Outside Narration - I like truthful answers

This was dictated on my phone, transcribed by poorly programmed voice recognition software, then very lightly edited, just enough, I hope, to get across the story. And yes, I finished when the story did.  (some additional editing on 2/20/26).

Phone rings.

We need to talk about the tickets.

What are you doing right now?

Uh do you want the truthful answer or the politically correct answer.

Give me the truthful answer.

Well I'm laying on a blanket in my backyard naked thinking about masturbating.

Holy shit don't say that,.

Well you said you wanted the honest answer.

Ohh not that honest.

OK, so you want the politically correct answer?

Yeah, let's back up and try this again. Hi what are you doing?  We need to talk about the tickets.

Well, you can come over. I am currently in the backyard thinking about some of my friends and hoping that they are satisfied with their daily life.

Now, that is a bullshit answer.

Well it’s the the politically correct version and that means it's usually bullshit.

That's not what I meant.

What you meant was that you really wanted to know what I was doing but you didn’t want to admit that you wanted to know exactly, what I was doing.

Don't put it that way.

Admit it, you're still curious you had your chance and now you think you blew it.

.

Well, did I?

I'm not sure yet, all I know, is that right now I’m alone in the backyard, no one can see me, no one knows how I'm doing. I have a tube of lube and a vibrator next to me.

That's what I mean! You can't say that stuff anymore.

Why not? You used to like hearing it all the time.

I know, but I thought we were being good.

OH, fuck being good. That didn't get me anywhere now did it?

That's not my fault. I just I just couldn't go through with it.

That's fine, just don't tell me you didn't want to.

That's not fair, you know I wanted to, you know I really wanted to do it, but.

But what? Tony banging your best friend when we were on the phone so I don't think it mattered too much. She's not my best friend anymore.

Good, neither is he. Just tell me the last time you thought about me.

Please don't make me tell you that.

Why not? That recently?

You know what it does to me when we start talking, you know how I get wet.

I know.

Stop it.

I think you're getting wet right now.

Stop it or i'll hang up.

Ohh you could have hung up minutes ago when I called you, you like texting because it doesn't go anywhere but once you hear my voice you know I'm gonna ask you questions.

Then stop asking me questions.

I like hearing you answer them.

Come on, that’s just not fair. You know what you do to me.

I know what I want to do to you.

See it’s stuff like that. We’re not supposed to talk about that stuff with each other.

Why not?

Well, I'm your boss.

You're not my boss.

I paid for your last project.

Correction, you reimbursed me for my last project, all my labor was free along with my expertise a couple of gallons of paint and several dozen brushes if I remember.

OK fine, that might be true, but what about next day? What about when we see each other next?

What's the problem?

You'll know things about me.

Like what?

Ohh come off it. You know. You ask questions and I tell you answers and you know I can't lie to you.

There's no value in lying in this situation I'm not building a fantasy; I’m building a record.

That's what I mean. You ask me these questions, and I have to tell you the truth otherwise it doesn't work, does it?

You're right, it only works when you answer truthfully. I can tell a fantasy answer when i hear it, just like a fake orgasm or porn. It's beautiful, but it's a lie so it doesn't mean as much. Why do you think you like telling me the truth?

I don't know, maybe because no one else asks me those kinds of questions.

Well? Should we start with some answers right now?

What?

You know what my first three questions are. They are always the same and I expect you to answer them 100% honestly.

Seriously? I have to go to rehearsal in like 2 hours.

That’s not the point.

Yeah, it is, because when you get to rehearsal I want you to know that tingling you feel is because of me.

It's always because of you.

Then let's get started, give me the basic 3 now.

Fuck you.

Not yet, answers please.

OK, let me think.

You shouldn't have to think that hard, but you know the rule, no looking.

It's just that sometimes they're just not that exciting.

If they're on you, then they're absolutely thrilling.

OK, pale blue, high cut, probably Fruit of the Loom and a little bit worn out.

Good girl.

You can’t call me that for just answering the simplest of questions.

I can because that's what you are.

What do you mean?

You are my good girl. You answer my questions, you tell me the truth, you let me inside and that makes all the difference.

Inside? What do you mean? We've never, you know, never done, you know, that.

That's the least important place I need to be right now.

What do you mean?

You'll let me in there when you're ready to let me in there. Where I wanna be is inside, deep inside your head. I want to be inside your panties when I'm 100 miles away. I want to be in the shower with you while I'm sitting next to my family at dinner, and I want to be in your bed when you bring somebody home from the theater.

Fuck you.

That's why you're my good girl.

Thank you Sir. Do you have another question for me?

Yes. When was your last orgasm?

What it's none of your business.

Tell me tell me now.

OK, today's Friday, so it was Tuesday. I just got back from a run. I was so tired.

How far did you go?

6 miles. I did the big loop around the train station, it's flat and it's fast.

Kind of like you.

Cut that out.

You know I think you're beautiful I'm just teasing you.

You know I wish my boobs were bigger,.

No you don't. They're perfect just the way they are, just the way you are.

What do you mean by that?

They are small, sensitive, and they fit inside my mouth, and I can suck on them so hard.

May I touch them Sir? Please?

Be specific.

May I touch my breasts Sir?

Yes, you may, but only over your shirt.

What?

Just for now. Imagine we're in the movie theater. I can't get you naked yet, but I can touch you, feel your nipples getting hard.

Ohh Sir, they are so hard right now.

Pinch one, the left and then the right.

Please Sir.

I time my touch with the action on the screen so you can yell out as the cars explode and the men fight for some stupid reason. We picked this one because the reviewers said it was unnecessarily loud for an hour and a half and that's what I want you to be, loud.

May I?

May I what?

May I take my shirt off please?

Yes you may tell me how it feels.

It’s light blue T-shirt that's one of my oldest. It's and it's soft and I like how it feels against my skin.

You may take it off if you tell me what happened next after your run.

Yes Sir. I had the house to myself, so I stripped down as soon as I walked inside the front door. My shoes first then my socks. My T-shirt came off and then my running bra. I'm still not sure why I wear one, but I like it.

Chafing is a bitch.

