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LINKS
HOT LINKS     |
02/09/2007
When I was between girlfriends, I was a gigolo, but there was this one day that very well may have been the single sexiest of my life:
I met these 3 girls, all very good looking, in my Archaeology class Winter Quarter of my sophomore year in college. I was being much more forward than usual with everyone I met, because I was desperately seeking a ride to Mardi Gras, asking virtually everyone I encountered if they were going to New Orleans for the big party. I’d gone the year before, had the time of my life, and was eager to go again. The 3 girls were friends from outside of the class, and usually walked to and from class together. I'd join them on the walk, and that’s how we got acquainted. I would never have met them, nor a lot of other people, had I not been looking so hard for a ride to Mardi Gras.
After the mid-term exam, when she finished the test and walked out alone, I asked out the tall, athletic redhead. Tried to make a date, you know, pizza and beer kind of thing like normal college dates. But JoAnne was a track and field athlete on scholarship, apparently one of the top college heptathletes in the world with dreams of Olympic gold, so she didn't drink or smoke anything, was on a strict diet, and had practice twice a day, 3 hours in the early morning, 3 hours in the afternoon, with classes in between.
Unable to reach consensus on what the date would be, she finally just told me to come over to her dorm room at 7 PM that evening, and we'd figure out what to do from there. Sounded good.
Well, when I got there, she was still in her tight-fitting, barely-there track clothes, which accentuated her lithe, muscular physique and, unlike most track and field athletes, very full breasts. Her thick red hair was like a mane halfway down her back. She looked fabulous but was obviously not dressed to go out, unless our date was to consist of hopping hurdles and chunking javelins.
First thing JoAnne said when I came in the small dorm room and sat down on her roommate's bed was that her roomie was out for the evening but hated for people to sit on her bed. I stood up immediately and looked at both chairs, piled high with text books. Lying provocatively on her own bed in what can only be described as a pose, she patted the mattress, and told me to have a seat. I sat. Then JoAnne proceeded to tell me that she did nude modeling for the Art department, and what did I think about that?
Frankly, I was a bit taken aback and, not wanting to appear the lech that I am, pried my eyes from her bodacious body to stare at the medals and ribbons that covered the walls on her side of the room, fumbled for some appropriate answer, and then nervously joked that I should really look into taking that Art class.
Saying, “Oh, you don’t need to take the class to see me naked,” she stripped off her top and kicked off her shorts.
But for her track shoes, she was completely nude, and to say she was comfortable with that would be an understatement. Wow! If there was ever a girl one could say had a perfect body, it was JoAnne. At least five feet ten inches tall, curvy but extremely lean, she had boobs the size of grapefruits and just as firm; a tight, muscular ass topping looooong, sinuous legs; and a flaming bush as red as the hair on her head.
Though I’m pretty athletic, I’m basically just a tall, skinny dude, yet she was fascinated with my physique, pulling off my clothes and asking what my percentage of body fat was. Of course, I had no idea, whereupon she whipped out some calipers from a drawer and proceeded to measure me in umpteen places, scratching down numbers on a pad, doing some computations, and announcing with glee, “Four percent. Unreal--only four fucking percent!”
I don’t think she could have been more happy had I eaten her pussy for an hour. Apparently, JoAnne had a fetish-like fixation on low body fat. Though she had nice curves, they were all muscle, as she said she was only 8% body fat. She went on to explain that women naturally have more body fat than men, but that she had half the average for females, and that at 4%, I was in even more the extreme minority for a male. Well, that was certainly an education.
Visually appearing to have very low body fat was what had attracted her to me in the first place, and now, having confirmed it with a number, she was even more turned on in a major way. Announcing, coach-like, that it was time to have sex, she snatched my under shorts off and gobbled Mr. Johnson into her warm mouth while her hands roamed all over my skinny-as-a-bean-pole body. At that point, I had been there only about ten minutes!
