Charna: Bridal Path
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Audio-visual

Charna: Bridal Path By Audio-visual

My guess is that I am like most writers on this site, in that I write for my own enjoyment about things that excite me. There is a sizable thread of historical fact mixed with a large dose of wishful fiction in my stories; therefore your feedback probably won't be of much value, especially if you want to waste your time telling me what you didn't like. I don't care. If it makes you feel better to get it off your anonymous, gutless chest, fire away.

This story relates events that occurred in 1978, before AIDS, shaved pussies, and the internet, but after birth control pills, micro-skirts, burn-the-bra protests, and the free-love generation.

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Viva la revolucion!

Experts who closely studied such things agreed that the peak of the free-love sexual revolution was in the rear view mirror, but I was still fully committed to the cause.

The conflagration was under a full head of steam when I first skinny dipped my wick into it in the mid 60's, it crested in the mid 70's, and it would highball until the mid 80's, at which time AIDS paranoia quelled the insurrection. That fatal thrust, still a half-decade away, relegated another remnant of the counter culture, its promiscuity-as-a-lifestyle lure, into the nostalgia category on Jeopardy.

My teenage and early adult years matched those two most sexually liberal decades in U.S. history. Easy recreational sex was so prevalent, so commonplace, that, during the sexual revolution's heyday, public opinion against it dwindled to the dribble of a night's third ejaculate. I was on the front lines throughout, spreading the word to - and the legs of - converts. I couldn't have been born at a better time to find so many girls willing to give it up.

Viva la revolucion!

Sex on the Internet was not even a budding sperm cell in the balls of its inventors but, as might be expected from the priority we all place on our most basic urge, the sex business was thriving in other ways.

So this story begins just after work on a Friday in October. Like the start of almost every weekend, I was in the revolution's guerrilla trenches again, ready and willing to spend my money and my fluid into that thriving sex industry. The weekend's first tickle was in Kitty's Bookstore and Video Arcade, and my plan was to magnify the tingle later by heading east on Colfax to Sid King's Crazy Horse Bar and Grill, my favorite strip club.

A couple of walls full of x-rated paperback novels indicated the popularity of the flourishing sex-novel business, an unfortunate internet casualty that, until its demise, enabled the well-written hidden fantasies of successful mainstream authors to surface under ridiculous pen names. New girlie magazines popped up so often that it was clear the trail blazed by Hugh Hefner and Playboy was enormously profitable.

Browsing through excerpts in the novels and fantasizing about the nude centerfolds in the magazines were analogous to today's surfing the net. They worked even better for me, and as a warm up for the real girls up the street, nothing raked a fingernail across my id any better.

I was twenty-nine years old, a degreed engineer a couple rungs up the corporate ladder, and a Marine Corps veteran - Semper Fi - with two tours in Vietnam on my resume. A solid citizen, right? Well, I have most of the character traits - in fact, all except the last one of the ‘trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent' traits of a Boy Scout.

I even have some of the adult traits that apparently aren't as important when you're a boy, traits that help you be a good "Man Scout", a good Marine. Just like those chosen to exemplify a stellar Boy Scout, they are the lifestyle options every person can choose, traits that aren't part of our genetics. It is these choice traits that define character; consequently, they are the traits that enable me to evaluate my life and the people I meet. Nothing is more important than choosing a life path with the highest standards of character traits. A "Man Scout" should have a more complete set, so my personal credo adds another twelve: integrity, ethics, effort, respect, consideration, responsibility, toughness, fitness, independence, perseverance, curiosity, and sexuality.

If I ever stop striving to meet them, then I don't deserve to live.

I wouldn't want to.

There are also traits that set us all apart that don't have anything to do with choices, only chromosomes. Traits like intelligence, health, athletic ability, physical appearance, and penis size. I'm on the good end of the bell curve on all of those as well, but that's just luck.

Mr. Perfect? Most "solid citizens" would place me closer to the devil than to angelic perfection. Especially since one of my defining choice traits, one of my highest priority ones, never slots into the respectable category on any list. Respectable lists don't include promiscuity or recreational sex.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately depending on your own bent, sex preoccupies me and my weekends are spent indulging. I'm fascinated by the beautiful women who fixate on sex; and looking at them, reading about them, chasing them, and ultimately catching them puts the cherry on top of my workweek.

Speaking of cherries, none of the girls I chase or catch have one, a decidedly fortuitous anatomical advantage for fomenting Hugh Hefner's ‘consenting adult' revolutionary fervor.

Viva la revolucion!

I like girls with experience, girls who understand what men like, girls who know how to give pleasure in every way, girls who like the feeling a fat cock gives them, girls who like the feeling their own pussies give them.

The obvious place to find those girls, to find beautiful women who fixate on sex, is a strip club; and, since subtlety isn't one of my Man Scout character traits, that's where I go. I discovered strippers in Nam, where the concept of an American soldier being too young was literally a foreign concept, but then had to wait a few months after I got back to the States to reacquaint myself with the wonder of watching beautiful girls take their clothes off in front of a group of men.

I'm a law-abiding citizen, but that five-month period after I got back from two tours in Nam tempted me. Explain this logic: the girls only had to be eighteen to strip but I had to be twenty-one to watch them do it?

Why do only dimwits get to make the laws?

In any case, I eagerly anticipated my twenty-first birthday - and I don't drink.

I chase strippers.

I like strippers.

The strippers I especially like enjoy teasing men by displaying their interesting parts, even when they aren't dancing in the club; but the ones that really light my fire treat the tease as a big part of their own foreplay as well.

The finale to the tease is more satisfying for both of us if many men have seen, lusted after, and especially lap-dance rubbed against the pussy I'm inside. I was fortunate to hit the small period of time when Denver strip clubs advertised (and then delivered) "fully nude" dancers, so we all saw every interesting part of every stripper.

It arouses me to know that, despite their youth, many men have seen and been inside their ‘consenting adult' most interesting part.

Of course, only half the ‘consenting adult' applied to most of their experiences because the pleasure lure was irresistible long before they were ‘adult'. A nearly anonymous available cock and girlish curiosity accompanied their typical cherry popping ceremonies more often than first love.

I possessed the handy nearby cock on a couple of such hymen-busting occasions but, being blunt, the sex was shitty. Fright, pain, blood, tears, and guilt, in that predictable order, forged a lifetime connection I didn't want - I don't understand the fascination with cherries. After the second deflowering, I swore off cherry in favor of a tastier flavor: slut.

It's unfortunate and unfair the word slut has such a negative connotation. Male sluts are called studs and the world is their oyster. Nobody busts my chops about the pussy I get. High fives and back-slapping congratulations are the responses from my friends, and even the Bible toting conservatives often smile and ignore my ‘just sowing his oats' lifestyle.

Female sluts have and use their oysters (or clams - who the hell can tell the difference); so if the world should be anybody's oyster, it should be theirs. They should be held in the same high esteem as studs.

I do.

Strippers are the sluts I hold in the highest regard.

While I fuck them.

Add the steady stream of beautiful inexperienced girls crossing the 18-year-old adult industry employment age threshold to the equal flow of beautiful experienced girls changing clubs (stripping is a notoriously transient occupation) and you get a bevy - enough new girls, enough willing new playmates, enough untapped pussy, to anticipate success at every strip club threshold I cross.

I watch, lurk, and chase on Friday and Saturday nights at six different clubs at least once a month, at Sid King's three or four times. I know, that adds up to more weekend days than a month has, but if there aren't any new girls of interest, I move on. I sometimes hit three or four clubs in one night.

My M.O. is honest and simple: invite a new girl to sit, spring for a few watered-down drinks to tickle her libido, pony up for a lap dance or two, insuring her libido feels lap dance contact with my aroused throb, and flatter her carnal desire with sexual innuendo and protracted leers while discussing her body. This simple ploy was frequently enough to entice one of the new teasers into my playpen.

Actually, my basic ABC's (alcohol, boner, compliment), by themselves, were rarely enough; but when you add another ingredient, new pussy was not only frequent, it was typical.

What, you're probably wondering, is this magic elixir, this secret ingredient?

It's powerful enough for me to state that I've bonked most of the strippers at Sid Kings, including nearly all those I wanted to, many with wedding rings, and a fair sampling from most of the other strip joints within a few miles of downtown.

So what is it?

Drum roll ...

Lights ...

Camera ...

Action ...

The secret is no secret. You already know it.

Word-of-mouth advertising.

As the ball dropped with a dull thud. What the hell, you were expecting special insight?

When the girls who ‘dance' for a living gossip, guess what topic surfaces the most?

Yup.

And when my name floats by, at least one confesses that I have a big one, that I treated her with respect, and that she got off - that I knew how to prolong and magnify her pleasure.

If I actively pursue my prey, the outcome is in doubt; but when a new girl approaches me, I can tell from her first words if she's heard the gossip. If she has, I know the outcome: pussy.

There are no games. No false pretenses. No worry about babies. No ‘I love you' lies. No ‘Will you respect me tomorrow' bullshit.

No cherries.

No talk of paying for pussy either. Word-of-mouth works that way too.

The prelude to sex is honest and straightforward. Like a Jarhead. Semper Fi. So is the sex that follows. The sex we both like.

We scratch each other's back. Alleviate each other's itch.

Tit for tat.

I provide the tat.

But the chase, the tease, the tit, the pussy wasn't on my agenda for hours. I stopped at Kitty's to read about and look at naked pictures of my favorite females - sluts and strippers.

Nevertheless, there must have been something unusual about this particular Friday afternoon, otherwise there wouldn't be a story. Right? Among a host of other rarities was this glaring one: after thirty minutes in a dirty bookstore, I hadn't looked at one dirty book.

On this Friday my mood-setter was much better.

There were probably thirty people in the store but I was only interested in one of them. Since her arrival half an hour earlier, I'd forgotten about my original intent: the only books I saw were the ones she held in her hands.

To say I spent a lot of time in adult bookstores would be a gross understatement. It would be difficult to estimate the number of hours I've spent browsing through x-rated material, so when I tell you that I trusted my eyes when I saw her, but just barely, you might have an idea how rare it was. In fact, after ten years of nearly perfect attendance for my Friday and Saturday night browsing, it was unique - she was the one and only.

She was young, blonde, beautiful and probably covered just enough for the law to allow.

No. Probably not.

She was possibly covered just enough for the law to ignore.

If the law was male.

Equally as unique: she was alone.

When I describe her clothes you may get a picture of how much of her stunning figure was exposed, but it was not the quantity as much as the quality that was so breathtaking.

An even tan covered her body, and her skin was so flawless that it may have been her most distinguishing feature - it was incredibly smooth, unblemished, lightly bronzed, and exposed. There were no tan lines anywhere, especially around her breasts; and even under her arms and between her legs, the tan was uniform and complete.

As is always the case with beautiful women, extraordinary eyes dominated her entrancing face. They were disproportionately large and widely spaced with an unusually brilliant white surrounding the irises. Extremely long lashes set off her almost iridescent Liz-Taylor-like violet pupils, but it was not just the beauty of her eyes that made them so interesting.

The eyes she used to look outward were also windows for us to look in, and among other things, her windows to the world transmitted intelligence, humor, and my favorite: arousal.

I love that word.

Although her gaze never dwelt on the eyes of any of her admirers, I was sure the arousal her eyes divulged was based on the knowledge that the eyes of so many of her admirers dwelt on her.

Her face was framed by shoulder-length hair that was so pale it was almost white. Her relatively unkempt style displayed medium thickness strands that were shiny and silky, and neither the color nor the gentle, natural curl appeared to originate in a bottle.

She tossed her head enough for me to realize it wasn't a staged affectation but rather an involuntary habit - a habit that probably began as an attention-getter when she was younger but one that was superfluous for that goal anymore. It did provide verification that the roots were the same color as the rest of her hair, and the way she slung it around so often made me doubt whether a perm could hold the curl very long.

Her movie-star-gorgeous face appeared to be devoid of makeup. I'm no expert but I've been around girls and their makeup for fifteen years - hell, the girls in my bulls-eye, the girls whose livelihood depends on appearance, all upgrade their face with makeup. If this girl wore any, a professional make-up artist (or a magician) must have applied it because it was so well hidden. Her satin-smooth face was a perfect match to the rest of her skin except for a slight blush to her cheeks.

A moderate upturn at the end of her nose gave her face a girl-next-door-innocence that contrasted with - no, more like contradicted - the girl-on-the-prowl way she was dressed. Naturally full, rosy, and distinctive lips smiled gently to match her twinkling eyes, and her cheeks dimpled at the corners of her mouth. A classic oval shape to her face was nearly exactly symmetrical and so striking that I knew it was indelibly etched into my gray matter.

As beautiful as her face was, in truth I spent very little time appreciating it. Why? Because the rest of her body was so captivating it was hard to look up that high.

Prominent nipples protruded from her classically formed, visibly firm, medium-sized tits - tits that jiggled enticingly when she moved, especially when she strutted in her high heels. Both identical veinless mounds were perfect quarter spheres from the nipple downward and the bottom intersection between her chest and her orb formed a right angle so true that I wanted a carpenter's square to check it. Above her nipples, skin sloped linearly and gradually from just below her clavicle to her aureole.

There wasn't much skin around them that was ever covered and not one square millimeter of skin on either breast that I hadn't seen at least fifteen times - including her jutting nipples.

She wore a loosely tied, translucent-white, soft-cotton halter that exposed a considerable amount of skin on both the inside and outside slopes of her lingerie-model breasts. The contrasting color difference between her more darkly hued relatively small aureoles and the rest of her breasts was transmitted clearly through the thin cotton.

The material hung so softly that it conformed to the exact shape of her - and I repeat myself for emphasis - medium-sized, tight, firm, and beautifully formed tits. The bottom hem of her halter stopped on the underside of her tits so when she reached for anything above shoulder level, the movement caused her magnetically attractive nipples, which were not relatively small like her aureoles, to escape.

Escape!

Liberacion!

Viva la revolucion!

Around her protruding derriere was a skin-tight, fire-truck-red, patent leather microskirt that may have ended three or four inches below her pussy.

When she was standing.

As I later discovered, when she squatted or sat, it didn't cover her fleshy quim at all. Her hip-hugger style skirt exposed skin down to that point on her completely flat abdomen where pubic hair starts.

In fact, so much of her tan midsection was visible that I wondered if she had to shave her pudendum to wear the skirt, which couldn't have been any more than eight inches wide and probably should have been more precisely called a wide belt.

From the bottom slope of her - once again - medium-sized, tight, firm, and beautifully formed tits to the tiny cummerbund-width skirt, she was beautiful skin. Centered on that portion of her lovely exposed skin were her pencil-thin waist, her tight, flat abdomen, and her dimpled ‘innie' navel.

Then came the clincher (and the clencher): her trim and tight ass.

Ah yes, her ass.

What an impressive monument to lust.

The classic inverted heart shape was evident despite the skirt, and the extent of its projection made my fingers twitch just thinking about using them to contour map the firm mounds.

But it wasn't just the ideal shape and size of her monument to lust that fertilized boners, it was also the exposure: a deep, visible plumber's crack was a powerful force field aligning male eyeballs toward it. Her skirt was unable to cover at least two inches at the top of her enticing ass cleft.

How she fit panties under that skirt without any of the shiny gray showing was miraculous. How, you might ask, did I know she had on gray panties? Or for that matter, any panties?

Before I describe that portion of her intriguing tease and concomitant show - a tease more appealing, a show more enticing than the ones put on by the professional girls up the street - I need to finish describing her wardrobe.

Shiny red high heels.

That's it.

The highly polished, open-toed, 3" spike heels matched the color of her glistening fingernails and toenails; and her shoes and nails matched the hue and shine of her red leather skirt perfectly.

Perfectly. Like everything about her.

Naturally, the spikes also perfectly enhanced her perfectly proportioned legs - legs that were long in proportion to her height and that had the muscle tone and sexy shape of a Vegas showgirl. As she moved from rack to rack, she swiveled her ass and strutted on those dancer legs in a manner that could only be construed as intentionally enticing.

To complete the picture of this slice of female pulchritude, note that, since she wore no jewelry or hose, she had only five objects touching her body: a halter, a skirt, panties, and two shoes.

Five wasn't enough.

I envisioned becoming the sixth.

In which case, I decided one was enough, and I envisioned becoming the only thing touching her fabulous body.

From the minute she entered, her floorshow was mesmerizing. An anachronism from those days was the fifty-cent browsing fee and mine was just barely in the till when she sashayed in.

Her eyes surveyed the room as I watched. The quick scan induced a look of bewilderment, perhaps even of disappointment, on her face. The street-facing portion of Kitty's was a typical newsstand - newspapers from around the country, newsmagazines, sports magazines, etc. I was the only person in the most unused portion of the store.

"Are these the only books here?"