Come on Sir, you know I don't like that word.

I'm sorry my sweet, Chafing is unpleasant.

I took off my shirt and my bra I saw myself in the hallway mirror.

Go on.

The one my grandma likes so much that she bought it at the flea market last year after grandpa died.

Yes, I know that mirror. What did you see?

I saw my red hair, the small curves of my breasts. I saw sweat running down between and I watched myself touch my nipples.

And? And what? Tell me.

It made me wet, so I reached down and I pulled my pants down and my panties along with it until I was bare. I stepped out of my running tights I stood naked in front of the mirror.

Yes continue.

Sir? May I?

What?

May I touch myself?

Be specific.

May I put my hands down my pants and touch my clit?

Yes, you may, but you cannot stop talking.

Thank you Sir. It feels good.

What feels good?

I like touching myself when I talk to you.

Tell me more. What did you see in the mirror?

Well I had just shaved that morning I was still a little red but my skin was bare I could see my lips, so I used my fingers and I spread myself open and then put one finger deep inside myself and that's all it took to cum. Sir, just thinking of you and one finger was all it took.

You came from me in the hallway?

Yes, just you, a long run, and one finger, Sir.

Good girl, very good girl.

A few suggestions for porn directors

I WOULD LOVE YOUR FEEDBACK/COMMENTS!!  - Please leave one at the bottom!!

 OK, let's face it, if you are reading this, you like the sexy side of Blogger and you most likely watch porn.

A lot

Maybe not, but most people here are not looking for literary gold, deep stories, or the next War and Peace.

You are here to be entertained, to get off, to think about how you really want your sex life to be.

You come here to fantasize, and that's what porn is.

No one things that porn is a documentary, though, to be honest, most porn has a weaker storyline than an industrial training film, and it is very documentary focused, it films something happening with little commentary or context, and that's the problem.

Take THIS clip for example. It's a perfectly acceptable clip.  The women are beautiful, they put a little effort into the setting and scenario, and orgasms are enjoyed by all, several times, if they are being honest, but that's not the problem. They don't talk at all.

I understand there is a time limit, apparently most men in America cum in 11 minutes, that's about the average clip length.  Maybe that's how we have at lunch, maybe that's how long our kids are entertained in the other room, or maybe our wives get suspicious when the door is closed for over 12 minutes at a time. I don't know, but I'm sure there is more research behind the length of a free clip than there was research behind 6-foot distancing and make-believe paper masks.

But, I digress, my complaint isn't about clip length, I can cum in 2, 11, 20 or 30 minutes, that's not it.

I want dialogue.

I want to hear them. Porn directors need to realize that they can take their work from good (everyone cums) to great, just be having the actors talk to each other.

It is insanely sexy to hear them talk about the sex they are having, about what they want, about what feels good.

The audio is more important as the video.  Not the screaming "Fuck me! Fuck me!" part, that's over the top and cliche, but it's the expressed desires that make it real. Let me feel like I'm invited into an erotic moment, not watching circus performers.

I want you to kiss me

Suck on my nipples

Put a finger inside me

Will you make me cum?

Can I cum for you?

Get on top of me.

Can I put your cock in my mouth?

I love the way you kiss me

I like how you play with my nipples.

Find me clit, latch on, and don't stop until I cum. 

I like the way you feel inside me.

Can you add another finger?

Use your tongue on the tip, swirl it around.

Can I cum in your mouth?

Can we change positions?  I don't want to cum too fast. 

 Maybe this is asking for too much, I don't expect great acting, but, what if the director sat down with the actors and said, "We want to hear your voice.  If something feels good, say it.  If you want something, ask for it, if you need your partner to do something, tell them. And if something isn't working, stay in the moment, redirect, and find something that works."

Consent is also incredibly sexy, and it doesn't have to be formalized and boring.

 Anti-consent people portray consent as to people in business attire shaking hands and saying things like, "I would like to put my penis in your vagina and thrust for 90 seconds until orgasm, do you agree?"

That's not what I'm talking about.

I want to hear the give and take, the back and forth, the occasional negotiation. It's not complicated, it's just missing so often.  And I don't expect porn to act as a role model for teenagers, but kids learn from porn, and it is mostly bad habits. Consent can get asked for and given in the heat of the moment.

I really want to suck your cock, I'd like that

Can I go deeper? Yes, it feels good

Will you bite my nipples, I like it a little rough, Tell me if it's too much

I want to fuck you while your partner watches. She's up for that, that's why we called you.

Come up on the bed with me, I want to see you naked.  I've wanted this for a long time.

Put your finger in my ass, I like it. Can I lick it too?  

I want you to fuck me. Really?  YES, Where? Everywhere.

Where do you want me to cum?  Inside, deep, hard.

Is this asking too much? What do you think?

I like story 

This clip is a perfect example of a lost opportunity.  First, what's up with the handshake at 2:45, is that the way women really shake hands?  But, that's not the point.

This starts off great, we have a story, a conflict where the blonde (Anna) is jealous of her girlfriend (Vanna) spending too much time with a new "friend", Alexis. So far, so good.  We establish an ongoing poly relationship between Anna and Vanna, there is tension over Alexis, and Vanna still goes off without Anna. Then Vanna brings Alexis home, trying to make peace and spark an apology 3-way.  

They sit together, they flirt, they try to play nice.  Sitting on the bed, Anna admits she might be open to the idea and Alexis playfully touches Anna's thigh.  Vanna suggests that they try something together. The tension is rising, sex is in the mix, they are together and touching.

Anna asks (key point - consent and desire) to watch Vanna and Alexis kiss. "Let me see you guys kiss first."

THIS IS SO SEXY!!! 

Vanna and Alexis kiss sensuously, Anna is watching and enjoys, it, and when the kiss ends, she says, "That wasn't too bad, I actually kind sof liked it."

Then Anna and Alexis kiss.  Alexis then asks Anna to kiss Vanna.  It is soooo sexy, so much tension and potential, and then, they make the cut that "ruins" it. After all this build up, this tension, relationship building, the very next second is Alexis tongue deep in Anna from behind.

