Sweet Sally
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Sweet Sally free porn video
As (almost) always, this derives from real life, in this case, real life was merely a spark to ignite the story, which is mostly fictional.
*
What do two teenagers — one a tall, gangly male, the other a roly-poly female — have in common?
Well, more than one might think.
I was the tall male, a skinny kid with big thighs who had to wear pants three sizes too large to accommodate them. Sally was the female, a rotund blond with lots of girlfriends and not a single male suitor.
It was the first week of freshman year a P_____ High School. I’d seen Sally around the campus, we even had some classes together, though that level of detail was obscured, in those early days, by the crush of information dumped onto the heads of young adolescents. This class, then that one, now go waaay over there for the third, well, you get the idea, if you’ve attended an American high school.
As things settled, I began to take notice of my surroundings. Sally was among those elements of my life. I knew her name, and precious little else about her, as one might expect.
We attended an ‘experimental’ high school, one in which convention was looked at as wrong, the early seventies as an anchor point. We had ‘small group’ and ‘large group’ classes, that is, a class of twenty or so on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and larger lecture groups on Tuesdays and Thursdays. College sans tuition, one might even say.
Large groups were conducted in enormous rooms, a teacher at the front, rows of modular desks arrayed down the line, an overhead projector displaying the teacher’s ramblings before us, the lights off.
It was on a large-group day, a Thursday if I recall, that I met Sally, and I mean properly, for the first time.
I grew up a Baptist, Southern Baptist to be specific, and my Dad was a back-row man. Always sat in the back pew. The habit took.
So there I was, sitting in the last row of desks on large-group day, already way ahead of the teacher, when the door behind me opened.
Everyone looked up in annoyance at the intrusion. The room, after all, was dark, it was essentially a theater. The light was distracting, to say the least.
The figure in the door slinked in, heading toward the back row. I saw it was Sally, I stood, pulling out the chair in the modular desk next to mine, as a gentleman would. She sat, and as the teacher called order, Sally whispered, ‘Thanks!’
‘Ain’t nothing to it,’ I replied, under my breath. We spent the remainder of the period listening to the lecture and casting glances at one another.
The final bell of the day eventually buzzed. Class was dismissed, the lights came up, teenage bodies milled about.
Sally gathered her things, turned to me, and said, ‘I appreciate your help.’
‘Think nothing of it, m’lady!’ I quipped, I took her hand, brushed it against my lips, and released.
She blushed and giggled, then she met with some girlfriends, and we parted ways.
I must admit, I was a tad intoxicated that evening, wondering about Sally. I knew her first name, obviously, but not too much more. Last name surmised, overheard and confirmed, but no idea where she lived, what junior high she’d attended, nothing.
The next day we caught up with one another on campus. Truthfully, we accidently happened upon one another, sitting on adjacent benches in the courtyard, surrounded by clouds of friends and acquaintances.
We locked eyes, shared a brief smile and a flirtation, and then went about our business.
Time passed. We came into contact more and more often. She made a habit of coming into Algebra LG day and sitting beside me, and as we were studying French under the same teacher, we took up seats next to one another.
It was all so innocent.
Finally, after Christmas / New Year’s holiday hullabaloo was done, and January was nearing its end, Sally approached me one day, and turned my world upside down.
‘Juh, Jeff?’ she stammered, blushing.
I grinned. ‘Miss Sally! How are you?’ I replied.
Her blush became crimson. ‘Uh,’ she choked, ‘would you… mmm.. mind… mmm…’
I laughed, and said, ‘Come on, baby, spit it out!’ I was sooo unaware of the adult double entendre, innocent that I was.
Her crimson became fluorescent. ‘I wonder if you’d go to the Sadie Hawkins dance,’ she rasped, then, ‘with me.’ She was not looking at me.
I laughed, a belly laugh at this point. She looked stricken, and began to turn away, I took her hand, brushed it against my lips as before, and said, ‘I will gladly attend the dance with you, sweet Sally.’
Her fluorescence became radioactive, but somewhere in that nervousness, a smile emerged. ‘Okay,’ she croaked, scurrying away.
The swings and errors of outrageous adolescent emotions stabilized, and we were able to resume normal conversation during the school day. The dance was another two weeks out, I asked my mother to assist me in learning to dance. Hell, she’d been bugging me to learn, as had my father, my sisters thought it was funny, watching me try to lead Mama, and following Dad, but we showed ’em.
I was Freddy Astaire in no time. Well, no, but you get it.
++++++
The night of the dance, a Saturday, the parents drove the kids to the school gym. We were too young to be dating, and forget dating sans chaperones, our parents met, got along nicely, and cheered from the sidelines as Sally and I tore up the dance floor, doing ballroom moves no-one else even attempted. Clumsy, unprofessional, but we were doing them, and no one else was.