Over the next 3 hours we sucked, licked, and fucked in most of the sexual positions known to mankind, but, clearly in charge, she spent most of the time riding cock on top of me while using her hands to feel all the places she’d calipered me earlier. JoAnne was very strong and super aggressive, came innumerable times, and sucked me hard up to erect status again not even 10 minutes after I'd cum the first time, which must have been a personal record, then mounted and fucked the shit out of me some more.
Though I had a thoroughly pleasurable time with her from a purely sexual perspective, we had no "love connection," and I was honestly kind of afraid of this Amazon of a woman. Removing the track shoes she’d kept on I guess for sexual traction, at exactly 10:00 PM, she announced it was her bedtime, switched off the light, and informed me it was time for me to go.
No kiss, no good-bye, JoAnne's last words were, "Only 4% body fat! Great sex! Make sure the door’s locked on your way out," and turned over in her bed towards the wall.
I got redressed and exited into the bright dorm room hall, dazed and questioning myself that this had actually happened. Having had the shit fucked out of me by a girl who had absolutely no interest in me but for sex, for the first time in my life, I felt used. Cheap date, though!
To relax, I fired up a bowl of Hawaiian on the short walk back to my high rise apartment building. The elevator was broken on my end of the building, so I ambled down the hall to go to the other elevator. As I did, I passed the pub, hearing music thumping and people laughing, and was reminded that it was a Friday night and still early.
I poked my head in the door and watched the bartender fill a pitcher with cold beer. That sure looked appealing. At that moment, I heard someone saying, "Mardi Gras. Mardi Gras! Hey, you, Mardi Gras, over here!"
Well, there at a table with two girls I didn't know was Jessica--one of the other 2 girls from my Archaeology class that walked with JoAnne--summonsing me over.
Her friends departed pretty soon thereafter, leaving us alone at the table. We drank a couple of pitchers and talked and talked and talked. We were having a grand time and liked each other immensely. Then we went up to my top floor apartment, got high, and got naked. Well, Jessica was another looker, a tall brunette with a sweet face and perfect smile; long, stalky legs; and a pair of small, pretty yams with puffy nipples. We made wonderful, slow, passionate love, so different from the pretty rough, pure sex I had earlier with her friend.
Of course, I failed to mention that detail to Jessica, and if she noticed JoAnne's leftover "flavor" on me, she didn't say anything. Jessica gave a fabulous blow job and must have really liked my flavor, too, as she swallowed my load with obvious pleasure and continued to suck every drop of cum out, relishing it like a fine Cabernet. Sure, she was real good in bed, but the thing I liked most about Jessica was her personality; she seemed like just the right girl for me, and I was ready for a steady girlfriend.
She was always able to anticipate just what I was going to do next, shifting smoothly into position after position with ease. After a second round in which I came in her pussy doggie, we fell asleep on my bed, and I awoke having to piss badly shortly before 2AM. There was no sign of Jessica, but the bed was still warm where she had lain. Damn, this girl I liked so much had left without so much as saying goodbye!
She couldn't have made it too far, so I raced up one level to the roof to scan the area 360 degrees from the top of my building--tallest on that side of campus--thinking I would catch her walking away.
I realized I was standing at that moment right over the apartment of Heimie, the hated German landlord who unfortunately lived only two apartments down the hall from mine and despised 1. my musical tastes, 2. the volume I played it at, 3. my interior decorating (late Milk Crate period), 4. all female guests, 5. all male guests, 6. the pungent herbal smoke that wafted from my windows, 7. me, 8. my roommate, 9. every other tenant in his building, and 10. human beings in general.
A distinctive exhaust duct identified the vent-a-hoods over the range in the kitchen of each apartment below. Hmmmm. Having to piss like a mutha, still inebriated, and half asleep, I whipped out Mr. Johnson and emptied my bladder into Heimie's duct—no easy maneuver since it was curved down to keep out rain--laughing out loud how infuriated he would be next time he switched on the kitchen exhaust fan. Wienersnitzel and kraut with a urine marinade!
But there was no time for further hijinx, as I spotted a girl below, who I could not positively identify in the dark at that distance, that looked like it could be Jessica. So, I ran down 16 flights and tore around the side of the building after her, I'm sure breaking the modern Stairs Descent & Edifice Circumvention world record.