ZERO transition, no escalation, no slow build,  

0 to 60 in one cut and BOOM, the tension, the story, the conflict is gone.

Why can't we enjoy the build-up, the touching, the undressing, hearing Vanna encourage and support Anna in getting undressed, Vanna asking permission to go down on Alexis, honoring the primary relationship with sexy consent questions. Stay with the story!!!

Anna, do you want to help me undress Alexis?

Vanna, will you kiss Alexis's nipple while I watch?

Can I take your panties off?

Alexis, will you kiss my girlfriend?  (This is powerful, put Anna in a position of importance, AND ask for sexual favors)

I want to eat you out.

Vanna, will you hold Alexis open for me?

Some of this sounds Dom/Sub-ish, but that's why power relationships are sexy, we ask permission, we gain consent, we say the sexy parts out loud. That same dynamic would make an average video sooooo much better.

That's my hope.

AND!!!  I found a new pet peeve.  With all of our technology, our expensive cameras, and beautiful women, why can't we hear people when they do talk.  I ran through some videos the other day (OK, yesterday, sue me) and even when they did talk, you couldn't hear them!!  They were talking and laughing and doing all the things I like, but you couldn't hear them! Oh the moaning and groaning was at volume 11, but the quiet moments, the little asides, the requests were all just a Bidenesque mumbles.  So frustrating. (Perfect example, you can barely hear Lily in this clip.  Here's another  example - wonderful seduction for 3:30, then straight into strap-on dildo play!  Give me some transition, please. Keep the seduction going.)  Another horrible example of a sound editing failure. The whole video is about them talking, but you can barely hear anything.

AND, I'm not all complaints today.  I LOVE this clip (hate the title).  This is the slow burn wonderful clip that I like. It's tender, and slow, and feels like it might actually happen.  and WOW, is ELLY CLUTCH hot or what?

That's it, that's my rant.  I'm going to cum now.  :-)

Red 2

 She's coming over today, in 25 minutes.  I took three pills, just in case, the max daily dose.

Maybe nothing will happen, maybe something will, who knows?

Am I ready to take that chance again?  A chance to get caught, to fall in love with the wrong person, to blow up a sub-par but stable marriage.  Probably not. but what if?  Right?  Isn't that always the question?

What if she comes over alone, maybe she told Ryan to stay home, that she doesn't need any help painting. Maybe, Chris shows up late, and maybe, just maybe, she's wearing her baggy linen shorts and my favorite tank top.  She's barely an A-cup, slim, tall, wildly perfect red hair, a tight little ass built on miles of running, and a smile that makes me lose a breath.

She gets here, 9:30, on the dot.  We have a lot of painting to do, but she asks for a tour of the house first.  My house isn't that big, there's only a little to tour, but I'm glad that I cleaned the bathroom before she came over.

In the master bedroom she kneels on the bed, resting against the headboard, looking out the back window. 

 Is she sticking her ass out on purpose?  She did, in fact, wear her paint-flecked linen shorts.  I stand next to her, next to the window; my heart is pounding, is this it?  

I put my hand on the bare skin between her tight tank-top and the waistband of her shorts.  She doesn’t move away.

“When we moved in over Christmas, 1998, the whole back yard was a jungle,” I said, my hand drawing circles on her bare skin, “the house had been empty for almost a year.”

She closed her eyes as I touched her gently, “That’s the year after we moved here,” she said sleepily, “I was 6.”

“Seriously?” I said, hoping the laughter in my voice was genuine, “are you trying to make me feel old?” 

I playfully swatted her on the back of her head, but then let my hand rest on the back of her neck, playing with her hair for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” she said, contrite, “It’s just, that was a big year for our family. I didn’t mean to make you feel old.”

“It’s OK, I am old.  Older” I said, trying to emphasize the -er.

My hand leaves her hair and slides down along her back, but I don’t stop this time.  Crossing over the waistband of her shorts, I lose contact, until I find her soft skin again.

My fingertips find the back of her left thigh and I drift my fingers up and down her pale skin. She sighs, just a bit, and puts her head down on her folded arms.  Her body shifts in unmistakable need.

"Please" she whispers.

"Please what?" I reply softly, trying to calm my voice over the beating of my heart.

"Touch me."

My hand is shaking.  Up and down the soft skin.  Down to the back of her knee, up to the edge of her shorts. Any higher and it’s not flirting any more. Any higher and everything changes, it’s not teasing, it’s seduction, it’s sex. It’s real.

She sighs quietly as my fingertips move across her skin.  Can she feel my heart pounding?  Can she see how nervous I am?

My thumb crosses the line first, up under the fabric, She takes in a sharp breath.  I stop.

“It’s OK”, she whispers.

I can feel the soft linen lift as my thumb pushes higher, exposing the back of her upper thigh, my fingers feeling the curve of her ass from on tops of the fabric.

“MMMMmmmmm” she encourages me, but I can barely breath.

My hand curves around her bottom, my fingertips dangerously close to the center line, I can feel her body in my hand, and she pushes back, every so slightly against my palm, and I squeeze. She giggles.

My hand moves higher, pulling the fabric of her shorts deep between her cheeks.  Her skin is exposed, but I want to see more.  I slide my hand back down her thighs, letting her shorts fall back into place.

She whimpers, but only for a moment, as I use both hands now to pull upward on her shorts, pulling the fabric deep between her cheeks, exposing her pale white skin. She giggles again until I pull harder, tightening the fabric against her crotch, a linen wedgie, lifting her hips, bringing her knees off my wife’s favorite comforter before releasing and letting her drop again.

Her laughter is intoxicating and encouraging. I pull upward again, bouncing her once on my bed, she grabs the headboard for balance.  But the next time is not for giggles, I pull the fabric tight, lift, and suspend her in the air, her body pressing hard against the fabric between her legs.

She is suspended, just off the bed, she could easily extend her legs and take the weight in her feet, but she does not.  She hangs in my hand, the fabric pressing deep into her middle, the fabric compressing her lips, her clit, and she slowly spread her legs for me, allowing the fabric to do its job.

