It all started at the Jaycee Fourth of July Festival in a little town named Van Buren in Clark County in Southern Illinois, it was 1981. I'm Dave Hughes, and three years earlier I had graduated with a degree in Mechanical Engineering from the University of Illinois in Champaign. A bicycle manufacturer in Clark County recruited me to come to work for them, I was more than happy to accept their generous offer. I went to work for them on a project to develop exercise equipment. The fitness craze was strong in the early 1980s, but there weren't big fitness centers as there are now. We developed treadmills, stationary bicycles, rowing machines and a variety of specialized lifting machines for home use. It was a great first job.
Three years on I was leading a development team in designing exercise equipment, a member of the Van Buren Jaycees, a player on a local softball team, the owner of a cherry red Camaro, and feeling well integrated into small town life. In addition to the Fourth of July parade honoring the veterans, the festival included all sorts of other activities from an early morning run, dozens of booths staffed by various clubs and churches and selling cookies, pies, fried chicken, brats, and all manner of greasy and fattening foods. Then there was the beer garden to cap off the day. About 10:00 pm, after I finished my shift selling burgers at the Jaycee food stand, I made my way to the beer garden. I may have been the only sober person there.
My friend Tom Johnson yelled and waved at me immediately when I walked in, he had corralled two girls and was sitting with them and a pitcher of beer at a picnic table. He introduced the blond who was sitting in close physical contact with him as Gretchen, and the small brunette at Cathy. Later she told me her last name was Bradley. Quickly I got the hint that Tom wanted me to occupy Cathy so that he and Gretchen could go somewhere to do more than rub the inside of each other's thighs under the table.
After they left Cathy and I finished the pitcher and did a little leg touching ourselves before she asked me to give her a ride home. About 1.5 seconds after we got into my Camaro, Cathy was all over me, hungry initially for some serious French kissing, I did my best to encourage her. We didn't leave the parking lot, didn't even start the engine before she had my cock in her tiny hands and then in her mouth. Her fingertips almost touched when she squeezed hard on my cock, I was pleasantly surprised first that she even got her mouth wrapped around my cock and then that she took more than half of in down her throat. As a blow job artist, she was talented, aggressive and horny, three of my favorite traits in a woman.
I slipped my hand down into the short shorts she was wearing and was pleasantly surprised to find that she was not wearing underwear. She was leaning over me sucking and stroking but I could easily reach down her shorts from the back, slide my hand between her legs and play with her slit and clit. She went into some exaggerated humping and moaning action, but never stopped her outstanding cocksucking. Her pussy was amazingly tight, wet, slippery, silky smooth and ready for fucking.
At one point I told her that I was something of an expert at pussy licking and I would be very pleased to show her what I could do for her. She asked me to let her keep working on my cock, but she did remove her shorts to give me better access. I continued with the finger fucking and she humped, bucked and moaned, presumably having an orgasm or two without ever missing a stroke on my cock. She was in the middle of one of the groaning organism when I began erupting into her throat, she didn't stop sucking until she came down from a huge climax.
Later as we on the way to her house, she lived with her mother, I was feeling sufficiently recovered to find a good spot to park and go for another round. She replied that she would like that but not right then. She said she wanted to find out if I was as good with my tongue and cock as I was with my fingers.
Three days later I ran into Tom again, he had stories to tell me about how the night with Gretchen went; they nearly fucked each other blind. Then he asked how I liked sloppy seconds.
"Frankly, it kind of turns me on and grosses me out at the same time, why are you asking?" I said.
"Because just before you joined us, Cathy came back from a round of back seat fucking with another guy," said Tom. "She told us that she was feeling well fucked and the cum was still leaking out of her pussy. She and Gretchen traded high fives."
"She didn't offer seconds and I didn't ask," I lied.
"She and Gretchen are old friends and Gretch calls her Wet Mouse," Tom explained. "Apparently she likes to fuck a lot, you wouldn't have to work very hard to get your dick in her."
The following Sunday morning, about 11:00 Cathy knocked on my door totally unexpectedly. Remember, it was 1984, there were no smart phones, no messaging, she didn't even know my phone number. I'm not sure how she knew where I lived, but Van Buren was a small town, everybody seemed to know everybody. I was wearing a pair of running shorts and nothing else. I cringe to think about the kind of running shorts we wore in 1981, they were very short and something like underwear was built in. Kathy didn't have much on either, she was wearing short shorts, a stretch tube top and flip flops.
She asked if she could come in, I invited her in, and then she turned and waved to Gretchen who was sitting in her car, Gretchen waved back and drove away.
"OK if I hang out with you today for a while?" she asked somewhat belatedly.
We talked about the time in the beer garden and parking lot the previous weekend, and I couldn't resist bringing it up, "I understand you had just finished having sex with someone else before the two of us got together."
She explained that yes, she did have sex with another man just before we met, and that was the reason she stopped me from going down on her.
"Do you have panties on today?" I asked.
"Yes, I am wearing panties now," she replied and blushed, "Last week when I was with you they were in my purse."
I gave her a confused look and she continued, "the guy I was with used my panties to wipe off his dick when we finished at the July 4th Fest, such an asshole. Then I used them to wipe myself off and put them in my purse. I can't throw away panties every time I have sex can I?"
When I managed to close my mouth after the jaw-dropping shock about how bold and frank she was I managed to say, "that might get expensive."
"And tell me why some people call you Wet Mouse?" I asked.