The acne-scarred clerk was apparently unable to rid himself of his haughty disdain for patrons of the x-rated back portion of the store, despite the fact that the only material I've ever seen him ‘read' came from there.

"What were you looking for?"

His response, with the inflection on the ‘looking', was almost an involuntary reflex. He didn't even look up to see who asked the question. I never liked him. Now I knew why. My stare was icy.

She stood still to share my stare at the balding asshole for at least ten seconds. He glanced up momentarily to see who was ignoring his question. When he noticed the two sets of nasty eyes focused on him, he pretended to be busy.

She knew what to do with an asshole: wipe it.

She let her eyes move to the signs on the wall behind him. The signs were a chaotic mishmash of posters provided for movie previews years ago, handwritten warnings, book publisher come-ons, Coca-Cola advertisements, and perhaps even some real information. Apparently, any sign was acceptable and there was never a need to remove it; anything to avoid being able to see any portion of the presumably painted wall was in play.

As her eyes scanned the wall for useful information, mine scanned her. It was probably a full minute or so before she spoke again.

"Never mind. I can read."

Her inflection was on the "I", clearly implying that she didn't think he could.

Whether she actually saw the pertinent sign or just figured things out by studying the store's layout is moot. What the Einstein behind the counter and I saw isn't.

Since she didn't have a purse, she ‘stored' her driver's license and money in her shoe. She bent from the waist to slip her shiny high heel off. I was taken aback - you know how it is when you first see more than is publicly ‘acceptable' - because her loose halter-top fell away enough to expose her nipples.

It wasn't just one of those quick peeks either. The duration of bend, of exposure, was noticeably and unnecessarily prolonged. I'm sure it was for Einstein's benefit - he was treated to a vision to torture him.

Like dangling a juicy hot, medium-rare filet mignon in front of a starving man and then taking it away, she dangled her beauties to tempt and tease. Unlike most sexual teasing, this one wasn't foreplay.

This was wiping the asshole.

He deserved it.

I was even more stunned when she stretched to hand the gawking Albert her ID and money. The elevated perch of the middle-aged genius required customers to reach up - but not with both hands.

ID in one, money in the other, she stretched and viola: both nipples popped out the bottom side of her halter. They were perfectly sized nubbins flushed with the pink of youth. The reaching was also just enough to raise the back of her skirt past the Mason-Dixon Line and the South rose again: I saw her gray satin panties for the first time.

She remained stretched, panties and nipples on exhibit, while the underqualified-for-any-job genius rang it up; and even after she held the receipt and driver's license in one hand and the quarters in the other, her arms lowered slowly.

Her halter didn't.

She bent, panties flaunted my way this time, to place her driver's license and the receipt into her spiked fuck-me-heels left shoe. After she stood, she looked at the quarters. Eventually, she turned to face me, pointedly avoiding eye contact, and flipped her hair as she smiled to herself. I'm sure my lower lip dropped in astonishment as she raised the hem of her skirt to slip the quarters into the front of her panties. Only then did she adjust her halter to recover her magnificent - you already know - medium-sized, tight, firm, and beautifully formed tits

Both the bending and the stretching were precursors: what ensued were nearly two hours of exhibitionism, voyeurism, and orgasmism.

"You can use that receipt if you buy anything later Miss ... ?"

The haughty disdain was history, replaced by almost reverent hope.

I almost laughed out loud. "Miss ... ?" As if she would tell him her name. Hell, Mr. IQ had her driver's license and didn't look.

She didn't answer as she separated the curtain to enter my weekend library.

I was on her ass like stink.

The sniff of pure id.

I was hooked.

Her entrance also hooked all the other fish in the x-rated school.

I checked my watch: 5:52 PM.

She moved into the paperback novel area where she read portions of at least 15 books while the school collectively leered. Every book she read came from either the bottom shelf or the top shelf; and whether from bending or from reaching, her movement exposed her nipples.

She adjusted her flimsy top after each unveiling, but appeared to be unconcerned as she tugged it down casually and leisurely each time.

Her nipples - large, perfect cylinders at least as big around as a penny and as long as a ripe olive ... oh so ripe ... pink and erect ... capped twin peaks. They escaped so often and from so many directions that I was familiar with the appearance of every inch of each breast from every angle: from each side, from the bottom, from the top, and from the front. They were ideal in and from all three dimensions.

Both exposure modes - bending and stretching - also revealed her model shaped legs all the way up to her gray satin, bikini-style panties, but a darker stain over the opening to her cunt was eyewitness evidence of the arousal reflected in her eyes. She habitually readjusted her skirt when she repositioned her halter-top, but I couldn't see where it did anything utilitarian - it was just part of the tease.

I've seen many pretty women in adult bookstores before, but they have always been with a man and none of them came close to matching this girl's beauty. As my eyes feasted, I subconsciously knew every other fisheye in the school was watching with the same focus and probably with the same response: fully bloated and surging manhood.

I had no doubt the tease was part of her own foreplay, that her tease engendered her own arousal. The main question in my mind was this: beside herself, who else was going to reap the harvest of her tease, her foreplay, and her arousal?

Was she was playing with her voyeuristic audience? Toying with us? Her eyes twinkled mischievously as if she was in on some private joke. Her sly, gentle smile did nothing to refute my suspicion. I suspected that she might be prick teasing as part of a private game, that her boyfriend would show up soon - or that he was already there, lurking and watching his girl tease ‘the perverts'.

Not that any of us perverts were complaining. It was transparently obvious that she was performing for us. Although she feigned indifference to her dirty-minded audience, the method and the extent of her exposure to those same eyes debunked that pretense.

When I finished digesting and analyzing, I reached a momentous decision: she was the most beautiful female I had ever seen.

I made my decision after 30 minutes of intense cramming, and for this subject my study habits were impeccable. Naturally everybody else in the school library decided to research the same popular subject. One beautiful teacher's body inspired our high-density student body.

If I was any indication, it was full of erect male members of the school inspired to do one thing: spawn.

Or is it rut.

Spawning season? Awaiting the rut? What the hell was I awaiting?

Animals use smell to detect estrus, but weren't her obvious arousal indicators just as powerful to men?

Why not give it a go?

I was still achingly erect as I checked my watch - my own involuntary habit. 6:21.

She could just tell me to get lost if she didn't conference with students wearing erections.

"Hello. I don't often see beautiful girls in here alone."

Not very clever, and an epic understatement, but at least I'd broken the ice.

"Oh, hi. It's my first time. I just became legal last week and I've always wondered what it was like inside a dirty bookstore."

She looked me in the eye when she first started talking, but later in the sentence I saw her eyes drop. Her eyes twinkled even more and she playfully tossed her hair and smiled when she looked at me again.

There was no doubt my throb was the root for her playful facial expressions.

Her voice exuded sex: melodic, clear, tinkling, high pitched, breathy. Its soprano resonance fit her physical beauty like a prophylactic fits a fat penis; another of my sense organs - my ear - blazed a new path of stimulation to my cock.

"Well let me show you around. My name's Kirk."

I stuck out my hand to greet her.

We caught eyes when I started talking, but I dropped my eyes to her tits almost immediately. I'd already seen her eyes briefly dwell on my interesting part and turnabout is, as I've been told, fair play.

Let's play doctor.

I could smell just the hint of perfume, and another of my senses kicked in. The scent was intriguingly sexual, which only served to increase the blood pressure inside my already throbbing wood.

"Hello Kirk. I'm Charna. You mean there aren't just paperback books to see?"

That was a smart ‘dumb blonde' comment if ever I heard one, and I immediately caught her double entendre. I smiled as she shook my hand with enough vigor to make her tits jiggle.

"There are some truly beautiful things to see ..."

I continued to pointedly ogle her bouncing tits.

"... and then there's the stuff I want to show you".

She giggled, tossed her hair, and thrust her tits out even more. I snapped at the bait - hell, she obviously wanted me to inspect them and, being a fish in her school, I bit. Quality Control Inspector Akston bent down to check for minute defects.

Thirty minutes of focused concentration confirmed that she was a long-distance eye catcher, if by long-distance one means stripper distance of ten to fifty feet, but sometimes myopia exposes defects that poison the image.

Not with her.

Up close, there was no imperfection in any of her features and her soft, smooth skin was even more fascinating.

She was justifiably proud of her - to redundantly, repetitively, reiterate - medium-sized, tight, firm, beautifully formed and ...

drum roll please ...

now rated tits.

Inspector Akston's verdict: Grade A Prime.

I was ready to examine them in other ways.

Let's play doctor.

"Come on. The grand tour won't take all that long. You seemed interested in the books. Did you find anything that gave you a buzz?"

"Ooohh yeah. I love reading about sex when they use all the dirty words."

"I agree. Sex isn't as good without the dirty words. What parts turned you on?"

Again my eyes dropped to reinspect her rigid nipples. Yup, she was turned on.

I didn't need to be close to see it.

"Aren't we cheeky? It didn't take long for you to get right to it then, did it?"

She attempted the sultry siren look as she poked fun at me with a British accent using a British sounding sentence structure. I would have thoughtlessly succumbed when I was in high school, but most strippers live well off that look.

I didn't say anything, but I knew she understood my answering look. I don't like to let those games start.

I didn't smile.

We engaged in a stare down for at least fifteen seconds. Laying out in a conversation is uncomfortable enough to become unbearable for most people, and she finally yielded.

"Okay then, ... sorry."

I had the feeling she didn't apologize to men often and I had serious doubts about the sincerity of this apology.

Hell, talk about winning the battle but losing the war: it was good enough for me.

I nodded and smiled.

"So I guess I'll answer your question. I got turned on by the stuff outside the bedroom ... like in swimming pools and cars ... when it wasn't dark ... naked outdoors ... other people watching ... stuff like that. What about you?"

She was a natural exhibitionist, as was obvious from her raiment, but her inherent proclivity to display herself was underscored by an even deeper layer - a level that escalated from mere exposure to one that also included sexual activity - to a showing while doing layer.

My attraction intensified a notch.

"By ‘stuff', I assume you mean sex. I like girls who like to show off. I don't even need to ask if you do, do I?"

Her smoldering eyes and Mona Lisa smile gave her away but she didn't answer.

I pushed on.

"Have you seen the magazines? Some of them let you see public ‘stuff'."

I could feel her eyes following mine as I continued to focus on her tits.

"You mean ... outdoors ... doing it?"

"Yup. Doing it. Fucking. Fucking outdoors. Fucking on beaches. Fucking in backyards. Fucking in public. Any other kind of fucking you can think of."

I could hear her gasp and see her tits shake nicely.

I knew her audience, her school of fish, her class, could hear me too.

So did she.

It must have been okay.

She did say she liked the dirty words.

"Can we look at ... oohh it sounds so sexy Kirk ... some of them?"

Her breathing quickened and the pitch of her voice lowered considerably.

She tossed her hair again and I mused about whether the frequency of that habit was a function of her arousal.

"Sure. Let me show you where they are."

I couldn't resist. Both my hands encircled her waist as I slowly spun her. Turnabout is fair play, after all and to turn her about was, I hoped, also the start of foreplay. Fair play to foreplay: not usually a connected transition, but my mind ... shit, it wanders. Damn, my fingers nearly touched and her skin texture was smooth as satin and as soft as supple calfskin.

She didn't flinch.

In fact, not only was there no resistance to my touch, I felt her shimmy - almost a tactile purr.

"What do you want to see first Charna?"

She looked down again at my throb and then smiled at me ... at me ... despite or perhaps, hopefully perhaps, because of my pulsing tent. I swear to the God I don't believe in that her first toothy smile pierced me with a jolt of pure pleasure. It radiated a joy that I detected, that I absorbed. My eyes lingered on her starkly white, exactly aligned teeth, the only part of her face I hadn't already seen.

The smile multiplied her beauty, a mathematical operation I would have thought on par with division by zero (i.e. undefined, and in this case, indefinable) until I saw it.

Her obvious glance down at my surging rod in response to my question sucked me further in to her tease. Her connotation was clear: books weren't the first things she wanted to see. She wasn't a professional enticer, but some of the things she did naturally were lessons the professional strippers could use.

"Let's look at the ones with people watching. I want to see ...oohh god ...the ones with fucking in front of other people."

She emphasized the word fucking, but not by speaking it louder than all the rest. She emphasized it by breathing it, and the word came out in a whoosh. It was amplified enough to permeate her classroom.

Her breath rate was noticeably faster, her nipples so erect that the friction between them and the fabric prevented easy movement.

Holding her hand, I led her to the good magazines, the ones with high quality photographs of beautiful young men and women coupled in every way. I loitered as she gaped at the covers that showed beautiful couples fucking outdoors. None of them indicated they had an audience, but obviously the photographer had to have been watching. An audience of one wasn't enough but I knew where the magazines she wanted were.

"I think that one on the bottom shelf is the best - they're fucking on the beach in front of other people, Charna."

In truth, there were several that would have fit her description, but I didn't really care about that particular magazine as much as its location.

She gazed at my eyes, but my eyes were still locked on her tits. She caught on quickly, smiled at my transparent ploy, and then bent over slowly so her tits were clearly visible to the nipples. I had already seen the magnificent cylindrical protrusions at least fifteen times, but never so closely.

She held her pose: Inspector Akston upgraded his tit rating ... sound the trumpets ... Grade AAA, Premium Select, Prime Choice.

"Do you mean this one?"

"No, the one further to the right".

I touched her back to balance her, and then placed my other hand on her shoulder to slowly turn her. As I gently pushed, my hand slipped languidly down to her halter. She didn't object so, even more leisurely, my fingers toyed at the hem before sliding inside the flimsy garment.

My hand moved at such a snail-like pace that she could have easily stopped me at any time.

She didn't.

I caressed her entire breast. Her submissive moan induced me to squeeze and rub her firm tit more forcefully.

Viva la revolucion!

The temptation was too much: I moved closer and nudged her bicep with my raging wood.

"It's the one with them ... uunnngg ..."

I was so hard it hurt, and I couldn't stifle a grunt when my cock pressed into her bare shoulder.

"... fucking on the beach."

Tit for tat.

My tat bumped with need.

She submissively maintained her bent-at-the-waist posture while I squeezed her tit, rolled her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and slowly humped her arm to the same syncopated rhythm.

Her soft moans amplified that resonance.

Inspector Akston, Doctor Akston, was ready to upgrade his tit rating. I couldn't think of words, but my fingers have their own Braille tit rating system. My fingers have never rated any better tits.

Although she held the magazine, her eyes continued to look up at me. When she finally unlocked our eye contact, it was not to look at the magazine.

She turned her head to look at my throb gently bouncing against her shoulder just inches away. She flipped her hair and smiled.

Playing doctor.

Examination room.

The slight repositioning necessary for Charna to accomplish her task was another tease. Her mouth was so close to my throb that I thought she was going to kiss it.

To my chagrin, she used her lips another way: she spoke.

"Ooohh god no ... don't ... aahh that's so ... nasty."

I retreated with the words ‘no' and ‘don't', but I wasn't convinced she meant them.

She held the magazine as she stood. Her eyes still focused on my boner while my eyes refocused on her tits. I thought about untying the bow holding her halter up so I could see her topless, but the risk/reward ratio was too high. It didn't take any imagination to know how she would look topless anyway.

"You have beautiful tits Charna. Your nipples are very sensitive."

I got the feeling she liked this by her sharp intake of breath, her only audible response, so I pushed further.

"I can smell you. Your pussy must be very wet."

Eau de pussy overwhelmed the hint of perfume. It was a powerful fragrance.

She did say she liked the dirty words.

Her eyes finally met mine. She flipped her hair but didn't smile this time.

"Ooohhh god I am - it is."

I crouched low enough to see under her skirt but that wasn't my intent.

"Squat down here with me."

I grabbed her hand and lightly pushed the back of her knee. Her knees bent quickly and eagerly. Our heads were below the top of the racks, so we were invisible to everyone except the sardine-packed school at the ends of the row.

Poor Einstein.

Another wiping.

I looked down and, despite her knees pointing toward the magazines on the rack, she was flashing her shimmering gray panties - flashing them, drawing attention like the flashing red light on a fire engine. The contrast between her shiny red skirt and her gray satin panties was striking.

I ripped the seal off the magazine and opened it to an arbitrary page.

"His cock is in her pussy. Do you like that?"

"Mmmm I do like cock ... in my pussy."

Her voice was so monotone, so robotic, that she sounded almost under a spell.

It could have been her mantra.

I ignored the fact that she didn't answer my question. Her response was much more primal.

I touched the inside of her thigh, then turned to look her in the eye. She looked up from the magazine as if she could feel my eyes on her. As soon as she caught my eye, I started spreading her legs by gently pulling her knee toward me.

As I tugged I dropped my eyes to her panties again. The outline of the two browser-fee-change quarters that she deposited in her tight knickers was next to the even larger outline delineated by the moisture she deposited in them.