I slowly let her down.  She is out of breath.  I stroke her hair and the back of her neck.

“Good Girl,” I whisper.  “Did you like that?”

She nods her head up in down in affirmation. 

“Say it.”

“Yes,” she takes a breath, “I liked it.”

“Head down,” I say and she complies, resting her forehead on her arms again.

I reach over her back with my right hand and, using both hands at the same time, pull her baggy linen shorts off her hips and to the bed, where they pool around her knees.

She quivers as I trail my finger up the back of her right thigh, across her hips, and back down again.

Her panties are buried between her soft pink lips.  Her pale skin frames them perfectly and I whisper that she is beautiful. 

“Thank you, Sir.” She responds.

I correct her.

“I’m am not Sir,” my hand caresses the bare curves of her ass as I inch closer and closer to the center. “Today I am Peter, Your friend.” Titles will come later, I tell myself.  She is ready.

My fingertips reach between her thighs and trace her exposed labia from front to back.

She gasps.

I have touched her. There is no going back.

I do it again, gently reaching between her thighs, I seek, not for her clit, but for the wet fabric of her panties and the soft folds of flesh that covers the silk.  This time I use three fingers, stroking her lips, tracing the damp silk, touching her with purpose and permission.

She gasps a bit and giggles, and begins to rise up, but I gently press her back down until she rests her head again.

“I like this part,” I confess, “touching, teasing, exploring.”  My right hand reaches between her exposed thighs and I spread my fingers, instructing her to spread her legs for me.

“I love feeling you get wet.  I love feeling you quiver.”  I say this very matter of factly.  I’m no longer nervous, I am calm and confident and know that I am doing exactly what she wants done.

“I’m going to pull your panties down.” I put my left hand between her shoulder blade and hold her in position.  My right hand goes under the waistband and pulls away from her skin, avoiding any touch as the panties pull out from between her swollen lips. I push the fabric to the bed.

“Lift” I say, and she lifts her right knee.  I pull her panties and shorts down her leg.

I reach between and tap her left knee.

“Lift”

She repeats the motion and her panties and shorts lay in a pile at the end of my bed.

I resist the urge to bring them to my face, my nose, my tongue.

“I’m going to touch you now.” She nods her head.

This time I don’t ask for a verbal, that will be a part of her later training.  Today is about touching, cumming, and bonding, and it is all going according to plan.

My left-hand slides from between her should blades and to her chest.  Her breasts are wonderfully small with nipples that show through the perfect amount. I feel her nipples through the fabric and receive a grunt of pleasure as a reward.  My hand moves upward and wraps around her throat for a moment, and then slides under the ribbed cotton weave of her tank top, and I feel her breast in my hand for the first time.

This almost make me cum.  I have dreamed of this moment for months.  Through hours and hours of rehearsal, edits, re-writes, table reads, and painting. I watched her every day at rehearsal. Tight yoga pants, a barely there tank top, perfect makeup and a smile.

She is a hugger and greeted everyone as if they were long lost friends. I gladly accepted her greeting each time but, I longed for more, I longed to wrap my arms around her slim waist and hold on until she could feel my cock grooming between us.

I wanted to hold on to her until she chose to kneel before me, unzip my pants, and take my hard shaft into her mouth. I thought of her constantly, at work, during church, while I was deep inside my wife, when I had quiet moments in the backyard.

It took a while, but we became friends, more than friends, and the tension between us grew but I took my time. I waited.

I confirmed her feelings subtly, I volunteered to drop things off at her office, her storage unit, so we could meet without the gazing eyes of the rest of the cast and crew. Her hugs got longer, instead of me extending them, she would hold on as long as I would let her.

Several weeks went by, the production came and went and was a great success. She is a rising star, and the local theater scene has noticed. I would not have much longer with her. She would be discovered, made famous, and move on.

My opportunity came when we had to work on a new set, I needed help with painting, she invited some of her friends but they did not arrive. So, I gave her a tour of the house.  And now, here we were, I stood next to her, next to my marital bed, and stroked the soft perfect lips of her pussy. She didn't like it to be called that.  I overheard her talking and she said she hated that word, so I didn't say it out loud.

My hand played with her hard nipples. My right hand slipped between her legs and they cupper her soft lips on purpose. No more teasing, no more playing coy. My fingers stroked up and down and found her clit and circled it roughly and she almost collapsed to the bed. My hand held up her chest and I brought her back up to her knees. Finally, I penetrated, and she came. She came on my fingers, clenching come holding on, unable to let go.

After a few minutes, she caught her breath, gained control of her voice, and stopped mewling like a frightened kitten.  Her head dropped between her arms and I let her settle into the pillows my wife bought to go with the new curtains.

I placed my hands on her hip, holding her down, pressing her into the soft, warm bed, allowing her to breath, think, gather, recover, and collect.

I don’t know how long we stayed there, silent, perhaps a bit stunned as to what had just happened. I waited, quietly, until I felt her shift under my hands.

She rolled on to her back, demurely keeping her knees together, until her face came in to view.

She reached up and took my face in her hands.

“Thank you.” She said, and we shared our first kiss.

“Are you OK?” I asked as I move a lock of red hair off her forehead.

“I’m more thank OK,” she responded.  I felt her body shift again and I felt her legs open wide. “In fact, I’m ready for more.”

My Red

 She's coming over today, in 25 minutes.  I took three pills, just in case, the max daily dose.

Maybe nothing will happen, maybe something will, who knows?

Am I ready to take that chance again?  A chance to get caught, to fall in love with the wrong person, to blow up a sub-par but stable marriage.  Probably not. but what if?  Right?  Isn't that always the question?

What if she comes over alone, maybe she told Ryan to stay home, that she doesn't need any help painting. Maybe Chris shows up late, and maybe, just maybe, she's wearing her baggy linen shorts and my favorite tank top.  She's an A-cup, slim, tall, wildly perfect red hair, a tight little ass built on miles of running, and a smile that makes me lose a breath.

She gets here, 9:30, on the dot.  We have a lot of painting to do, but she asks for a tour of the house first.  My house isn't that big, there's only a little to tour, but I'm glad that I cleaned the bathroom before she came over.

