Monica s big blowout sale
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I wrote this shortly after it happened. Ten years ago now.
When I was a younger man, like most guys I was obsessed with sex, used to walk around with a constant hard-on. If I look at old photos of myself, I could cry thinking about all the gorgeous girls I lusted after but couldn't be arsed spinning a line to. You see, there’d always be tomorrow or the day after. You know, that day when some gorgeous young thing would offer it to me on a plate.
They never did, though.
At least not back then, that is.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d had girlfriends, and then a wife, and a second wife. But now I realise that if I’d put my mind to it I could have fucked more pussy than is decent.
By my early fifties I’d stopped even trying to catch the eye of pretty girls — or halfway decent older women for that matter. I can’t remember the actual year women stopped looking back when I gave them the eye but stopped they had.
Then one day, when I was fifty-one, I had the shock of my life. I looked at a young girl, and she held my gaze, didn't blank me like women usually did. The reality of her sparkling curious eyes sent an electric jolt through my body. It was cognitive dissonance, and it shook the foundations of the person I had come to believe I was.
I’d been staring at this girl, not trying to catch her eye or anything, just staring. I wasn't trying to flirt with her. As I said, I'd given up on that front years before. No, I was staring because of the clothes she wore. She was all done up the way girls used to be when I was a young man back in the early seventies. It unnerved me to see a gorgeous young thing from right now looking like a gorgeous young thing from back then.
I think any given female fashion that is in vogue when a male is experiencing his first sexual stirrings stays lodged in the back of his mind for the rest of his life and becomes a template for how a woman should look. It is an image that etches itself on his brain in the same way some animals get imprinted on the first thing they see after hatching or being born. With animals, it's not always their mothers either; an old bucket, or even human being, is sometimes what those darling goslings get.
For me, at the moment of my sexual awakening, it was girls in mini-skirts and knee-length boots, tan, ten denier pantyhose, leather biker jackets, and earrings as big as those they put through the nose of a bull. In the small north of England town where I grew up, it was the look most girls in my neighbourhood affected.
This girl was wearing all that stuff. I doubt when she dressed that morning she intended to freak out an old guy like me — or even to turn on a younger one for that matter. I'm sure her idea was to appear retro, as they call it now. How was she to know the disturbing effect that particular look would have on a man who’d first found his way to pussy by way of nylon encased inner thighs? I suppose she was making a statement, being ironic. When I first saw those legs alighting from her car I was sure the universe was fucking with me.
I was at the big car boot sale that’s held every Sunday at Johnson’s Farm — I think you call such gatherings swap-meets in the USA. I was hoping to get rid of the remaining stuff my second wife had left behind when she ditched me for that twat, Carl Miles. I could no longer do with it in the house, always coming across something of hers. I’d given her an ultimatum to shift which she had ignored.
So there I was in the middle of a field at six a.m. on a Sunday morning. What an ungodly hour for a night-bird such as me. It was like a visit to another planet. I’d had to get up at five in the morning to get there on time to be sure of a pitch.
I discreetly watched the girl with the legs setting up her stuff, laying out her stall so carefully. When she saw me staring she smiled, not just with her mouth — you know tight lips and dead eyes. No, she smiled with eyes ablaze with youth, and the certainty life would be good to her. Yes, those eyes of hers! Eyes to break an old guy's heart.
A look bestowed from a girl like her would in itself have been enough to set me up for the rest of the day. But I didn't dare speak to her, flirt or say, 'hi'. I wouldn't have been able to take the sneer that was sure to follow. To be despised after the gift of her smile would have hurt too much. All the same, I couldn't help look over at her whenever I got the chance. I even thought about taking a snap with my phone but decided that would be too sad. Best not be reminded of what is out of bounds.
The sky had been cloudless when I left the house, the air clean and sharp in the cool of the morning, but by the ten-o clock, the wind picked up, bringing dark clouds tumbling across the sky and the promise of rain. I watched the girl staring up with a worried look on her pretty, young face.
Plucking up courage, I called to her, "Just a shower. It’ll blow over."
She turned and smiled. "My stuff will get ruined."
I walked towards her, scanned her table. "I have plastic sheeting. You can have some to cover your stuff."
I had loads in my van. I fetched a long sheet and spread it over both our tables. While I did, she examined one the old records she’d fished out from under my stall. Tank, I think it was, an old T. Rex album. I’d found this particular box in the attic, and unlike the other stuff, it contained a few things that had belonged to my first wife, Carole. I’d forgotten they were there. Carole had left me in nineteen-seventy-seven.