We got a Standing O, from the other kids, teachers, and parents, and we became lovers.
Not sexually, no, don’t go there. We were about fifteen, nowhere near old enough, but we were an item. That evening, on that dance floor, we became innocent lovers.
++++++
The next three years or so were good for us. We were the Golden Couple of the school, the smart kids who cared about one another, and as much as I wanted, I never let my hand stray. It was tough, she’d begun shedding that baby fat, and was approaching fox-dom. I had a wide-open libido, but I was a gentleman first, determined to remain so.
Graduation tore us apart. I was to attend one university, on scholarship, she another, paid for by her parents.
We survived, though, against all odds, sharing time during holidays and breaks and summers, coming back together as though it was meant to be.
Two years after graduation, we tied the knot. We’d beaten the actuarials. The only significant others either had ever known, and we’d stayed together.
++++++
Our wedding night was so sweet, she was a virgin, as was I, a man can’t prove it, but a woman… well, she was. We fell into a lovely sexual dimension of passion and loving and touching, unobscured by the memories of other lovers.
I gave her three orgasms for every one I experienced, and she came back for more. Lots more.
Time conspired with biology to produce four children within seven years.
Twelve years after our wedding, all was good.
++++++
It was a cool October afternoon, a Saturday, when my world turned upside down.
I was out raking leaves, and I finished early due to an approaching rainstorm. I didn’t get caught, I saw it on the horizon, heading our way, and so redoubled my efforts to finish as quickly as possible.
I entered the basement just ahead of the deluge, I stripped and showered in the lower bath, as there were some casual clothes and toiletries there. I felt good and clean and horny. The children were staying with her parents, there was a birthday party for a distant cousin, followed by a gathering we were supposed to attend in the evening.
What an opportunity!
Well, no.
I walked up the stairs into the main area of the house. It was empty and quiet, it felt normal.
My parents raised me to walk
softly in the house, and that’s why Sally never heard me climb the stairs from the living room to the upper floor.
That’s where I heard her conspiring against me, admitting her infidelity.
‘Yeah,’ she said softly, as if into a telephone, ‘his dick was soooo big, bigger than my wimpy husband’s, and it filled me all the way… yeah! so much cum,’ she moaned, ‘I thought I’d been firehosed.’
I stood, startled and angry, hurt and confused, disbelieving and yet believing.
My wife was cheating on me.
‘Oh, it was like, how can I describe it, a telephone pole!’ She giggled, and then there was silence, she was listening to another party.
There was another burst of laughter, followed by, ‘Okay, talk to you later!’ and the sound of her hanging up the phone.
I crept back down the stairs, into the basement, I locked myself in a room she rarely used, and I wept for a few moments.
Bitch wants it all, I thought, she’ll get nothing.
I eventually emerged, and lay on the downstairs sofa. I was sick and heartsick, defeated and angry and thirsty for knowledge.
Sally came down the stairs about ten minutes before we were to leave for the party. ‘There you are!’ she exclaimed, ‘We have to go now.’
‘So go,’ I replied gruffly.
She froze. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. Bitch sounded concerned.
‘No, I am not okay!’ I barked, turning my face into the sofa.
There was a silence, then, ‘Okay, I’ll tell everyone you’re feeling poorly.’
‘You do that,’ I snapped.
I heard her pause, and then ascend the stairs.
After the car drove off, I went upstairs and fixed a meager dinner, spaghetti if I recall, I ate, watched TV, played a computer game or three, and then, as I heard the car enter the garage, I slipped back downstairs and settled onto the couch.
An hour later, Sally came downstairs. I made no move to acknowledge her. She placed her hand on my head, rubbing lightly, I flung it away, still unable to deal with what I knew.
She rose silently, and went upstairs.
++++++
The next week was very tense.
I said as little as possible to Sally, I responded to her attempts at conversation with monosyllabic grunts. The children seemed uneasy, and yet unable to place a finger on the problem.
I turned the problem over in my head again and again, allowing it to percolate on the back burner. I was conflicted, without proof of a transgression.
Friday rolled around. I arrived home from work later than normal, as I had been doing all week. I found her in my easy chair, I sat at the end of the sofa.
‘Jeff,’ she said softly, ‘you’ve been different this week. Is there something going on I should know about?’
I said nothing.
She took my hand and squeezed it, I allowed it, loving the feel of her skin more than I hated what I knew.
‘Have I done something?’ she probed.
I sighed, a deep, shuddering hurt. The fight was gone, I could no longer hate, nor could I hide. At length, I said, ‘I heard you talking about your affair.’
She was silent for a moment, a look of perplexion on her face. ‘My affair,’she repeated.
‘Yeah, you know,’ I said, ‘Mr TelephonePole.’ I looked her in the eye, waiting for an admission.