In the master bedroom she kneels on the bed, resting against the headboard, looking out the back window. 

 Is she sticking her ass out on purpose?  She did, in fact, wear her linen shorts.  I stand next to her, next to the window; my heart is pounding, is this it?  

My fingertips find the back of her left thigh and I drift my fingers up and down her pale skin. She sighs, just a bit, and puts her head down on her folded arms.  Her body shifts in unmistakable need.

"Please" she whispers.

"Please what?" I reply softly, trying to calm my voice over the beating of my heart.

"Touch me."

An assignment

 "I'm heading outside"

"It's windy - Don't let it hit your clothes"

"I'm going to be taking them off."

"Too bad I have the kids today."

"Yep, too bad."

"What else you gunna do?"

"Watch and see."

"Maybe 😊"

"2 min"

She was right, it was windy, but warm.  The gods haven't decided if it's still spring or summer, so we get a confusing bit of both.

I stepped outside, leaving the door open so I could hear my work phone ring, just in case.

Hanah looked great our our phone call today.  I stayed silent, of course, no need for an HR call this early in the assignment.

The breeze was light, brushing to tops of my trees, making my neighbor's sycamore's sway gently, until a gust swirled around the backyard, ruffling my roses and flapping the tarp covering my weight set.

It felt good to pull of my casual Friday golf shirt and toss it on the lounge chairs, but she was right, it was windy enough that I wanted to avoid the splash, so I kicked off my sandals and pulled down my pants.

The wind felt good and I faced the sun, spread my stance,  and took a deep breath, and let it flow.

It's not a fetish, just a nice feeling, to be naked and outside, warmed by the sun and washed by the wind.  It was a good flow, one to brag about to my urologist, and one that would have been good to share.

I laughed to myself, shook it twice, and reached over to the grass for my pants.

"What's the rush?"  I heard her voice and looked up.  She was standing in the back corner of her yard, under the pepper tree where the fence followed the curve of the hill, and, if you stood next to the fence, we could see into each other's backyard. 

Facing her, I walked a few feet toward her.

"I thought you had the kids."

"Oh," she smiled, "I do, right now they think I'm looking for toys in the backyard."

"What are you really doing?" I turned to face her so she could see me fully.

"I'm looking for a toy I can play with." 

"To bad you have kids and I have work."

I tried not to think about it, but I could feel my blood flowing and my cock getting harder. It stretched and yawned and began to grow.

She laughed, "So, you are glad to see me."

I stopped fighting it and closed my eyes and soaked in the sun and felt it get bigger and bigger.  My hands played with my nipples and my fingertips drifted over my skin.  I could feel my heartbeat through my erection and it felt wonderful.  It felt even better knowing that she was watching.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"You," I said.

"And?"

"What you are going to do to your husband tonight."  I didn't touch myself at all, just let it grow and bounce in time with my heartbeat.

She cleared her throat and stuttered, "Uhmm, what,  I mean, I mean, " she could barely breath, "What do you mean?"

"I'm thinking about what you are going to do to your husband and what he's going to do to you, and it makes me hard."

"And what might that be?

I walked closer so I could whisper.

"After the kids are in bed, you are going to tell him to watch TV for 30 min, time it around Sports Center.  You will shower, shave, and get out your favorite toy and lube."

 She nodded and stared at my fully erect cock.

 "You are going to strip naked and get on your bed, and text him the word, 'Now' and you will wait on your hands and knees. Facing away from the door. Exposed."

I stroked my cock once and she groaned.

"When he comes in you will squeeze a dollop of lube on your fingers, rest your chest on the bed, reach between your legs, and begin masturbating."

"Can I touch myself now?" she asked quietly over my fence.

"No."

"You will continue to touch yourself until he enters you, from behind, and you are not allowed so say a single word, except, 'Please'."

She gave out a little yelp.

"He is to cum inside you.  After that you will lay on your back and ask him to eat you out, again, the only word you are allowed to say, is..." I paused and she filled in the rest.

"Please."

I stroked by cock and took a large drop of pre-cum from the tip and stepped over to her.

Without a word, she opened her mouth, extended her tongue, and took my gift.

I could see her swirl it around her mouth before she swallowed.

"Good Girl"

I turned and walked away without another word.

 

 

 

 

Shower

 I had 15 minutes

She had to shower.

Why is that such a difficult choice?

I get what I want.

She gets clean.

We are both on time.

Why not?

The Golden Sun

I am not a summer person.  The extra pounds I carry on my belly make clothes feel snug and the sweat has nowhere to go.  I love shorts, I look good in them, but I'd rather stay inside when it's 20f than go outside when it is 100F, but today, was about perfect.

We've had several weeks of rain but finally the sun has broken through, and we have settled into a week of 70 to 80° days with light cloud cover, foggy mornings, and wonderfully sunny afternoons. I'm working from home again, working is the key part, I go into the office a couple of days a week to pick up assignments and shake hands and do the meet and greet routine, but the middle of the week is blissfully mine as I clean my office and setup for earning a paycheck.

I have a new neighbor next door, I have thought about them a lot, a sweet young wife with her husband who has all the right woodworking tools but is gone longer than he should be with the wife as cute as he has. Today, I'm fighting a little bit of a head cold, so I have been drinking lots of water, sipping on scalding hot chocolate, and stepping outside to my backyard for fresh air. My wife is gone on a two-day work assignment far enough away that we got her a hotel. This is irrelevant to the story because since I am fighting a cold, she will not kiss me anyway. She is flying to New York in two weeks to see a college friend so the risk of getting sick overwhelms any, albeit rare, amorous intentions. No kissing is the rule until she gets back healthy from the Big Apple.

The offshoot of my health regime is, “Drink a lot, pee a lot” which means that I have taken several breaks to relieve myself in the hot sun, watering a little spot in our backyard each time.

I haven't spoken with Holly since our last conversation through the fence a couple of weeks ago. I saw her in the driveway with her kids, packing up for it looked like a soccer game, I waved to her and smiled, and she blushed and smiled back. I'm not sure if she's admitted to herself what happened the other day, but I certainly have not forgotten it.

