Other women… and my cum loving friend…

Last night at Osaka’s, a girl in a red sweater struck my fancy. Ginger. She sang a plaintive song; I don’t remember what it was. Perhaps that’s because I’d been drinking. But I do remember some things. The mirror behind her showed flesh, the sweater creeping up, jeans hugging her hips, long brown hair; she was very pretty, a wide smile even behind the microphone. A thin voice; more of a looker than a singer.

At crisis intervention training today for my volunteer work, arrived late from National Guard responsibilities early in the morning (hung over when I rolled out of the rack at o’dark thirty). In uniform – looks from my fellow volunteers as I clomp in wearing the green uniform and big, black boots. There’s a girl in front of me when I settled in – a brush of flesh, again. A hint of light blue underwear rising up from under the jeans. She turns toward me, and I am struck by her smile, bright eyes, soft features.

For both of these women, I wonder. What would it be like? Ginger, the karaoke singer… to wrap my arms around her waist, to lift up the sweater & toss it aside, and to ravish her breasts. She’s young – maybe 22 or 23. In my mind, her breasts are firm and perky, the nipples pointy. Like her personality. When she sang, even with her thin voice, she had personality. Some people sing as if they are grounded to the floor; they grasp the mike tightly like a life ring to a drowning man; they stare up at the screen which flashes the words. They are robots. She, on the other hand, bounced, smiled, and sparkled. Her hips swayed, and I could imagine her astride me, her enthusiasm overwhelming me. That she couldn’t sing, ah, who cared?

And this second woman, Dee. I’ve met her before. I’d wondered then. What would it be like to hold her head in my hands, to bring her soft face to mine, to kiss her pale lips, to stare into her hazel eyes and fall in. At lunch, I am entranced by her boots, 2-1/2 inch heels which on many women would clunk. But on her, they’re graceful. Must come from years of pulling hose (she’s a firefighter… but doesn’t look like most burly firefighters I know) – grace under any pressure.

Last night, Jane and I arrived home. I’d had too much to drink & my heat hurt. We ended up in bed, naked, Jane’s newly enlarged, cantaloupe-sized breasts smothering me. She got atop of me, my cock riding along her slit, wet with her juices. She started to moan, a guttural sound, my cock touching her clit as she rode along. “There,” she said. “There.” And she went over the edge, eyes closed, a wisp passing her pursed lips. She’s got her’s, finally. She rested, giggling that I hadn’t gotten mine. I got on my knees over her, and I placed my hard cock in her wet mouth and pumped. Then I pulled out and stroked with my hand, finally coming over her face, my cum on her cheeks, nose, and forehead. I fell to the bed, content and spent, my cum-loving friend next to me.