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Month: September 2014

Shuttle Bus

I knew that my wife was in a flirty mood when she came out of the 7/11 restroom. She had just finished a training session in Florida for her job and we were headed down the interstate to the airport. We stopped to get some beverages and to let her change out of her blue dress so she would be more comfortable on the airplane.

The sharply dressed professional woman who went into that restroom, was replaced by a sexy babe. Slinging her backpack containing her dress over her shoulder, she exited the washroom, and my eyes widened at the sight of her. In place of the flowing dress was a pair of blue-denim short-shorts, and a tight black tank-top with the words “Bad girl” on the front, stretched by her lovely breasts. The combination of the form fitting shirt and it’s low cut neckline exposed a delightful amount of cleavage, guaranteed to catch the eye of any passerby.

We got our drinks and loaded back into the rental car, making our way to the car return. After the surly check-in person finished with us, we made our way to the shuttle bus. It was a small group waiting for the bus, all business travelers, easy to identify because of the ubiquitous laptop cases. When the bus pulled in five of us got on. Two dark haired men traveling together, both in white dress shirts and dark slacks, a blond in polo shirt and khakis and another guy with sandy hair with jeans and a polo. The driver of the bus was a slender black man. Other than my wife the bus was entirely male, and all of us were between 30-45. This situation did not escape my wife’s notice as the bus pulled out into traffic, as she looked me in the eye and said, ” I never thought I’d be writing to Penthouse but…” with a big grin. I smiled in return, and made a mock look of shock and scandal as she made reference to the possibility of a fantasy of hers, a group of men all lavishing her with attention.

I don’t think she meant for anyone else to hear her comment, but the sudden turn of the head and look of surprise on the face of the nearest bus rider, the blond, made it obvious that there was no problem with his hearing. I expected my wife to turn red with embarrassment, but instead she met his gaze, peering over the top of her sunglasses and boldly winking at him. She glanced at me, noting the stunned look on my face was changing into a big grin. As blondie continued to stare at her, my wife shifted in her seat, turning toward him , and bending forward, elbows on knees, causing her breasts to spill further over the top of her shirt.

Nervously, he left his seat, and walked back to where we were seated in the back. My wife continued to smile at him as I continued to smile at her. As he reached our seats, supporting himself on the swaying bus by holding the overhead rail, he tried to strike up a conversation.”

“Hi, I, uhh, where are you…”

“Hi,” responded my wife, putting an end to his verbal fumbling as she reached out her hand and fondled his cock through his khakis.
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Going Down

Tuesday afternoons are always the slowest in the mall. Few customers, even fewer purchases and, in my store, very little task work. Alan and I were bored out of our minds by 2:00 when he asked if he could take the trash out.

“Actually,” I said, “I was thinking about doing it, myself.” Alan expressed surprise as I usually delegated trash duty to the part-timers, a perk of management, I suppose. But I was really in the mood for a change of scenery and it was a beautiful, warm day out, which I’d had little time to enjoy that morning. We decided to flip for it and I won. Boy, did I win…

No one had taken the trash out for a few days and several boxes and waste bags had piled up. I knew it would take some time and I planned to drag it out as long as possible. Loading up one of the wire frame carts with some broken down cardboard and a couple bags, I set off through the back corridors of the mall. As I rounded a corner to the freight elevator, I almost bumped into another cart waiting near the doors.

“Oh, sorry,” I muttered as I pulled to a stop. I looked up to see two of the young women who work at one of the many fashionable clothing stores. Hell if I could remember which one, as I rarely frequented them, but their store always drew a glance from me on passing, though, because of the caliber of employees they hired—all female, all in their early twenties, most impossibly gorgeous. The two I had almost run into were prime examples.
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Size Queen

My whole life I have been attracted to men, since I can first remember. Of course my feelings for some men changed from family love and friendship to lust sometime during my teens, and I became aware of the difference between men and myself.

For starters, I am all woman. I stand 5’8”, long brown hair, olive skin, dark eyes, a very attractive face, and an hourglass figure. I have fairly large breasts; depending on the manufacturer I take either a C or a D cup, usually a D. I workout at the gym every day and run on the weekends, so I have a very flat stomach and toned muscles. I competed in track in my high school, but quit during college. It wasn’t that I wasn’t fast enough; the bouncing of my breasts just became too painful, even with an industrial strength sports bra. In addition to this I was attracting a lot of male attention and I frankly enjoyed it, so I cleared out my schedule a little bit so that I could indulge.

I am particular about the men that I get together with, they have to be first of all a nice guy, a gentleman, motivated, and in good shape. Of course, I prefer them to be good looking, but not in that rugged sort of way, those kinds of guys typically are too macho and filled with themselves.

Another discriminator that I sought after awhile was that they are well hung, well endowed, or big ‘down there’. The guys I dated in high school were mostly big guys, some college guys, but when I got to college I learned that I could have a much greater choice and even share stories with my friends! Who is better to recommend a lover than a good friend, eh?
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Mandarin Chinese

A few days ago I ran across an old College Textbook from many decades back and it made me remember a few days during the spring semester of my junior year at a to be UN-named liberal arts college.

The time was the early 1970’s roughly the time period from just after Woodstock, to just before Watergate. Drugs were plentiful, aids was unknown, and girls hardly ever wore bras and everyone was exploring every aspect of life you could think of exploring. While there were no official coed dorms, there were certainly boys and girls living together and it was not hard to find a party every Friday or Saturday night where it was pretty darn easy to end up with some sweet young thing and to go to either her room, or in my case, since I didn’t share a dorm room, back to mine. This was my usual mod us operand i.

Since the beginning of the academic year I had taken Mandarin Chinese along with my general load of Asian History courses, my minor and liberal arts classes. The Mandarin Chinese class consisted of meeting with the professor in his on campus apartment 3 times a week for roughly an hour each Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and then a general lab in the library where we listened to Mandarin tapes. This could be done at our convenience. There were three of us in the class, Vickie, Sydney and myself. The Professor was nearly blind and I had actually traveled with him briefly one summer in both Hong Kong and Japan. This was before it was really possible for an American to go to what we then called Red China.

On Monday of the week before Easter, at our regular afternoon class, I was rather surprised that Vickie and Sydney, both wore short dresses. The usual attire at the school for those of the female persuasion, was a shirt or top of some kind, pants or shorts and almost always hiking boots of some kind. The school was known for its outdoor programs and emphasis, and it was near both great hiking and cross-country skiing and had a stable on campus as well.
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