in the middle of her right cheek. “Check out this bump on my ass. I think I have a pimple.”
“Move your finger. I can’t see anything,”
She pulled her knees up toward her middle and turned her head away from me so that her ass was almost in my face. Her cheeks spread open a bit and I could see the dark fur that circles her pussy lips and runs back to her cute puckered anus. I told you: I’m an ass man and I really like women with a bit of nice fur. It’s a fetish that goes back to my first girlfriend in high school, a dark eyed, dark haired Italian girl who, I will admit, shaved her armpits but had a wonderful bush, the first one I ever got to bury my face in. I guess we are all once-rewarded rats, going back to first discoveries or something like that.
I ran a finger down her crack, from the dimple at the top to just above her pretty brown pucker. “Not there, you fool. Over here in the middle of the left cheek.” Reluctantly I took my attention away from that more interesting spot and looked where she pointed.
“It’s just a tiny bump in the middle of perfection. Leave it alone. If I scrape, at it, it’ll make a big red spot. The view from back here is so good that I don’t want to spoil it.”
Well, it was morning, when any healthy male tends to be a bit engorged, and having Deb stick her ass in my face finished the process; my cock was quite hard and looking for entertainment. A blow job would have been nice, but I apparently cancelled that until next weekend. Still, Deb’s pussy was right there; so was her ass, both looked friendly. I let my finger finish its trip down her crack, sliding briefly across her back hole before arriving at her surprisingly moist pussy. Maybe talking about blow jobs and virgins had given her the same idea that I had. I got up on my knees behind her and let my cock press against her crack. What a nice warm feeling it was. Some precum dribbled out onto her anus. I rubbed it around with the tip of my cock.
“Wrong spot, Bobby.” Deb only called me Bobby when we were making love; otherwise I was Rob, just like I was for everyone else. “Put it in my pussy.”
Deb did enjoy ass fucking, but she had to be in the right mood. Usually she wanted it after a good pussy fuck, after I had gotten off in her pussy, and had gotten her off licking our combined juices out of her pussy. Then she’d be ready for me to lube her up with my fingers and mouth before trying to enter her tight ass. Problem was, sometimes I didn’t get hard bahis firmaları enough after having cum in her pussy to be able to get into her ass, her mood would change, she’d come down from her orgasmic high, and wouldn’t let me in when I did get hard. I once joked that she needed two men to properly satisfy her.
Deb got up on her knees, rested her head and shoulders on a pillow, pointed her ass toward me, spread her cheeks with both hands, and said, “Take a good sniff, Bobby. Tell me if my pussy smells ready to fuck.”
As I leaned down to her moist and. wonderfully aromatic pussy, my nose passed by her asshole, now damp from my precum. It had that slightly sharp and musky odor that, at least in the heat of passion, is another exciting, sexy smell. I licked at her pussy, dragging some of the flowing juices across the thin band of flesh between her two holes. “It all smells good, baby. It smells hot and ready.”
“Then sit up and put your cock where it belongs, right now, please.” I got up on my knees and let my cock bounce up against her spread open pussy. Her juices leaked out onto the tip of my cock as I held it at the furry opening. Her lips opened and engulfed the swelling head; she quickly pushed back and swallowed me up to my balls. I love that first slide into the hot, swollen depths of Deb’s pussy—actually, into any willing and ready pussy—as I discover again the thrills and the mysteries hidden deep inside her.
Deb was soaking wet and throbbing, I didn’t have to move at all, I just had to press into her while her well-toned vaginal muscles did all the work, clamping down at the base of my cock, forcing more blood into its bulging head. Likewise, I could feel her swell up inside as she became more and more tummessed.
Deb started to move back and forth, but just slightly. As she pressed back, she released her vaginal muscles, then, at the base of my cock, got a good grip and pulled away. Each motion, each tug, pulled more blood into my bulging shaft. I started to get that feeling, deep in my groin, of my orgasm building up, ready to be pulled out by Deb’s insistent massage.
“I thought you nixed blowjobs for now,” I was able to grunt out, speaking mostly as a way to delay the inevitable, “but what you are doing to my cock feels just like a blow job.”
“Just wait,” she whispered, “I get to go first…”
Deb reached back with one hand and started rubbing her clit; her orgasm was almost instantaneous. Her pussy clamped tight on my cock, I watched her asshole open and shut in time with the throbbing contractions of her pussy, she moaned with her face against the bed, and I came deep inside her.
“Wow! That was quite a quickie,” I said after I regained my breath. “What was that all about?”
“Oh, I was just thinking about blow jobs and virgins and all that.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“Not now. But it gave me an idea for your birthday.”
“You mean I’ll get a blow job from a virgin?”
“No, you boob. I told you we don’t know any virgins. But just thinking about it got me turned on. Or didn’t you notice?”
“Of course I noticed. Didn’t you notice that I noticed?”
“I noticed that because you noticed, I’m dribbling all over the sheet. Get up, we’ve got to change the bedding.”