"Cool," the girl said.
"You like T. Rex?"
"Love them."
"What about the early stuff — when the were Tyrannosaurus Rex; just Marc Bolan and Steve Peregrine Took."
"Wasn't he a hobbit?"
We both laughed. Then the heavens opened.
We frantically tried to cover our stuff. I called to her, "Listen! If you like, you can shelter inside my car, and I’ll play you something, A Beard Of Stars. It’s the best thing they ever recorded. There’s an old tape in that box." She rummaged deeper. "Yes that’s it," I said.
She looked at me curiously, then smiled and said, "Sure. Why not."
We got in the front of my van and I slipped in the tape. After listening politely for a few minutes, she said she liked it. She was a girl who could talk for England, and we got chatting about fashion and how things change and come back around, only to change again. The illusion of progress.
I told her I liked her clothes, explained that because she was so young — about nineteen I guessed but I later learned she was twenty-two — to see her dressed as she was, well, it was like time travel for me. I told her she could have been one of the girls I used to date, that she looked just the same as Jane Hanson, a girl I once drove up to Stanton Woods in my old Mark 1 Cortina. As I talked, in my mind I relived those days, how eager and full of anticipation I was when I had a new girl in my car and was wondering how far I’d get with her.
As we spoke, the rain rattled down on my van roof, splattering in big drops on the foggy windscreen, I asked about her husband - I’d seen the ring on her finger.
"He must be mad to let you leave his bed and come here," I said.
"He’d rather play rugby with his mates."
"You’d never get me out of bed if I had a girl like you to wake up to."
"Aww, that is so sweet." She reached across and touched my hand
Even though I had said how much she reminded me of my past, I think it was only then that she realised how piquant it was for me having her being beside me.
She saw nostalgia about to drown me and said, "I suppose seeing me dressed like this brings back loads of memories?"
"You could say that."
"Want to touch?"
I couldn't take in what she had just said. I just stared at her.
"Sorry?" I said.
She looked at me intently. "I said," and here she looked into my eyes with profound sincerity, "would you like to touch me?"
"What? A sad geezer old like me."
"I don’t mind old... in moderation. You’re kind of cute, in a way — for an old guy."
It was at that moment I realised my atheism was a delusion. There was a God, and he was a caring God, a God who'd wired some women a certain way, given them a yen for older men; sat by my side was his most excellent effort to date.
She took my hand in hers and placed it between her knees and gently guided it over her inner thigh, opening her legs a little more with the passing of my palm. Taking control of my own hand, I moved further over hose-clad, oh-so-soft flesh, and my mind did cartwheels. I touched her dead centre, pressed the pudge of her sex through her underwear, and she moaned softly. Shivers roared in waves from my fingertips and up the length of my arm.
She let me stroke her legs for ages. And it would have been enough just to rest my hand there. She was kind and knew what this moment meant to me, her fingers at the buckle of my belt, the determined delve of her hand to release my cock. She took it in her palm while I continued to caress her. My fingers traced the seam of her tights, a single line cutting tight against her panties. The nearly moist warmth of her crotch thrilled me even more than her hand on my cock.
I followed the seam of her tights and moved my hand up and over her belly, then my fingers pulling gently at the elastic to angle my hand inside and down inside her panties. I felt like that young man I once was, excited and made dizzy by the prospect of new pussy.
Her cunt already seeped under my touch; my fingers sank without trace. Oh, God! The feel of her slick young pussy. So many memories. My breathing became shallow and fast. You hear about old guys like me dying on the job. My heart was pumping like I was running for my life. I became alarmed at my body's reaction, had to take deep breaths.
She slowly wanked me while I savoured the depths of her luscious pussy, the viscous abundance of her. And even though she was skilled, her hand was not enough to undo the dulling age brings.
"I know what you’d like," she said.
Wriggling free of my fingers, she manoeuvred herself and went down on me and gave me a blow-job like none I have ever had. And while she sucked and lapped at my cock, I thought of her youth and her eagerness to please me, and was grateful. When I ejaculated into her mouth, I felt like shouting out, 'thank you, God! Thank you, God! Thank you, God!' I gave her tissue but she didn't really need it, she had swallowed it all. But afterwards, she dabbed her lips while looking at me. She held my gaze and smiled.
The sun reappeared. People started to browse our stalls, and so we had to go and serve new customers. Strange, I’d not even thought to kiss her.
