Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters herein are imaginary. All events described here are fictitious. All sexual activity depicted here involves humans at least 18 years old. Nobody is murdered. This story is not to be taken seriously.
This is not a hot stroker. There is no detailed sex in this story, nor vicious cheating-wife BTB revenge, nor justice, nor reality. The cheating narrator is certainly not sympathetic. I sure hope you don't find this tale erotic.
---------- Right Under His Eyes ----------
Yes, I'm a cheating fucking slut, and a liar, and a lousy mother. But at least I'm no whore, and no thief, and no murderer.
I am not a whore, because I don't fuck and suck for money, just for fun. You don't have to pay me for fun. I get paid for talking dirty. And I am not a thief. I don't take stuff without paying, no matter what it's worth. I just pay the price.
Yes, I have been cheating on my poor husband since about before forever, and I am not about to stop. And he never even tried to stop me. I know he does not really like it, but he just can't stop me. Never could, never will.
And now it happens right under his eyes.
It started in high school in San Diego in the late 1960s. I'm Sue Ann. My "big little sister" (I'm older, she's taller) is Brenda. We are both medium-height medium-build mushy blondes, each just one inch either side of 5'6". We are very close, always have been. Very very close.
Our high school boyfriends were Brad and Randy, both tall thin dark-haired guys with hazel eyes, each of them 6'4". Brad the Senior was going with Brenda the Junior, and Randy the Junior was going with me the Senior. So none of us couples shared classes, but we all had lunch together.
And we all went together. We all shared. Brenda and I had always slept together anyway, and had started exploring our bodies together, and touching and tasting and loving each other, back when we started showing boobs and pubes. Brad and Randy just added to the mix. They could almost be twins, even their long cocks.
Yeah, we went out double-dating in public all the time. But we really liked when somebody's parents were away from home for the evening. Then we would all climb into an available bed there and fuck each other silly.
I sucked Brad while my sister sucked Randy. Brenda and I 69'd while Brad and Randy jacked-off each other. I fucked Randy while Brad fucked Brenda; and we swapped. Brenda and I double-blew Randy, then Brad. Brad and Randy double-fucked me, then Brenda. It all got kind of sloppy and juicy and yummy there. We had fun.
We were a happy foursome, except for the usual minor teenage angst. Puberty sucks, you know?
Brad and I graduated in 1970 and went on to the local community college. After Brenda and Randy graduated high school, everything changed. Brenda went to college in Portland, Oregon, and Randy moved to Boston for university. Brad and I dated just about anybody who would have us. We were rarely lonely.
I followed William Burrough's advice. "If you want to get laid, go to college. If you want an education, go to a library." I went to college, tee hee. :)
A year later, Brad and I finished junior college. Brad lost his student deferrment and went to England to avoid the VietNam draft, and I... I missed Randy so much, I moved to Boston too, and convinced him to marry me. I will tell that story below.
Not that I had been exclusive with Randy. Back home, I had still been fucking Brad, and Larry, and Carl, and Linda, and Ted, and Juan, and I think Steve and Felipe and Debbie, but I don't really remember them all that well. I was never going to be exclusive to anybody. Why be a Liberated Woman if you'll just wear chains?
-----
I still lived at home with my folks and sister when I went to community college. I was just another flaky liberal-arts major there, getting a well-rounded education or whatever. Nothing about job skills, nope. I didn't need a lot of money and I'm pretty lazy anyway so I didn't have to look for a serious job. I did not want to work too much, just enough for pot and gas and clothes.
I got lucky and found a perfect job for me: phone sex. I worked a Dial-A-Slut sex hotline.
It started when big Ted took me to a big adult bookstore in a mini-mall not too far from campus. Ted was scanning the racks for the latest WATUSI DYKES monthly. I was just browsing around, soaking up the ambience, thinking about maybe getting some HUMONGOUS COCKS pictorials. Remember, this was back before home video.
"Yo, babe, you over 18? Let's see some ID," the chunky balding leisure-suited proprietor demanded.
"Sure, I'm an adult. What's it to you, fella?" I smirked, flashing my driver's license as I stuck out my rather nice tits and flexed the tight calf and thigh muscles emerging from my short-shorts. "I was born in 1951 and I'm fucking 20 years old now! I'm a woman -- W-O-M-A-N -- and don't you forget it, buddy!"
"Hey there sweetie, you got a pretty good voice, say something nasty to me, hmmm?" he leered.
"How about this?" I emoted sultry. "You're a wee loathsome toad with a one-inch pecker that itches and drips. You *could* get lucky tonight, with a jar full of chopped raw liver, or maybe a blow-up doll. Have you ever had sex with the same living person more than once? I'll bet you raise scared sheep in your back yard."
"Oh beautiful, babe! You're voice is perfect! How would you like a job, afternoons and evenings?"
"A job? Doing what? And where? And how much?" I was almost getting interested.
"Right in the back room, I got a phone bank back there. All you gotta do is talk dirty to the lonely slobs who call in. You get a comfortable seat and phone headset, some scripts to work off of and improvise on, all the drinks and snacks you want. Pay is straight commission. The suckers pay three bucks a minute for every minute they're on the line. You'll get a quarter of that. You could make up to forty-five bucks an hour. That's almost as good as a cheap lawyer or psychiatrist, yeah?"
Now I was definitely getting interested. I could make a load of money, just talking dirty? Fuck yeah! The 1970s would sure be a good time for me.