There are some advantages to being divorced. Not many, but some. I can watch all the ball games I want without getting nagged. I can put my shoes up on the coffee table. I can.... actually the list is pretty short. But at least I can dream of having sex with any number of gorgeous girls, and no one ever demands to know what I’m thinking about.
I was doing just that the other night, watching the Yankees playing some other team - I’ve forgotten which - wondering if I’d ever get laid again, when my door bell rang.
“What the hell? It’s eleven o’clock!” I thought to myself as I put down my beer and shuffled to the front door.
“Who is it?” I yelled.
“It’s me, Johanna, Steffy’s friend. Can I come in, Mr. B?”
I tried to put a face to the name of my daughter’s friend. There used to be so many of them trotting in and out of the house when they were teenagers. Yeah! Then I remembered. A tall, skinny kid. They all used to call me Mr. B. because no one wanted to say ‘Mr. Bartkowiak.’
I took a quick peek through the spy hole in the door, and there she was. Wow! Had she ever grown up!
“Come in, Johanna! My goodness! I haven’t seen you for - what - three or four years, have I? Steffy’s not home yet. She’s still up at U.C. Davis.”
“I know! Shut up and give me a hug!”
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her tight against me, squishing her tits against my chest. (Note to self: no bra!)
“You smell of beer! Can I have one?”
“I know where you keep them,” she told me as she headed towards the kitchen.
I stood watching her lanky body glide towards the fridge. She moved like a model on a runway, swinging her hips widely. She pulled opened the fridge door, but instead of bending at the knees to reach into the bottom drawer, she bent at the waist. Her rather short skirt rode up her thighs and gave me a delightful glimpse of her tight little rounded rear end. Lucky she never looked that tempting as a teenager! (Note to self: no sign of any underwear. Thong a possibility.)
She turned back towards me, twisting the top off a bottle of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and I had a good look at the movement of her swinging tits under her T-shirt.
“Sit down, Johanna. Tell me what’s going on. Are your folks still living down at the corner?”
She stepped out of her flipflops and climbed onto the couch, sitting cross legged, giving me a generous view of her bare thighs.
“Yup, still there, doing well. They’re away this weekend, so I’m have a party with some of the old gang. We’re playing a game of truth or dare.”
“Well, Johanna, I’ll tell you
the truth. You have really filled out into one gorgeous young woman.”
“Thank you, Mr. B. Do you like my legs?”
“Oh ssss- sorry,” I stammered, blushing furiously. “I didn’t mean to stare.”
“That’s OK, Mr. B. I like it when an older man checks me out.”
I didn’t feel quite so good about the ‘older man’ reference, but was happy she’d given me sort of permission to look her over. Now that she was sitting still on the couch, I could see the outline of her nipples pushing at her tight little T-shirt.
Before I could drag my eyes away, she asked me another question.
“What do you think of my tits? I like them a lot; I’m really proud of my tits.”
“Sorry Johanna, I’m so sorry, that is - ah - that is so rude of me. I - I don’t know what came over me...”
“I do,” she declared. “You’re divorced and you haven’t been laid in months.”
I quickly took a gulp of my beer to save myself from having to confess that she was right about that.
“You know, Mr. B,” she went on, “I had such a crush on you when I was a teenager.”
“Of course! A lot of the girls did. Specially me.”
“Really? Do you have a boyfriend now?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the direction it was taking.
“Yeah, but he’s so bossy!”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he never wants me to wear a bra.”
“Oh my goodness! So you don’t wear them?” I asked, innocently feigning ignorance.
“Of course not! Look!”
She grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt and lifted it high, giving me an eyeful of two magnificent young tits, firmly projecting towards me.
I couldn’t speak for a moment. The blood must have suddenly drained from my brain and poured into my cock which was now rapidly rising to attention.
“But... aaaah.... you were such a proper little girl a few years ago!”
“Not any more! I’m not allowed to wear panties either. That’s the rule!”
“Not even a thong?” I asked with prurient interest.
“No!” she replied.
“I can’t believe
“You don’t believe me? Look!” she insisted as she lifted her skirt up to her middle and showed me she was definitely going commando.
I sat up fast in my chair, and my hand reached out automatically.
“No touching! That’s the rule,” she snapped at me.
“Oh, I wasn’t going to touch,” I lied.
“I wouldn’t mind, Mr. B., but that’s the rule. My boyfriend makes them up. And it’s the same for him too. He never touches me. He’s keeping himself pure until we get married.”
“Oh, so you’re engaged already?”
“No, not really. Just friends with benefits, if you know what I mean.”
I did know what she meant, and my cock lurched forward making quite a tent in my pants. My curiosity was getting the better of me.
“So, Johanna, can I ask you? How do you get the benefits if he can’t touch you?”
“We touch ourselves. We look at each other but we only touch ourselves. You wanna try?”
She pointed at my crotch where some sort of a wrestling match was going on.
“You look like you need to do something about that.”
I tried to cover it with my hand, but it was useless. She already knew my cock was bursting to get out.
“What do you call it?” she asked.
“Your cock. My boyfriend calls his ‘Mr. Polite.’ Cute, huh?”
“Mr. Polite? A cock’s not exactly polite.”
“His is,” she explained. “It always stands up when I come in the room.”
She laughed and I joined in, in an embarrassed sort of way.
“Oh, I see. Well, I call mine Mr. B.”
“Mr. B? But you’re
“I know; but he’s
more Mr. B. than I
am. He does all the thinking for both of us.”
“Well, tell Smarty Pants Mr. B. to come out and play. I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours.”
I hadn’t played ‘doctor’ since I was a kid, but she didn’t have to ask me twice. I quickly unzipped and tried to get Mr. B. to come out and play. He rigidly refused until I undid my belt and opened up the whole front of my pants.
“Aaaaaah, nice,” she sighed as she stared at my cock, licking her lips. “He’s even bigger than I always imagined,” she added. “Ready? Begin!”
She lifted her skirt again with one hand, licked her fingers on the other hand and began stroking her pussy. ‘Bushwhacking’ I would have called it, except she had no bush.
“Come on, Mr. B. Ooooh, yes,” she growled as she watched me begin to fist myself. “Let me know when you’re going to cum.”
Watching her lying back on the couch with her eyes glued to my swelling cock, her mouth wide open, panting roughly as her hand paddled her pink canoe... I was in ecstasy. With her magical female pheromones wafting across the room into my flaring nostrils, it took just a few seconds before I felt the rising surge, and I knew I couldn’t wait for her.
“Nearly there,” I managed to warn her, and I saw her stop what she was doing and reach into her purse.
“Here I cum!” I sang out, aiming my trajectory onto the floor between us.
There was a flash. I looked up and saw that Johanna had taken a photo with her cell phone.
“I win!” she crowed.
“You win what?” I panted.
“Truth or dare! They dared me to get a picture of you cumming,” she exclaimed. “I win!”
She leapt off the couch, slid her shoes on, grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
“Don’t wait up! Leave it unlocked,” she said breezily.
I caught up with her quickly.
“But what about your boyfriend?” I whispered nervously to her as she opened the door.
“What boyfriend? I made him up! It’s a game we’re playing. Do you want to fuck or what?”
She ran across my lawn.
“But what about the rules?” I called out.
“Don’t worry. No rules. I’ll be back,” she retorted in a lousy Schwarzenneger imitation as she ran down the road.
If only divorce could always be like this...
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/masturbation/truth-or-dare-1.aspx">Truth or Dare</a>