Later, as she packed her remaining items back in boxes, she asked for my number.
"Surely you don’t want a date?" But I was hopeful all the same.
"No... Well in a way; I want to do something special for you. I have a friend I’d like you to meet."
"A friend?"
"Yeah - Alice. It’s really her who’s into all this sixties and seventies stuff. She’s the one who got me into it too. I think you two would get on. She’d find you interesting. You could tell her all about those days. I’m sure she’d love to hear shit like that."
"How can I refuse," I was looking at her and wondering if she were perhaps an angel. "Would she want to..." I said, and actually felt myself blush "You know? What we just did, in the car?"
"All depends — Maybe if she likes you enough. I’ll put in a good word with her.” Her smile was reassuring, made it seem a done deal. “Give me your number,” she said while taking out her phone.
I called out the digits, and she tapped them in.
“I'll call you to arrange a time,” She said, now starting to pack away her few remaining things.
As she was about to drive away, I realised I did not know her name. I called to her.
"Wendy," she said through the driver’s window as she started the engine. "Wendy! My name is Wendy. Yours is?"
"Mick."
"Mick," she said, making me part of her. "I’ll be in touch. Promise."
I watched her drive away. I doubted I would ever see her again.
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Introduction: Was I becoming an incestuous lesbian with my brother? I was sitting on the edge of my vanity talking to my brother, teasing him because he had a big yellow zit on his forehead. You cant go out with Yvonne looking like that, you better put a band-aid on your head to hide it. Oh yeah, thatd be real hot, a nice plastic plaster of Ironman over my eye. Or maybe Big Bird, bright yellow. He looked past my shoulder to the mirror behind me god, thats fucking ugly. Why worry about it,...
Please email me at AngelJediGirl (at) gmail (dot) com before posting this story to any other site. Posting to a pay site is prohibited. Comments and suggestions are also welcome at the above email address. --- Sarah Carerra Book 3 - Concerto in A- By Megan Campbell (Released: February 27, 2012) Chapter 5 - Red Rocks Amphitheatre I was awakened on Saturday morning by a knock on the door to my room. After all the fun I'd had with the girls during the Starshine party, I had...
Please email me at AngelJediGirl (at) gmail (dot) com before posting this story to any other site. Posting to a pay site is prohibited. Comments and suggestions are also welcome at the above email address. --- Sarah Carerra Book 3 - Concerto in A- By Megan Campbell (Released: June 11, 2012) Chapter 17 - Gorge Amphitheatre The bright, sunny sky belied everything I had heard about Seattle as we stepped out of the airport and onto my tour bus Friday evening for the last time...
I am a fifty-six-year-old man that had a very bad stroke and I am now, virtually paralysed and in a wheelchair. I had a very severe stroke when I was in my early forties. Now, I can 'just' talk, and I can 'just' use my left hand and arm. I suppose it's about 10% on a good day. The rest of my muscles are fucked!I live on my own. I am very slim (with a flat stomach) and very healthy. I have a full head of shoulder-length grey and dark blonde hair and stubble. My penis, just under...
ExhibitionismNote : This story is completely fictional!In nineteen forty six Thelma Lou Anderson was married with three kids. Linda was the oldest. She was sixteen. Guy and George was ten and Guy seven. Thelma owned a beauty shop in Kansas City. She suspected her husband Lawerance was cheating on her again. She followed him one day when he thought she was at work and saw him go into a house. A woman opened the door and he went in. That was all the proof she needed. She went home and packed her suitcase and...
IncestAuthor's note: When we hear the term "womanizer" we think of a Bill Clinton, a Ted Kennedy (or any Kennedy), a Donald Trump--some straight man who can't resist chasing women even if he has a wife or girlfriend. The term is both glorifying and preoperative, but only mildly so. Not exactly the male equivalent of "slut." At THE ESTATE--that extensive rural retreat that once was the private residence of a late nineteenth century robber baron--the term has a nearly opposite meaning. And THE...
It was a cold, rainy Saturday morning in November in the Ozarks and I decided to drive the 50 miles to the nearest WalMart to do some shopping. As I passed through one of the small towns that dotted the hills and hollows of our beautiful Ozarks, I saw a small homemade ‘Garage Sale’ sign in front of a little house just out of town. The home was probably built in the 50s or 60s and had a small free-standing garage behind it. I had found some good tool buys in just such a place in the past,...