Nearly scaring the poor girl out of her britches, I discovered it was not Jessica, so I apologized and walked back into my building, breathing hard and a bit dejected. The elevator on my end was still broken, so I walked past the pub to the one at the other end of the building, only to find it out of order, too.
Too winded then to even think about climbing up 16 flights of stairs, I decided I'd go back in the pub to catch my breath and check to see if there was any sign of Jessica in there, despite that I had on nothing but a worn-thin pair of scrubs I’d hastily thrown on.
There were only two people left in there, and, lo and behold, one was the third girl from the Archaeology 101 trio! And did Paula ever look good, with her blonde hair curled over one ear, a dark tan, and pointy plums pressing against the halter top. I walked toward her at the bar, and, obviously tipsy, she smiled big and grabbed my arm, pressing a visibly nippley boob into it and treating me like I was her long lost love or something.
She asked me if I had seen Jessica, but fortunately, before I could answer, Paula said Jessica had told her earlier that she be in there that evening, and although they had made no definite plans to rendezvous, she had not seen her. Paula had answered what I wanted to know without my even asking.
The only other person in there was a smarmy guy making his way back from the other end of the bar with a round of drinks. He was certainly hitting on her extra hard, but she was obviously not interested in the least and was looking for a way to lose him.
OK, I saw what my role was, her exit package, so I played it up to the hilt, assuming an Australian accent and introducing myself as Paula's fiancee, Milton. She picked right up on the ruse, and, noticing the scrubs with the local hospital's name, told an extra tall tale of the wonderful work I did in children's neurosurgery. Responding to his inquiry about my specialty, I had to suppress my own amusement in coining the term hypocampal submilacious cross-fusion! Total bullshit! Still trying to finesse his way into her pants, he even bought me two beers.
We piled onto him more steaming anal excreta by talking about our planned honeymoon to "Lower Tortuga." Paula explained that we would have the entire tropical island to ourselves, so we would be naked and making love constantly. To my very pleasant surprise, as she said that, she laid a very wet kiss right on my lips, and I gathered her wonderfully tight buns beneath her thin white short-shorts in my hands, my middle fingers so close to her pussy I could feel its humid heat.
She thanked him for the drinks (she had apparently drunk quite a bit on his tab) and continuing our little drama, we walked out arm in arm like the lovers we pretended to be. She thanked me profusely for "rescuing" her from the bar dude, yet she did not let go my hand even though we were well out of his sight by then.
Despite that I’d already fucked two chicks earlier, all these histrionics with the compact, built-like-a-gymnast Paula had blood flowing to my cod piece, so I invited her up to my apartment to sample some of the Hawaiian ganja. My bed was a wreck from the sex I'd had with Jessica, and I hoped it had been long enough for the cum and pussy juice to dry.
We did several bongs and got very stoned. I resumed the Aussie-accent Milton act and Paula fell right in as my fiancee. We were just having a lot of good natured fun, but having done theatre in high school, I knew first hand that playing lovers on stage often leads to “playing” off stage. But she was one act ahead of me, sauntering over to the bed, and asking, “So, Miltie, we’re not going to wait for Lower Tortuga, are we?” as she slowly untied the bow on her halter to show those pert, pointy puppies.
I made a beeline for her, latched onto her lips, and exhaled into her lungs the giant bong-hit I’d just taken. I pushed down on her shorts as she wriggled her tiny little ass so that they fell to her ankles. Man, what a hot body Paula had, tan over every inch! We twisted around into a 69 there on my bed, and she sucked me so fine as I ate her pussy while enjoying those rigid nips skid across my palms. She kept saying how delicious I tasted. Perhaps it was the combination of my cum and her, Jessica's, and JoAnne's pussy juices. I dunno, but I saw no point in bringing that up.