With the end of the spring break her kids are back in school so I imagine that her days are quiet at home. The noise of the sliding glass door might have alerted her to my presence because I heard her call over the fence. She said hello and I smiled and said hello back as I unzipped my pants to relieve myself from the last round of water.

What are you doing today? She asked.

“Just getting through work,” I said, “writing a presentation for next week’s staff meeting.

“No,” she said, “I mean what are you doing right now.”

“Well, I'm not laying naked on my lounge chair if that's what you're asking.”

I heard her laugh through the fence and imagined that she blushed a little.

Seriously, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“To be honest,” I said, “I'm taking advantage of the privacy and savings some money on my plumbing bill at the same time.”

“What?” Her voice raised a little, “Are you seriously peeing in your backyard?”

“Why not?” I said, “our esteemed governor has told us to save water so I'm doing my part, one flush at a time.”

“Can you wait for a minute?” She asked quietly.

“Yes,” I replied, “but why?”

“Just wait,” she said.

While I waited, I rearranged the weights to my infrequently used weight set, stacking the rusted plates into piles based on the numbers molded into the side. 25, 10, 5, 2.5, 1.5 and 1, were in neat little stacks by the time I heard my side gate open, then close with the click.

She walked into my backyard for the first time and looked around. She saw the rarely used trampoline, a relic of years of little kids and parties and sleepovers. She looked at the Playhouse I had built years ago and smiled. She looked at my dying flowers and my overgrown pomegranate tree and a dwarf orange that never grew. It remains a dwarf to this day.

“You're looking lovely today.” I said and meant it.  She was in a white T-shirt, a flowy linen skirt, and had her hair in a scrunchy, gathered at nape of her neck.

“I don't have a lot of time.” she said. “I have to go to the grocery store before I pick up the kids from school.”

“Why are you here, Holly?” I looked at her and waited for an answer.

“I want to watch.”

Her eyes darted around the backyard, trying to avoid my gaze, but eventually they returned so I can ask the inevitable question, “What do you want to watch?”

“Are we going to play this game every time?” She asked, “making me say the words I don't want to say.”

“Yes, Holly,” I stepped closer to her and took her by the left hand. “Every time.”

She held my hand as I walked out from under the shaded awning and into the bright sunlight. I slipped my feet out of my sandals and felt the cool grass and wet dirt under my toes. I knew what she wanted. I would gladly give it to her. But, she needed to be trained and there were rules to be followed.

I knelt down and felt the wet dirt the moisture of the wet dirt soaked through the denim of my jeans at the knee. I tapped the back of her calf and she lifted her foot and I slipped off her expensive loafers in the small ankle socks, on first her left, and then her right foot.

“That feels nice,” she said I stood back up and looked down at her, I can tell now that she was not wearing a bra under the white T-shirt, and nipples had hardened and I could see the gentle bumps.

“I make you say the words out loud so we both know what's going to happen, what you want to have happen, and most importantly, things that will not happen. Saying it out loud becomes my contract, our bond. I know what you want, you just have to admit it.”

A gentle breeze made the fabric of her skirt flutter in the wind.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want to watch you pee,” it was a whisper

I unbuckled my pants and unzipped the zipper

“Tell me again and tell me why.”

“I want to watch you pee in the backyard, the bright sun on your naked cock. I want to see it flow out of you and I want to hear it hit the ground. Why? I don't know, I've always liked it, I've always liked to watch.”

With a light touch on her shoulders, I had her sit down on the low cinder block wall the defined my planter space.

“Pull up your skirt.” I said, “You are going to join me.”

“What?” The question came out louder than she expected her head spun back and forth as if some unseen observer would react. “I've never done that before.”

“I know,” I said, “that's really why you wanted to come over here. You wanted to get away from your husband's security cameras and you wanted to feel this sun on your skin and you wanted me to give permission for you to do something new.”

“Perhaps,” was her reply. She stood up and gathered the soft fabric of her skirt up around her waist. She was wearing simple panties, not of the grandma variety, but not intentionally sexy either. They were clean and thin and white, and I could see the folds of her flesh through the gusset as she sat back down

“The key,” I said, “is to not make a mess come on to keep everything dry except the grass.”

“But I still have my panties on.”

“I know, but not for long.”

She smiled up at me as she sat on the wall. She leaned back and rested her body weight on one hand and allowed her legs to spread further.

“Take my panties off.” She said.

Without a word I knelt in front of her, brought her legs together, and grabbed the waistband and pulled them down.

Standing again, I gave the fabric a kiss as she watched.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but I'm nervous, and I don't know how it will happen.”

“You just have to relax, feel the sun out of your skin, And let it flow.  You can close your eyes if you want to.”

With those instructions, she allowed her legs to spread open, and I saw her lips for the first time. Her bush was trimmed tight but not shaved, her lips were exposed and pink and full as I stared at them. My God I was tempted to do more than just our agreed upon action.

“Just relax,” I said, “can you feel the pressure building?”

“Yes”, she replied.

“Can you feel it building up, can you feel the need,”

“Yes.”

I slipped out of my pants and boxers and stood half naked before her.

“Then let it go.”

She whimpered a little bit as I think she strained to push out the deep golden fluid while trying to relax at the same time. I kneeled down in front of her and put my hands on the inside of her thighs and pushed them wider.

“Let it go,” I said.

I saw a little dribble, and she whimpered.

“All of it,” I said with a more commanding tone.

“She took quick breaths, nervous breaths, and I pressed more firmly on her thighs.

“Please”, I asked, “I want to see you pee.”

With that encouragement she gasped, and a full golden stream flowed out from between the folds of her body.

“Don't stop”, I begged.

She seemed to shiver at the words and the stream continued, I felt it hit my skin, I held felt it to run down my stomach, I scooted closer to her and felt the warm stream cover my cock with golden fluid. She opened her eyes and gasped again as she saw her own stream covering my body.

With her free hand she began rubbing her clit, and I asked her if she wanted to cum.

“Yes please! I want to cum.”