I rolled out of bed and we started to strip the sheets off. “What was it like to be a virgin and lose your cherry?” I asked.
“You know, that was sort of what I was thinking about a few minutes ago. It was wonderful. I came the minute my boyfriend slid his dick in. Of course, we’d been making out for hours and I was really turned on. I knew I wanted to do it that afternoon. We were in my bedroom, my parents were both gone for the day, I’d been thinking that this was the time, after all those times making out when we both got hot but didn’t do it. I jacked him off first because I wanted to see what would happen—he came with great hot gobs on my tits. I wiped him off and slid him into my pussy—you know what it was like to be 15, he stayed nice and hard—and there was no pain, just this feeling of ‘where has this been all my life’ before I started to throb and come. It’s funny, I didn’t have to play with my clit or anything, and now I can’t get off without clit action. You know.”
My cock started to get hard again as I stood by the side of the bed. “Oooo. You never told me that before, not that way.”
“You never asked at the right time, I guess.” Deb looked at my crotch. “Now put that away and let’s get these sheets in the washer.”
That ended the discussion, and the sex, for the day. We went out and did our shopping. The day drifted into late afternoon. Another couple that we’d met a few weeks ago was coming over for dinner and we had to start cooking. We didn’t know Mike and Mina very well, but were planning a next-weekend cycling getaway up the coast for my birthday and wanted to see if they were interested in riding with us.
Our guests arrived shortly after six. We greeted them with the obligatory hugs and—for the women—pecks on kaçak iddaa the cheeks, showed them briefly around the house, took a stroll in the back garden, and went back inside to chat about all things cycling. They were avid cyclists, as were we, didn’t have any children—nor did we—were about our ages, and in general seemed like the kind of people we wanted in our lives.
So there we sat, two cycling couples in our 30s, in good physical condition, talking about trivia while fishing for clues about what the other couple was like, whether they were people we wanted to spend my birthday weekend with.
Dinner was simple; this was not an occasion for gourmet cooking. We tossed some potatoes in the oven, cooked some fish in a pan, and steamed broccoli. That and a bottle of wine led to evening; Deb and I sat at the cleared table opening a box of chocolates while Mike rolled a joint from a baggie of pot that Mina took from her bag. The joint and the chocolate disappeared, and shortly Deb and Mina wandered down the hall to the bedroom, where I could hear them giggling over some female joke. Mike and I discussed, in a rather disjointed stoned way, the upcoming bike trip, a new movie we has just seen, and how good the chocolates were with wine and pot.
Apparently Deb and Mina were trying on clothes because they came back into the dining room sort of dressed up, or dressed down, since Mina was wearing one of Deb’s slinky dresses that she never wore out of the house. She clearly had nothing on under it; her ample tits showed off their hard nipples through the thin fabric. My cock took notice and strained against my pants, but I did my best to keep it from showing. Deb was wrapped in a long silk robe that I had bought for her birthday a few months ago. We do try to take care of each other’s special occasions, although I admit that Deb is easier to find presents for than I am.
“Rob, Deb tells me it’s your birthday next weekend,” said Mina, as she looked me in the eye and saw that I was looking a bit lower than at her face.
Caught red handed, so to speak, I answered, “It is, and that’s the reason for the weekend getaway. I was telling Mike about it. He thought you two might be interested in joining us.”
“We are going with you,” she replied. “Deb already told me about it, and said she really wanted us to come.”
“Gosh, things have progressed quickly,” I said.
“Oh, they certainly have,” said Deb, flashing her leg almost up to her crotch at both me and Mike. Mike popped out of his stoned slouch and dropped the magazine he was holding into his lap. I realized that Deb was having the same effect on him as Mina had on me.
But it was all stoned fun and didn’t lead to anything more, much as Mike and I might have wished. The girls went back to the bedroom and, amid more giggling, changed back into their regular clothes. The evening gradually wound down until Mike and Mina left around eleven. Deb and I fell into bed and were quickly asleep since we had to work the next day, and the rest of the week.
During the week we worked, packed for the weekend getaway, did the usual during-the-week things, but didn’t discuss the events of Sunday last. Deb was her usual efficient, happy, energized self; however, we somehow didn’t seem to find any time for sex, which was unusual. I got plenty of hugs, kisses, and glimpses of Deb’s alluring body, but no action. I guessed that she was saving herself for the weekend, and hoped that she had figured out the “something else” for my birthday.
Saturday morning was cool and foggy but the weather report promised clearing and warming. We hung our bikes on the rack in back of our car and drove across the bridge to the coast where we were meeting Mike and Mina. Our plan was to ride around 60 miles up the hilly, twisting coastal road, stopping for lunch along the way, and then finishing at a small bed and breakfast that featured individual cabins with outside hot tubs overlooking the ocean. Deb had made all the arrangements, so I gathered that she had added a room reservation for Mike and Mina after our dinner with them the previous Sunday.