I don’t usually prefer girls with really tight pussies like hers because I have to concentrate too hard on not shooting too quickly. But after having ejaculated twice each with two different girls already that evening, her ultra-tight twat was just what the doctor ordered. Thankfully, it stayed wet and juicy until, fucking her from behind in a spoons position to make her pussy as tight as possible, I finally spewed a small but very satisfying load. The fact that it took me so long to cum certainly played to Paula’s favor, as she came several times so loudly that I was afraid Heime would be soon knocking.
Paula fell asleep, and I lay there smoking a pin joint and drinking the last beer in the frij, a terrible, carbonated piss-in-a-can Schmidt, reflecting on the evening.
I had the shit fucked out of me by JoAnne, an Amazonian athlete, and summarily dismissed.
Then, due to the elevator being down, I had wandered into the pub and met her friend Jessica, with whom I felt an instant love connection and made deep, passionate love. But she left in the middle of the night without a trace.
In my attempt to find Jessica, I ran into their friend Paula, played out a love drama with her to shake a dude she didn't like, only for the act to culminate in real, real-good sex.
As Paula lay there naked sleeping, I was still puzzled that Jessica had bolted and decided to look up her number in the campus directory. But there was no one with the last name “Gay” or “Gaye” or any other possible spelling. That was strange, for I was sure I’d heard her last name correctly. Had she given me a made-up name or something? I would just have to wait and see her at our next Archaeology class on Tuesday and try to separate her from the two friends I’d also boned.
However, having just had the mid-term, Jessica might skip the next few classes and no telling how long it might be before I saw her again. Further, girls talk, and the longer it took me to ask her out, the more likely they’d trade stories and find out that I’d boinked all three of them—on the same night, no less—and ruin my chances with Jessica, or of ever bedding the other two again, for that matter.
Then, it occurred to me that since they were friends, Paula might have Jessica’s contact info in her purse. It’s not right to go snooping in someone’s purse, but that would be far better than asking Paula for Jessica’s number and hurting her feelings, so I looked, found her address book, perused it from cover to cover, and finally found Jessica's full name and phone number. Her last name was “Day;” I must have misunderstood it in the noise of the bar. Success! Though I really wanted Jessica , with the hottie Paula lying naked in my bed the next morning, I would have been remiss to not awaken her by way of ye ol’ dick-in-the-pussy alarm. So I did, culminating in yet another ear-splitting orgasm.
As soon as Paula left, I phoned Jessica and made a date. Turns out she resided three floors below me in my building! That’s why, though the bed was still warm, I couldn’t see anyone leaving from the roof. She said she tried to awake me to say good-bye, but I was out like a lamp, and, without a tampon, she had to go right away because her period was starting. She almost immediately became my steady girlfriend, one of three true loves of my life, and we stayed together for several years.
JoAnne, the redhead; Jessica, the brunette; and Paula, the blonde. Three beautiful women I had sex with over a mere 15-hour period. Amazing. Even more amazing was that none of them ever told any of others. Why not? Because it was clear to all that Jessica and I were in love. JoAnne and Paula had the good judgement to know that some things are better left unsaid.
Shortly after Paula left, at about 10:30 AM, I heard ear-splitting screaming and hollering down the hall. It was the landlord Heimie cursing loudly in German. At first I wondered what all the commotion was about, then I remembered my little stunt. Apparently, he had switched on his vent-a-hood, which of course had aerated a fine mist of my urine into his kitchen and likely into his face and onto his breakfast.
I phoned his number to complain about the noise, parroting verbatim the excessive-noise clause in the lease I’d memorized because he had so often quoted it to me. Utterly berserk, he was not amused and slammed the phone down.
I heard neighbors coming out of their apartments into the hall, so I slipped on a robe and joined them. There was consensus that Heimie was a loathsome man, but everyone wanted to know what was wrong with him now. Well, of course, I knew that he was pissed off because he’d been pissed on.
But, like JoAnne and Paula, I also had the good judgement to know that some things are better left unsaid.
Morals of the story: Meet as many people as you can; the more you know, the more sex you’ll have, and the more likely you’ll find a true love. Take a serious look at reducing your body fat; it may have benefits other than health. Master the hypocampal submilacious cross-fusion technique, i.e., the fine art of bullshit. And have the good judgement to know when some things are better left unsaid.