She was soaked and I could see her pussy gently and rhythmically contracting.

I loved her scent, and I breathed in deeply to capture its essence.

I knew she was still watching me; my nostrils flared as I savored Chanel Number Cunt.

"You smell wonderful Charna."

I slowly slid my hand up her thigh, and if anything she spread herself even further. I touched the mixture of gray satin and pussy juice before slipping my finger under the elastic guarding her twat.

Her natural pelt was sparse and silky, and I could feel the slipperiness between the individual hairs before I slid my finger smoothly all the way into her channel.

Playing my favorite type of doctor: gynecologist.

Viva la revolucion!

Her lubrication system was as perfect as everything else about her - to say she was well oiled is inadequate.

"Ooohh god ... aaahhh nooo. Don't ... ooohh nooo ... don't ... you have your finger ... ooohh god you're fingering me. This is sooo nasty ... ooohhh."

This time I ignored her ‘no's' and ‘don'ts'.

She didn't mean them.

"So do you like that magazine Charna? There must be twenty people watching them fuck."

I kept my rhythm slow and deep.

"Mmm ... ooohhh god Kirk ... she knows they are watching ... watching him fuck her ... seeing his cock in her cunt. I think she likes it, don't you?"

"I do and I think you would too."

I drove my finger harder, faster to focus her thoughts.

She turned the page.

"You know there are men watching me finger fuck you right now?"

My tugging and her eager participation repositioned her legs so her spread faced a dozen or so fish-eyed students squished together at the end of the narrow aisle. They were studying her panties, trying to see through them, under them - to see what my finger was obviously probing.

"I know ... ooohh god ... they've been watching me since I came in."

"They want to see more, don't you think?"

I placed her hand on my cock. Her fingers squeezed me through my pants.

"Ooohh god Kirk. You're so hard ... ooohh god oohh finger me ... ooohh ... oohhh god those men can they? ... aaahh yes ... they can see me."

"They know my finger is in your pussy. Is this what you meant when you said you liked it in public Charna? Do you like it when dirty old men see you like this?"

"Ooohh god ... I don't know ... this is the first time ... ooohh yes ... aaahhh."

There was unmistakable bliss in her moans, and each time I thrust inward her moan was louder and more protracted.

Each inward thrust also engendered a squeeze. Her hand explored from my balls to the sensitive head, grasping and stroking as best she could through my pants. Her thumb massaged leaking precum into a visible spot at the tip of my throb.

"I think you do ... I think you like it a lot. Flash your tits. Play with your tits for them."

I watched as she slowly pushed her halter up and pinched each nipple between her thumb and forefinger. She tossed her hair before her eyes focused on the eyes of the men at the end of the aisle - no more feigned indifference.

"Mmmm ... oohhh ... yesss ... ooohhh god."

Her hands, my fingers, intense eyes, and my words pushed her closer and closer.

You can get a finger in a pussy with the panties still there, but it is difficult to finger fuck well with them on. This beautiful girl was letting me do whatever I wanted, so why not?

"They want to see your pussy. Stand up for a second."

So compliant, so amenable; as she straightened her legs I slid her knickers down.

The two quarters she ensconced in her panties fell out and hit the floor rolling. The sound of change hitting the floor usually turns all heads but not this time. None of her students' eyes followed the rolling coins.

Before she was fully unbent, her panties were around her ankles and she was on her way back to her spread squat.

She held her pose for 15 seconds or so - halter still loosely bunched above her tits, panties around her ankles. Nobody moved and the room was eerily silent.

Her eyes darted from eye to eye, watching her pupils' eyes with her eye's pupils to insure each student was observing, focusing, concentrating, comprehending this teacher demonstration.

Not to worry.

She was, as I suspected, a natural blonde. Her pubic hair was as white as the hair on her head and so silky and sparse that I - we - could easily see her cunt lips and her clit. Her tan was as even and complete around her pussy as it was everywhere else.

"Balance on me. I need to slip your foot through."

She held my arm as I lifted her left leg enough to slip her panties over her left heel but her eyes never lost focus on the school. Every fish eye returned the favor.

She was able to move her feet apart so I just left her visibly wet panties where they were, hanging on her right ankle.

It was more visually erotic than taking them off.

Plus half of the school, the fish behind her, knew what the other half was seeing.

I slipped my finger back in. Aahh - much better.

"Can they see your cunt now Charna? Can they see me finger fucking you?"

"Mmm ... yess ... god yes ... they can ... mmm yes ... they can see it."

"What is it they can see?"

"They can see my ... ooh god yes ... they can see my cunt."

No more no's. No more don'ts.

Her hands drifted back to her tits without my directive.

"That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

"Ooohh god ... yes ... mmmm."

"I don't want to just finger fuck you. I want to fuck you. With this."

I lifted one of her hands from her tit and placed it back on my cock. She squeezed and stroked with as much familiarity as a girl can get with pants in the way.

"Do you want my hard cock inside you ... inside your wet cunt?"

Two doctors.

Simultaneous exams.

"Ooohhh god ... oohhh yes ... yes ... I want you to ... fuck me ... oooh god ... fuck me ... with your hard cock ...ooohh yes ... fuck my cunt."

My finger moved with purpose, with a definite goal.

"Ooohh god ... aahh that's it ... yes."

I varied my finger movements in an attempt to discover what felt best to her, to discover what she did when she masturbated.

"Mmmm ... like that ... ooohh god ... that's it."

Gentle pinching on her clit alternating with more forceful circular stroking around it was good for her.

"Ooohh god ... that feels so good ... just like that."

I drove two fingers in and moved my thumb to her clit. On each outstroke, my retreating fingers and my thumb pressured her clit from both sides. That did it.

"Ooohh god ... I'm coming ... aahh ... ohhh god ... yes ... oohhh ... fuck me now ... so good."

I was convinced it was more the words and the eyes than my fingers that lifted her, but her moans, sighs and admissions left no doubt she'd reached the ultimate human pleasure experience. Every fish in the school, every fish in the store knew it too - she was more vocal, more audible than any of my previous playmates and the volume increased linearly with her arousal.

I didn't want to reach the same experience without being inside her so I gently removed her hand from the front of my pants.

She reached for my belt buckle and I had to gently remove her hand again. She was ready - nay, she was more than ready, she was anxious - to let me fuck her in that aisle.

No way. I stood and helped her up.

There was a quarter-sized spot from precum on my pants. I wore it proudly.

"Take your magazine with you."

The handwritten, misspelled sign - ‘If you brake the seal, you pay for it' - indicated it was to be my gift to Charna.

I stood and helped her up, then held her gaze as I sucked the pussy juice from my fingers. I savored the unique flavor.

Pussy au jus I believe.

She was as tasty as she smelled - and looked - and sounded - and felt.

She was a sensory smorgasbord.

I checked my watch. 6:48. In the twenty-seven minutes since I first said hello, the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen had sexually excited all five of my senses; and I was just about to have my most powerful sense stimulated - the sense of feel in my cock.

Her tits were still uncovered and her knickers still hung from her right ankle when I put my arm around her waist and guided her toward the video arcade. The school at the other end of the aisle parted to let us through and I opted for the first available booth.

While I locked the door, the scurrying in the hall and in the booths next to ours was indicative of intense effort to get premium positions. After stuffing about 10 quarters in the machine, I turned to look at her.

"I want to see all of you Charna. Strip for me."

Again I realized she was following my eyes as I stared intently at her body. She shook her hair again and then untied her halter and let it fall to the floor. Five seconds tops. She unhooked her skirt and let it drop. Maybe five seconds more.

Her panties were still hooked around her right ankle but she didn't just kick them off. She used them to tease me further. She shook her right foot enough to enable the leg hole to slip past the spike on her heel, and then kicked her panties to me.

I caught them and immediately held the slick satin under my nose. As she sat down on the wooden bench to carefully slip off her high heels, I watched and smelled her beauty.

She was naked within thirty seconds after I requested it.

I was still fully dressed.

She followed directions beautifully - stripped to her meant nothing touching any part of her body.

That was unacceptable.

I was known as the dumb-fuck marine who volunteered for dangerous missions, so I did it again.

"Spread your legs and touch yourself. There's fucking on the video."

Almost as if she was a puppet on a string, her eyes shifted to the monitor, her legs separated and her hands honed in on her interesting parts.

"Ooohhh god ... he's fucking her in the backyard."

It was dumb luck that the video matched her fantasy. Her legs spread further and hit moisture.

"A wet spot ... aahh ... I bet a guy just came here ... ooohh god I love it."

She moved over six inches to sit on it. Most girls I know, even the nastiest, disliked sitting or laying on the wet spot. This beautiful girl reveled in it.

"I'm so turned on - can you see it? ... Mmmm you can ... you're watching my finger in my pussy ... oohh hurry Kirk ... oooh that feels so good."

I loved her sexuality. Perhaps she was a woman as perverted and pornographic as I was. Another push was in order.

"I'm not the only one watching your finger in your pussy. Can you see an eyeball through the hole in the wall here?"

I pointed to a large glory hole next to me.

She flinched, probably from surprise, and then squinted as she stared intently at the wall.

"I don't know."

If anything, the intensity with which she was masturbating increased.

"There are men at each of these holes, Charna."

I pointed to another one close to where she sat.

"Guys, put your hands through the holes."

Sure enough, two hands emerged, including one that was no more than a foot from Charna's ass. She smiled and spread even further.

There was no doubt that her finger was slipping in and out of her spread pussy at a higher frequency now. She loved the audience.

I was finally as naked as she was and it was gratifying to see the glint of desire in her eyes as they focused on my cock. She didn't even notice as the hands retreated.

"You are beautiful Charna. I love seeing your body. So do they. Let me sit there. You get on top."

She stood, tossed her hair, and then slowly spun to display every inch of her naked beauty to her hidden admirers. She looked at my cock again, and then locked eyes with me before she spoke.

"I love how you look at me ... I loved it from the minute I walked in the store."

It was her first indication that she knew I was watching her as she tortured, then wiped Einstein the asshole. I wondered if part of her exhibition was to tease me, to lure me, not just to give Mr. Genius blue balls.

"God you're so big Kirk ... and so hard. I don't know if I can ... I've never tried one that big. Will it fit?"

"It will. You'll like it."

I bunched my pants on one side of me on the bench and my shirt on the other side, then patted them indicating she should put her knees on them to straddle me.

My throb bobbed against my abdomen with each pulse of my heart, and even before her pussy was fully nestled against it we were locked in a juicy French kiss. She liked the fluids from kissing as much as I did.

I wondered whether she liked the other fluids from sex as well.

I was not gentle with her nipples and the way she pushed her chest into my hands left no doubt that I could have been even rougher. She moved constantly and her pussy lips kept my cock squashed against me as she slid back and forth.

Her moans and pants as she kissed me induced an oxygen deficit that finally forced her to break the kiss. She sat up to watch my hands on her tits and then looked at me.

"Ooohh you're so hard ... oohhh god I want it ... inside me."

She reached down between us to align my cock before she controlled her drop enough to seat it just inside the entrance to Valhalla.

To Vulvahalla.

To Vaginahalla.

She dropped further. "Uunngg ... ooohh ... I'm taking it ... you're inside me ... oohhhh god ... it hurts ... oohhh don't ... no."

Another ‘don't'. Another ‘no'.

This time I didn't care if she meant them.

This was primal instinct territory.

I held her waist to keep her from moving as she adjusted to my girth. My cock is just slightly longer than average but it is so fat many girls have trouble. The pregnant pause lasted at least half a minute. Neither of us spoke as we looked and waited for her to dilate.

During the pause I noted that, if I let my fingers just touch in back, my thumbs were barely an inch apart in front. I knew if I squeezed just a bit that my hands could span her waist; somehow there was symmetry between her trying to squeeze me inside her tight box and me trying to squeeze her inside my hands. After just a few seconds of contemplation ...

I squeezed.

Thumbs touched.

She fit inside.

Finally, "God ... am I being stretched? ... mmmm ... let me try."

I slackened my hold, but left my hands on her waist. She lifted and dropped with short strokes, each of which drove me slightly further inside. Finally, after a few dozen slow mini-thrusts ...

She squeezed.

Pubes touched.

I fit inside.

Playing doctor.

The doctor is in.

The doctor is out.

And in ... and out ... and in ...

"Ooohh yes ... aahh ... all the way inside me. Mmmmm my cunt is so full ... I love it ... ooohh god."

All five of my senses were acutely engaged.

Watching the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen get and give pleasure while riding my cock was enthralling, and I couldn't unglue my eyes from her perfect body.

Listening to the detectable pleasure in her voice, whether the sounds were intelligible or not, enhanced my pleasure.

Smelling the pungency of her pussy and the lingering aftertaste of her cunt nectar stimulated the deepest, most primal area of my brain.

I watched, listened, smelled, and tasted her, but mostly I let the feeling in my cock transport me. The fifth sense, the sense of touch, was by far the dominant one as she straddled and rhythmically slid ever faster on my pole.

"That's it ... ooohhh it feels so good ... ooohhhh god ... that's it ... feel my tits ... mmmm ... yesss ... oohhh pinch my nipples ... harder ... yesss."

I bent forward to suck her left nipple.

"Mmmm ... yesss ... aahh suck it ... mmmmm ... yesss ... suck it ... bite my nipple hard ... oohhh god yes."

Even the smell and taste of the perspiration on her tits was arousing. Her Grade AAA, Premium Select, Prime Choice, succulent and very responsive tits.

Somebody tried the door, undoubtedly because her rant was so audible and so nearly irresistible. I was sure every fish in her school was impatiently waiting in the hall for a personal conference with their teacher.

I was sure the male members of her school wore erections.

Or should it be her school's male members were erect?

And she did conference with male members wearing erections.

She smiled at me to acknowledge that she too knew they were waiting, but she never stopped moving her slippery cunt - up and down, in and out, visible and hidden.

I continually looked down between us at her active pussy. It was drenched around the entire area and stretched by my cock sawing in and out. The plane of her cunt was rotated to provide the best view as well as the deepest penetration.

Watching my cock plunge into her gorgeous cunt was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

Watching my cock plunge into her gorgeous cunt is still the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.

She stimulated all my sense organs and the motion enhanced my sense of feel, as usual, as she pumped me toward orgasm, but there was an unusual added stimulation from the pressure. She squeezed her cunt on each down stroke with such force that it felt like entering for the first time, every time.

Campaign slogan for a whorehouse?

"Ooohh god ... they want to watch don't they? ... mmmm ... it feels so good ... your cock ... so big ... so good ... fuck me ... ooohhh god ... fuck me."

She intentionally spoke loud enough for the school, for her audience in the hall. The extent of her verbalization during intercourse was new to me and it qualitatively heightened my pleasure.

My eyes never left her body but I could feel her eyes on my face. She was getting very close again. So was I.

I lifted my gaze to see how she would respond.

"They want to do more than watch."

Her expression was a combination of surprise and disgust. A gangbang was not in her fantasy. I knew what was.

"You know they want to watch ... they want to watch your cunt ... they want to watch my cock fuck it."

"Mmmm ... oohh god ... ooohh yes."

"Is that what you want Charna? ... Other people watching somebody fuck you? ... Like the girl in the magazine?"

Her expression didn't convey surprise or disgust - this time it was guilt. She looked at me as if she'd been caught, a deer in the headlights, but my question must have excited her.

"Yes ... oohhhh ... yes ... ooohhhhh ... I want them to see ... mmmm."

"The men in the other booths can see you."

It would have to be enough. There wasn't any way I was going to unlock the door so the school could watch this teacher demonstration. I have no interest in fucking in front of an audience.

Plus, if you want the prime example of a recipe for disaster, look no further. Who knows what would happen, mob mentality being what it is.

Fortunately, glory hole eyes were enough.

"Ooohhh god ... they can ... mmmmm ... oohh god ... I'm going to come."

She was immediately transported. She leaned in to kiss again as she moaned through a cramping, squeezing, clutching, clenching orgasm.

Hers triggered mine.

Viva!

Viva!

Viva la revolucion!

It was one of the most memorable orgasms of my life, and my contractions were intensely pleasurable and powerful. My semen filled the end of her cunt; my cock was the plug that prevented it from escaping.

The kiss continued well past the end of my orgasm but I was still relishing the feeling when she broke it.

"Mmmm you shot so hard ... I'm glad I'm on the pill. God I love the way you fuck me Kirk ... I love your cock ... it's so big. That was a ... ooohhh god ... that was great ... the best fuck ever."

In my stupor, I just nodded as I basked in the memory. I've never agreed with an assessment of any experience more.

My habit resurfaced: 7:21.

Exactly one hour since my first single step toward her.

She is still the best piece of ass in my life.

She is still the prettiest girl I've ever fucked.

She is still the prettiest girl I've ever seen.

She is still the best time I've ever spent.

Speaking of which.