We parked at the arranged meeting spot and, as we were unloading our gear, Mike and Mina drove up and parked next to us. They both looked great in their cycling spandex, especially Mina, who in addition to her ample breasts had a nicely curved ass, well displayed in her form fitting shorts. I looked forward to riding behind her a bit, better to admire her curvy rear. Hey—I told you I’m an ass man. Surely there’s nothing wrong with admiring the scenery on a bike ride, especially if it is moving along with us.
We attached our small packs to the racks on the back of our bikes and set out as the fog lifted and the day warmed up. Deb announced that we were stopping for lunch at a place with great seafood about halfway to our destination.
Once we warmed up we were able to set a good pace—Mike and Mina were indeed experienced cyclists and had no problem taking turns in front and maintaining the tempo of the ride. kaçak bahis By 15 miles into the ride we had to stop and shed a layer of clothing: our increasingly faster pace plus the warming air as the sun burned off the balance of the fog made our extra clothing unneeded and undesirable. In my case I had to take off my short sleeved jersey, remove my long sleeved undershirt, and slip the jersey back on; I noticed that Mina was taking a long, slow look—almost an appraisal, I wishfully thought—at my bare torso while I changed. Of course, I tried to look my best while pretending not to notice her look.
At this point I had to seriously ask myself what Deb had in mind for this weekend. Off and on during our twelve years of marriage we had played sexually with other couples, but always with careful discussions beforehand. Neither of us seemed to want this to become a frequent event.
The first encounter happened before we were married, when we were poor students trying to find places to have sex without renting a hotel room—we both lived in dorms with somewhat prudish roommates who frowned on being kicked out so we could be alone. One spring break we shared a car ride to the south with another couple, stopping in cheap motels along the way. And though they were cheap, the four of us could only afford a single room with two beds. With the lights out, what were two young, sexually charged couples going to do but make out under the covers in our respective beds, trying to be quiet and hoping that the other couple was sound asleep. Of course we could hear the other couple and they could hear us, so we gave up all pretense and just enjoyed listening to them, and apparently they enjoyed listening to us, as they, and we, progressed from gentle kissing sounds to louder, juicy, squishy pounding, finally capped off with muffled orgasmic noises.
During that week-long trip we became quite adept at synchronizing our sexual activities with the other couple to the point where we all got off together several times. But it was still with the lights out, each couple in their separate bed. We didn’t talk about this during the day; we just went to bed, turned off the lights, and got right into it each night. Still, it was a memorable trip, and we were able to play with the memories years later, sometimes turning off the lights in our bedroom and pretending that the other couple—friends long gone with whom we lost contact—was in a bed next to ours.
After a bit we got the idea of leaving on a voice recorder while we had sex, then playing it back another night, again with the lights out, trying to recapture the excitement of that trip, listening to us having sex while we went at it again.
About six years into our marriage we watched an HBO show about group sex. Deciding to watch the show was an exercise in testing each other’s limits; a way of saying to each other that we had thought about sex with others—sort of an early seven-year itch perhaps—and wanted a safe way to broach the subject. So the decision to watch the show, not the actual watching—it was a pretty bad show, after all—made us comfortable enough to have a serious discussion about whether we wanted to take sex with another couple beyond the limits of a shared motel room.
Once we realized that we both wanted to try this, we then worked on the who, what, where, when and why, or all the attributes of a good news story. Without launching into the details of our mid-matrimony joint affairs, let me just say that we had sex a few times each with two other couples. It was fun to see, feel, smell, taste and hear new bodies, and doing it exposed some of our hidden streaks of jealousy. But we learned to deal with the jealousy by knowing in advance what we were going to do and what the limits were.
Now, however, I sensed a new dynamic. While I had ogled Mina’s body in a slinky dress the previous weekend, Deb and I hadn’t had any discussion about having Mike and Mina join us in bed on this trip. After all, we didn’t know them very well, and the other couples we’d had sex with were good friends that we were able to sound out in advance of jumping into bed. There was certainly some sort of vibe—sexual tension, premonition, anticipation, call it what you will—in the air, and I didn’t think I was making it up or that I was the only one feeling it. I remembered our birthday surprise discussion from the previous Sunday and wondered if—actually hoped that—Deb had more than a bike trip in mind.
There’s nothing like a little suspense and anticipation to make the pedals turn faster over the rolling coastal hills. I pushed on in the lead and the rest easily followed in a tight pace line. Our lunch spot arrived as expected. We parked our bikes, took off our helmets and gloves, and clomped into the dining room on our cleats. After a good but light lunch we got rolling again, now at a slightly slower pace because our stomachs were full.
We arrived at the bed and breakfast a bit after 3PM. We had two adjoining cabins nestled back against a wooded hill, high enough above the other buildings that we could see the ocean. It was a lovely setting. I praised Deb for picking it out and silently thought that no matter what happened or didn’t happen, this would be a birthday weekend to remember.
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