I stood up, my cock fully hard, my bladder pulsing just below the skin, I took a deep breath and let it go

Her fingers circled her tight clit and she watched me twitch as my stream started, hesitant at first, fighting its way through the hard shaft, but as I cleared my head and closed my eyes, the flow was steady and strong.

It didn't take long for her to sit up, one hand furiously rubbing between her legs, the other hand coming into my shaft to guide the golden stream to her chest, soaking the thin white T-shirt until it was translucent, her nipples dark and round showing through the fabric. As my stream slowed, she looked up at the and said please, and she opened her mouth and guided the last few drops in.

“May I cum now Holly?” I asked.

She nodded and said “Yes.”

Hopelessly delusional

 I had only texted with her.  I "met" her through a job-seeking group, she was a contact at a company I interviewed with, but I was not hired. She gave me a glowing review based on the words of my career coach, who later betrayed me, but that is a story for another day, after the litigious dust settles.

She was pretty in her LinkedIn profile.  Professionally dressed, shoulder length brown hair, a beautiful smile, nice teeth, wonderful eyes.  Her texts were friendly, helpful, encouraging as only another job seeker can be, and completely devoid of any hint of flirting.

But that doesn't matter, does it.  To the terminally lonely that doesn't matter.  You see, lonely people are romantics, we have to be, we have to build up a fantasy world that is worth living in, otherwise reality crushes us under the jack-heeled boot of daily life.

After a futile set of interviews and the discouragement that comes along with "the hunt," she told me that she had gotten a job and would be relocating to Oklahoma, of all places.  I told her I would buy her a surrey with fringe on top and she laughed at the reference, and we "chatted" about Broadway for a while.

She said she was leaving in three weeks and that she wanted to meet in person for a "hug and a handshake" before she left.  Her office wasn't far from my house, so we arranged lunch on a day when I wouldn't be missed (all of them) and I drove through the canyon to meet her.

She looked great, a light linen jacket, tight jeans, tall boots, and oversize belt and a dark blouse that hid the curves and the fabric of her underwear.  As she exited her building, I caught my breath and had to remind myself that it was all in my head, this fantasy, these wishful naughty thoughts.  

True to her word, she was a hugger.  She wrapped me in a deep embrace, and I felt her breasts against my chest, her small waist in my arms, and for a moment, her breath on my neck.  We let go of each other and she squealed in delight, but not from the hug, but because she made eye contact with her friend, emerging from the parking lot and running over, as fast as her spike heels would let her.

"Clarisa!!" she screamed, in that high pitched girl scream that could mean joy or Spider!!

Another hug, longer, deeper, full of joy and sadness.

She turned around, holding her friend's hand, "This is Clarisa," she said, smiling.  "She is my work wife, my friend, and confidant. And, she's joining us for lunch."

'Clarisa.'  I thought, 'I'm 3rd wheel.  Fuck.'

 

Clarisa had a firm handshake, a nice smile, not very pretty, foreign born, but I'm not supposed to notice that, I guess.  

 

"Let's go!" she said, and I followed.  They chatted about work, she explained why her husband wasn't coming to the planned happy hour after work, and they commiserated about the latest clusterfuck brought on by their boss's latest cost cutting measure.

 

"That's why you're here," she said to me, "but you're under an NDA so you can't say.  Right?"

 

"I can neither confirm, nor deny, my assignment."

 

She laughed a bumped her shoulder into mine as we walked along the path.  She already knew about the "top secret" project I was working on.  When she asked me to confirm it, I told her should could whisper it in my ear over lunch.  That was before I knew I was just a tag along.

 

She picked her favorite salad place across the street at the mall that on its last legs.  The only thing driving traffic to the mall was a Costco and a Best Buy, but their clientele didn't shop at the $20 salad place my friend picked. 

We were seated quickly and I arranged to sit next to her, and this brings me back to my thesis. Lonely people are hopeless, insane, delusional romantics, and nothing good comes of it.

Lunch was delicious.  Tender chicken with perfectly crispy fingerling potatoes and a Cesar salad and a delightful chocolate chunk cookie to eat as we walked through the parking lot back to my desk, and back to her desk for the very last time. Off to Kentucky.  One and done.

Sitting next to her, chatting, did our hands brush against each other as we reached for the salt? No.  Did I feel her shift her position on the bench just slightly so our hips would touch, and, if she relaxed, her body would fall against mine? No.  Did she offer to split the cookie and then ask me to feed her a piece? No. As we got up to leave, did she hug Clarissa goodbye and then ask me to walk with her on "one more errand" which really was an excuse to be alone behind the Eyeglasses Hut for a stolen kiss in the one area where there were no security cameras.  No.

Just lunch, a goodbye, and insincere "keep in touch," and an already unfulfilled promise to invite me to her happy hour.

Lonely people are romantics, hopelessly delusional romantics, and it is misery.

A new friend over the fence

The sun is out, finally. Granted, it's going to rain again on Saturday, but for today, the clouds are gone, and my patio is warm. 

 The black fabric of my lounge chair stings against my bare skin of my shoulders for the first few seconds. The backs of my thighs twitch as they try to escape the heat, but my glutes and my lower back sigh and sink into the heat in blessed relief. I brought out my phone to watch a few videos to get things going, but the sun is directly in my face and the effort to hold my phone and block the sun are too much and defeat the purpose of the moment. 

I turn off the screen and set my phone down on the pile of clothes that puddle on the warm cement..

The sun warms my chest, my stomach, and my thighs.  I pull my knees up to my chest to stretch and move my legs. My thighs open, the sun warms the back of my legs, my crevice, putting sun "where the sun don't shine."  The sun reflects off the white plastic fence, filling in the shadows on my skin.

I laugh to myself at the old schoolyard insult and pull my knees apart further until I'm exposed to the healing rays. My blood begins to flow as my pucker warms in the sun.

Through the fence I can hear the children playing.  The fence is solid, no gaps, so even if they crawled up the 4 feet from their yard to the fence, they's still not be able to see anything inappropriate for young eyes.  I debate going back in, but my plans are quiet, personal, passionate, and none will be the wiser.

