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"Code Potteroff"

Tags: sex, reunions

I had to find Stephanie Potteroff. This story is unbelievably true.

Amy Marie Rogers was the kind of friend one does not soon forget. Neither was Stephanie Potteroff. We used to live at the same apartment complex and while our peripheral relationship only included late night parties at the apartment complex hot tub, an occasional trip to a bar or club, and hanging out at each other’s apartment watching movies. Amy was never alone. She and  Stephanie Potteroff- yes, that was her name and the joke of a lot of crude remarks- were practically inseparable. Amy lived on the second floor in a three-floor stock of apartments and Stephanie lived above her.

Amy was Hispanic and Stephanie was your typical blonde- goofy and a bit slow when it came to jokes, which made the two of them very fun to be around. Every guy in the apartment complex tried at one point of another, to bed either Stephanie or Amy. Some succeeded and some did not. As much as I tried, I was not one of the lucky guys. I was deemed to close a friend to screw around with. I hated it.

So, after ten years of losing contact with both Amy and Stephanie, Amy walked right back into my life one day, via social media. I hadn’t thought about either her or Stephanie in years, assuming they each had gotten married and moved on in their respective personal lives.

I was right. Amy had gotten married and then divorced. Amy and I managed to meet up and our meetup, for whatever reason, quickly escalated into a relationship neither of us had planned on. I don’t know who was more shocked, her or I. We connected on so many different levels and the sex was off the wall crazy. Why she and I had not connected before, was a huge mystery to me. We both chalked it up to maturity and perhaps a bit of curiosity and a lot of desperation.

So, one afternoon, as we lie naked on my couch, having just exhausted every ounce of energy with us, I asked,

“Whatever happened to Potteroff?”

Amy was astonished that I had suddenly remembered Stephanie out of the clear blue.

“What made you think of her?” Amy asked.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “she just popped into my mind. I know the two of you were good friends and I was just curious if you knew.”

“She was a crazy bitch,” Amy replied, “and I put the emphasis on crazy.”

I told Amy I assumed that she and Stephanie were very close friends.

“We were,” Amy replied, “until she screwed with Terry.”

Terry was another guy at the apartment complex. He and Amy had a brief fling and then it ended. No one really knew the details. Now, ten years after, I was finding out. According to Amy, Stephanie screwed around with Terry while they were dating.

“What a bitch,” I replied.

“Not really,” Amy replied. “I got even. Actually, we got even. Terry was screwing around with another girl at the same time he was messing around with me and with Stephanie.”

Damn. They should have called the apartment complex “Peyton Place.”

I was all ears at this point.

“So what did y’all do?”

Amy was quiet for a second and I pressed her for the details. She was hesitant to say, at first, thinking I might think bad of her, but I assured her that short of murder, I wouldn’t think bad of her.

“We arranged for a threesome, and after we screwed the shit of him, we tied him up, duct taped his cock to his leg, blindfolded him and took him out to the college campus, and dumped his naked old scraggly self on to the commons. He never bothered either of us again.”

I sat stunned, but not because of what they had done, but because I didn’t see Amy as someone who was bi-sexual or into kinky stuff, like bondage.

“I’m not into the bondage stuff,” Amy said, trying to answer a comment I made about her secret lifestyle. “And, I’m generally not into other women, but Stephanie, she swung both ways; she talked me into it.”

“Did you enjoy it?” I asked.

“Which part?” Amy replied.

“The three-way,” I replied.

“Yeah,” she replied haltingly, “I guess it was OK. It’s not something I live for, but it was OK because Stephanie made for a good partner and she was fun to hang around with.”

The talk of a three-way awoke my sleeping giant. Amy took note and very quickly dispensed a little attention to relieve the stress. That’s what I liked about Amy, she was very quick to see a need and to address it.

I wanted to find Potteroff. I was curious whatever happened to her, and in the back of my feeble mind, I hoped for a reunion and even perhaps, maybe, if I played my cards right and the stars aligned, something more. I called my little endeavor, “Code Potteroff.” Amy laughed when I told her what I was going to do. She wished me well, but said finding Stephanie would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

Social media is a great tool, but it takes a little finesse to skillfully find someone, especially someone who is married and has changed their last name. Fortunately for me, Potteroff is not that hard of a name to look for and once I found a group of them in the small town where she was from, the search didn’t take long.

