As if I have nothing better to do, I am interrupting my vitally important writing about the 2018 elections (not under this name, idiot) to relate a dreary little male chauvinist story that my friend, Raymond, told me last night at Pete's Lay-Up, a bar in town.
Raymond is about 10 years older than I, divorced, rich, and well-hung. I threw in that last bit because this is Literotica. But he is well hung. I had sex with him once, as a Christmas present, and a week later he gave me a $5,000 watch as a gift. When I took his dick in my mouth, my jaw actually made a funny "click" sound. I thought I had dislocated it.
It was our only time; he knows the rules and is resigned to buying me expensive Chardonnay a couple times a week at Pete's and gazing at my plunging neckline with its pale, beautiful, but not especially bulging bosom. Also, telling me stories that with most other women would get his chest hair ripped off for being a MC Pig. Don't get me started, but men and women have inherently different, and to some extent complementary, sex psychologies. I know that. But don't get me started.
How many women would do the equivalent of sitting every week watching the cleaning girl and mentally undressed her and wishing, "Oh, if I dared! What might she do? Tell my wife? Tell the agency?"
Well, I suppose hard-up older women might watch the pool cleaning guy that way, or the kid mowing the lawn. But Raymond is not hard up. Do you know any women who would like to meet a handsome, courtly—okay, dirty minded—divorced lawyer in his fifties who is rich, has a mansion in East Hampton, and loves to travel? As a matter of fact, you do. We all do.
So, glancing down at the ever-so-subtle contours of my décolletage and pouring the chardonnay, Raymond sighs: "Guess what?"
The tip of your pecker is caught in your zipper and you want me to come to the men's room to help you? I didn't say that.
"I finally hit on Francesca." He nodded, watching my expression. "I did. I hit on her. And guess what?"
"She said, 'I don speak de English so mash' and giggled, the way she does when you try to tell her not to get Windex on everything in the fridge?"
He lifted his eyes reverently. "She is SO hot-and that smile! I love hot days when she comes with her ass packed into those tight shorts and wearing a halter. I know she knows I'm watching when she bends over to dust. Her boobs are just spilling like fruit from a cornucopia. Then, she peeks over at me and giggles! I KNOW she wants it!"
I glanced, as they say, "meaningfully" down at my chest. I am lanky. I have long, pretty legs, a bony but pretty face framed with short pixie hair, and very big smoldering brown eyes. I don't have boobs; I have titties.
"I'm not even BEGINNING to compare her with you, Ellen. YOU are Diana! I always imagine you in the forest, nude, with a drawn bow. The string almost touches your left nipple."
Dear God, can we get on with this story? Is there any sex? "How did you hit on her? Sign language?"
"No! Computer translation! On my laptop!"
"Oh..."
"I did. It just came to me. She can read! Spanish, I mean."
"You seduced her in translation?"
"I was watching her. You know, as usual. Sitting in my chair with my laptop. This time, before she bent over, I noticed she reached back and hiked up her halter. I saw her boobs jounced up and squeezed together. Great grapes of Bacchus! So, I typed...just a sec, I recorded it all on my phone, too. Here: 'Cuando él se inclina, ¡tus pechos me llenan de alegrÃa!'"
I leaned forward and stared at it. Was this tacky, or what? Oops. Don't judge.
I frowned and said, slowly, "Something like 'When you bend, your chest...something with joy'?"
"Yes! 'When you bend over, your breasts fill me with joy!""
"You said that?"
"Typed it, yes. English to Spanish. And I waved her to come over. She looked a little alarmed, actually, but she came. When I gestured at the screen, she read it. For a minute, she frowned, and I thought, 'Oh, shit!' Then, she burst out laughing. Guess what? She reached up as natural as could be and hefted her boobs, still laughing! What a woman!"
"What did she say?"
"How do I know, a lot of Spanish. Much too quick, for me. Anyway, I don't know much Spanish even though I know I keep saying I will study it-for her..."
"You didn't get any of it?"
