Rhonda was standing out on a balcony as evening fell over Paris like a reluctant curtain. John had decided to take a shower (some concession, Rhonda thought!) and Rhonda wandered out to take a look at the city, lit like birthday candles stretching in every direction. The air smelled fresh and clean and she was smiling to herself. She would be having sex in a little bit, she was quite sure. It had been a while since an official fuck, she thought. Funny, though, she found her mind going elsewhere, bouncing from light to light, like thoughts or French fireflies. Then she spotted a silhouette just across the way that caught her attention. It was a woman, older, she thought, maybe 40ish, full breasts, nipples hard, clear in the white curtain, backlit as they were. She was gesturing to someone, she couldn't see who, just her right arm moving, as if saying "come here, come here."
Then she saw a larger figure approach, naked, too, at least judging from the roundness of the shoulders. They embraced and then she saw the woman's form drop to her knees and as the man turned sideways, she could see how hard -- and large -- he was. The shadow began to fellate him, slowly, lingeringly and Rhonda was riveted.
She'd seen this sort of thing in person, for crying out loud. This shouldn't have been that big a deal to her. But in this moment, it sort of grabbed her and she found herself growing a bit short of breath, becoming aroused. She ran a hand absently over her breast, found the nipple hardening, lifted her shirt and touched her tummy. Was warm and soft and felt good. Then, she saw another dark shadow, a larger figure come up from behind the woman on her knees and she could tell the way the woman moved, it was another man. Now wasn't this a nice way to enjoy a Paris evening?
In a moment, the two men turned sideways, so you could see their erections flanking the woman on either side and she did an admirable job, working one, stroking the other, then vice versa. It was so deliberately in front of this shade, Rhonda thought, they must get off on that kind of thing. She looked around, below her, in adjoining houses and she seemed to be the only one getting this treat. It was, she had to admit, turning her on.
When John came out of the shower, dressed in a silk gold robe, hair combed back on his forehead, he didn't immediately see Rhonda and hollered for her, wondering if she'd slipped out. He took a few more steps, then looked out on the balcony to see her watching something intently, her hand under her shirt, rubbing her stomach softly.
"OK?" he said, startling her as he stepped out with her. "You OK?"
"Watching?" she said, smiling at him as one might smile at a roast beef dinner. "Give you any ideas?"
He laughed. "They usually wait for the weekend for this," he said, gesturing towards the silhouettes. "We don't have drive-in anymore so this is the next best thing." He slipped an arm around her waist. She moved it to her bare stomach. She was warm.
"Well," she said, her voice a lively question mark. "Do you want to wait for the climax of the film?"
He pulled her close and kissed her cheek.
"That won't be happening for hours yet," he said, softly laughing. "They go all night or just about. I know I've gone to bed a few times, waiting for it."
She reached over and felt his cock outside of his robe.
"You won't be waiting long," she said, bending over and giving his cock, which stiffened in her hand, a quick kiss.
She tugged him over to the bed, sat him down and turned her back to him for a moment, slipping into a brightly colored, silken robe. Sort of saying -- through gesture -- yes, but not yet.
"I'd like to try something," she said, knowing she had the most captive audience imaginable -- a guy who was about to get some. "I want to tell you about something I did, and want you to do the same thing and we'll go from there. I mean, I know it's going to come up at some point. It always does. And why not clear the deck now? It might freak you, you might find it fun, I want you to paint a different picture than the one you see before you, if that makes sense."
"I like what I see before me," John said, patting her bare leg.
"Me, too. But we hardly know each other, let's face it. Let's see where this goes." She shrugged. "You'll still get laid, in the end."
"Or maybe YOU'LL get it in the end," he said, laughing. Rhonda smiled. "Perhaps."
"Ok... I'll start, so you'll see how to follow me. I guess I must have been 18, the summer before I started college. I liked sex, I liked fooling around -- except with me, it wasn't fooling. But I had sort of moved past the high school grope and grab. I did a few, like most teenagers but the bing, bang, boom, "I really love you" crap wore thin pretty quick.
"So I got a summer job at this garment factory in my hometown. The guy who owned it knew some people I knew and one of the owners was a young guy, maybe 25 or 26 and we fucked a few times. He was fun, very macho and all, but good body and had a nice place.
"Then one afternoon, I was at work -- it was a hot August day -- and Carmen, that's the young guy, he calls over on the loudspeaker and calls me to the offices. I walk in, he's got a drink in his hand -- it's like 1 p.m. on a Friday and he says, "I want you to meet my dad, come in."
"His dad?" John said, laughing. "He wants you to meet his dad?"
"So I walk into this shag carpeted office and there's this 50-ish Italian-looking guy sitting behind a desk. He's got dark eyes, really dark eyes, black hair with some gray, dark shirt open at the neck to show all this chest hair and a couple of those gold chains and that squiggly thing that looks like a unicorn's horn. He's smoking a big cigar and when he sees me, he stands up, sort of grunts, and sticks out a stubby hand. "Rhonda. Heard a lot about you," he says, then sits back down.
I turn around and Carmen is standing there with a bourbon in his hand for me. "Sit down," he says.
So we talk for a few minutes and he finishes his drink, mine goes down pretty easy and I'm feeling a little buzzed and then it starts. He starts talking about Carmen telling him what a wild fuck I was."
John laughs. Nervously.
"Now, I'm laughing, too. I feel pretty good and I look over at Carmen and he's sitting there, rubbing his crotch through his pegged pants. So I'm thinking I'm in for it here. He wants to put on a show for dad, you know the Italian 'at's my boy' bullshit.
"But instead, Anthony, the older guy, puts his cigar down on the desk, stands up, walks over right in front of me on the couch and unzips. He takes it out and it is a fucking weapon."