Their mom, Holly, is the new mom in the neighborhood, having just moved in three months ago.  It's nice to have the sound of children around.  The couple that moved out was sweet, but homebound, and finally had to move in with their oldest daughter.  They won't last long.  Wonderful, but old, and it was taking its toll.

I hear a thud, a moment of silence. and they the wails and tears of a 4-year-old that took a header.  I hear Holly scoop him up (I forget his name) and sit on the squeaky metal chare that Mike left behind in the move. She sings him a song and the crying mellows slowly until I hear her says that he can go inside and play for a bit. 

The sound of toys being put away are followed by the scrape of metal legs across the cement until I hear Holly drop into the chair and sigh.

I clear my through to let her know I'm there and ask, "Is everything OK?  Sounds like someone took a spill."

"I told him to put his shoes on," she said, her arching over the fence, "instead he tripped, stubbed his toe and hit the deck."

"Is he OK?"

"Nothing that an Otterpop and some Bluey can't fix."

"For my kids it was ice cream and power rangers," I laughed, "but that dates me with the dinosaurs."

"True," I could hear her sigh.

"Enjoying the sun?"

"It's wonderful." she said, "And you?"

"Loving every bit of it."

"Wanna come over?"

"I'd have to get dressed first."

"What?"  I heard her laugh.  "Don't tell me that you are....."

"Yes, I am." I felt flirty. "My backyard has one private spot."

"So, my new neighbor, who helped me move in and unpacked my lingerie box, is 5 feet away from me and totally naked?"

"Well, I'm wearing sunglasses."

"Sounds good."  She got very quiet.

I let the silence linger.

"What next?" she asked quietly.  Her voice came from a different spot, through the fence, not over, as if she had moved.

"Well...."

"Tell me." she whispered and the fence moved as if she was leaning up against it.

"Honestly?"

"YESsssss"

"I'm going to lay here naked, let my mind wander, and then touch myself."

"More."

"The hot sun makes it easy to get hard, I'll start to stroke, I'll tease and pause..."

"And then?"

"Then I'll cum, Holly, I'm going to have an orgasm right here."

"Now?"

"I'm ready if you are." I said, my heart pounding in my chest.  "What do you want?"

"I want to listen."

"I can't be loud."

"Call me.  You can whisper, I can hear."

"OK, but I need you to call me, this is your choice."

My phone rang seconds later.  I picked it off the pile of clothes and laid it on my chest.

"I'm completely hard." I giggled, "I didn't plan on having an audience."

"How often do you do this?"

"During the summer? about once a week.  Have you done it yet?  

"Outside?"

"I started to when I was playing in the pool," she paused, "but then John got home."

"And?"

"He made me start dinner."

"What an idiot."

"Agreed." Her voice shifted, "Tell me what you are doing."

"I'm talking to you."

"You know what I mean."

"Oh, you want to know if I'm hard?"

"Yes,"

"I'm hard, dripping, stroking."

"Who are you thinking about?"

"You."

"Really?  You don't know me."

"I've seen you in stretch pants."  I heard her laugh.

I moaned as I pulled a large drop out of my tip.

"What was that?" She asked, I could hear her over the fence.

"Shhhhhh," I teased, "I just pulled a big drop of cum off the tip."

"Taste it."

"Mmmmm, slippery, tasty, salty."

"Fuck...."

"Language!," I chided her, "you kiss your kids with that mouth."

"and other things." She giggled.

"unzip your shorts."

"My kids are just inside." she sounded nervous.

"I don't care."

"OK. - now what?"

"Stroke gently, outside your panties, be soft." I heard her moan.  "I'm rubbing my cock."

"Really?"

"Yesssss, " I said, "up and down, barely touching, imagining your lips.

"Where am I?"

"Kneeling in front of me, your hair covering my hips, my hands on the back of your head."

"Fill me up."

"Press on your clit, don't make a sound, press hard Holly."

Through the phone and over the fence I heard her gasp.

"Keep going Holly, small tight circles, over the fabric, open your mouth."

I positioned the phone by my mouth so my cute neighbor could hear it all.

"It feels so good, so hard, slippery wet, sticky, pulsing."

"Can I cum?" holly begged through the phone.

"No." I said, "it's my turn."

"Tell me more." 

"I'm standing over you, sliding in and out of your mouth Holly, PULL ME IN.

"Cum!" she whispers.

The sun, her voice, my hand pushed me over the edge, and I grunt and feel strand after strand splash on my chest and phone.

I struggle to catch my breath, gasping at the unexpected moment just shared.  

"Holly?" I whisper, "Holly?"

I stand up listen, but hear nothing until the voices of three little children brighten up the backyard.

"Daddy!!!"

I smile, hang-up, and head to the shower, dripping sweat and pleasure, having made a new friend.

Fantasy about a friend

Hey

Hey

Are you at home?

For a bit, pick up’s at 3

Everyone’s at school?

Or work, yeah, why?

Can I come over?

Sure, why?

Do I have to say it?

Yes

I want to watch you cum.

(laughs) OK.  When?

Now

Now?  The house is a mess.

Don’t care.

Hmmm…

I can help you straighten up after

You are so weird

I know, but the clock’s ticking, so…

Sure, come over.

OK

I haven’t shaved in like a week.

That’s fine with me.

Do you want Tony to watch?

What happens if he does?

He beats the crap out of you.

HA!  Then, no, I don’t want Tony to watch.

Whatever, some guys like it.

I don’t.

Whatever floats your boat.  Bring cash.

How Much?

$50 to watch, $100 to help, $200 to fuck.

You know I don’t like that word.

Fuck?  OK, $200 to put your penis in my vagina.

Stop it.  Don’t ruin it.

Let’s just call it what it is.

I’d rather not.

I have to, or I’d fall in love

Too late.

See!  Now don’t you ruin it.  Just get over here.

OK

Any special requests?

Sweat pants, sweat shirt, red thong, no bra. The blue toy.

Hair?

Up, in a scrunchie

Why?

Because I love your neck.

Thank you.

Any special request for me?

Yes, Take two pills

I don’t have $200

I don’t care, just come over.