Ever since I watched the movie, 'Charlie Wilson's War', which came out in theaters a few years ago (I now have the DVD, and watch it constantly), I've been fantasizing about Tom Hanks in the title role. He's already my favourite actor, with his good looks and charm, but seeing him portray my former employer from twenty years ago (he died recently, actually) makes Mr. Hot sooooooo much hotter.
My name is Sylvette Kiss, and I'm a forty-something. I'm a big-assed, saggy-titted sow now--a divorced mother of two living in a crappy apartment, barely scraping by with the help of alimony and food-stamps--but when I started working for Charlie, just starting out as a 19-year-old secretary, I was a petite, sugar-titted little sex kitten. Hell, that's the only reason he hired me. I didn't even know how to type at the time.
Charlie may have been a bit of a chauvinist, and not all that good-looking (in my opinion), but he was charming, and he did help his female staff--all beauty queens, by the way--rise in their careers. He did you favors if you...you know. I never wanted to...you know...with him, for obvious reasons, and that's partly why I'm struggling financially now; but if he'd been as good-looking as Tom Hanks, I would have totally been his whore.
...and here's where my fantasizing comes in.
As I'm lying on my bed and tickling my fancy, if you will, with my vibrator, I close my eyes and dream back to the late 80s and early 90s, when I was working for him, and we were hearing the glorious news of the Soviet tanks rolling out of Afghanistan, and later, the collapse of the USSR. We were celebrating! Charlie was our hero!
Here's how I imagine the Tom Hanks/Charlie Wilson scenario...
...I'm with three other young hotties at our desks outside his office. Junia Sawyers (she insists on her first name being pronounced 'Yunia') is a buxom, curvy redhead whose long, curly hair is tied back in a bun. She takes lots of furtive glances at me; I suspect she's a dyke, or at least bisexual, and secretly has the hots for me. My desk is next to hers.
I've asked Tom/Charlie to have my desk switched with that of Sasha Liszt-Kecak, the hot blonde whose open tops always show off a generous amount of cleavage. He won't let me switch desks with Sasha, who sits at the opposite side of our office, right by the door to his; I'm guessing he likes to check out her tits. Mine are just as yummy! I'd be glad to let him ogle me; I wear open shirts for him sometimes.
Maybe he wants me near Junia. Does he fantasize about her muff-diving on me? I...might allow her to do that, to please him...if he'd muff-dive on me, too.
The fourth of us 'Charlie's Angels' is Reba Blick (or was it 'Blicks'? I don't remember.), a strawberry-blonde with a petite, curvy build like mine, though I'm slightly prettier. I just hope Tom/Charlie agrees.
Suddenly, we hear him call out, "Sawyers! Sylvette Kiss! Sasha Liszt-Kecak! Reba Blick! Get in here!"
We all rush into his office, eager to do whatever he wants us to do (and I do mean EAGER!).
"What do you need, sir?" Sawyers asks, pen and pad in hand.
"The good news just gets better and better," he says, then checks out how my tight brown sweater hugs my chest. "That's a nice-looking sweater, Kiss." He's grinning lewdly.
"Oh, thank you," I say with a coy smile. He's such a lecher, but he's a gentleman about it. I mean, really: you should hear the compliment he WANTS to give me; he isn't thinking about my sweater, I can tell you that.
"I'm being given an award for my efforts in liberating not only Afghanistan, but also Russia from the Soviet menace. The USSR has been screwed by US, and when I say screwed, I DO mean SCREWED!" he says with a proud grin.
"Screwed by all of us?" I ask.
"Well, I meant by US," he says. "The royal 'we', I mean."
"You are a king, as I see you," Sasha says, then goes up to him and fixes his tie. He pats her on the bum.
I'm jealous, wishing my top was as open as hers.
"This calls for a celebration," he says. "Russia is going to embrace capitalism again. I've saved the free world. The Cold War is over! You're all invited to my place for drinks tonight!"
We girls are all screaming. I'm really wet. We all crowd around his chair where he's sitting, and we push our boobs in his face.
"Junia, of...Syvette! Sasha-Liszt...Reba Blicks!" He says each of our names as we each try to fit a tit in his mouth. "Wouldy'all quit rushin' me, please? We're still at work here. There'll be plenty o' that tonight."
*****************
And that night, at his place, there certainly IS going to be plenty of that going on. They don't call him 'Good Time Charlie' for nothing, you know. Indeed, the five of us have already drunk so much, we make Boris Yeltsin seem sober.
