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Month: February 2013

Coworkers Fuck My Wife

Two of my workmates and I have established a “Get Drunk” policy for Fridays after work. The local cops and courts have cracked down on drunken driving (rightly so, IMO) making it too risky and too expensive to drive after drinking. We’ve started taking turns hosting drunken sleep-overs. The host holds all car keys until the next morning. We drink beers, shoot some tequila, smoke a joint or several, then claim a couch or recliner until Sat. morning.

I was hosting one night, but didn’t notice we were low on tequila until we were too drunk to drive. I asked my wife, Ann, to go to the party store for supplies.

“OK, what do you need?”

“A fifth of Cuervo Gold, and a dozen condoms!”

Ann laughed, “You don’t use condoms.”

They’re not for ME,” I said.

Silence…
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Restaurant Fun

In the restaurant business people, including the managers, come and go all the time. One time when I’d just turned 21, we got this young female manager named Kathy, who was straight out of training.

She was cute as hell with a good body. Not a knockout, but one of those women that fit together nicely. Very sweet.

We worked together well, but there was always a bit of tension between us… sexual tension that is. We were always catching each other’s eye, making vague sexual references to each other, things like that. I never tried anything, though, because she was trying to be on her best behavior while on her 60 day probation period. I could tell that she wanted me, though.

Two weeks before she was to come off her probation, she was given the Friday late shift to run on her own. This was also the late shift I worked on. I knew that being so close together so late at night would be too much for me. And as it turned out, I was right.

The first night we were together, when most of the other employees were done with their jobs. As they were leaving, I was purposely taking a few extra minutes getting ready, trying to be the last one out. I succeeded leaving just Kathy and I in the store.

It was about 2am when I went to the manager’s office where Kathy was and told her that I was done. She was hunched over the desk, looking at paperwork and absent- mindedly rubbing her neck. I moved up behind her and put my big hands on her tense neck. She was really stressing, knowing that the big boss was not too nice a guy and would scrupulously check her work.

I suggested that she take a break as I started to rub her neck. Gently at first, then going deeper.
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Show Off

Charlene was aching to show her tattoo to some guys. She did not want to show off to anybody she knew because they were all married and she was afraid the wives would get mad if they found out. I was hesitant to give her too much encouragement because after the episode in the tattoo parlor, I was afraid she might lose control and do more than show her tattoo. She assured me that would not happen. Then one night she told me that she had displayed her tattoo to a sales clerk while she was trying on swimming suits. She tried on a thong and asked the guy how he thought she looked in it. He commented on her tattoo, asked her all about it and this seemed to satisfy her. Actually I knew this was just the beginning. I was still fantasizing about her doing somebody else while I watched and I decided to just wait. I was sure the opportunity would present itself before too long.

About a month later we were invited to a birthday party at a local bar. We arrived early and stayed late. We both had too much to drink. As it got late, the crowd in the bar changed and a lot of people I did not know filled the bar. Charlene was having a good time talking to people she hardly knew. I noticed that she seemed to be especially engrossed in a conversation with a group of guys at a table on the other side of the bar. Her back was to me and there was a small partition between her table and an empty table.

I thought it would be fun to listen in on her conversation so I took a fresh drink and moved into position behind her. The guys she was talking to did not know either one of us so they did not recognize me. Charlene was busy talking and was none the wiser. It was hard to hear, but I began to pick up bits and pieces of the conversation. They were trying to talk her into showing them her tattoo. She was wearing a pair of tights that zipped up the back. I loved her to wear those tights because it really showed off her ass.
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Varsity Letter

Debbie Garafolo was a high school tennis star and head cheerleader, the object of every classmate’s lust and a girl destined for stardom.

But a funny thing happened to Debbie on that not so heavenly road. She attended Fairview State University, and there she found hundreds of girls just like her. Each was also a high school star, each was a prom queen, each had hordes of boys following them around.

“It’s just not fair,” she once confided in me. “I work hard, I try my best, yet I just never seem to make it to the top here in college.”

I was a friend. A guy, but first and foremost a friend. Debbie had been the object of my affections for more than two years. We shared a few sodas at the Silver Diner, a couple beers at the local pub, and even went to a couple matinees. We talked of failed romances, insensitive members of the opposite sex, teachers who would be better off retired and various and sundry problems of the world.

Most of the time we merely studied together or hung out. Heck, I had never even gotten to first base with her. A peck on the cheeks but never the lips.

Not that she was a virgin. She had been with guys and a few men in college. A couple relationships, a couple one-night stands. More recently she dated a few different guys, sashaying her five-foot, four-inch frame around town. She had a great figure, complete with luscious breasts that filled out her tops well, and a view of her backside encased in tight-fitting jeans was guaranteed to create hard ons as she came into view.

Her grades were good, she was going to graduate on schedule, but there was still something missing.

“I can’t believe I have never earned a varsity letter,” she pouted. “I’ve only played on the junior varsity tennis team, and I don’t think I will get my letter this spring either. And four years of junior varsity cheerleading doesn’t get me a big “F” either.”

I commiserated with her, stroked her ego by telling her she was beautiful and a fine athlete to boot. I told her the coach was a jerk for not using her in varsity matches, and that she was better than at least half of the girls on the varsity cheerleading team. But I could tell it had really gotten under her skin.

There was nothing I could do, but I still felt for her as that varsity letter was very important to her. Once I offered to steal one for her use, but she told me that if it wasn’t earned, it wasn’t hers.
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