"What time is it?"

"7:21".

"Shit. I've got to go. My date's supposed to pick me up at 8:00."

An audible pop indicated the partial vacuum at the end of her cunt was quickly repressurized as we uncoupled. She looked down at my deflating cock.

She dropped to her knees but her reason had nothing to do with picking up her carelessly discarded clothes.

There was no hesitation: she liked the other fluids from sex. Semen and pussy au jus coated my wilting cock as she vacuumed it into her mouth, a mouth that was suddenly rivaling her eyes as my favorite facial feature.

Her eyes dwelt on mine as she kissed and sucked just long enough to reverse the direction of blood flow. The second audible pop in a minute again indicated my cock was being released from suction (suck-tion).

Shit.

"Mmmm ... if I only had time."

Amen.

She found her clothes, all except the panties. I dangled them in front of her.

"Get dressed and grab the magazine. I'll pay for it and you can take it with you. I'll keep your panties in trade."

It was a tight booth to dress simultaneously, especially considering that two hard cocks sticking through holes in the wall took up some of the space, but we managed.

We had to squeeze through the school in the hall to get out, and since none of her students said or did anything to insult her, I decided every fish in her school deserved extra credit. As we walked toward the counter, I lifted her skirt and squeezed her fine bare ass.

She glanced back to insure her pupils' eyes were watching the fine bare ass I was exhibiting. She also flipped her hair and smiled.

Like the eyes of a lapdog continually tracking his master, there was only one object in her students' field of view.

Tunnel vision with blinders.

Like a true school of fish, they moved as one entity. We stopped. So did they.

When I handed Einstein the magazine, my browsing-fee receipt, and a ten, she stopped me.

"I have a receipt too."

She aligned her class ass with her class, with her school, before bending, straight legged and wide spread, to search for it. The school bent as well - not as far nor with any intent to tease. Their bending enhanced the view of their subject area's stretched cunt, highlighted by leaking semen.

It was the final teacher demonstration.

She slowly fetched the receipt that was still miraculously inside her shoe.

Because Charna intentionally entertained her school in a direction that left gawking Albert out, his natural bitterness quickly emerged.

"Can't use both receipts on the same purchase."

His smugness made me want to deck him.

Charna's punch was more cerebral. And effective.

She fished inside my sports jacket pocket to fetch her panties, and then placed both the receipt and panties on the counter.

"I'll never come back then ... without these."

Einstein caved.

"I'm not supposed to but ... "

He subtracted 50 cents from the purchase price and handed me my change before handing her two quarters.

What the hell was he doing? He wasn't supposed to refund her browsing fee, just deduct it from a purchase. Her look as he handed her the coins clearly conveyed the message: ‘You're an idiot'.

There was another message in her look: ‘Where am I going to put these?'

After all, Einstein watched her put the quarters in her panties when she paid her browsing fee, but her satin gray knickers sat on the counter just a couple feet in front of his nose. I saw him sniff Eau de Charna as she snatched them off the counter.

The ‘I just answered that very question five seconds ago' icy stare is one we all recognize. Teacher's glare is what we called it, and it was the most effective tool on both inattentive and smart-ass students when they asked redundant questions.

She pointedly handed the quarters to me as her teacher's glare froze the brainiac.

Our gawking genius finally looked embarrassed.

Her panties on the counter had served several purposes: the unanticipated one, the teacher look of disbelief that Charna's face expressed when he handed her the quarters; the obvious one, the scent of pussy to wipe the smirk off the asshole's face; and the primary one, the reason she placed them there: she wanted Mr. IQ to know that every fish in the school saw her cunt - every fish except him.

"... please come back."

The panties were back in my pocket and our backs turned as Einstein begged. My hand on her fine bare ass exacerbated his misery.

Asshole rewiped, I fondled as she led her store-emptying school out the door toward her car. I stopped to halt the procession of piranha before it turned into a feeding frenzy.

"Show's over guys. Go home."

We faced them down until most of them headed back inside and the rest scattered toward cars parked on the street. My senses switched from focus on pleasure to focus on the environment. I still had angst as I escorted her toward her car, but Charna apparently didn't share it with me. She was still bubbly as she fetched the key to her new Jeep from its magnetic hiding place.

The door I held and the dripping snatch she smilingly flashed were both still open as I leaned in to kiss and finger her. She handed me a business card - an eighteen year old with a business card - with her name, Charna Galt, and her phone number on it. Nothing else. She shook her hair and smiled, and then sped away.

Did I call her the next day?

Does Hugh Hefner like pussy?

I reminisced while I punched numbers on my phone. Although I was in the prime of life shaking pleasure's hand often, I couldn't squeeze a more memorable pleasure out of my brain than Charna and I couldn't seem to squeeze anything else in there either. She was young, beautiful, smart and my god did she love sex.

I was a fervent torch-bearer in the free-love movement and Denver was a great city to discover girls carrying the same flame. The phone of the girl toting the torch highest was ringing.

Viva la revolucion!

"Hello."

I recognized her voice immediately.

"Charna, this is Kirk."

"Ooohhh I'm so glad you called. I had so much fun yesterday."

"I was wondering if you want to ‘do it' again."

"Anytime, sailor, anyplace."

I knew she meant it. The more public the time and place, the more it matched her fantasy.

"How about next Friday about six? We can get dinner and then have some fun."

Her fantasy wasn't mine. I like to fuck in private but I didn't want to spoil her yearn.

"I'll be ready. Let me give you directions..."

After the good news, there's always bad.

It's one of those laws Mr. Murphy discovered.

"I told my parents about you. They are so anxious to meet you."

"I hope you didn't tell them everything."

My jesting tone stressed the word ‘everything', meaning of course that I understood the sexual part of what we did (which was almost all we did) was not something daughters shared with parents.

"Pretty much."

"I don't think it would be a good idea for me to meet them then."

She giggled. I wondered if she tossed her hair.

"Don't worry - they're cool. You don't have any choice anyway. They'll be here when you pick me up. My dad won't let me go out with any boy - well, I guess you're not a boy are you? Anyway, he has to meet my dates first."

"You still live at home?"

It was as much statement as question.

Well, shit.

What a bummer.

I dated strippers. The parents of strippers weren't involved in the dating activities of their daughters.

I've never met the parents of a stripper.

I was almost thirty. Meeting parents had been a huge drag in high school; now I was being asked to undergo a Leave It to Beaver ritual that I thought was safely tucked into my gratefully extinct file. It was an archaic tradition worth avoiding at almost any cost.

Besides, I couldn't imagine any parents ignoring our eleven-year age and maturity gap, especially parents whose daughter still lived at home.

What was worse, if I interpreted her correctly, her parents knew my hard woodpecker had already poked the most interesting cavity in their daughter's trunk.

Despite the guarantee (eating - both ways - then fucking), her breathtaking beauty, and her passion, I thought about calling to cancel.

My gut said ‘Don't go'.

I'm a Marine. We keep our word. Semper Fi.

I went.

It's still the best conscience decision I've ever made.

Charna must have been waiting just inside the front door when I rang the doorbell. The chimes were still sounding when she attacked, and her open-mouthed kiss and sexual embrace were still in progress when her parents walked into the entry hall.

"Ahem".

Shit. Her dad.

"Save that for later, Charna. Please introduce us."

She slowly released her embrace, but not before a parting grind against my rising cock. She smiled at her dad.

"Daddy, this is Kirk." She looked at me. "I don't know your last name."

"Akston".

I held out my hand.

"Kirk Akston. That's a lot of K's."

He laughed as he shook my hand.

"Charles Galt, but if you don't call me Chuck, I'll ... hmmm ... I'll ground my daughter." He paused. "Ground Chuck? I like it."

He laughed. His booming laughter was contagious. I couldn't help but smile.

"And this is my wife, Gina."

I stuck out my hand but she slapped it away.

"The girls in this family don't shake hands, Kirk."

She smiled as she leaned in to kiss me on the lips. She looked at her daughter.

"Isn't that right Charna?"

Charna giggled and, of course, tossed her hair.

Her parents were both only 36 when I started dating Charna, closer to my age than hers. I liked them both immediately.

Her mom was pure nice, not a mean gene in her pool, and hot. It was clear where Charna got her beautiful body: Gina chromosomes.

Her father was an ex-Marine - Semper Fi - like I was, but he served when Nam was ramping up and he never left the States. He could have been their poster model: big, tough, rough, ready, and proud. His genial and extroverted nature warmed the room, and I felt welcome at once.

As odd as it probably sounds, if it weren't for their hot daughter, that first meeting would have been 100% pleasant. Aside from the frontal assault when she opened the door (hell, she was a marine's daughter), part of which her parents witnessed, Charna hung on my arm, casually but overtly rubbing her tits all over it, while I talked to her parents.

Most proofs distinguish between necessary and sufficient conditions. To prove that her tits were distracting required a third condition: primal instinct. I unsuccessfully fought to keep my dick from rising in response to her foreplay. As if you wouldn't know, concentrating on a conversation with parents while wearing an erection is difficult.

Concentrating on a conference with their daughter, the teacher and subject for a school of fish, while wearing an erection?

Different story.

Been there, done that.

I was distracted and I'm sure her parents knew the reason, but the most interesting aspect about her teasing distraction was the way Chuck and Gina reacted.

They didn't.

There was no indication from either of them that Charna's obviously sexual caresses were unusual or unacceptable. There was also no indication that my intermittent hearing and train-of-thought losses were inexplicable.

I was uncomfortable, but it was a different kind of uncomfortable than the one stuck in my gray matter. The discomfort I recall was due to grilling from fathers whose main interest was to protect their daughters from sexual predators like me.

That grilling didn't work. Their little girls were as eager to be my prey as I was to predate, and daddy's admonition was usually wasted breath.

Charna's parents didn't grill me. We spoke as equals, as adults, and the conversation was just that - conversation. It wasn't an interview to keep me away from their daughter's interesting parts.

We actually got to know each other while they watched and I felt two of their daughter's interesting bits rub on my arm. Excited, visibly erect nipples punctuated her - ahem, lest you've forgotten Inspector Akston's last rating from both visual and tactile sensors - medium-sized, tight, firm, beautifully formed, Grade AAA, Premium Select, Prime Choice tits.

Charles (Char) and Gina (na) - I guess they didn't like Chuna for Chuck and Gina - only had one child, so you might expect overprotective parents.

Obviously they weren't, at least insofar as sex was concerned.

In fact, they couldn't have been more explicit.

"What are you two going to do tonight, Kirk?"

It was an innocent sounding question from Charna's mom, but my radar detector beeped. It sounded just like the questions I used to get in high school.

"We're going to eat first. Have you ever been to the Holly Inn Charna?"

"Mmmm ... lots of times. It's one of my favorites."

"We go there at least once a month Kirk. So then what are you going to do?"

I wondered where Gina was going with this line of questioning. Marines don't lie. Semper Fi.

"We're going to my apartment."

"To watch TV I suppose?"

Gina was smiling as she spoke. I felt more comfortable.

"No. We don't own a TV."

"Mom, we all know why we're going there."

"It's ok Kirk."

Chuck's words were interspersed with a chuckle and grin. They instantaneously alleviated my anxiety.

Viva la Revolucion!

Gina chimed in.

"We decided to allow Charna to find out about sex when she was ready regardless of age. We only gave her one bit of advice, didn't we Charna?"

"I never forget it either, do I mom?"

She pulled my head down to whisper in my ear.

"Birth control pills."

Chuck let the kitty out of the bag about a topic I wondered about when I saw her drive away from Kitty's just 23 minutes before her scheduled date.

"Kirk, you kept Charna so long that her date was waiting when she got home. She wanted to shower but I wouldn't let her - we keep appointments in this family."

I wondered if he knew he was sending his daughter out with a pussy full of come and no panties.

"Sorry. I hate making people wait on me. I'll make sure Charna's home on time tonight."

"She doesn't have a curfew."

He smiled. I smiled back until his next words sunk in.

"I didn't find out until this morning that you had her panties."

So he knew his daughter's kitty was out of the bag, so to speak, when she came home.

I still had the bag: her panties. I planned to have the kitty too.

"It was sort of a trade."

"That's what she said. For a magazine?"

"Yes."

He turned to look at Charna, and then teased her.

"I'll bet it didn't take Ben until this morning to find out somebody else had your panties, did it Charna?"

"No, dad. He knew it when he opened the door to let me in his car."

Her tone was playful as she smiled at her dad.

"That's my girl."

Her eyes found mine.

"Ben's not as good as you."

We all knew what she meant.

I wondered if I was going to see what Ben saw when I opened my car door to let her in.

"We better make sure. You shouldn't make decisions based on a single sample."

I teased back. As I looked around I saw nothing but smiles.

By the time Charna and I walked out the front door after three quarters of an hour with her parents - actually 47 minutes later or at 6:43 according to my habit - there was a real beginning to a friendship that was independent of their daughter. It was easy to see why Chuck was a very successful homebuilder and why their marriage was as successful as his business.

And I was fully in favor of their parenting technique.

Duh.

Our first real date started when I discovered she didn't have any panties to trade. One foot was still on the curb while her other foot on the car's floor provided a lingering view of her wet kitty. The exposure and innuendo continued through dinner, and she participated eagerly as I first fingered her and then totally stripped her in the car before the drive to my apartment.

Her eager participation led to a sex marathon - she was anxious to try any and all positions, including sixty-nine, and she never dried up during the entire aerobic endurance fuckfest. Charna called home at midnight to confirm my phone number and to say she was spending the night.

She was intelligent, funny, honest, and committed - the daughter of a Marine. I was even more enamored after the tremendously exciting sex that night, and not just because she was a fuck-bunny.

Not even just because she topped my fuck-bunny list.

I called for a second date. She answered.

I kept calling. She kept answering.

Did I quit teaching my ABC's in strip joints?

Did she quit answering anybody else's calls?

Did Hugh Hefner quit liking girls?

Hell no. I kept teaching, she kept dating, and Hugh still liked playmates. We both knew what that meant: teaching and chasing, answering and dating, and liking and playing were synonyms for fucking.

Did that diminish our attraction for each other? Not even a smidgen. In fact, it did exactly the opposite.

My fascination with Charna kept growing.

As our dates became more frequent, Charna started to spend entire weekends at my apartment. My best friends and I are inveterate hobbyists, and while we piddled, Charna studied. She was in the spring semester of her senior year in high school with tough AP physics and calculus tests looming.

I was able to help when she got stuck on a problem, and of course I was there to insure she got stuck on a different problem frequently -my handy, randy prick was the problem she needed to get stuck on, by, and with. How's that for ending a sentence with three different prepositions? My English teachers would cringe.

Gina frequently called her daughter at my apartment, including one time while she was stuck again - by my different problem. My roommate was out of town for the weekend so we were on the couch when the phone rang.

I'm still not sure why she answered it since she knew most of the calls were from girls chasing my roommate. I could only hear Charna's side of the conversation, but when I tried to stop screwing her, she shot eye-darts at me.

"Hello".

"Hi Mom".

"Ooohh ... Okay. What time?"

"Okay ... seven ... Where?

"Mmmm ... okay, I'll ask ... Honey, can we go to dinner with Mom and Dad tomorrow ... ooohhh yes ... at the Blue Goose at seven?" I nodded. "Okay Mom ... we'll be there ... ooohhh god."

"Oohhh yes ... is that bad to talk to you while we do it?"

"Oohhh yes ... he's great ... unngh ...god Sarge that feels good."

Talk about not hiding anything from your mom.

"Unnggh-huh ... god ... he's big ... mmmmm ... Mom I love it inside me."

Sure it was weird. Not necessarily bad, just weird. I'm so perverted that it didn't diminish my lust for fucking her at all. In fact, the weirdness was exciting. I was glad her mom knew I was big, but her roving eye had already caught me hard so many times that I was sure she already knew.

"Mmmmm ... no he can go again right away ... ooohhh honey I'm getting close ... oohhh god."

"No ... no jealousy ... unngghh ... fuck me honey ... he likes my clothes."

Fuck me honey? She was providing verbal voyeurism for her mom in the rawest possible language.

"Mmmm ... he doesn't care ... oohhh god Sarge ... fuck me ... I love your fat cock ... my Mom thinks you might get jealous ... ooohh I'm almost there ... she thinks it bothers you when I date other guys ... when I let them ... well, when I let them see me naked ... and when I let them ... do me."

I couldn't help it. Her mom couldn't have been further from the truth. I loved it when she showed off; and when the words ‘let them see me naked' came out of her mouth, I exploded. My brain was filled with images of her dates seeing (and touching and filling) her other most interesting body part.

"Ooohh god ... oohhh Mom he just shot in me ... mmmm I'm going to come too ... ooohh god ... ooohh ... yessss ... oohhh god ... yessss."

Even in my orgasmic stupor, I wondered. What was Gina doing as she listened?