I met these 3 girls, all very good looking, in my Archaeology class Winter Quarter of my sophomore year in college. I was being much more forward than usual with everyone I met, because I was desperately seeking a ride to Mardi Gras, asking virtually everyone I encountered if they were going to New Orleans for the big party. I’d gone the year before, had the time of my life, and was eager to go again. The 3 girls were friends from outside of the class, and usually walked to and from class together. I'd join them on the walk, and that’s how we got acquainted. I would never have met them, nor a lot of other people, had I not been looking so hard for a ride to Mardi Gras.
After the mid-term exam, when she finished the test and walked out alone, I asked out the tall, athletic redhead. Tried to make a date, you know, pizza and beer kind of thing like normal college dates. But JoAnne was a track and field athlete on scholarship, apparently one of the top college heptathletes in the world with dreams of Olympic gold, so she didn't drink or smoke anything, was on a strict diet, and had practice twice a day, 3 hours in the early morning, 3 hours in the afternoon, with classes in between.
Unable to reach consensus on what the date would be, she finally just told me to come over to her dorm room at 7 PM that evening, and we'd figure out what to do from there. Sounded good.
Well, when I got there, she was still in her tight-fitting, barely-there track clothes, which accentuated her lithe, muscular physique and, unlike most track and field athletes, very full breasts. Her thick red hair was like a mane halfway down her back. She looked fabulous but was obviously not dressed to go out, unless our date was to consist of hopping hurdles and chunking javelins.
First thing JoAnne said when I came in the small dorm room and sat down on her roommate's bed was that her roomie was out for the evening but hated for people to sit on her bed. I stood up immediately and looked at both chairs, piled high with text books. Lying provocatively on her own bed in what can only be described as a pose, she patted the mattress, and told me to have a seat. I sat. Then JoAnne proceeded to tell me that she did nude modeling for the Art department, and what did I think about that?
Frankly, I was a bit taken aback and, not wanting to appear the lech that I am, pried my eyes from her bodacious body to stare at the medals and ribbons that covered the walls on her side of the room, fumbled for some appropriate answer, and then nervously joked that I should really look into taking that Art class.
Saying, “Oh, you don’t need to take the class to see me naked,” she stripped off her top and kicked off her shorts.
But for her track shoes, she was completely nude, and to say she was comfortable with that would be an understatement. Wow! If there was ever a girl one could say had a perfect body, it was JoAnne. At least five feet ten inches tall, curvy but extremely lean, she had boobs the size of grapefruits and just as firm; a tight, muscular ass topping looooong, sinuous legs; and a flaming bush as red as the hair on her head.
Though I’m pretty athletic, I’m basically just a tall, skinny dude, yet she was fascinated with my physique, pulling off my clothes and asking what my percentage of body fat was. Of course, I had no idea, whereupon she whipped out some calipers from a drawer and proceeded to measure me in umpteen places, scratching down numbers on a pad, doing some computations, and announcing with glee, “Four percent. Unreal--only four fucking percent!”
I don’t think she could have been more happy had I eaten her pussy for an hour. Apparently, JoAnne had a fetish-like fixation on low body fat. Though she had nice curves, they were all muscle, as she said she was only 8% body fat. She went on to explain that women naturally have more body fat than men, but that she had half the average for females, and that at 4%, I was in even more the extreme minority for a male. Well, that was certainly an education.
Visually appearing to have very low body fat was what had attracted her to me in the first place, and now, having confirmed it with a number, she was even more turned on in a major way. Announcing, coach-like, that it was time to have sex, she snatched my under shorts off and gobbled Mr. Johnson into her warm mouth while her hands roamed all over my skinny-as-a-bean-pole body. At that point, I had been there only about ten minutes!
Over the next 3 hours we sucked, licked, and fucked in most of the sexual positions known to mankind, but, clearly in charge, she spent most of the time riding cock on top of me while using her hands to feel all the places she’d calipered me earlier. JoAnne was very strong and super aggressive, came innumerable times, and sucked me hard up to erect status again not even 10 minutes after I'd cum the first time, which must have been a personal record, then mounted and fucked the shit out of me some more.