Stephanie was strikingly beautiful. She was always a head-turner. And now, she was a Jackson. I sent her a back-channel message and asked how she was doing and if she remembered me. I had no sooner hit the “send” button than she replied, “OMG! Yes! I remember you! How are you? Where are you?”

We exchanged phone numbers and within minutes we were chatting on the phone. It was as if we had stepped back in time.

Stephanie, like Amy, was divorced. I told her I thought she was married, but she quickly explained that she kept her ex-husband’s last name because she didn’t want her daughter to grow up with a mom named “Potteroff.” I totally understood.

I asked Stephanie if she would like to meet up for drinks and to catch up. She was all over the idea. We agreed to a place- a local bar and a day and time to meet. She asked if I was married and I assured her I was eternally and profoundly single.

“Great,” Stephanie replied, adding that she looked forward to us meeting up.

“Wear something sexy,” I said.

Stephanie laughed.

“I don’t pull off sexy very well,” she said.

“Yes, you do,” I shot back. “As I recall, you have always pulled off sexy very well, even when you didn’t intend to.”

Stephanie had once pulled herself out of the pool and her very low cut, very loose-fitting bikini top decided to come unfastened. She flashed everyone at the pool, and her flashing was the chat of the community for weeks on-end.

“You never forget anything, do you?” Stephanie remarked.

“Not much,” I replied. “Some things in life, just stick in your memory bank and never go away.”

“Scarred you for life,” Stephanie replied.

“Not scarred, but very impressionable,” I replied.

Stephanie chuckled.

“I’ll do my best,’ she said as we ended our brief telephone chat.

I was a small bit apprehensive in meeting Stephanie, despite having met up with Amy and things turning out very well. Stephanie and I had a great relationship. Like Amy, I had tried unsuccessfully to date Stephanie. We had engaged in some heavy petting after a drunk fest one Friday night. She ended up topless in my apartment and I managed to talk her into a blow job, but then I passed out. When I woke up, my trousers were on the floor and so was Stephanie, who also passed out. I stumbled to my bed and we both pretended like nothing had happened afterwards.

Stephanie wandered into the bar and I knew it was her. She had larger than normal breasts, one of her better assets and even after ten years, they and she were none-the-less beautiful. She wore a low-cut top, that accentuated her mammaries and she had her long blonde hair neatly tied back in a pony tail. Her wider hips gave her a very shapely look. Ten years prior, she looked lopsided with huge breasts and a skinny body. Now, she looked every bit like a model off a fashion run-way in New York. The stirring in my jeans started almost immediately as I watched her survey the small bar, looking for me.

Our eyes connected. She smiled, and I smiled back. The hug was a great one and oh my God she smelled heavenly.

I took a step back and surveyed her, holding on to her hands.

“Nice,” I said. “You really look nice!”

“Hope the blouse looks OK,” Stephanie remarked.

“It looks great,” I replied. Stephanie was always fashion conscious. Even when we all lived at the apartment complex, she was always talking about her latest outfit and asking me to give an opinion on something she was wearing. Her favorite question to ask was, “Does this look good on me.”

I would always tell her that whatever she was showing off in the way of an outfit, would look better off than on her. She’d shake her head and call me “hopeless.”

So when I tacked on my usual comment saying that she’d look better without the blouse than with it, she shook her head and replied, “You’re still hopeless.”

I laughed.

“Let’s see if I am still hopeless after a few drinks or beers,” I replied.

Stephanie saddled up to the bar beside me and we sat and chatted about old times. I didn’t dare mention Amy, although I had devious plans and hopes in the back of my head. Three beers into our conversation and I slipped my hand on to Stephanie’s leg. When she slipped her hand on to mine, I knew I was making progress.

“I used to have a drinking problem,” Stephanie disclosed. She said she attended AA and afterwards, she realized drinking wasn’t her issue, but guys. She said she realized guys would take her out just to get her drink and to take her to bed.

“The bad thing was,” Stephanie confided, “I loved it. I got a lot of attention. I could get any guy I wanted, except for one or two.”

I had a hard time believing she had trouble getting any guy to pay attention to her.

“Oh,” she replied, “there were a few.”

She slipped her fisted hand to her cheek and looked at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You were one,” Stephanie said.

“I was one-what?”

“You were a hard catch,” Stephanie said.