It was the first admission by either of us that her exhibitionism was exciting for both of us. I loved hearing Charna explain to her mom that we both liked her skimpy clothing.

I wondered how she knew, but in my subconscious I didn't really wonder: my eyes, my face, my expressions gave me away.

As I look back, I'm not sure why I didn't interrogate Charna then. Her verbal recollections eventually became as stimulating as the visual ones.

I should have guessed what lay hidden in my psyche. After all, I have always loved girls who show skin, which is why I chased and dated strippers so much. I loved watching them tease other men, both on the stage at the club and while out with me on a date.

Charna's everyday clothes always exposed abundant skin, and she was always aware of male eyes even when I was with her.

So was I.

We never spoke of it, but she knew I liked to watch her tease. We never spoke of this either, so I'm not absolutely sure it's true, but I think she teased even more when I was with her than when she was alone.

Charna knows her body so well that it is almost intuitive for her to place it in the most revealing position possible. It isn't as easy as it sounds because her exposure posturing has to be dependent on the location of the watching eyes. It isn't like being on a stage stripping.

Charna is a master at positioning for effect: bending just a little more and a little longer; crossing and uncrossing more often and more slowly; squatting lower and spreading wider. And all her positioning is directional, usually without her targeted voyeur ever realizing it was intentional. If it hadn't been for her attention-grabbing hair flip and impish smile every time she did it, I might have also believed it was unintentional.

On second thought, I still wouldn't have bought accidental. It was too slick.

I like to watch masters of their craft do their jobs.

Charna is a grandmaster.

And always I knew it wasn't enough. I knew what she wanted within the first fifteen minutes at Kitty's.

Charna wanted another layer, a showing while doing layer, a layer that included an audience, a layer that came, like her name, from her parents, from Charles (Chuck, dammit) and Gina. Char(les) + (Gi)na.

Her desire for me to take her to that next level, to the layer of sex in front of an audience, stemmed from the sex roles her parents assumed.

Chuck was almost primitive in his masculine aggression, but Gina willingly accommodated his assertiveness.

Chuck enjoyed touching his hot wife regardless of where they were or who was around, including Charna and me. If he was behind her, he reached around to feel her tits. Her ass cheeks got the same treatment from the front, with the added bonus of humping motions. Even when we were just in line to go somewhere Chuck would routinely cop a quick feel.

It wasn't just that Gina put up with his public groping either. She welcomed it.

Hell, she loved it.

When he grabbed her, she would stop talking and allow the pleasure center in her brain to take over while she submitted to whatever whim struck Chuck; she enjoyed letting him touch her as much as he wanted, wherever and whenever he wanted, for as long as he wanted.

When they kissed, regardless of who was watching, it was no chaste peck on the lips but rather an obvious sexual kiss with the exchange of tongues and mutual passion.

Charna and I followed their example and we became public kissers.

It's probably more accurate to say I became a public kisser. Charna's public displays of affection have a history.

Charna has an awful lot of her mother in her, and she wanted me to be as bold as her father. She probably had reason to expect it based on the first hour of our relationship, an hour during which I felt her up in front of an audience and fucked her while guys watched through glory holes.

I still regret that I couldn't continue what started in Kitty's - that I couldn't take her to that next level. I've tried many times to change, to become the aggressive, dominant man her dad is, but I've finally given up. Giving up is one of those character traits I detest, but exhibitionism is apparently even more detestable to my subconscious mind.

The conflict in my mind is odd because exhibitionism is at the top of those character choices that I most desire in women. The beautiful gender has the option to flaunt or not to flaunt as a method to attract men; but the ‘not to flaunt' - the ‘demure and proper' - girls can find other guys. I don't just like any slut; my sluts must be obvious and blatant exhibitionists, sluts who advertise and flaunt their easy availability.

It was obvious that the entire Galt family was preoccupied with exhibitionism and with sex in general, so why wouldn't I, as the king of voyeurs and the most sexually fascinated person in history, love them?

I wasn't the aggressor Charna wanted in front of her parents; but in keeping with my desire to please her, when we weren't around them I became more aggressive, more like the man she wanted. Note that I said more like, not that I became the sexually dominant man she wanted.

Before I met Charna, my party dates were strippers, girls who like the hunger in male eyes, and my friends enjoyed the exposure my dates provided. It stopped at exposed skin, however, because I was never comfortable with public groping, although I guessed that many of the girls I dated would have loved it.

As usual, leering eyes from all my friends greeted Charna on my first party date with her. Other than her extraordinary beauty, they had no reason to suspect she wasn't another stripper, especially considering the visible skin they saw.

At that first party, my friends initially tried to hide the fact that they were watching me covertly fondle her tits and her ass, something I'd never done before; but by the end of the party their voyeurism evolved into open appreciation, which was the norm at every party thereafter.

My fondling never went under clothes and I never touched her pussy, but my friends openly watched me do everything else that could be done under those constraints.

I did it for her.

Charna purred when I felt her up in public. She panted, she moaned, she cooed, she dripped. The further I pushed, the more she conceded. Charna was like her mom in that she willingly and blissfully acceded to any groping, probing, and stripping I desired.

She almost swooned from the pleasure when she knew other people were watching me touch her interesting parts, but she became especially aroused knowing my friends had their eyes on us. More specifically, knowing my friends had their eyes on her.

My roommate was her favorite voyeur.

My best friends are fellow engineers, and seven of us have been a close-knit group for about five years. Until I met Charna, we were all single and free to do what we wanted. Engineering classes at the University of Colorado brought us together, but it is our generic interest in avocations and hobbies that keeps us so close.

We all have good jobs, but our real interests aren't work related. We have all dabbled in robotics, rocketry, and photography. We can all hack reasonably well, write a decent program, and follow a schematic. We all work on our cars and fix things rather than throw them away. At least one of us can do some of the things we need occasionally such as machining, welding, and exacting carpentry.

The bottom line for all of us is that we all like to do things rather than stay home and sit around. During the week, we don't watch TV (in fact, we don't own one), attend sporting events, gamble, or spend our time talking about politics, philosophy, or religion.

Our weekend nights are different. We reserve them for unproductive play - for the highest priority pastime we all share: girls.

Because they all became important in Charna's life as well as mine, I need to tell you a little about my best friends.

Darrell and Tim are so much alike that the rest of us refer to them as "the Twins" - they like the same things, do the same things, and look alike. They are both blond and blue eyed, about 6'tall, and have mustaches. They design test equipment at another company, but my company writes the specifications and supplies all the calibration units. They don't need the money, but they work three Saturday nights a month as bartenders to ‘hook up with customers'.

What works incredibly well for them is teaming up on one woman - it's almost scripted when their comedy act gets rolling. Once the girl is convinced, and they rarely fail, their team concept continues right into bed. The rest of us rag on them by saying their two peckers are connected to the same brain. Like Dick and I, they are roommates in an upscale apartment building.

Walt is the biggest, most loyal friend ever and he's willing to do anything for anybody. He's strong as Atlas, never gets mad, never cusses, and he loves the music of the Beatles. He's the only one of us who owns a house; and when he hosts, we dance mostly to the Beatles. He incessantly drums with his fingers on any nearby object so, although he doesn't look or talk anything like his namesake, we call him Ringo.

Ringo customizes and installs expensive sound systems in exclusive homes, so he's also the only one of us who owns his own business. He was an honorable mention all Big Eight tight end and a three-year starter at CU. I'll never figure out women - he's such a great guy, but way too many women want to treat him like a brother. He's the first they call when they are in trouble but they don't offer to give it up to him in return - and he's too nice to ask.

Jerry is the funniest and most talkative among us, and since the rest of us aren't big talkers, he keeps us entertained. He's the manager of information systems (an ex-programmer following the path of Laurence Peter and his famous principle) at a "financial institution". He hates his job but makes more money than anyone else in our group. It's the same old story: job satisfaction or monetary reward. Why is it that they so infrequently occur together? He's also the shortest and has the foulest mouth, so we nicknamed him Capone. It's almost predictable that he and Ringo hang out together so much. Mutt and Jeff syndrome. Opposite poles. Etc.

Dick and I work for Don, the only black man in our group. Don's official title is Engineering Manager, but we call him ‘Boss' even when we aren't at work. Everybody else in our group picked up on it, so his nickname morphed from his job function.

Boss has a booming, deep, resonant voice, a quick wit, and the imposing presence needed to move to the top of the corporate ladder. He was a linebacker at CU but he never started and, by his own admission, he never felt like he belonged with the jocks. His business/engineering dual major was finished before his scholarship ran out, however, so he is one of the few athletes who spent their college years wisely.

The character trait we most respect is Boss's absolute honesty - he won't, as Mae West once remarked, ‘climb the ladder of success wrong by wrong'. He's just a year younger than I am, so he's the second oldest in our group. He's more serious about his job than the rest of us, so he sometimes spends weeknights and weekend days working in his office rather than on hobbies with the rest of us.

We always forgive him.

Both Dick and I manage several engineers, so we are Section Managers under Boss. In order for either of us to move up in our company, Boss will have to willingly go somewhere else. We both know he is so well respected - both by the engineers he manages and by the corporate suits he protects - that he's entrenched for as long as he wants. He's tenured.

All the guys in our group talk about and try to live the ‘incorrigible nonconformity' Einstein esteemed so highly. Odd, rare, unusual, eccentric, weird, and strange are just a few of the nicer adjectives others use to describe us. We value those adjectives and we use them on each other as blatant praise.

So whenever one of us does something unusual, the rest of us lather it on deep. ‘You must be flat weird to do something like that'; ‘You're about the most off-the-wall goofball in history'; ‘What the hell were you thinking, oddball?'

You get the idea. We encourage each other in our own unusual way to pursue offbeat interests, regardless of whether that area interests us or not.

Our weeknights are typically spent on our productive, if somewhat unusual, hobbies, but Friday and Saturday nights are for play. The other guys go on dates, so they see plenty of movies, ball games, and theater performances. I'm the only one who would rather start out hunting for girls ("Akston, you're weird"); but because I go after the sleaze, I don't go home alone too often. Most of our dates (and in my case, pick ups) end up at a club with a dance floor, but only Dick ends up at the same one every time: ‘My Brother's Bar'.

Somebody in our group has a party every other weekend and we sort of rotate, on an unofficial basis, being the host. Since the Twins work three Saturdays a month, at ‘My Brother's Bar' by the way, we always insure one of the parties is on the Saturday they are off and the other on a Friday.

Our parties usually have between fifteen and twenty-five people, and food, drink, and dancing are staples. Dick and I host a lot of them at our place and we go to most of the ones the other guys have.

Nobody drinks to excess but Jerry, who is the runt of our litter, has a wooden leg. He can put quite a bit away with no apparent change. Since I don't drink, by definition I drink the least.

You might be wondering why I didn't tell you anything about Dick when I described the rest of my friends.

Dick needs to be set apart because he is so unique.

Dick.

Set apart.

Uniquely.

In the six years we lived in the same places, I got to know everything about Dick and there is nobody on earth I respect more.

He is our unofficial but widely recognized leader - he's not only the smartest, he's also the most intrepid, the most gregarious, and the most assertive. He learns quickly and effortlessly and he can get almost anything done. He can charm the panties off almost any woman, and has therefore been able to get around rules, regulations, and red tape the rest of us find impassable.

I nicknamed him Slick within a few months after we met, partly because it rhymes with Dick but mainly because of the word's double meaning: nifty, as in ‘slick as a whistle'; and slippery, as in ‘oil slick'. Both meanings assisted him to get through almost any opening, whether bureaucratic or female. The first few times I saw him cut red tape or conquer a virgin, I was amazed. As I got to know him, I was only amazed when he didn't get what he wanted.

He gave me my nickname even before I gave him his. He called me Sarge because when we met I was a 22-year-old recently discharged Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant. Semper Fi.

He was a smart 17-year-old freshman when we competed for top scores in our introductory physics class at the University of Colorado. From the beginning we liked each other, and we roomed together the last three years of college. I majored in civil engineering, he in electrical engineering.

I did well in my classes, always at or near the top, but there was no doubt that he was smarter than I was.

He was Valedictorian of the Engineering School and always near the top in all his classes, including English, sociology, history, and all those other non-engineering classes; and he did it all so effortlessly.

There were no CE majors in my class who sailed through without a great deal of sweat, and it was generally conceded that double E's had a tougher schedule. Dick made the EE curriculum appear easy.

He only read stuff once to learn it; when he heard it in lecture he understood immediately; he remembered things from year to year; and he was uncanny at solving problems.

He could solve some of my difficult statics and dynamics problems without knowledge of the course, and he was the only one I knew who seemed to intuitively understand the physics, even the upper division classes.

Dick was also the only one in our group who didn't play a sport as one of his hobbies, and he didn't seem to think that being a good athlete was all that commendable. He's only 5'9" and about 150 pounds, but you only need to watch him jitterbug to see how coordinated he is.

Dick is the best dancer I've ever seen, including blacks and professionals. He has all the attributes: great rhythm, coordination, smooth flow, spontaneity, originality, muscle memory, interest, and he's a quick study. Dancing is his relaxation, his exercise, his sport.

He knows every dance, from the Muscrat Ramble and the Charleston Rag to the Samba, the Rumba, and the Tango to the Mashed Potatoes, the Limbo and the Freddy to the entire gamut of Disco Fever moves. My Brother's Bar has a jukebox with all the necessary music and Dick, in his typical bold way, controls it when he's there. He decides it all, including what selections get put inside the jukebox. I don't know how that happened, but I'm not surprised.

Dancing is his second favorite weekend hobby.

He is patient, encouraging, and funny as he teaches the different steps to his dates. The contact, the laughter, the common goal of dancing well together, and Dick's persistent suggestive whispers set them up.

By the end of the evening he's kissing and fondling so passionately, so openly, that every person watching knows the next new dance steps he's going to teach her: the Tube Steak Boogie; the Horizontal Hokey-Pokey; the Fuck-Like-a-Bunny Hop; the Jersey Stomp-Out-Virginity. He knows all these steps too.

Not only is he a great dancer and brilliant, he's also so incredibly handsome that the girls all talk about his looks first. I'm not very adept at picking which guys are on the top of the attractive-to-girls heap, but even I can tell that his face is male model handsome.

So my roommate is three-standard-deviations handsome, genius IQ level smart, and the best dancer I've ever seen. Who could ask for anything more?

As impressive as those credentials are, none of them really expose his core, his true inner self. The essence of Dick is his nerve, his mental courage, his willingness to state his mind, to expose cheaters and thieves, to stand tall against peer pressure and professorial injustice, to ignore public opinion when making decisions, to like being different, and most of all, to be unafraid to ask for what he wants.

Dick isn't bashful about asking for anything. If he wants it, he asks. His mantra: "I already have the ‘no' before I ask, so the worst thing that can happen is to come out even".

That's the mantra, but here's the real deal: when he asks, it is more than a request. He expects the answer he wants and he can turn cold when he gets a "no", despite his statement to the contrary.

Does he believe he comes out even when somebody says no?

Is Hugh Hefner a virgin?

The use of his mantra is even more pronounced on the girls he dates; they seem to intuitively understand that when he asks, it should be interpreted as much more than a request. If one considers General Eisenhower's decision to ask the entire Army to storm the beaches of Normandy on D-Day a request, then Dick makes requests.

His ‘request' for his dates to dress up for him is merely a ‘suggestion' that sexy clothes are always appropriate. We both like girls who show skin, although we fish in different ponds, and Dick is as obvious in his appreciation of both the revealing clothes and of what is revealed as I am.

He is a superb photographer, and all the girls he dates ‘permit' him to indulge. Most of his dates, his photogenic models, end up naked while he indulges. Even before he photographs them nude, he informs them that he is going to share their photos with his friends. Each shot he snaps induces him to ‘request' a naughtier pose. His comments like, "Sarge will love seeing you naked", or "Don will think you're hot when he sees your nude photos", only increase their willingness to do whatever he ‘requests'.

Photography is his third favorite hobby.

In college, he was in the darkroom of the art department several hours per week until he offered copies to some of the students if they would develop his photos. In addition to copies for his free labor force, he always makes copies for me and the other five guys in our close group.

Girls who posed for him were well aware that I knew every part of their anatomy from the photos he gave me and most of them knew the kind of girls I dated - strippers and sluts. It was an interesting dynamic to notice the response of each of his models when they were around me. Some appeared embarrassed but most were proud and even flirty.

You might have already guessed that Dick is the most successful cocksman I know. Despite all the positive attributes, girls are as shallow as guys and his looks get him inside more pussy than anything else. The girls all think he hung the moon because he is so handsome.

Speaking of hung, he is.

He only dates gorgeous girls and he invariably touches all the bases, including home.

Crossing home - scoring - is, of course, his favorite hobby.

He is especially good at sniffing out and then correcting the malady of virgins.