There was a pause, then she burst into hysterical laughter. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to smother the snort I knew would come. It did, as did a couple of others.
She choked and coughed, laughed, and waved me away, then she looked me in the eye, and said, ‘That was YOU, you silly!’ as she dissolved into laughter again.
She laughed for another minute or so, and finally said, ‘Hoo, hmmm, I’m very sorry,’ wiping her eyes, ‘but I can’t cheat on my Mr Wienerman,’ as she leaned over and flicked my crotch. ‘Mr TelephonePole,’ she added, wiping another few tears.
I was by this time utterly confused. ‘I’m lost,’ I said.
‘And it’s my fault,’ she replied. ‘Hang on a sec.’ She reached over to the phone, snatched it up, punched in a number, and after a moment said, ‘Hey, Robin? Can you come over?’ Pause. ‘I have a problem.’ Pause. ‘No, it’s cool, but I need you. Okay? Thanks, babe.’
Robin was Sally’s friend from childhood, and mine since high school. She was a bridesmaid at our wedding, and remained one of Sally’s stitch-and-bitch regulars.
I must have looked stupid, I kept asking Sally what was going on, but she refused to say anything except to wait for Robin.
That didn’t take long. Robin lived a mile away, with her husband Robert, a decent if ordinary man. She entered through the front door, she saw the mix of tension and mirth, frowned, and sat.
‘Robin,’ said Sally, ‘tell Jeff the true identity of TelephonePole Man.’
Robin turned three shades of red. She looked at me, and said, ‘Well, it’s you.’ Sally laughed again.
‘Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?’ I barked, that got their attention.
Sally said, ‘There was this contest on the LiterateEroticStoriesOnline site. Robin got the idea to do a story about a wife who cheated on her husband.’
I looked at Robin, who smiled wanly and nodded. ‘I tried to picture myself cheating. You know, on Robert.’ She blushed furiously.
‘And why would you do that?’ I fumed, though most of the steam was gone.
‘I love Robert,’ said Robin, ’cause he’s good to our kids and honest to a fault. But he’s not a good lover. God help me, he’s lousy, and sometimes, just sometimes, I’d like to stray. I won’t, but that’s what these erotic sites are for. I just needed a little help from a woman with experience.’
I sat there looking stupid, the women exchanged glances, then, Robin said, ‘Jeez, Jeff, you really don’t know?’
I shook my head, and the women again exchanged glances.
‘Jeff, do you really have no idea how jealous we are of Sally?’
‘We?’ I said.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Dammit, yes! Sally is the only one of us who kept her cherry until her wedding night, and then gave it to you!’
Robin wiped a tear and continued. ‘You two were the sweetest couple in high school, and everyone knew you didn’t lay a hand on her. Well, her friends, anyway.’
Sally took her hand.
After a moment, Robin continued. ‘All of us, Gloria, Carlie, Gracie, we were all so impressed with you. All the other guys wanted was to cop a feel, maybe get a hand job, a blow job if they were lucky, and a piece if they were really fortunate. Remember Debbie Bascom?’
I nodded slowly. Debbie was on the bullet train to valedictorian, when, during the summer before senior year, she let some lowlife talk his way into her panties. She got pregnant, and lost her future.
‘Well, Sally had the one real man in school.’
I was beginning to see.
After a moment, I said, ‘And you swear to me, that’s all Sally was doing?’
Robin looked me directly in the eyes, and said, ‘I swear I’m telling the complete truth. I just needed some really spicy dialog. You know how creative she can be…?’ She blushed at that last.
I looked at Sally, she looked me in the eyes, never wavering, smiling a little.
Robin said, ‘Jeff, you have a good woman. She loves your sorry ass. Don’t forget that.’ She paused, then, ‘Please, please, don’t tell Robert. It would kill him. I’d really never hurt him. Okay?’
I nodded, Robin stood, kissed me on the head, and let herself out. I sat there for a moment, feeling Sally’s eyes on me, feeling lower than whale shit. ‘I’m so sorry, precious girl,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
She stood, after a long moment, she extended a hand, which I took. She led me to the bedroom, where she disrobed the both of us, and pushed me onto the bed, following.
She positioned herself beneath me, she directed Mr WienerMan at her grotto, held my face, and said, ‘I’ve loaded you with needless grief. Give it back to me.’
I moved in, and out, silently, ha
ppily, lustfully.
She accepted my seed and my sorrow, my anger and my apology, into her loving, faithful pussy.
As we disentangled, she whispered, ‘You’re the only man who will ever have my permission to my pussy. Its all yours, baby.’
We kissed, lightly, sweetly.
I spooned behind her, my right arm reaching around to grasp her right breast, my sleeping bosom, as we called it, after so many years together.
And then we drifted into the slumber of love.
We were one for the other, and none other, and my heart was at peace.
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