I am not a yard sale kind of guy. However as I drove past this farmhouse way out in the country I saw a tiny sign that said “Yard Sale.” The sign was being held up by a very pretty young lady. She was wearing a bikini! How could I resist? I stopped as quickly as I could and backed up. As I pulled into the driveway the girl ran to the house. I sure enjoyed watching her ass gyrate as she ran. She called out and a slightly older girl came out of the house in a bikini too. I parked and got out...
Mother Ethel always enjoyed the short walk to the train station. It was beautiful Autumnal morning and Mother Ethel took the opportunity to walk to the train station as she knew that she had a very busy day ahead. Those that saw Mother Ethel along the way bowed reverently,they knew that Mother Ethel was a Nun of the Monastery of Repentance and when a Nun or a Monk walked past it was polite to bow, for many knew what the Nun's and Monk's of the Monastery were capable of. As Mother Ethel strolled...
Lauren, the intern that I’m training and I are in the great city of Los Angeles, meeting with a possible customer to make the biggest sale in our company’s history. “Hello! I’m John Cooper, Vice President of ‘3-D creations’. I’m so sorry for making you wait,” he said walking into the conference room five minutes late for our meeting. “Hello, I’m Rachel, and this is my intern, Lauren. Thank you for meeting with us. We have the product for you,” I said as Lauren and I stood up and shook his hand....
Group SexESTATE SALE By Persephone Albert Brooks was out driving around aimlessly with no particular destination in mind. It was a typical Friday after work. He didn't have any plans, no place to go and nothing to do. He was fairly new to the area and hadn't made any real friends yet. He was bored and just decided to go out for a drive but once he pulled out of the driveway he didn't know where he wanted to go. He was stopped at the light on 122nd Avenue at the intersection of Market...
FOR SALE By Charles E. Campbell with all due thanks and respect to ss, who put the thoughtsfor this short story in my head, and because she is a is a true and constant inspiration to me. Thank you! This story is copyrighted by me, [email protected]. Noportion of this story may be reprinted or reproduced electronically withoutthe express written consent of the author. This is a work of fiction, derivingfrom the minds of two consenting adults. I awoke slowly; very, very slowly. The...
Regina and her friend, Tanya, were both interested in learning how to give a blow job. They were determined to have plenty of blow job giving experience before they went to college.Tanya had several magazines she shared with Regina. The magazines had tips on how to give a great blow job. There were lots of techniques and things to do to a guy’s dick to maximize his pleasure.The more she read about blow jobs, the more Regina wanted to try it.She and Tanya had been giving hand jobs and jerking...
Oral Sex“David, you are not the right sales person for this account. I know the CEO of Cybertix very well, he’s been a client of mine for years, and he won’t relate to you.”I was sitting in the office of Victoria, my boss. There was a big sale opportunity at Cybertix and I badly wanted to be placed on the account so that I could win the sale and earn a big fat commission. Yes, I was desperate. It had been a bad year for me and I had earned almost no commission. I worked as a salesman for Software,...
Now what was I going to do? The question struck to my core. For months, I had been making pretty good money selling adult novelties in people's homes, much like Tupperware parties, except, well, not just anyone was invited. And this is what happens when you don't know your hostess. My husband, Steven, and I had needed some extra money, and a small article in our newspaper had piqued my interest. I'm sure Steven would admit that it piqued his as well. From Steven's perspective, he lost...
Amazon - Part 11: Boot Camp By Itinerant Edited by Amelia R Biographer's Note: This is Nicole's story. It covers those events and people she finds notable in her life and chooses to share. If you have problems with it, take it up with her. I'm just a glorified stenographer. ********** Wednesday, April 7, 2275 The Settlement Interlude 2: Nicole paused in her narrative, stretched, and checked the time. "Oh my! We've managed to while away the entire...
My grandmothers sister has always been close to me, I have been able to talk to her about everything. She knows everything about my fetish and we have talked allot about it, she seems to be quite curious about it. Lets call her Ella. She is 37 years older than me, she is blond with a fit boddy and everythin. She has shoe size euro 41, I have been borrowing shoes from her manny times. She doesn´t look a day older than 40, I prommise!When I was 19 I was going to her at her house, she lives about...
Dot, Dorothea, and Dick Chapter One Dear sister: I found this letter among some others, scrolled up and tied with purple ribbon, in a chest belonging to our great grandfather. The name Charles has belonged to several in our family line, but I believe I know the one who received and saved this letter, and kept it preserved for so many years. I believe the letter speaks for itself, so I will now offer it up to you. Dearest Charles: I hope this missive finds you in such good...