mature

Nostalgic Recollections from the Golden Age of Troilism

They had chosen their target carefully, in a pub some twenty miles away from home and Julie had eventually agreed, in the warmth of their bed, that if it had to be somebody, then he seemed nice enough.

Played it down well, thought Rich. With just a touch of reproach, even resignation in her voice. But when he still hadn’t mentioned it two days later, her casual inquiry had been just a bit too casual.

“Don’t suppose you’ve done anything about that guy we saw?”

So he teased her, saying he was having second thoughts about the whole thing. And he watched her wipe down the table with a new intensity, her lips clamped tight as she worked out her answer.

“Well, like I said, we could do it in stages. No need to go mad. Just a quick session in the back seat, just like you and Maggie last Christmas. No need to go any further than you did.”

Ouch! Finding himself alone with her best friend in the back of a car after a party, he’d taken full advantage of her drunken affections. He’d always fancied Maggie and within five minutes had finally got inside her pants. Just about the exact moment the door burst open and Julie and Maggie’s husband got in.

He wondered if she’d seen how far he’d got in that five minutes. Far enough to know what a lovely little hot-pot Tom could tuck in to whenever he liked. If he bothered. Naturally, he had only admitted to a quick kiss and a cuddle. But Julie and Maggie had been friends since their schooldays.

Oh well, perhaps deep down he’d planned it all. Catching him like that gave Julie every right to get her own back. And that, he was beginning to admit, was what he wanted more than anything else. He’d always felt an unbearable lightness in his stomach whenever she flirted or danced with his friends. And yet he always encouraged her. It took several years and a particularly wild party before he came to appreciate that he actually enjoyed it. The revelation came when, quite by accident, he’d seen Julie going up the stairs, followed seconds later by Tom, their host. The two had been dancing closely at every opportunity and seemed oblivious to the knowing looks they’d been getting. Read the rest of this entry »

My husband usually writes but I wanted to fill you in on my Saturday night past. I am Barbara, I’m 43 yrs. old and have two children. My husband revealed to me that he would like to see me fucked by other men and I let that happen (see: My Wife Barbara Gets Fucked). I also had a campground fling, and I let his buddies fuck me in the ass on Superbowl one after another, all nine of them.

I am 5′9″ tall 140 Lbs. My legs are long and my butt is huge. It measures 45″ and is really accented by my waist which is only 26″. My boobs are an average 34B. My ass has always been my embarrassment. It is a bubble butt with a few dimples. You can put a hand under a cheek and jiggle it up and down and I have always thought it was horrible. My husband has always loved my ass and has always wanted to fuck me in the ass. I used to think it was dirty and I only let him up my butt on occasions. That was before he told me to let other guys fuck me. After Superbowl and letting 9 guys fuck my ass in a row I learned that my butt may not be that unattractive. My pussy is very tight and small lipped. There is no external protrusions of my pussy lips and my hole is very small.

This past Saturday night I told my husband that I wanted to go to the blues club in town and I wanted him to watch me pick up a guy and fuck him inside the club.

Saturday night came and I wanted to see if my ass could be used as a guy magnet. I also shaved my pussy without my husband knowing. I bought a new short white skirt that fit tightly to my waist and over the top of my hips but then flaired out away from my ass so when I walked the skirt would swish because of the movement of my ass. It was very short. I put on a red thong a tight pink knit top and high heels no nylons.

We went early to the club and I sat my husband at the table closest to the bar end that hooked into the wall. It was the closed end of the bar and there were two bar stools then a waitress pickup before the curve of the bar to the bar front. I told him to sit there and watch. I moved to the stools next to the wall and ordered a drink from the bartender. The stools were perfect height with a small wooden back and they swiveled.

Soon people began to crowd in. I was standing at the bar between the stools so whoever wanted could see my ass. A black guy and a white guy together came over and began to chat. They quickly began talking sexually and complimenting my ass and that they were ass men etc. I left to go to the restroom and there I took off my thong. Upon returning I was between them and I told them my plan. Read the rest of this entry »

When Audrey first saw Aaron, she thought he was a burglar. She had been going out to her car to get her briefcase when she saw the moonlight catch a figure on her neighbor’s garage roof. The Hammonds had only moved in four months ago, and Audrey was horrified at the thought that they would be the first family in the quiet neighborhood to be robbed. She froze in the driveway, in her bathrobe, and tried to see whether the figure was about to climb in a second-story window, or just climbing out.

Neither was the case. As Audrey’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she could clearly see a young man, sitting cross-legged on the roof. She could just make out the red glow of his cigarette, and he appeared to be staring at the stars.

She noticed the beat-up car in the Hammond’s driveway, and the University decal on the back window. Not like a burglar to park in the driveway, Audrey thought. More like a kid home from college. She had some vague recollection of a conversation with June Hammond the day after they moved in. Now the details came back.

The two-year-old girl, Kim, was June’s. George Hammond, the husband, had a son from a previous marriage who was a freshman at a school in Massachusetts. Audrey tried to think of the son’s name, but nothing surfaced. June had been far more eager to talk about Kim, that day. And most days since, Audrey noted.

Audrey got her briefcase and pulled her bathrobe tighter in the brisk air of late May. She looked back up at the boy on the roof, just to see him crawling back in his bedroom window.

The next morning, Audrey was on a plane to meet with a client in Philadelphia. She liked business trips; she usually had at least one co-worker or assistant with her, and it was nice to have people to talk to after hours in the hotel bar. Audrey had lived alone since her divorce two years ago, and work-related travel had become a welcome break from solitude.

Not always, of course. Audrey had gone to Philly with two other people from the office, a married man a few years older than her, and a female assistant a few years younger. It was apparent that those two would be sleeping together from the moment they got on the plane. And the client was horrible. And so was the hotel bar. So Audrey spent six days in the City of Brotherly Love, alone, watching TV in her room.

On Friday, around mid-afternoon, Audrey finally pulled into her driveway. As she got out of the car, she heard banging on her high back fence. She moved around the house to her back patio, and immediately saw what had been going on. A trail of water ran from her small in-ground pool across the cement and over the seven-foot fence that separated her backyard from the Hammond’s.

Normally, Audrey wouldn’t have been bothered by a pool-hopping teenager. She used to let the previous neighbor’s kids swim all the time. But that day, after that trip, the idea of other’s having fun while she was so tired and upset opened something inside her. And out of that new opening came a lot of emotion. Audrey got as far as her fridge before collapsing on the floor. She held her head in her hand and did a few months worth of crying. Read the rest of this entry »

I am standing on the stage, singing to the bright lights and the shouts of the crowd. Sweat stings my eyes so badly that I can barely see the set list. Occasionally, some of the dancers will come right up to the footlights at the bottom of the stage and I can glimpse them for a moment. Young. Energetic. Tanned. Guys in shorts and floral shirts. Girls in bikinis with sarongs wrapped carelessly over them. We are separate from the world as we cruise up and down the Brisbane River on a humid, summer night. In the distance there are flashes of lightning. There will be a storm in the city later. We play our psydeco tunes till our fingers hurt and our voices are hoarse. If only all gigs could be like this.