Our phone rings all the time and it is usually girls calling for him, the vast majority of them former girlfriends trying to hook up again.

Whatever Dick has is what they want.

He doesn't share my penchant for strip clubs and other "adult entertainment" but he does share my intense interest in beautiful women. He is also fond of nightlife, just under a different star system.

Before I reached commitment with Charna, I spent my weekends watching, reading about, talking to, and fucking the sleazy girls already in the ‘sex business'.

He spends his weekends transforming virtuous young women into a sleazy ones; he likes to advertise their renovation by dancing in ways that show them off in ‘My Brother's Bar'.

He likes having an audience watch him kiss and touch and hump and bump and stroke and poke. He likes having audiences watch him touch at least a couple bases before he leads them out the door to cross home. He likes talking the girl into enjoying the audience too, and to liking the knowledge that everybody watching saw him touch second and sometimes third - and that she is going to let him touch all the bases.

The boldness of Charna's father, the trait she most wanted from me, is an intrinsic part of my roommate's personality.

Once Dick liberates them that first night, they are invariably anxious to continue the sexually charged lifestyle.

Viva la Revolucion!

When Dick moves on to his next innocent, his recent converts into sexual liberation frequently give it up to me. When he breaks it off, it is clean and ethical, but these beautiful young girls can't and won't believe he could drop them. Fortunately I listen to their tales of woe, and it isn't long before they are ready to give it up to me. He was often their topic of choice while I took them even further down the path of dissipation, but I always snuffed that candle of interest: I refused to give them any hope that his flame would rekindle.

I enjoyed exposing them to strip clubs. Watching members of their own sex tease members of mine put Dick's converts into my target sensory state: an unthinking, uncaring erogenous surrender to sensitive nerve endings and carnal desire.

The world outside of focused sexual feeling doesn't exist in that euphoric state and the sex is so pleasurable, so memorable that the event becomes life altering. Dick took them there the first time but I was able to show them how to get there again, this time without the associated emotional hang-ups that lingered from the memory of my slick roommate.

Viva la Revolucion!

When I met Charna, Dick and I were finishing our third year at our new company. It was also our third year in our 25th floor two-bedroom ‘bachelor pad' apartment in Brooks Tower. Add the three years we were roommates in college and we'd been rooming together so long that we were as close as brothers.

The downtown apartment building we lived in was directly across from the University of Colorado at Denver, and the supply of beautiful young girls was Dick's major consideration in picking the apartment.

Downtown was also where several strip clubs and adult bookstores were located, and that was one of my major considerations. It worked for both of us.

It was our custom to end each weekday by talking as we listened to jazz - Dick called it our talk exchange, a bastardization of stock exchange. Just before bed, we spent a half an hour or so sitting in the living room and discussing everything important that was happening in our lives - everything except girls. We omitted politics, philosophy, and religion too, but not by joint decision like we did with girls. It was omission due to disinterest.

We discussed problems at work, science, the hobbies we were working on, the hobbies we wanted to pursue, music, humorous anecdotes, vacation plans, and all the seemingly insignificant parts of life. In retrospect, those insignificant parts added up to the most essential core of living, added up to the answer for being alive.

Those talks taught me more than school or the Marines about ethics, effort, insight, integrity, attitude, priorities, assertiveness, time management, friendship, and life in general. The time we talked was precious and when it was interrupted or necessarily cancelled, I was disappointed. I thought our ‘talk exchange' was the most important priority in my daily life.

No girls had ever been invited to sit in our nightly discussions. I was more jealous of that time than any other part of my life. Charna didn't just waltz in to our evening chats, although she and Dick did waltz beautifully together. It took many months and an engagement ring before she sat in on her first conversation. She was the first person to occupy a third seat, and had she not been an insightful contributor, Dick would have quickly disinvited her.

The process whereby Charna became the only girl member of our close-knit group was slow, like the relentless drip that eventually forms stalactites and stalagmites. It was eventually a consensus without any ballots.

It was the norm for at least one in our group to go to parties alone - not because we didn't all date a lot, it was just that sometimes one or two of the others would be between girlfriends, a girlfriend was sick or had family commitments, a girlfriend had to work or was mad, etc. Sometimes I couldn't find one of my stripper girls with a night off. In any case, there were always more guys than girls, and it was an unwritten rule that those of us who came with dates would share so that those of us who showed up alone could still dance, talk, and flirt.

Charna always went with me, so she got to know each of my friends in a party atmosphere quite well.

She was the dance, talk, and flirt girl for all of them more than once, and you could see them turn to jelly when she directed her cute hair flip, impish smile, and dancing eyes their way. Not to mention her masterful "accidental" exhibitionism that soon followed.

I even wondered if there were times when they intentionally didn't get a date so they could flirt with mine sometimes, but I didn't mind. Charna enjoyed it too.

Dick usually came with a date, but even when he did, he frequently asked Charna to dance. Mainly it was because she is also a superb dancer, and they both enjoyed moving so smoothly, so flawlessly together, but it was also a function of her dancing position.

When Charna slow-danced with me, she put both her arms around my neck and pressed her body tightly against mine. That position for slow dancing was her preferred public foreplay position, and she danced the same way with everybody. She'd been molded against every guy in our group many times while I watched, but more against Dick than any of the rest of them. It was amazing how they could waltz, polka, samba, cha-cha, or two-step to nearly every melody while pressed so tightly against each other.

Initially Dick hurried and scurried to be the first to ask her when a ‘pressed together' song came on, most, but not all, of which have a slow gentle beat; but that frenetic energy, that obvious hustle necessary to get to Charna first, didn't fit his style.

In his typical dauntless manner, he solved the problem by making my girlfriend his designated partner during ‘frontal contact' dances. It started when Dick tapped me on the shoulder one night.

"Mind if I cut in Sarge?"

I'm such a sexual creature that it turned me on every time they rubbed interesting parts, so I wasn't mad. On the contrary, my already hard pole throbbed more violently.

I looked at Charna as she flipped her hair and smiled at my roommate. The message was clear. I turned her face so I could give her our typical parting kiss before I spoke.

"Have fun Slick. You too Charna."

"We will."

They spoke in unison.

They only had eyes for each other during that dance and the way they conformed to each other left no doubt that they had fun.

Charna relayed a request from Dick immediately after their fun.

"Sarge, Dick asked if you would dance with me until he cuts in."

"You mean next time?"

She tossed her hair and smiled. "No ... every time."

He always asks if he wants something.

He probably knew I subconsciously wanted it too.

Every time thereafter I knew what was coming on any ‘frontal contact' dance. He didn't even ask me. He'd tap me on the shoulder and smile at Charna while he politely asked her if she was ready.

Naturally, because he is Dick, she was.

I would immediately give her our traditional passionate parting kiss and grind before she melted into him quickly and completely. If I didn't have his girl to dance with, I would just stand off to the side and watch them, cock a throbbing.

It always made me hard when Charna danced that way with me, so I was sure Dick got hard every time she danced with him.

I stayed hard every time she danced with him. She always flipped her hair and her eyes danced with mischief when she felt my throb against her after her "slow dance with Slick". Our kisses were especially passionate after each time, and her tease about her enjoyment of "slow dance with Slick" carried innuendo.

Just the idea of her pressed tight against his erection aroused mine and watching them dance enhanced my fantasy life.

From our first date together, I enjoyed stripping her naked so I could toy with her interesting parts, with her sexual playthings, while I drove home from our dates. After the parties I didn't need to strip her - she did it herself.

Although I never mentioned it, I knew her arousal from the parties was due to my roommate. My best friend prepared her, primed her, pre-soaked her, and sensitized her mind and body so thoroughly that she couldn't wait for my cock to stretch her.

On those nights when she danced several times with Dick, Charna was wild in bed - quick, intense and frequent orgasms, lust still unquenched when I was finished. I was the beneficiary of his charisma so it aroused me whenever he danced with my girlfriend. It was more than just a suspicion - I more than subconsciously knew that Dick's erection was the primary reason for her enhanced responsiveness afterward.

We were used to girls in the apartment so when Charna first started coming over, it wasn't unusual. Saturday and Sunday morning breakfasts were usually when Dick and I met each other's ‘dates'. Morning breakfasts at the apartment and nighttime dancing at parties were the forges that formed and steeled the friendship between Charna and Dick. Even before their bond of friendship set like cement, there was obvious sexual attraction between them.

Why wouldn't there be? They were the two most attractive people I'd ever seen and they both pursued sex under the guise of an enjoyable pastime, a pleasurable diversion, a recreational activity rather than as an extension of true love.

Charna formed a close bond with all the other guys the same way: parties and weekend days. Our apartment was often the clubhouse, and the other guys often dropped by during the day on Saturday and Sunday. That was where they got to know Charna in an everyday environment. She was surprisingly knowledgeable, always interested, and dressed to tease. I had a strong hunch they didn't stop by to talk about hobbies as much as they stopped by to eyeball my girlfriend. She never disappointed their obvious leers.

They were all respectful and considerate around Charna, but Dick was unusually attentive and interested, probably because he perceived her as more like the girls he chased than the ones I did. After all, she was still in high school, still living at home, and she had the nubile body of the eighteen-year-old girls he chased.

As Charna and I became more serious, my roommate's fascination with my girlfriend manifested itself in many ways. My best friend couldn't take his eyes off my gorgeous girlfriend, and he laughed and joked around with her about sex even when I was there. Her patented hair flip/smile let him know she enjoyed his banter; and as it escalated, her ‘accidental' exposures did as well.

In the beginning, what my best friend did around Charna was mild, especially in comparison to what he did around the girls I usually brought home. Since I never complained or said anything to either of them, his attention escalated and became more overt.

I already mentioned that Charna turned me into a public kisser. Regardless of our location, Charna invariably greeted me and parted from me with the same passionate and prolonged French kiss and tight embrace. Her parents set the example for her and I soon followed their family tradition with vigor. Charna's ardent meeting or separation embrace didn't change regardless of where we were or who was around.

Including, or perhaps especially, when Dick was around.

In the beginning, Dick pretended to ignore our mini-make-out greetings, but as time went on his interest in Charna's responsiveness escalated. You already know she loved the attention from her favorite voyeur, especially when his eyes lingered on her interesting parts.

Her sexuality was so close to the surface that her nipples stiffened every time we kissed and embraced. Eventually, it became a show. Since she didn't even own a bra, both Dick and I stepped back to stare at them after each greeting. She just smiled as Tit Inspectors Akston and Mooney did their jobs.

After one particularly passionate greeting kiss, Dick looked at me before he spoke to Charna.

"You really are a sexy girl Charna - a stone cold fox. I think I'm going to call you Fox from now on."

True to his word, I never heard him call my future wife anything but Fox from that day forward. And I never heard him call any other girl by the nickname he gave my girl.

I never caught his habit of calling her Fox. I definitely think she is, but I like her real name too much.

I stepped back to look at Charna. Her twinkling eyes were already on my handsome best friend as she flipped her hair. She was smiling at him as she spoke.

"You can call me anything you want Slick ... or anytime."

It was the first time she used my nickname for my best friend, and it was rare thereafter when she called him anything else; but it was the end of the sentence that was so memorable. It wasn't veiled flirting anymore.

I saw her eyes drop to his crotch as she spoke. I was treated to the tease of her searching eyes within seconds of our first words and by now was inured to her habit; and when I allowed mine to follow hers a few seconds later, Dick's hard on was clearly outlined in his pants. When I looked back at my girlfriend, her eyes were still intently focused on my roommate's erection.

It was weird; my cock, which had softened somewhat after our greeting grind, changed directions as the blood flowed back into it.

My best friend's bone fascinated my girlfriend.

Why did that turn me on?

That night was one of the most memorable of my life. It was impossible to miss the raw sexual attraction between Charna and Dick, but rather than upset me, their smoldering attraction excited me.

It was the deciding ballot, and I whisked her to my bedroom; her build up toward orgasm was nearly complete when I asked her to marry me. She was nearly as unquenchable as when she danced with Dick. Extremely intense simultaneous orgasms accompanied her acceptance, and I slipped a quarter year's salary onto her finger as soon as we cooled a bit.

She called her parents to tell them the good news (I was unjustifiably worried) and then I asked Dick to be the best man.

He agreed before he gave my new fiancée a kiss to remember.

My erection resprouted as I watched.

Their contact, both mental and physical, escalated as we approached our wedding day, a behavior pattern that excited all three of us.

Charna's exhibitionism was even more arousing to me because she was no longer just a girl I was dating. My fiancée, my future wife, teased my best friend with growing immodesty and the display of her private charms revealed more and lingered longer each day.

Charna still doesn't own anything that's conservative, so her clothing always evokes blood flow; but during those days before our wedding, the more her clothes revealed, the more provocative they were, the more I surged.

Initially when Dick looked as she bent over, regardless of which end he was on, his glances were covert. The first step, which I noticed but ignored, was for him to let Charna know he was intentionally ogling. Charna's response was to hold her position longer, to exhibit her interesting parts more clearly, and to provoke by providing him a better view. Before striking a pose, she flipped her hair and smiled at him, which was her standard attention-getting move. It was her way of cueing us that she was intentionally teasing my best friend.

Both his voyeurism and her exhibitionism aroused me and on the nights he'd seen her tits down her blouse, especially if she'd shown him several times, I could go a second time without softening much in between.

Charna became flagrant about showing him her tits even when she knew I was watching her do it, but in the beginning she only flashed her panties quickly and in ways that might be interpreted as ‘accidental' if it wasn't always preceded by flipping her hair and her sly smile toward him.

Later she would bend over with her knees locked and the view from the rear was more protracted. It was at this time that Charna joined Dick and me in a Sunday evening talk exchange. As we sat on the couch together with Dick on the couch across from us, I could see his eyes focus between Charna's legs. He didn't hide his interest and her legs crossed and uncrossed much more than necessary.

The process took several months but eventually she sat next to me on the couch and let him see her panties for prolonged stretches while we talk exchanged. Dick's eyes were glued between her legs even as we conversed and as we approached our wedding day, the space between her knees expanded daily while his field-of-view contracted to a single point. You know exactly where that point is and there weren't any covert glances. Dick's inherent boldness surfaced as his eyes dwelt exclusively and obviously on the skimpy covering over my fiancée's pussy.

She was getting sleazier around him and he wasn't turned off the way he usually was around my ‘sleazeball' girls. I loved watching the dynamic between them.

His arousal was evident in his face, but he wanted both of us to see it in another way. He sat back so his rigid cock was clearly outlined in his pants. I searched the eyes of my fiancée, and she knew I was watching her gaze flip-flop between his eyes and his prominent cock. His audacity should have been offensive, as should have hers, but it only made my throb more intense. He guessed correctly that his return exhibitionism was exactly what my fiancée and I wanted her to see. The boldness she craved was sitting right in front of her.

In the week before our marriage, the apartment was filled with steam heat from all three of us. Charna's blouses were either held together by one button early in the week or no buttons at all on the two days before our wedding. They were transfixed on each other's genitals barely hidden by thin cloth; I was fascinated by their focus, by their fascination with each other's raw sexuality.

Naturally, it culminated in bed. I couldn't get enough, she couldn't get enough, and Dick couldn't get enough. As Charna and I wallowed in primal fornication, Dick found his elsewhere; after Charna and I adjourned to enjoy the logical culmination of their eroticism, he was especially verbose as the ‘special invitation' girls helped him groan through audibly intense orgasms.

His arousal exacerbated ours, and both Charna and I knew the arousal foreplay for my roommate wasn't occurring with the girl in his bed.

It was occurring with the girl in mine.

And my fiancee's arousal foreplay wasn't occurring with the man in her bed. It was occurring with the man in his bed.

Amidst the escalating attraction between my fiancée and my best friend, soon to be the best man at our wedding, Charna's parents adopted Dick as one of the family. Dick assumed a major role in the planning and they included him in all the discussions and arrangements.

Charna, Gina and Dick planned our beautiful wedding - a dawn ceremony at Elitch Gardens followed by a champagne breakfast reception at the VFW nearby (my only contribution). Champagne was served to all our guests at the wedding as well, in flagrant violation of Elitch's strict ‘Alcohol is prohibited in the park at all times' policy but in keeping with Dick's ability to cut red tape.

My fondest wedding memory is of Charna flipping her hair and brazenly smiling at Dick while she took his hand to dance as Charna and I split to begin the domino effect of getting everybody on the dance floor. I picked Gina, and we both watched my bride with our best man, partly because when they split to find new partners, we had to as well. They didn't split for a long time - you might have surmised that he was the groom based on the love in their eyes - and when they finally parted, it was only after a kiss everybody watched, a kiss more typical of a bride and groom than one between a bride and the best man.

While her parents drove us from the reception at the VFW to Denver's Union Station for our ride on the California Zephyr to Glenwood Springs, Chuck gave me a Polaroid camera.

