It was April of 1988 on a Friday night in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. I had to spend a few days up there for work and Kelly decided to tag along to burn off some vacation. It was off-season and the hotel we were staying at had only a handful of guests. Kelly and I had met Steve while we were hanging out in the pool/hot tub/sauna area. Over the course of a couple of days, Steve and Kelly fucked about four times.
The net effect was Kelly’s pussy was on fire and her twat was doing her thinking. After doing a little bit of recon work around town while I was at work, Kelly decided we needed to visit a little country bar about twenty minutes from our hotel.
Kelly shaved herself baby smooth from her waist down. She did some extra work on her makeup, especially her eyes. They were very dark and sultry. Her lips were Fuck Me Red. She was wearing a short denim skirt, no panties, cowboy boots, a black rock concert T-shirt, a bra that had her girls up front and center, and a black choker necklace (I’ve always been a sucker for those). My dick got hard just looking at her!
Kelly and I were both twenty-eight. She was five-feet-two with huge 32F jugs, a gorgeous little bubble butt, long sexy legs, and dishwater blonde hair that hung to her waist. I was six-foot-four and carried standard white boy equipment in my jeans.
To set her tits off and complete her look, Kelly had used scissors to cut the neck of her T-shirt open in the front. She cut probably seven or eight inches straight down. It exposed a mountain of cleavage and if you had a top view, as I always did, you could see the cups of her black bra.
We arrived at a decent looking Northwoods bar and grill around seven p.m. I think my car was the only non-pickup truck vehicle in the parking lot. We had a couple of delicious burgers and a pitcher of beer. We were drinking and people watching. Kelly had worked as a waitress at a little place similar to this just a year or so previously. She could tell the dynamics of who was cheating, who was hooking up, who was breaking up, and she was giving me a running commentary. I didn’t know if anything she was telling me about those people was true, but her stories were cracking me up.
Around nine a DJ (a loosely used term) started playing music. It was about ninety percent country with a few stadium anthems tossed in now and then. Clearly, the crowd was just locals. I bet Kelly and I were the only people in the place that hadn’t known most of the others since grade school. We got up and danced a bit, although country was never really my kind of music.
A couple of times I went back to our table to suck down some beer and Kelly stayed up to dance. As it got toward eleven, the place was actually rocking pretty hard. The crowd was mostly people in their twenties with some thirties and a few forties tossed in for fun. It was pretty easy to see the hookups happening. Every now and then, a guy and a gal would head out the rear entrance only to reappear twenty minutes later with the girl’s hair looking a bit of a mess as she hurried toward the restroom.
I had a couple of girls ask if they could join me at my table. I had my beer goggles on by then and welcomed them. They were only too happy to join me in another pitcher. One was a bit louder than the other. She headed to the dancefloor. The quieter one stayed and drank beer.
Kelly surprised me when she appeared and sat down. She had a young buck in tow. Kelly was thirsty and downed a couple of glasses of beer in seconds. She was yakking with her stud and I was trying to engage the quiet one. Apparently, Kelly asked the guy what they do for fun up there. His answer was the same thing I’ve heard from all Yoopers: “Smoke, drink, and fuck.”
Kelly looked at him and said, “That’s too bad. I guess I couldn’t live here.” She let the next beat pass. “I hate smoking.” His hand slipped onto her thigh as they drank. “But I sure like the other two,” she said quietly. Kelly spread her knees just enough for him to get the message. While above the table they were drinking beer and acting normal, below the table his hand found her bare, smooth, and slippery cunt. He quickly wiggled two fingers inside her.
I could read Kelly better than any book. Her eyes confirmed my suspicions. She actually came as she was trying to drink beer. I couldn’t help but snicker. The quiet one seemed slightly confused. Soon Kelly and “Dale” (as he’d introduced himself) headed back to the dancefloor.
Well, actually, they did not. They worked their way through the crowd and slipped out the back door. There was no foreplay involved. Kelly was on her back on the front seat of Dale’s half-rusted out F-150. Her boots were in the air. Dale had just opened his fly and fished out a young, but average-sized cock. He plunged into Kelly and was intent on rutting toward his own orgasm. Kelly was simply his vessel of the moment because you know; up there they like to fuck.
Kelly didn’t mind. He was fucking her pretty hard and had gone long enough that premature ejaculation was no longer a worry. He stopped and asked if he could see her tits. Kelly struggled to pull up her shirt. Dale wanted her bra off and realized he had her nailed to the seat making it almost impossible for her to maneuver.
Dale pulled out and sat on the seat. Kelly sat up and pulled her shirt over her head and reached around and unhooked her bra. Dale was awestruck by her huge globes. He scooted. Kelly scooted and then she was sitting on his cock as Dale slobbered all over her chest. Kelly liked the changeup because then she was in the driver seat, figuratively. Kelly rode him for what she needed. He stayed hard and she humped his cock until she moaned out an orgasm.
Dale had a mouthful of tit as he spastically thrust his cock up into Kelly and then he stopped and dropped his ass onto the seat. He popped her tit out of his mouth and said something sincere and meaningful like, “You were a great fuck.”
Kelly decided to skip the bra as she pulled her T-shirt back on while she sat on Dale’s deflating cock. Dale grabbed her shirt and stopped it from covering her tits. He motorboated her boobs. In the process, he tore the slit in the front of the shirt open a few more inches, which Kelly didn’t notice right away. His cock was limp and slipped out of her hole. She felt his small load go with it. Kelly climbed off and out of the truck. Dale got out the other side, put away his cock and hustled toward the bar. He half-shouted over his shoulder from fifty feet away, “Thanks again!”
Kelly went to our car and found that, of course, I had locked it. She slipped her bra under the windshield wiper and came in through the front door. She sat down with me. The quiet one had just gotten up to dance at the insistence of her friend. Kelly gulped some more beer and gave me a quick update.
She headed back to the dancefloor. She saw Dale was already working on his next bedpost notch of the night. She bumped into someone, turned around, and pretty quickly was dancing with another guy. He said his name was Todd.
The quiet one was back. I asked her if she’d like to go outside for some air. God as my witness, in response, she said, “I can’t fuck this week but I’ll suck your dick.”
My mouth spoke before my brain engaged, “I’d love to have my dick sucked.” Out to my car, we went. We climbed in back and I pulled down my jeans. She leaned over and took the tip of my cock into her mouth and then gave me a handjob. I reached for her boobs and she pushed my hand away. I sat still and took a trip in my mind to one of the times that Kelly and I were outside sitting around a campfire. She had walked over to me, kissed me passionately, pulled out my cock, and sucked me like an angel.