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“Honey, I been gay all my life. Let’s just say that some people found out before you did.”
Found out? This was the guy who walked through the school halls singing Summer Nights from Grease, both the male and female lyrics. His sexual orientation wasn’t much of a mystery.
But it was settled. Whether I wanted to or not, I’d be going to my twenty year reunion. I wished I could be happy about possibly getting some repeat dick but I couldn’t remember a single dick I’d consider sucking or fucking again. My virginity was snatched away when I was fifteen and it hurt and it didn’t feel special and I didn’t even like the guy all that much. My friend had lost hers and I kind of felt like I was behind and needed to play catch up. So I caught up.
I know, poor me. Poor Mandy. Fuck that. Sex is great now and I’m glad I lost it when I did. It gave me a chance to experience the bad before finding out what the good feels like.
***
I’m not sure why we all feel the need to dress up and impress people at a reunion. I didn’t care about impressing them back in the day so why would I care about impressing them now?
It would be so much cheaper and probably much more impressive if we all showed up in nothing but a towel and flip flops. I almost voiced my thought, but I knew Jill would totally agree, and might try to force me to go in matching outfits. I’m confident in myself but not enough to show up with the post-shower look.
I’m thirty-seven years old and proud to say I’m considered a MILF by a poker playing, money shot loving, gym employee. Yes, I’m the shit. I’m what they call a new adult. I’m a strong woman with a great sex drive and a pussy that often craves a man’s touch. I have to admit, that I was looking forward to finding a sexy dress for this shindig.
Maybe dressing to impress is my way of saying, “Watch out Class of 1996, Mandy is coming and if there’s a slightly attractive guy in the house, I’m going to sit on his face before the night is over!”
Fuck yeah! Besides, face sitting is good for your soul. Someone said that. I don’t remember who. Or maybe it was in a fortune cookie or something. Ha! Can you imagine opening a fortune cookie and the message says, “Tonight is your night. You will ride a mustache before the sun rises. Face sitting is good for your soul.”
Now that I think about it, everything would be better if you could do it while riding a face. Think about it.
Folding laundry sucks. But if you could fold laundry while having your pussy eaten…that’s what you call winning.
Doing dishes? Horrible. Doing dishes while bent over as he tongues you from behind? Epic.
Watching the entire series of Sex in the City from season one to six…while riding a face? Can I get a hell yeah?
In the meantime, until I was able to sit around and have my pussy eaten through every mundane facet of life, I had a strong desire to look my best at the reunion, so I dragged Ben to the mall. He needed a new outfit too. Jill would look good no matter what she wore so she was on her own.
So Ben and I hit the new galleria in our area in search of some sexy new threads.
“We need to go see Braden Bot,” he informed me.
“Oh…come one,” I begged. “Not today. My hormones are all out of whack already and every time I see him I think of jumping his bones.”
“And what’s wrong with that? I like you better after you’ve had sex. You’re easier to deal with.”
“Fuck off.”
“My point, exactly.”
I didn’t want to see Braden Bot. He was a big hunk who looked a lot like Braden but meatier. He was Braden with a lot more muscles and a lot less wit. He was the robotic, plug-him-in-and-charge-him-up-then-fuck-the-shit-out-of-him-without-getting-too-emotionally-involved, souped up version of my man. Where Braden left what could be described as an emotional aching between my legs, his musclebound alter ego left a physical one. The guy’s cock was huge. Wait…let me set the scene for you.
The first time I met him I was with Ben, a lot like this shopping trip, looking for something he could wear on a date. Braden Bot didn’t care one iota about Ben’s need for a suit that screamed, “Bend me over and fuck me in the ass.” Those were Ben’s words, not mine. That’s what he called it, a bend-me-over-and-fuck-me-in-the-ass suit. Who was I to argue?
While Ben did his shopping on his own, Braden Bot spent his time checking me out. And I’m not going to lie. I was eyeing his package through his designer suit. I could see the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric.
Now, every girl says she wants a gigantic cock. It’s a fact. We all think we want one. It sounds great, a cock that can hit our inner throat and scrape our vaginal walls. Looks good in all the porn videos. Yum. Right?
Wrong.
It sounds perfect but in reality too big can be too much to handle. Trust me. I know. And my dildo is no shrimp. That thing makes a major thud when I lay it on the bed. But it doesn’t come close to the size of Braden Bot.
He took me for lunch in the mall food court. Come on, don’t laugh. Go easy on the guy. He was on his lunch break. I can enjoy Sbarro from time to time. I don’t need to be taken to damn Benihana for every date. So we enjoyed our slices of pepperoni pie. That’s what he called it. With that New Jersey accent of his.
“I can always go for a slice or two but I been known to eat a whole pie.”
“Pie?” I asked.