Though I had a thoroughly pleasurable time with her from a purely sexual perspective, we had no "love connection," and I was honestly kind of afraid of this Amazon of a woman. Removing the track shoes she’d kept on I guess for sexual traction, at exactly 10:00 PM, she announced it was her bedtime, switched off the light, and informed me it was time for me to go.
No kiss, no good-bye, JoAnne's last words were, "Only 4% body fat! Great sex! Make sure the door’s locked on your way out," and turned over in her bed towards the wall.
I got redressed and exited into the bright dorm room hall, dazed and questioning myself that this had actually happened. Having had the shit fucked out of me by a girl who had absolutely no interest in me but for sex, for the first time in my life, I felt used. Cheap date, though!
To relax, I fired up a bowl of Hawaiian on the short walk back to my high rise apartment building. The elevator was broken on my end of the building, so I ambled down the hall to go to the other elevator. As I did, I passed the pub, hearing music thumping and people laughing, and was reminded that it was a Friday night and still early.
I poked my head in the door and watched the bartender fill a pitcher with cold beer. That sure looked appealing. At that moment, I heard someone saying, "Mardi Gras. Mardi Gras! Hey, you, Mardi Gras, over here!"
Well, there at a table with two girls I didn't know was Jessica--one of the other 2 girls from my Archaeology class that walked with JoAnne--summonsing me over.
Her friends departed pretty soon thereafter, leaving us alone at the table. We drank a couple of pitchers and talked and talked and talked. We were having a grand time and liked each other immensely. Then we went up to my top floor apartment, got high, and got naked. Well, Jessica was another looker, a tall brunette with a sweet face and perfect smile; long, stalky legs; and a pair of small, pretty yams with puffy nipples. We made wonderful, slow, passionate love, so different from the pretty rough, pure sex I had earlier with her friend.
Of course, I failed to mention that detail to Jessica, and if she noticed JoAnne's leftover "flavor" on me, she didn't say anything. Jessica gave a fabulous blow job and must have really liked my flavor, too, as she swallowed my load with obvious pleasure and continued to suck every drop of cum out, relishing it like a fine Cabernet. Sure, she was real good in bed, but the thing I liked most about Jessica was her personality; she seemed like just the right girl for me, and I was ready for a steady girlfriend.
She was always able to anticipate just what I was going to do next, shifting smoothly into position after position with ease. After a second round in which I came in her pussy doggie, we fell asleep on my bed, and I awoke having to piss badly shortly before 2AM. There was no sign of Jessica, but the bed was still warm where she had lain. Damn, this girl I liked so much had left without so much as saying goodbye!
She couldn't have made it too far, so I raced up one level to the roof to scan the area 360 degrees from the top of my building--tallest on that side of campus--thinking I would catch her walking away.
I realized I was standing at that moment right over the apartment of Heimie, the hated German landlord who unfortunately lived only two apartments down the hall from mine and despised 1. my musical tastes, 2. the volume I played it at, 3. my interior decorating (late Milk Crate period), 4. all female guests, 5. all male guests, 6. the pungent herbal smoke that wafted from my windows, 7. me, 8. my roommate, 9. every other tenant in his building, and 10. human beings in general.
A distinctive exhaust duct identified the vent-a-hoods over the range in the kitchen of each apartment below. Hmmmm. Having to piss like a mutha, still inebriated, and half asleep, I whipped out Mr. Johnson and emptied my bladder into Heimie's duct—no easy maneuver since it was curved down to keep out rain--laughing out loud how infuriated he would be next time he switched on the kitchen exhaust fan. Wienersnitzel and kraut with a urine marinade!
But there was no time for further hijinx, as I spotted a girl below, who I could not positively identify in the dark at that distance, that looked like it could be Jessica. So, I ran down 16 flights and tore around the side of the building after her, I'm sure breaking the modern Stairs Descent & Edifice Circumvention world record.