"Well, I did hear 'dinero' and 'mi trabajo'"
"I nodded. 'Money' and 'my job.' Makes sense. Needs the money, needs the job. Raymond, this is beginning to sound like a newspaper story from a #MeToo gal."
"Oh, Christ! Do you have to?"
"Sorry. Then, what did you do?"
"I typed...Here, look..." The phone, again. "Sueño con verte desnudo cuando desempolvas los muebles."
Raymond leaned closer to me. He said, in a whisper, "It says, 'I dream of seeing you naked when you dust off the furniture'."
"Uh-huh."
"She read it! I think she blushed! Really blushed. But you can't tell..."
"When did you cut to the chase?"
"You mean...? Oh, right. She seemed to be ready to back away and get back to work, so I typed: "Quiero ayudarte con dinero."
I nodded. So great to be a woman. I said, "Yeah, I imagine she got the point."
"Did she ever! You know what?"
She smashed your computer screen with her duster, then tried to shove its handle down your throat? I did not say that.
"She looked right in my eyes, gave me the biggest smile—smirking, really, and reached behind her."
"This really happened?"
"Yup. Never stopped grinning. Her halter came down, right off." He shook his head, slowly. "Awesome, Ellen! Her tits were beautiful! They were sculptures! So firm that her nipples pointed up! And they were...oh, I'd say...the color of burnt sienna. Very crinkled. There were beads of sweat between her breasts."
Big tits ARE nice. So happy for you, Raymond. I actually said, irrelevantly,
"Francesca is her name? Trying to get a human face, here. Not a hot taco from South of the Border."
"Francesca, yes. I just sat there, staring and smiling. We both were grinning like dogs on a hot day."
"That's called 'panting.'"
"Panting, then. At least, I was. So, when I did nothing, she shrugged a little and snapped open the button of her shorts, shoved them down with her fingers—her panties along with them. Red panties. They dropped straight to her ankles. What a pussy! Absolutely shining black; it looked oiled. Growing up her belly, fringes on her legs... Spreading like dewy grass on rolling hills."
"That's nice, Raymond. Did you type that into the translation program? Like grass..."
Raymond gazed at me, for a moment. "No," he said, reproachfully. "I did not. Are you making fun of this, Ellen?"
Who, me? No! This deserves to be a Verde opera, La Vagina de Francesca. SO romantic! I only said: "You took her to bed?"
"I didn't get up from the chair. I reached for her and she stepped a little closer. I cupped my hands over those boobs. I could feel her stiff nipples against my palms and she pressed them into me. I started rubbing in circle and she closed her eyes."
"Woman everywhere."
"Right. Then, I took each of her nipples between my fingers and pulled her toward me?"
"Men everywhere." I was busy with my chardonnay. I didn't have to say anymore.
"She gave me a big smile and leaned back! Yes!" He came closer to whisper to me. "Very slowly, she drew back, so her nipples stretched. She was watching them. I pinched harder to hold on. It was like a game of chicken."
I had thought that chicken was when my nipples were clipped to my girlfriend's and we were pulling to see who would give up and squeak first. Not that I ever did, but I might. I am very tough.
"I just got crazy, Ellen. Suddenly, I jerked hard. Francesca gave a gasp and fell forward toward me. She was reaching up to cover her titties. She ended up on her knees in front of my chair, gently massaging her nips."
"On her knees! Convenient!"
"Yes, but she is not a pushover."
If you say so.
"She reached up, grabbed my belt, opened it. She yanked down my shorts. I mean, this babe is strong! She got hold of my cuffs and almost dragged me off the chair. She threw them aside as though she were preparing to beat me up. I could see her beginning to breathe hard. Breasts rising, lips parted. God, what a beautiful full face, just blooming, Ellen!"
"Did you have a woody?"
"I had an oak tree trunk! I always had thought that before I seduced her, I would take a Viagra. No time! Didn't need it. My underpants were like a tent with a steel center pole. She smiled when she saw that. I love the way she looked right into my eyes as she was dragging off my shorts. My dick popped out and slapped back against my belly. God, I was hard!"