"Treat my daughter well, Kirk. Honeymoons should be full of pleasure for both of you. Sometimes the pictures you might want to take can't be developed by a commercial business. Gina and I have enjoyed our Polaroid very much."

My god, her dad not only suggested that I should take nude photos of his daughter; he also gave me the tool to produce them.

It wasn't surprising to hear that there were nude photos of my bride's mom, my sexy mother-in-law.

Charna's metamorphosis from a virgin white wedding dress to a slinky, silky black sheath was accomplished in the back seat of her dad's car on the way to the station. Gina and I stared as she casually and slowly stripped before enticingly wiggling into the sheath. The first two photos from the Polaroid were in my coat pocket; they were my proof that she wore nothing underneath either garment.

Naturally, Dick was at the station waiting for us. He just smiled when he saw the Polaroid but I knew he knew. Things didn't get past my roommate and he understood the only reason for a Polaroid on a honeymoon: pornography.

The five of us were standing at the steps leading up to the railroad car when our honeymoon's sexual rocket took off.

"It's my turn to kiss the bride, Sarge."

He was smiling.

"I'm confused. I saw that little peck you gave the bride Slick."

I smiled back. Their parting kiss after their dance at the wedding was hot and about as far from a peck on the cheek as possible.

"I meant another turn. I didn't get to kiss the bride enough yet, Sarge."

This time he smiled at the bride. The bride - my bride - tossed her hair smiled back.

"No you didn't. I ... I mean the bride ... didn't get enough of your kisses either." She looked at me to check my response to her open flirtation.

"That's a bottomless pit, Slick, but you do deserve more. You helped plan a great wedding."

"Don't forget mom - and dad for paying for it."

Charna's love for her parents popped up again. It was a recurring theme in our marriage.

"Believe me, I'm not. I couldn't. All four of you are great. But I do have a favorite among you."

I kissed my bride and then spun her and gently pushed her toward Dick. Her hair flip and smile, followed by a sexy strut, let us all know she was eager to feel his lips again. Dick's eyes never left her body.

"I'll have to admit it: I do too."

Our best man was smiling at my bride as he spoke while she entered his arms. My habit called: 11:17 AM. Thirteen minutes until departure.

Their kiss was as far from the typical kiss-the-bride peck as possible - it was the steamy kiss of lovers. They made no attempt to disguise open mouths and exploring tongues.

I put the Polaroid to use a second time.

He was the one who finally broke the prolonged kiss but he didn't pull back to separate their bodies. He looked into her eyes. I noticed a tear forming in her eye so I'm sure everybody else did too.

"I'll miss you Fox."

"Ooohh Slick, you know I'll miss you too." Her pelvis hunched as they locked eyes. "We'll be back in a week."

His eyes drifted down to rest on my bride's tits - the beautiful breasts of the girl who became my wife less than four hours ago. Even from my vantage point several feet to the side, her tits were visible almost to the nipples. Dick ogled and my wife wasn't the only one bumping below the waist.

I took another picture.

My bride spread her feet further and continued to grind against my roommate's cock, against what I was sure was a penis full of surging, throbbing blood.

"I can't wait to see you again Fox. You really are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

"Thank you Slick." Her brilliant smile flashed. "I can't wait for you to see me again either."

So she let him.

She removed her arms from around his neck to place them around his waist. Her shoulder straps slipped enough to unveil both nipples.

My new camera caught them, caught Dick looking at them.

So coy, so innocent, my bride was obviously playing into his hand. What a girl, the perfect blend of sleazy, lusty exhibitionism for me and submissive, responsive romance for Dick.

My cock expanded that last little bit, to full wood, as I watched their parting exchange. I subconsciously noticed neither of her parents seemed annoyed or upset with their newlywed daughter's fascination with, or her exhibitionism for, our best man.

Charna was very open with her parents about sex, especially her mom, so they probably already knew about the exhibitionism in our apartment - and the sexual attraction between their just-married daughter and her groom's best friend.

What they knew indirectly, by Charna's verbal narrative, was now confirmed by eyewitness evidence.

Dick again bent to kiss my bride, this time while her bare tits rubbed on his chest. I took another picture. I wasn't about to stop them - hell, it was a tremendous appetizer for our wedding night - but I wasn't so sure about her dad until, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chuck smiling at his daughter. Charna returned a wink to her dad, but didn't stop French kissing our Best Man.

That sly smile was enough to recognize that my bride's parents were nearly as infatuated with my Best Man as my bride was. On their beautiful daughter's wedding day they saw nothing wrong with her obvious attraction for a man other than her new groom.

Neither did her new groom. He - I - was enraptured by their willingness to openly show their fascination with each other in front of her parents and fellow passengers. Dick was the only one who would decide when they had gone far enough.

While he deliberated, his tongue tasted the inside of my bride's champagne coated mouth. And she suggestively and openly sucked on his tongue.

"All aboard."

The conductor's call startled me. And it stopped their kiss.

Dick turned my bride to face me. Her tits were still uncovered, her nipples clearly engorged.

I snapped another hot photo.

He moved behind her to hump her ass while he reached around and slowly raised the straps of her dress. His thumbs grazed her nipples as he covered her gorgeous breasts, and she raised her left hand - the one with the new wedding band so visible - to capture his left hand at her tit. She tossed her hair and smiled at me as I raised the camera one more time. His left hand on her bare tit, next to her hand with the wedding ring, were almost the trigger being pulled on my throbbing cock. That photo is still my favorite of all time, and it was a clear precursor of things to come. He finally raised her straps, but then he slowly, deliberately fondled her ass before he slapped it and sent her back to me.

"Sarge, you married a hot Fox. I hope you can keep up with her."

I was standing on the first step inside the car. I helped her to the top step, and then climbed to stand beside her as they watched from below.

Dick smiled at me.

I smiled back at him.

"I'm not sure my bride does."

The implication was clear. All four of them knew it. Charna escalated the innuendo further as she flipped and smiled.

"I ... his bride doesn't. His bride expects a lot more of your kisses Slick."

The train started and the three of them walked beside it until Chuck and Gina waved and turned back. Dick continued at a brisk pace.

As if to underscore the thing I needed to keep up with, Charna lifted the hem of her short dress.

I bent down to see if he could see my bride's pussy.

He could. It was Dick's first sighting. I knew it would fill his dreams.

The ride on the Zephyr was difficult - we needed a sleeping compartment but not for sleeping. The passionate goodbye I witnessed should have been an immediate prelude to officially consummating our marriage, but the trip lasted for more than four torturous hours.

I can assure you that there aren't any hidden nooks on that train and that the bathrooms are too small.

We did study the seven photographs in my pocket enough to move the contents into long-term memory. Our study only made the wait harder to bear.

The wait wasn't the only thing that was hard.

Consequently, it was a little after 4:00 PM when I finally entered my bride's married cunt. Sweet relief. Sweet consummation.

It did feel different. Perhaps the unique feeling was due to the image still in my mind: the ardent and clearly sexual display between my bride and my best friend, our best man, on our wedding day.

The picture was flooding my brain when I exploded.

The image lingered throughout our honeymoon, a week filled with pleasure and the joy of discovery. Along with the characteristics we learned to tolerate (and eventually love), we each found traits that were pleasant surprises.

The first surprise was that Charna said she wanted a baby, that her mother had her when she was young and she wanted to be a young mom too. I asked her to bring me her birth control pills; when she did I immediately flushed them down the toilet.

The second surprise was that she finally said I could shave her pussy. Of all the strippers I had seen at any of the fully nude clubs I attended, only one had a bald pussy, and I found it so arousing that I'd been pestering Charna for weeks to let me shave hers. It was very uncommon in 1978 to see a hairless cunt on a grown woman, so she was reluctant, especially since it was so easy to prove she was a natural blonde with her sparse muff. When she relented on that first night in our hotel, I carefully scraped away every vestige of follicle anywhere near her crotch. It was beautiful and she liked it as much as I did. Her gorgeous cunt has been bald since our honeymoon.

The third surprise, which shouldn't have been one but it was something I worried about, was that Charna was constantly upbeat and her sparkling and contagious laughter was not just something she used to catch a husband. Happiness is contagious and we laughed and fucked our way through every moment of our honeymoon.

And the last surprise was probably the best. Although I fucked her many times per week before we wed, we still spent most of the week apart. The most pleasant surprise for me was that I discovered Charna rarely thought about anything except sex. I'd always been the one who wanted more sex than the girl I was with - then Charna appeared and my fondest wet-dream fantasy was filled.

My perfect match.

More than my match?

Could I keep up with her?

Viva la Revolucion!

Our honeymoon was also full of honest confessions and disclosures.

Charna confessed that she got excited by teasing guys, that she wanted them to think of her as a sex object, that she loved doing everything she could to make them think of sex when they saw her.

Even her dreams were sexual - random guys seeing her naked, touching her, pleasing her, fucking her, and most of her dreams included an audience.

She admitted that everything in her wardrobe was purchased for only one purpose: to entice.

Everything she owns is revealing. Her competitive gymnastics background and her cheerleading experience both had strong overtones of exhibitionism. Charna confided that, when she was only twelve, she thought about guys watching her and that she hoped her cheerleader panties or gymnastics tights would rip or be torn off by some accident beyond her control.

I admitted that a major part of the reason I fell in love with her was because it touched a primal nerve in me to see her expose herself so shamelessly, so proudly.

It wasn't until our honeymoon that I questioned her about the guys she'd been with, and it was a long time after the honeymoon before I discovered that more than thirty cocks had already plumbed her gorgeous eighteen-year-old cunt.

I loved her confessions, always made in the throes of passionate fucking. When she admitted that one of her dates, a nervy theater guy, fucked her in the back seat while her parents were in the front seat at a drive-in movie, it was during the few seconds prior to her orgasm. What her parents must have heard was extremely stimulating.

I vowed to be bolder in front of them. It was a vow I could never fulfill, but not to worry.

She didn't suffer, didn't go without bold. After all, I had a bold roommate.

Despite never having voiced my opinion, I loved it when she openly exhibited herself to guys when I was with her. A rather prolonged gaze down her top to her nipples was common, and she was immodest concerning her panties as well.

Even before we married, I liked it when she did more than just show off. I liked watching her grind on Dick while they danced and I liked knowing my friends were watching her do it.

I think she knew it revved me up when she acted like an easy unattached girl around them.

I know I silently hoped that our marriage wouldn't spoil her open and carefree attitude about showing off. I found out later that she also silently hoped that she wouldn't have to be more careful about exposing herself.

Both our unspoken desires were satisfied, and if anything she showed even more of her beautiful body and her perfect skin during our honeymoon that she did before. It didn't take long for us to satisfy each other's hunger for lustful male eyes focused on my bride's physical beauty.

At the time of our wedding, she possessed a killer 35C-21-33 body. Her 5'4", 105-pound frame was an eye magnet of superconducting magnitude, with the headliner being her perfect skin - it is everywhere incredibly smooth and soft and without a mole, freckle, pimple, birthmark or blemish, and to this day she still doesn't have a piercing or a tatoo.

She always tanned nude twice a week in the tanning bed in her parents' exclusive home, but she didn't overdo it. She was a light golden color absolutely everywhere, but when we were outside in the sun she wore the highest SPF sunscreen you could buy. She didn't like tan lines, and she even went to a commercial tanning booth once while we were honeymooning.

That eternal train ride after watching my bride and my best friend bump and grind at Union Station took us to Glenwood Springs, Colorado, home of the world's largest naturally heated hot springs pool and my favorite non-moving place on Earth (my favorite place lies between Charna's legs) due to the wonderful honeymoon week we spent there. We spent many of our honeymoon hours at the pool.

I enjoyed watching the eyes of the old men perched near the hot jets as they tracked my wife. The anticipated therapeutic benefit from the pool's naturally heated mineral water was enhanced by a healthy therapeutic dose of sexual stimulation: Charna's body. She loved their eyes as she pranced around in her white, tiny bikini, the bikini I doctored by removing the lining.

As Levinson said, "Bikinis are like statistics: what they reveal is interesting, but what they don't is vital." In my beautiful bride's case, her bikini didn't leave much that could be considered vital. A camel-toe bottom and transparent-when-wet top left little to imagine.

She loved posing for the Polaroid. When I asked, regardless of where we were, she would lift her top so I could photograph her tits and she would lift her skirt and pull her panties aside so I could get a picture of her smoothly shaven cunt.

I took many pictures of her at the pool. Most of the time the pictures were discreet, meaning she would have her back to the pool so I would be the only one who could see what she was doing, but not always. There were four pictures of her in the pool while I stood outside it that showed off her tits or her shaved snatch. There's no telling how many saw her.

If I asked her to expose herself for me, she never refused.

I don't know how far I could have pushed it in the pool, but I did push it considerably further when we weren't at the pool. Every morning I selected the clothes I wanted her to wear that day, and I never picked anything that wasn't extremely revealing.

She is very comfortable wearing high heels, so I always selected heels when we were just going to walk around town for shopping or dining.

Unless we were going to the pool, in which case she wore nothing over her bikini on the way there or back, regardless of whether it was wet and transparent or not, she wore sheer panties and either a thin dress or a halter and short skirt.

Most of the pictures I took of Charna (when she had any clothes on at all) were either down her top or up her skirt.

Whenever her clothes could be removed, I asked her to strip and she did so quickly and willingly.

I have daytime pictures of Charna at Doc Holliday's gravesite, naked and spread on his tombstone. I have daytime pictures of her naked on horseback. And I have many daytime pictures of my bride hiking nude on mountain trails.

I have nighttime nude shots of her at the train station and on the main street in front of several different stores.

Many of these photographs have other people in the background, and three of them were taken with her leading me down the riding trail, fully nude straddling a fat horse, while three male riders passed us going the other way. She tossed her hair as they approached and said hello, acknowledging their smiles and obvious leers.

Each day I pushed her a little further, and each day she capitulated fully. She never balked at any of my posing directives. Aside from one day where she splashed around in the pool with a guy she met there, she couldn't have done more than let guys look.

If they looked at my bride they saw something worth seeing.

If they expended the effort to focus their eyes on her, she expended the effort to make it worthwhile. She loved letting them see her.

I loved letting them see her.

It was a tremendous aphrodisiac. I thought I was wearing her pussy out.

I wasn't, but it wasn't until much later that I found out how far from wearing it out I really was.

In my mind, the pictures I took with the Polaroid were much better than those in Playboy or Penthouse for two reasons.

First, my beautiful bride was the model, and she was just better looking. Second, my beautiful bride was obviously turned on by her complete exposure before so many intent male eyes, and I got to fuck her in this state.

Every night at the motel we looked at the Polaroid pictures I took that day and all of them I'd taken throughout the week, including especially those with Dick at Union Station. She loved looking at them as much as I did, and I fucked her with intense passion at least twice each night.

Charna was used to getting any guy she wanted, and I was thrilled that she'd given me an at-bat. I was even more ecstatic when she accepted my proposal, again in the few seconds before orgasm when one is most susceptible to suggestion.

It was probably unfair to propose when I did, but I rectified my insecurity as I later slipped the engagement ring on her finger - I gave her another chance to say no when she was back to normal.

You're undoubtedly wondering why she agreed to be my wife, but at the time I wasn't a bad catch, even if I do say so myself.

I was 6'1", 190 pounds, and cut, with blue eyes and blond hair. I played all-conference center field in high school, and then went into the Marines - Semper Fi - for four years, where I boxed and learned how to take care of myself in other ways, especially during my two tours in Vietnam.

After my discharge, I already mentioned that I went to the University of Colorado and majored in Civil Engineering. I made the baseball team my freshman year at CU but didn't get to play so I quit to focus on school (and girls).

I still lifted three times a week and ran three miles every day at lunch. I was kind of rough and tumble, although I didn't (and still don't) use any mind altering substances, including alcohol.

I realize how conceited this sounds, but I don't know how else to describe it.

Charna worshipped my cock.

She loved to hold it and rub it all over her body and she particularly liked smoothing drops of precum around her nipples by using my rock-hard massaging instrument.

The licentious bliss on her face was contagious as she manipulated my sensitive erection over her skin. She stroked her eyeballs through her closed eyelids with it, she wrapped her hair around it, she savored its smell, and she licked it, kissed it, and sucked it and sucked it and sucked it and sucked it.

She perfected the art of deep throat (other men were her models) long before our Kitty's Bookstore encounter but it wasn't until our honeymoon that she was finally able to rub her nose in my pubic hair while her beautiful lips surrounded my cock. It wasn't the length of my cock that made it so difficult - she admitted longer ones had already caressed her tonsils - but rather the width.

My prick is 7½" long and 8½" circumference. Charna and all of the other women I fucked before her told me my cock was big, but I know it's only the big around part they were talking about. I did have trouble getting inside even when women were fully wet and aroused - never the last inch, but I seemed to always have trouble with the first inch.