Nearly scaring the poor girl out of her britches, I discovered it was not Jessica, so I apologized and walked back into my building, breathing hard and a bit dejected. The elevator on my end was still broken, so I walked past the pub to the one at the other end of the building, only to find it out of order, too.
Too winded then to even think about climbing up 16 flights of stairs, I decided I'd go back in the pub to catch my breath and check to see if there was any sign of Jessica in there, despite that I had on nothing but a worn-thin pair of scrubs I’d hastily thrown on.
There were only two people left in there, and, lo and behold, one was the third girl from the Archaeology 101 trio! And did Paula ever look good, with her blonde hair curled over one ear, a dark tan, and pointy plums pressing against the halter top. I walked toward her at the bar, and, obviously tipsy, she smiled big and grabbed my arm, pressing a visibly nippley boob into it and treating me like I was her long lost love or something.
She asked me if I had seen Jessica, but fortunately, before I could answer, Paula said Jessica had told her earlier that she be in there that evening, and although they had made no definite plans to rendezvous, she had not seen her. Paula had answered what I wanted to know without my even asking.
The only other person in there was a smarmy guy making his way back from the other end of the bar with a round of drinks. He was certainly hitting on her extra hard, but she was obviously not interested in the least and was looking for a way to lose him.
OK, I saw what my role was, her exit package, so I played it up to the hilt, assuming an Australian accent and introducing myself as Paula's fiancee, Milton. She picked right up on the ruse, and, noticing the scrubs with the local hospital's name, told an extra tall tale of the wonderful work I did in children's neurosurgery. Responding to his inquiry about my specialty, I had to suppress my own amusement in coining the term hypocampal submilacious cross-fusion! Total bullshit! Still trying to finesse his way into her pants, he even bought me two beers.
We piled onto him more steaming anal excreta by talking about our planned honeymoon to "Lower Tortuga." Paula explained that we would have the entire tropical island to ourselves, so we would be naked and making love constantly. To my very pleasant surprise, as she said that, she laid a very wet kiss right on my lips, and I gathered her wonderfully tight buns beneath her thin white short-shorts in my hands, my middle fingers so close to her pussy I could feel its humid heat.
She thanked him for the drinks (she had apparently drunk quite a bit on his tab) and continuing our little drama, we walked out arm in arm like the lovers we pretended to be. She thanked me profusely for "rescuing" her from the bar dude, yet she did not let go my hand even though we were well out of his sight by then.
Despite that I’d already fucked two chicks earlier, all these histrionics with the compact, built-like-a-gymnast Paula had blood flowing to my cod piece, so I invited her up to my apartment to sample some of the Hawaiian ganja. My bed was a wreck from the sex I'd had with Jessica, and I hoped it had been long enough for the cum and pussy juice to dry.
We did several bongs and got very stoned. I resumed the Aussie-accent Milton act and Paula fell right in as my fiancee. We were just having a lot of good natured fun, but having done theatre in high school, I knew first hand that playing lovers on stage often leads to “playing” off stage. But she was one act ahead of me, sauntering over to the bed, and asking, “So, Miltie, we’re not going to wait for Lower Tortuga, are we?” as she slowly untied the bow on her halter to show those pert, pointy puppies.
I made a beeline for her, latched onto her lips, and exhaled into her lungs the giant bong-hit I’d just taken. I pushed down on her shorts as she wriggled her tiny little ass so that they fell to her ankles. Man, what a hot body Paula had, tan over every inch! We twisted around into a 69 there on my bed, and she sucked me so fine as I ate her pussy while enjoying those rigid nips skid across my palms. She kept saying how delicious I tasted. Perhaps it was the combination of my cum and her, Jessica's, and JoAnne's pussy juices. I dunno, but I saw no point in bringing that up.
I don’t usually prefer girls with really tight pussies like hers because I have to concentrate too hard on not shooting too quickly. But after having ejaculated twice each with two different girls already that evening, her ultra-tight twat was just what the doctor ordered. Thankfully, it stayed wet and juicy until, fucking her from behind in a spoons position to make her pussy as tight as possible, I finally spewed a small but very satisfying load. The fact that it took me so long to cum certainly played to Paula’s favor, as she came several times so loudly that I was afraid Heime would be soon knocking.
