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.

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.”