My niece plays softball in a little league that is sponsored by the city we live in. Her coach, Kristen (not her real name), is really the only fun thing about the games.
Kristen was on the thick side. She had sort of a chunky face that she usually packed make-up onto, and pouty lips that are the same dark-red color as her long, curly hair. She's not what I would call a classic beauty but she is definitely "doable." And if I had to guess, I'd say that she was probably in her early to mid-30's.
Kristen also gave off the vibe that when she is off the field, she's wild as fuck. In fact, I'd wager that when her daughter is not around (she's on the team too), Kristen probably spends a good bit of time drinking, partying and spreading her legs for the guy, or girl, she brought home from the club that night.
That's not what stands out about Kristen though... What stands out about Kristen are her huge, pendulous tits! They are glorious, even when shrouded by her loses shirts that she's forced to wear. If I had to guess their size, I'd probably put them in the F, or G range. They're big... And I imagine that they probably sag quite a bit when they are not encased by bras that I'm sure are specially made. I don't really care though. Saggy tits are not something that I'd particularly concern myself with if I had my lubed cock stuffed between them.
One day, after practice ended, Kristen approached me. She said that she thought that it was really nice of me to step up and take my niece to her games like I do. I told her that it was my pleasure, and that she shouldn't have to miss out on these kinds of things because her dad is a deadbeat and her mom works so hard. She smiled at me and said again how nice of me it was.
There was a pregnant pause that lasted for about ten seconds probably, and I stole a glance at her chest while she contemplated what she was about to say. 'Thank God for sunglasses,' I thought to myself.
"I know that this is kind of forward but...I don't have my daughter tonight so...if you don't have your niece tonight, how would you like to come over to my place and have a few drinks with me?"
I was a little taken aback by her question, but I wasn't going to squander the opportunity. "Sure," I told her. "What time do you want me over?"
"Does 7 o'clock sound ok," she asked. A smile crept across her face that said it would definitely be worth my while if I said yes.
"Seven sounds good. Do you want me to bring anything? Food? Beer?"
"Beer's fine...Or liquor if you really wanna have a party." I got the feeling that if she didn't have sunglasses on, I would've seen her wink at me.
"Okie dokie," I said, regretting that choice of words immediately. "I'll see you at seven!"
She pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from her purse and wrote down her cell number and her address. She handed it to me and said with a smile in her voice, "Looking forward to seeing you at seven sweetie."
I walked away from her, and the ball field sweaty, horny, and eager for 7o'clock. I had no idea what was going to happen; or even if anything was going to happen at all. It was a change of pace though; an outing (or inning, I guess would've been the correct term) with someone that wasn't family.
It was 6:55 when I pulled into her neighborhood. Small brick houses built back in the fifties lined the streets. Small yards, some manicured, some not, greeted each curb of the narrow streets. They were houses owned by people who were either just starting out, or about to die.
I muttered to myself the address over and over, hoping that I wouldn't forget it; even though the paper with her address and phone number sat safely on my dash. I pulled onto her street, Clemson Avenue, and I started to look at each house for the set of numbers that I was mumbling to myself. When I finally saw them, my heart skipped a beat.
When I pulled up to her home, I was not surprised by the shape that it was in. The yard had toys strewn all over it, and the grass definitely needed a good cutting. There were some weeds in the flower bed but all in all it was a house that looked like it belonged to a single mother that probably didn't make a lot of money.
The house itself was small, maybe a thousand or so square feet. It was red brick like the rest, and it had white shudders. There was a small porch with three white, plastic lawn chairs on it. A large black ashtray sat on the railing of the porch and it was full of butts from light cigarettes.
Before I got out of the car, I made sure that I had the right house. "515," I said aloud. This must be the place. I shut the car engine off and I grabbed the two bags I had in the passenger seat. One bag contained a bottle of bourbon and a bottle of vodka; the other: a six pack of my favorite beer. 'I hope that she has something to mix this liquor with,' I thought to myself as I walked up to the door.
I nervously jumped up the three steps, onto the porch and I was startled by the sudden flash of the porch light coming on. I heard the click of a lock, and then a door knob twist. It swung open and Kristen's short, voluptuous silhouette stood behind the storm door.
"Come in," she said excitedly and I obliged. She opened the storm door to let me in and I walked through the threshold and into her small home.
The first room I walked into was the living room. It was small, and there were pictures of her kid all over the eggshell-colored walls. The living room floor was hardwood, and the sound of clicking heels caught my attention. I looked over to Kristen, and my eyes nearly bugged out of the sockets due to the sight before them.
Gone were Kristen's usual baggy softball team shirt and loose-fitting "mom jeans." Gone were the sensible sneakers and the dark sunglasses. And gone was any inclination for Kristen to hide her assets from judgmental moms and ogling dads. In front of him now was a woman who was showing off more assets than a dealer at an estate sale.
She was wearing a jean skirt that came up to her mid-thigh. Her shaved, tan legs were bare to my eyes and the red leather heels she was wearing put her up to about 5'05; five inches taller than she usually was. She swung around, and her long, dyed red hair swung freely. She turned her back to me and told me to come in and make myself at home. I did as I was told while admiring her ass which was definitely not the most impressive feature she possessed, but it was still quite enjoyable.
I followed her, asking her where she wanted me to sit the two bags that I had brought with me.
"What did you bring," she asked.
"Vodka, Bourbon and beer," I replied.
"Ok, well... Ummm... Let's just take it to the kitchen and then we can put it in there."
"Sounds good to me."
She exaggerated the shimmy of her hips, which accentuated the curvature of her ass in the tight jean skirt. Her movements were made even sexier by the red heels that forced her to saunter instead of walk. I watched, slowly becoming more and more hypnotized by the sexy sway of her lower half. I prayed silently to the gods that I could see her in just only the heels.
"Just sit them on the table," she said, switching the light on and turning around to point out the small, two-person table in the corner of an even smaller kitchen. I walked past her and gently sat the bags on the table and then asked if she wanted a drink.
"I already have one sweetie, but I'd be glad to make you one if you'd like," she said with a tone that could have been mistaken for seductive.
"Um, actually just one of my beers would be fine," I said, trying not to sound too nervous.
"Ok. One beer it is. Would you like it in a glass? I've got chilled mugs in the freezer," she said, pointing a long finger to the fridge. Her fingernails were painted the same red color as her shirt and heels.
"A mug is fine," I said.
She grabbed a beer from the bag and popped the top with a bottle opener. She walked over to the fridge and pulled a 16oz. mug from the freezer. It was clouded by frost so when she poured the dark lager into the glass it looked almost opaque. She got closer to me than she needed to and handed me the ice cold glass. The distinct smell of lilacs entered my nostrils. 'Must be her perfume,' I thought.
I thanked her for the drink and then my eyes uncontrollably made their way down to her cleavage which was on full display to my more than thankful eyes. Quickly I looked back up and we made eye contact. There was a smile on her face that told me immediately that she had caught me.
"It's ok," she said. "You can look. I didn't wear this shirt just to see how many times I can catch you stealing glances of my tits."
"Sorry," I said habitually.
It's ok. Most guys and girls can't help but look, especially if I'm wearing a low cut shirt."
"Well...It is pretty low cut," I said, looking back down and the cherry red halter top that she was wearing. It was tied in the back, and roughly five inches of cleavage were exposed in the front. I had a suspicion that maybe, just maybe, she had planned this; and since she said it was ok for me to look; I did.
Like I said earlier, her tits are huge; I mean really huge. And the halter top she was wearing exposed more of her glorious orbs than I had ever seen. They were obviously not encumbered by a bra, and they seemed to only sag a little, which surprised me.