Paula fell asleep, and I lay there smoking a pin joint and drinking the last beer in the frij, a terrible, carbonated piss-in-a-can Schmidt, reflecting on the evening.
I had the shit fucked out of me by JoAnne, an Amazonian athlete, and summarily dismissed.
Then, due to the elevator being down, I had wandered into the pub and met her friend Jessica, with whom I felt an instant love connection and made deep, passionate love. But she left in the middle of the night without a trace.
In my attempt to find Jessica, I ran into their friend Paula, played out a love drama with her to shake a dude she didn't like, only for the act to culminate in real, real-good sex.
As Paula lay there naked sleeping, I was still puzzled that Jessica had bolted and decided to look up her number in the campus directory. But there was no one with the last name “Gay” or “Gaye” or any other possible spelling. That was strange, for I was sure I’d heard her last name correctly. Had she given me a made-up name or something? I would just have to wait and see her at our next Archaeology class on Tuesday and try to separate her from the two friends I’d also boned.
However, having just had the mid-term, Jessica might skip the next few classes and no telling how long it might be before I saw her again. Further, girls talk, and the longer it took me to ask her out, the more likely they’d trade stories and find out that I’d boinked all three of them—on the same night, no less—and ruin my chances with Jessica, or of ever bedding the other two again, for that matter.
Then, it occurred to me that since they were friends, Paula might have Jessica’s contact info in her purse. It’s not right to go snooping in someone’s purse, but that would be far better than asking Paula for Jessica’s number and hurting her feelings, so I looked, found her address book, perused it from cover to cover, and finally found Jessica's full name and phone number. Her last name was “Day;” I must have misunderstood it in the noise of the bar. Success! Though I really wanted Jessica , with the hottie Paula lying naked in my bed the next morning, I would have been remiss to not awaken her by way of ye ol’ dick-in-the-pussy alarm. So I did, culminating in yet another ear-splitting orgasm.
As soon as Paula left, I phoned Jessica and made a date. Turns out she resided three floors below me in my building! That’s why, though the bed was still warm, I couldn’t see anyone leaving from the roof. She said she tried to awake me to say good-bye, but I was out like a lamp, and, without a tampon, she had to go right away because her period was starting. She almost immediately became my steady girlfriend, one of three true loves of my life, and we stayed together for several years.
JoAnne, the redhead; Jessica, the brunette; and Paula, the blonde. Three beautiful women I had sex with over a mere 15-hour period. Amazing. Even more amazing was that none of them ever told any of others. Why not? Because it was clear to all that Jessica and I were in love. JoAnne and Paula had the good judgement to know that some things are better left unsaid.
Shortly after Paula left, at about 10:30 AM, I heard ear-splitting screaming and hollering down the hall. It was the landlord Heimie cursing loudly in German. At first I wondered what all the commotion was about, then I remembered my little stunt. Apparently, he had switched on his vent-a-hood, which of course had aerated a fine mist of my urine into his kitchen and likely into his face and onto his breakfast.
I phoned his number to complain about the noise, parroting verbatim the excessive-noise clause in the lease I’d memorized because he had so often quoted it to me. Utterly berserk, he was not amused and slammed the phone down.
I heard neighbors coming out of their apartments into the hall, so I slipped on a robe and joined them. There was consensus that Heimie was a loathsome man, but everyone wanted to know what was wrong with him now. Well, of course, I knew that he was pissed off because he’d been pissed on.
But, like JoAnne and Paula, I also had the good judgement to know that some things are better left unsaid.
Morals of the story: Meet as many people as you can; the more you know, the more sex you’ll have, and the more likely you’ll find a true love. Take a serious look at reducing your body fat; it may have benefits other than health. Master the hypocampal submilacious cross-fusion technique, i.e., the fine art of bullshit. And have the good judgement to know when some things are better left unsaid.
Poster:
Don