Charna's attends worship at the shrine of cock at least twice daily, and her devotion is deepened by the most unique aspect of my cock: I can stay inside after I come and wait a short time before I am hard and ready to fuck again.

She was always ready for my old repeater, which was her nickname for my cock. She nicknamed it on our honeymoon when one night I called my cock a peter. She corrected me.

"It's not a peter, it's a repeater".

Our honeymoon was the sex-filled erotic adventure that honeymoons are supposed to be.

Charna's attire, the mountain summertime warmth, and her willingness to appear naked for the camera anywhere at anytime kept me at a persistent arousal level I wouldn't have believed possible. Her level of excitement was at least as sustained as mine was. She was continuously wet, she was always ready to fuck, and she loved the photography as much as I did.

She really got off on fucking outdoors, and I fucked her while "communing with nature" at least once a day for the last five days we were in Glenwood.

Her response was even more intense on our last honeymoon fuck because it was the first time she had an audience. And audience participation.

It happened about a mile west of Glenwood Springs right next to the Colorado River. My naked bride had been posing for my camera for about an hour.

The Colorado River is immediately adjacent to I-70, so I kept the locations and positions she posed in relatively isolated from the highway. Even so, since we could see the passengers in the cars, we knew she could have been seen.

It would sort of be like standing naked a couple of feet inside a lit room with narrow windows as cars passed. The glimpse would have been extremely brief if passing motorists noticed, but this was sufficient to fully arouse Charna.

Her pussy was soaked, and I finally couldn't stand it anymore. I picked a big, flat rock with several large bushes between it and the highway, put down my camera, stripped off my shorts and underwear, and lodged my cock at the entrance to her cunt.

She was flat on her back with her knees in the air, her legs spread fully and her finger inside her twat when I first pushed. Several healthy pushes later, I was fully inside.

I was only a couple of minutes into my stroke when a passing car pulled over to the side of the road not far from where we were. Two teen-age boys in the car got out and climbed down toward the river, probably just to stretch their legs.

They weren't too far from us - I'd estimate no more than 100 feet - when they started climbing down the rocks toward the river.

They were just talking normally and we could see them coming nearer. It was too much for me; I slipped my cock out and reached for my shorts.

Charna's strength surprised me. Her hands on my ass pulled me back on top of her and her words were insistent.

"Don't stop. Please don't stop."

The plea her eyes made was at least as compelling as her words. Her hand found my cock with her left hand and her right hand pulled me back inside her slippery sheath. I started pumping again, hoping the boys wouldn't see us.

It is impossible for her to be quiet when I fuck her - I know there has to be a pussy-to-vocal-chord nerve connection in her body.

As they approached, she kept up her standard banter only not as loudly. I usually love hearing her response while I fuck her, but this made me nervous. I didn't like it.

"Ooohhh god ... aahh. They are so close ... ooohh yesss."

She watched them as I stroked inside her. They were oblivious to us, undoubtedly because the traffic noise was so loud.

"Aaahhh your cock ... so hard. Fuck me ... ooohh god ... I love it."

I wasn't sure what she loved more, being fucked or the potential to be seen while being fucked.

"We're both naked ... ooohhh god Sarge ... they could see you fucking me."

They sure could. That was what worried me. I have no interest in being watched while I fuck.

"Nobody has ever seen me fucking. Ooohhh I want them to ... to see your big cock ... in my cunt."

Technically, men watched while I fucked her in the video arcade booth, we just had no idea whose eyes were on her; and since she couldn't see the eyes of her audience, it was almost like they weren't there. The same anonymity was good for me.

These eyes were close and she could see the boys the eyes belonged to. They hadn't yet seen us but I knew she wasn't going to let her most powerful fantasy slip away.

She turned the volume knob.

Up.

As if you didn't know.

"Oooohhh god ... ooohhh honey ... fuck me ... fuck me good."

I always train my eyes on my adorable wife when I fuck her, but I kept my peripheral vision on the guys. Charna turned her head to look directly at them, and both of us knew immediately that her latest pleasure moan garnered their attention.

They turned to look; it must have taken a couple of seconds for it to sink in that they were seeing two totally naked people about 50 feet from them. It took another few seconds to realize we were fucking, but then they became very quiet and still - their full attention was focused on my gorgeous bride as I fucked her.

Charna may have increased the volume even further.

"Ohhh god honey. Ooohhh yesssss ... fuck me hard ... pound my cunt."

I resigned myself to assist in her performance.

"Mmmmm Sarge ... they are watching us ... watching you fuck me ... ooohhh god."

The time between her verbalizations was filled with moans and grunts.

"I love this Sarge ... oooohhhh god ... ooohhh ... I love their eyes."

I turned to look at them and motioned for them to come closer. What the hell: in for a penny, in for a pound.

They took a quick look at each other, and then immediately started climbing toward us. As they approached, I decided there was a better way to fulfill her fantasy.

"You get on top Charna."

I rolled onto my back and she straddled me in a way that would have placed her back to them as we fucked.

"Turn around."

"Oohhh god ... aaahhhh ... yessss."

She lowered herself onto my iron-hard cock reverse cowboy style in their direction.

I could see her ass and feel her tits, but the biggest turn on was being able to see two boys fully concentrating on Charna's body. Their view of my wife was the best imaginable. They could see my pole moving in and out of her pussy and they could see her tits as I squeezed them.

"Oohhh honey ... you're fucking me ... in front of them."

She was finally getting it the way she'd always dreamed about.

"Oooohh god I love this ... they can see your cock ... in my cunt ... ooohhh god ... oohh Sarge ... that's it."

I wasn't doing anything except squeezing her tits. She was doing all the work.

"Mmmm ... pinch my nipples ... ooohh god ... oooh ... that feels so good ... ooohh god."

"I'mmm coming already ... ooohh god ... ooohhh ... I don't want to stop ... ooohhh god ... ooohh."

Three guys knew, with our eyes and with our ears, when she came. While she was coming, I motioned to them that they should move closer.

They came continually closer as I fucked her, and I could see relief in one set of eyes when he caught my eye and I just smiled.

"Ooohh god honey ... they're coming closer ... oohh I'm so hot."

They approached to within about five feet when I formally acknowledged them.

"Take out your cocks. She wants to see you too."

I was uncomfortable being naked in front of other guys, especially with a hard on. I thought it might make it easier if I wasn't the only one.

They didn't even hesitate. They unzipped and pulled out their hard cocks, then began the classic masturbation stroke. They tugged as they watched us fuck.

"Ooohhh god that's it jack off for me ... mmmm ... you have nice cocks ... ooohhh god."

I could only imagine what they were seeing. As perverted as it was, I thought that I would like to be able to see what they were seeing. Even as I fucked my beautiful bride of less than a week, I thought about trading places with one of them.

I suspected that at least the shortest one was a virgin because he looked so young. It was hot to watch them beat off as they watched my cock slide in and out of my bride's cunt. The taller boy, who also had the biggest cock, unbuckled his belt and let his shorts and his boxers drop to his ankles. The shorter one followed not long after.

The small cocked boy lost it first, and when he came it shot on my legs and her torso. As his jism spewed, so did his words.

"You are beautiful ... uunngg ... you have a shaved ..."

He hesitated. His friend finished it for him.

"... pussy."

We knew the exact moments of her previous climax, because she announced them, but this time she succumbed to the pure lust of her dominant fantasy.

"Oohh god ... he shot his come on me. Fuck me ... ooohh god ... fuck me hard."

The taller boy accelerated his stroke frequency.

"Mmmmm ... that feels ... so good ... oohh god ... yes ... come on me too."

The taller boy moved so close his cock nearly touched her as his ejaculate forcefully jetted all over her tits.

She was close before they showered her in come.

The second load of sticky, smelly goo was her trigger.

"Ooohh god ... ooohhh ... I'mmm coming again ... I love your eyes on me ... ooohh god."

I went with her.

"Uuunngg damn ... uunnngg here it comes ... uuunngg."

I am such an eloquent bastard.

"Oohhhh god ... ooohhh I love it. That's it ... fill me up ... ooohh god ... ooohhh I can feel it."

After a minute or so of softening while inside her, I lifted her off and had her lay on her back beside me. Charna immediately relaxed her legs and splayed them widely. I could see my come leaking out.

Her appearance, her voice, her odor, her flavor, and her feel all contributed to the overall pleasure I received when I fucked her, but there was additional stimulation this time: the jolt to my cock from watching them spurt on her.

Charna watched the guys' eyes as they continued to focus on her body, mostly on her cunt.

I was much more comfortable now and if anybody else felt awkward it didn't show. I know I was enjoying watching them watch my wife and they appeared to appreciate the opportunity.

I could smell their come on my wife's beautiful body and my hand seemed to have a will of its own as I smoothed it all over her tits and even around her pussy. Their eyes were glued to my hand. It was definitely arousing to Charna to follow their eyes.

I couldn't tell how much eye contact she made with either of them, but my guess was not very much. I didn't see them look at her face at all. I knew where her eyes would be.

I discovered early in our relationship what she looked at when she was around men. She would focus on their eyes as they watched her because being watched was her aphrodisiac, and being able to see the eyes focus on her cunt was almost as good as having a cock in it.

She acknowledged when she climaxed that she enjoyed seeing and feeling them come, but I knew it was only to insure their response to her exhibitionism was full arousal rather than to check out their equipment.

As I stroked Charna's body, I had an idea.

"Would it be ok with you guys if I took a few pictures of you with Charna? We won't get you in trouble with them."

Naturally, their smiles answered for them, so I directed Charna to stand between the two boys. Their shorts were still around their ankles. That wasn't enough for Charna. She flipped her hair and smiled at the older boy.

"Mmm. I want you to be naked too."

She went to her knees to remove his sandals, shorts, and boxers. He took off his shirt while she worked on her knees, and he suggestively inched his rejuvenated bone forward. My bride looked look up at him and smiled in understanding before she spun on her knees to look up at the younger one. She shook her hair and smiled at him.

"You too."

He was passive as she worked but also pulsating with renewed blood flow. When my bride stood up, all four of us were nudists, three of us with full wood.

"Good. Now put your arms around Charna. Charna, you put your arms around their waists. Squeeze tight so I can get you all in the picture."

This was bullshit, and all of us knew it - all I needed to do was move back a foot to get them all in the picture - but nobody complained about this bullshit.

Charna was skin on skin on both sides from hip to shoulder. I could see their come shine on her body, and I saw larger gobs dribbling out of her cunt.

The shapes of the cars through the bushes and the traffic noise amplified the public nature of the photos. Another car, or a patrolman, could stop to play or investigate. The risk was part of the excitement.

Both boys' peckers were proudly stout and bobbing when they first touched my bride. The tall one was bold enough to let his hand drop to the upper slope of her tit from his arm around her neck, and Charna moaned when it touched her.

She shook her hair to smile at me before she turned to look at him.

"What's your name?"

"Bob. What's yours?"

"Charna."

"You're beautiful Charna."

"You're awfully handsome yourself, Bob."

She gave his waist a squeeze as she said it. In response, his hand inched lower, gently pinching the upper slope of her tit. He looked at me.

"It's ok, you can touch."

He came out of the starting blocks instantaneously and both his hands worked on my bride's tits. The shorter boy joined in and I watched two sets of hands squeeze and stroke my wife's beautiful tits. Charna turned toward the shorter boy.

"Mmmm ... that feels good. What's your name?"

"Scott. I'm his brother."

"You're cute, Scott. Mmmm ... you really know how to make my tits feel good."

I was rock hard watching, and Scott's stiffie visibly bobbed with each beat of his heart. Touching my newlywed bride's perfect tits was clearly fun for him.

I continued to photograph them and big brother Bob continued to get bolder. When I first gave him permission to go further, he went.

He kept going.

When his little brother brought his fingers and hands onto Charna's tits, Bob dropped his left hand to her ass while his right hand continued to squeeze her nipples.

She loved bold, and this kid had it. Compared to him I was as large as Wilt Chamberlain was to me, but he still was nervy enough to feel up my beautiful wife right in front of me.

I admire brash, and I wasn't about to stop him. Neither was Charna. She loved bold.

He turned toward Charna and his cock smashed against her thigh. He was just an inch or two taller than Charna, so his cock was perilously close to her cunt.

He hesitated just once. I saw him cock his head to look at me, and I could almost feel him sizing me up.

I could see the instant he overcame his indecision; once he decided, he moved quickly. It took me a few seconds to comprehend what he'd done.

First, he dropped his head to her nipple and was sucking on it. Second, he moved his right hand - the hand that had been feeling her tits - to her cunt. Third, with the left hand that had been feeling her ass, he grabbed Charna's right hand - the hand that had been behind his back - and placed it on his cock.

It was masterful!

Charna moaned.

Playing doctor again.

A new gynecologist.

For my bride.

A thorough pelvic exam.

Scott again followed his older brother's lead, and his fingers soon found Charna's most interesting part.

A second opinion.

Charna's hands were each wrapped around an erect cock while the doctors examined and probed, explored and tested every inch of her aroused body.

I took 34 Polaroid photos with two boys touching my naked bride, and 28 of them show Charna's tits being caressed by two teenage boys with very hard cocks. The last 20 show Charna being finger fucked while she stroked two very hard teenage boys' pricks.

The camera, the daylight, two sets of fingers inside her, and her voyeur groom all added up to her fourth shuddering, cramping, and powerful orgasm. Her words were especially exciting to me because they reflected the pleasure my bride felt at the hands of another man.

My bride's first orgasm caused by another man - more precisely, other men - didn't make me jealous. I loved watching and hearing it.

"Ooohh Sarge ... both of them ... it feels so good ... they're making me ... ooohhh god ... I'm coming."

She didn't stroke them during her orgasm, but as soon as she calmed a bit her intent was matched by her skill. It wasn't long before they were both on the brink. When Bob came again, the Polaroid camera and I were ready.

So was Charna. She knew the signs signaling impending orgasm in guys, and she didn't have much time. She dropped to her knees and immediately brought Bob's cock to her mouth. She sword swallowed his cock deep into her throat no more than five or six times before aiming his spurts at her perfect skin. This time, his cock didn't just get close to touching her. Charna still held it as he came, and she moved his cock from her face to her tits, always maintaining contact as she found pleasure in cock to nipple pressure and the smell and thick creamy liquid from sex. The cum trails on her face and tits were a shot of Viagra to me.

Charna was still panting, breathy with desire, her dewy cunt ready for more. I was too, my tat vibrating with need.

I handed the Polaroid to Bob and asked if he would take a couple of photos of us. I showed him which button to push and where to look to frame the picture. He took one of Charna and Scott still actively stroking each other before I positioned myself on my back.

Charna immediately straddled me to sink onto my throb in exactly the same manner as when they watched us fuck earlier.

Charna's hands still teased Scott's cock as I fucked her. The camera ran out of film before I filled her pussy again, but not before she vacuumed Scott's cock and then rubbed her nipples on it through his brother's cream on her tits as his own spunk showered her. It was a trigger to both Charna's fifth and to my second orgasm.

They wanted to fuck my bride but I wasn't sure she, nor I, was ready for that, so I let it ride. I still had enough of the ‘Moral Majority' indoctrination to wonder whether I would really enjoy watching strangers fuck my bride, too. The day was too magical to just let it go, however, and I wanted them to remember this day forever. I knew I would, and that I would have photographs to remind me. They deserved the same mementos.

I sorted through the photos and picked ten or so that I definitely wanted to keep, then handed the stack to Bob.

"Pick a couple for each of you. I wouldn't want you to forget my wife."

"You're married?"

Charna smiled at him.

"We're on our honeymoon. We got married last Saturday."

"You're so young."

I knew he wasn't talking to me.

"So are you."

We never asked. They never said.

After they deliberately and carefully selected the photos they wanted, Charna gave each of them a smoldering kiss goodbye. Naturally, each boy's finger found my bride's most interesting part one last time before they climbed back toward their car.

What a fitting conclusion to our honeymoon, primarily because I knew it was my bride's ultimate turn on. It was intensely arousing to contemplate what direction our marriage would go, but I knew it wouldn't be a marriage of twice a week fucking in the dark in the missionary position at 10:30 PM.

As we found a seat on the train for our return trip to Denver, with a stack of honeymoon polaroids to study, my bride snuggled up, tossed her hair, and beamed at me.

"Mmm ... that was fun but now ... I can't wait to get home and show mom the pictures. Are you going to show them to Slick too, Sarge?"

I knew what she wanted.

I just wanted to watch. Fuck the moral majority.

Viva la revolucion!

If you enjoy watching or imagining your wife with a man you respect and admire, then you might want to read the sequel, "Charna: Best Man", and its sequel, "Charna: Bridal Display", both of which recount how Dick was the catalyst for expanding Charna's sexuality envelope.