I was stunned. I had always wanted to bed Stephanie, but for whatever reason, we never really connected, outside of the one drunk-fest incident. Stephanie chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Stephanie replied. “I know we tried to fool around a couple of times, but it never really worked out. We were always fucked up.”

Stephanie was never shy about using the “f-word.”

“We’re not messed up now,” I replied. Stephanie slipped her hand on to my leg, running a finger-nailed finger up and down my leg. I was hard as a rock.

“No, we aren’t,” Stephanie replied, proffering a wink. She took a long drink on her beer. She looked at the half empty stein.

“I’m not getting fucked up any more,” Stephanie remarked, pushing the half full glass out from in front of herself.

I placed my arm around Stephanie and told her I was proud of her decisions and that I thought she still had it going on. I smile began to creep across her face and she leaned in closer to me and whispered,

“Let’s go back to my place. My daughter is doing a sleep over with friends. You can spend the night with me and we can make up for lost times.”

Damn. I was such a lucky guy.

I followed Stephanie back to her house, a little three-bedroom abode in the suburbs of the larger city next door. I parked out front as she parked in the driveway.

The house was nice, and it was well decorated. Stephanie took me on a brief tour, showing me her daughter’s room and her small office in the spare bedroom and then finally, we stopped off at the door to the master bedroom. She took my hand in hers and pulled me into the bedroom. There was a four-posted bed in the middle of the room. Stephanie slipped her hands around me and pulled me in close, looking up at me, since she was a good five or six inches shorter than me, even in heels. I leaned down, and our lips met in a soft kiss that belied any explanation. Suddenly, she sucked my tongue into her mouth, and with it, she stole my soul.

In an instant, I was shirtless, as was she. She fumbled with my belt, as I unsnapped her jeans. My jeans fell to my ankles, but I had to help her out of her jeans. I stripped her of her panties as she crawled on to her bed. I buried my head between her legs, pushing her thighs apart as I went for the sweet spot. Stephanie grabbed my head and pulled me upward and on to her luscious little body. I gently massaged her boobs and gave them all the attentions they so well deserved.

Stephanie was out of control. She begged for me to fuck her. I was more than happy to oblige.

I slipped my nine-inch steel rod up to her pussy and rubbed the head of it around the outer bands of her vagina, causing her to cry out and beg for me to put it in her.

“This is my revenge,” I said, “for all those times you teased me and never let me fuck you.”

Stephanie grabbed my cock in her hand and squeezed it.

“And this,” she said emphatically, as she squeezed my manhood, “This is me holding on to revenge and taking control of revenge and me putting revenge right where it belongs!”

She pushed the head of my phallus into her pussy, the walls of her pussy constricting and then clamping down on my tool. They loosened for only a brief second – long enough for me to push further in. My pubic bone met hers and she let out a deep and very soulful guttural sound that can only be heard when a woman is in the middle of a mind-altering orgasm. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her entire body shaking, as she dug her fingernails into my arms.

I pumped my tool in and out of her love box, until I couldn’t hold anything back. I exploded deep inside of her, releasing every bit of stored up energy I could give up. Sweat poured from the two of us.

Stephanie wasn’t done. She sat up and pulled the hair band from her hair, shaking her head and combing out her long blonde locks with her fingers. She bit down on her lower lip and looked at me.

“Dude,” she said, “We have a lot of making up to do.”

The rest of the night was a blur. We fell asleep laying next to each other, then woke up after about an hour or so or rest. We did everything possible under the sun, except anal, because neither of us wanted to go there. The last time I looked at the alarm clock on her night stand, it read 4:39am. Stephanie was curled up beside me. I pulled the covers over us and pushed myself up against her naked little body.

I woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and cooked bacon. I stumbled into the kitchen. Steph was attired in a very tiny satin robe that was loosely tied in the front. She greeted me with a very cheerful “good morning” and a peck on my cheek.

I slipped my arms around Stephanie’s waist.

"So, I guess, she said, 'Code Potteroff' was a huge success."

I froze.

“So, you and Amy are still friends?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” Stephanie replied. “We chat every week.”


“Please tell me,” I said nervously, “There is no duct tape in my future.”

Stephanie laughed.

“No,” she replied. “Besides, we already know you’re not screwing around on the both of us.”

I was relieved, somewhat, until she turned and asked me, with a very straight face, “Would you be interested in a three-some?”

Double damn!!

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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