He's sitting on his black leather sofa, looking so handsome with his Tom Hanks face and hair, in his black dress pants, light-blue dress shirt with the pink stripes, his blue-gray striped necktie and black suspenders. After taking a sip from his glass of bourbon, he grins and ogles me. I'm now wearing a tight black dress that shows off a lot of leg and cleavage.
His eyes rove down my legs to my black high heels, then back up to my tits again. My pussy's tingling from how his eyes are ravishing me.
"That's a very nice dress you're wearing," he says with that grin still on his face.
"You like it?" I ask, grinning back and turning around for him. I see his eyes aiming at my ass. I'm tingling all the more.
"Yes, I like it very much," he says, ogling my curves.
"Thank you." I'm blushing.
"Come here." He pats his upper left leg for me to sit on. I go over and sit on his lap. The boner in his pants is poking at my butt crack. My pussy's tingling still more. I smile proudly at the other three girls on the opposite side of his living room. They're trying to hide their frowns.
I lean back into his left shoulder and look up into his eyes. "What do you want me to do, Mr. Hanks--er, Wilson?" I ask.
"Well," he says, looking down my cleavage and admiring as much of my purple lace bra as he can see. "I'm curious about what you have hiding down there."
"Oh?" My heart's pounding. I'm breathing audibly.
"Yes," he says, moving his hand up and down my upper right leg. "Would you mind taking all your clothes off, please?"
"Uh, right now? Right here?"
"Of course. Let us all see how lovely you are."
"W-well, I--"
"Don't be shy, sweetie. Are you afraid we won't like what we see?"
I look over at Junia, who's grinning at me.
"Oh, I," I giggle a bit. "I-I'm sure you will like it. Maybe a little too much."
"We're not going to hurt you, Sylvette," he assures me with a sip of his drink, then looks over at Junia, seeming to know that she wants me as much as he does. "We just want to admire your beautiful body."
"Oh,...OK." I take a gulp from my whiskey, then gulp with fearful eyes. I stand up and unzip my dress at the back. I let it fall to my feet. Everyone sighs in awe at how pretty I look in my purple underwear.
"Beautiful," he moans. "Now, off with the bra, please. Let us all see those sugar-tits."
I bite my lip, and facing him, unclip my bra. I hesitate a moment.
"C'mon," he says. "Let's see, let's see."
I take it off and drop it on the floor. He's grinning as he stares at my bare boobs. I smile back.
"Let the girls see," he says after another gulp of his bourbon. "Turn around for us."
My smile fades as I turn around to show the women. I can't bear to see Junia's face, but I'm sure she's got LUST spelled all over her eyes.
I remind myself that there will surely be a big reward for me if I indulge my politically influential boss. After all (I fantasize), he could be president one day, and repeal the welfare reforms that charming, handsome Bill Clinton pushed through, taking away the social safety net that could be helping me through my current financial problems with my sons. (Why did Clinton gut welfare so badly? It's what a Republican would do!)
"OK," Tom/Charlie says, "now off with the panties, and the high heels."
Blushing, I pull my panties down to my ankles, revealing my shaved crotch, something I've gotten into the habit of, for the sake of an ex-boyfriend back in the 80s.
"Ms. Kiss," he panted. "You really ARE jailbait."
(Though the real Charlie never called me 'Jailbait,' as Tom Hanks calls the girl who looks like me in the movie--though I was prettier back in those days--it is an appropriate nickname, as I was the youngest of 'Charlie's Angels,' about twenty-one at the time.)
I blush as I kick off my high heels and panties.
"Turn around for us," he says with a lewd smile, then refills his glass of bourbon.
I do, blushing when I see him--and Junia--ogling my soft little bum. He gives it a gentle patting.
"Ooh!" I yelp, then giggle. I'm soaking in my pussy.
"Sit on my lap again," he says, and I do. Charlie Wilson's willie is impressive. I rub my bum against it as he sips from his fresh glass of bourbon. "Thanks...for the lap dance, sweetie," he grunts.
I look back into his eyes and grin.
"Your body is even more beautiful than I'd ever imagined it would be," he sighs. He holds one of my bare feet and plays with my toes. "Look at your pretty little feet." He tickles the sole of my right foot, just behind the ball.
"Thank you," I say in giggles. I'm tickling my clit.
He looks down and sees what I'm doing. He grins, then looks across the room at my jealous co-workers.
