LETTER TO IDA- I FUCKED THE MALL SANTA!
Dear Ida,
I miss you so much since you and Jerry moved to Texas. I can't blame you. Life here in San Francisco has become both dangerous and unpredictable. We fear eating out or shopping at the fancy stores with all the lawless robberies and shootings. I can't wait till this summer when we get together at the Lake Cottage. I guess we will be back to swapping partners. And trying each of our guy's pistols, you know what I mean!
Yes, my dearest girlfriend, we certainly have had a lifetime of adventures. I confess I have been up to our usual tricks down at the mall. Which mall? It's the one that opened about ten years ago. Do you remember? You had your camera strapped around your neck, and when we went into the Nordstrom store, that nasty flunky shoe salesman ran out and called a guard who arrested you because they didn't allow photos inside the store. Is that lame? Who was taking pictures? Can you believe that idiot?
But we took care of him after they let you go. I followed the salesman into the back of the shoe shop, flirted with him, and then grabbed him by his balls. I unzipped the stooge and proceeded to give him a blow job in one of the private try-on rooms. Just as he shot his load, you burst into the room and took a photo of the goof. You could see only the blurry side of my head, his face, and his erect ejaculating cock and balls in the image.
I was mad, so I spit the salesman's cock load of spicy mayo all over his pressed blue shirt. Then two of us ran out. His pants were down around his knees, and when he tried to run after us, he tripped and fell on his face. Later we sent a copy of the photo you took to the top administrative office on the third floor. What a laff! We never saw that dumb shoe guy again. Oh yes, Ida, we two cunts had such fun, but I feel bad we probably cost him his job. "Se la vie."
Do you remember when we were attending the Catholic College? I guess we were eighteen at the time. You were sweet on the public bus driver who took us out to the Crown Heights Campus. One afternoon we stayed on the bus till it reached its last stop, and then you talked the bus driver into having sex with both of us. You were so crazy for him. You wanted the driver to fuck you in the ass while you held on to the seat handgrip. I guess you were saving your hymen at the time. That sure didn't last long. You got the better cum load, but after he wiped off his cock with your panties, I got to swallow his sloppy seconds-- it was such a sexy, exciting good time we had together. That's what being young is all about.
When the Birth Control pills came out, we went to the Planned Parenthood office two cities away so no one would know. But we got them. After that, no one was saving hymens. We were into fucking like there was no tomorrow. Do you know something, Ida? I still feel that way? A day or night without seeing a penis is a wasted day, as far as I'm concerned. I was never too picky about who I let fuck me. I'm democratic that way. Black, white, yellow, or even a purple Martian are welcome to discover that sacred moment of ejaculation and feel my pussy tighten as I climax. I can say in all honesty that men are men, cocks are dicks, and a good fuck can be had from all the races. Of course, we have our preferences, and some lovers are more skilled at sex than others.
Do you remember how some of the college guys thought we were lesbians and spread that rumor? I imagine because we were always together when we moved onto the campus after the first six months. Ok, occasionally, if we were very horny, we'd sixty-nine each other. It's about the best way to fall asleep, but I almost passed out licking your clit under the blankets on one frigid night. We had a good excuse for getting each other off--mental sanity. Hormones play havoc with our young brains. It was on a night when none of the guys at the bar followed us into the lady's room with their cocks hanging out of their pants, a situation that was very frequent at Joe's Hang out. I've always wondered if that was the reason for the name? So what if we pleasured each other.
Anyway, we were introduced to a great variety of dick; small, large, and the average five inches that were easy to suck on. Meeting up with those penis' in the "Hang Outs" bathroom made it easy to wash off the smelly pissy ones, although rancid dick was, you used to say, "an acquired taste." I've had a few untasty ones but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.
Oh yes, Ida, we were two little sluts, but the men flocked after our tits and pussy like we were movie stars. Do you remember the young page at the midnight movie show who sat down on the rug in front of our seats and, without asking, just lifted my skirt, pulled down my panties to my knees, and ate me out, and then you blew him? Nasty how you dribbled his cum all over the carpeted floor. I get hot just reliving those times in my head.
So I want to tell you about my latest offense against Christian decency, as Nun Alma, our overseer in college, would have described it. You'll recall she was the one with those giant cow tits that hung braless in her habit, and yet she was the one who'd send us home if our sweaters were too tight.
You asked in your last letter if Don and I were still on good terms. Yes, we are. He fucks who he wants to fuck, and I do the same. Would you believe I met a guy in a coffee shop who was bisexual? He told me after we'd spent an hour at the Tick Tock Motel across the street from there, you'll remember the place on Walnut Street where you entertained three guys from the U of Alabama's visiting marching band? Long before BLM, we were well aware of the beautiful marching band dicks from the south. Yes, only the drum major who leads the parade turned out to be gay, but he still did an excellent job at cunnilingus. He said it was like playing the flute.
I guess my panties are getting wet as I am losing track of what I want to say. Anyway, when the bi-guy finished fucking me in the ass, he told me he'd been with my hubby, Don. By that, I mean Bi-guy had had his cock in Don's hairy ass. He even pulled out a photo of the two of them naked in front of some gym equipment.
You could see Don had the bigger cock and balls of the two. The bi-guy dared to compare my ass with Don's ass to see which of us were the better butt-fuck. Well, of course, you know who won that contest, but it was very embarrassing to have sex with one of Don's gay friends. I don't intend to do that again. Unfortunately, I didn't find out what the fucker had in mind until it was too late. He even tried to snap an phone photo of my ass as I lay tits down in the motel room just before the moment of penetration. I'm sure glad I'd mouthed a condom on him. I guess that photo will make the rounds, but if it gets back to Don--well, he deserves it.
As I was saying, you will get a laugh out of this. I decided on a lark that I wanted to be fucked in public by the older guy who plays Santa down in the Christmas display in front of the Mall entrance to the Macy's store. You know Ida, I've fucked a lot of older guys in recent years. Young guys too, but the older guys are so appreciative after they get a good piece of pussy, and even as I enter my forty-fifth year, I'd still put my puss up against any of the twenty-year-old Pom Pom girls, you know those cheerleaders over at the old school. I get no complaints about my vagina, I'm still as tight as a squirrel's ass hole, and I've cracked my share of nuts if you catch my drift.
Now what I've learned since I started fucking older men, and Ida, you probably will agree. I think that as men begin to age, their cocks are the last thing to be affected. I'm saying a healthy man of sixty-five or seventy, with a bit of umph from a blue pill, well Ida. I believe his cock is the last thing to show age? His neck may have saggy skin, his hair may be grey, his gut may hang below his beltline, his arms and hands may have sun blotches, his knees may be tired, but thanks to Jesus, his cock is as good as the day he turned twenty-one. Naturally, there are exceptions, but I've had some amazing sex with older men that I'd compare favorably with the hundreds, no I underestimate, thousands of fuck sessions I've had in my short life. Maybe it's because these older gents have learned more about pleasing a gal? Or maybe they just try harder? Whatever the reason, I have no regrets about my recent escapades.
So let me get to the meat of this letter. Meat, ha, that word always makes me laugh. You'd think sausage would do the same, but that word's not so funny. After you've seen the plethora of real blood-filled prick waving at you with that come hither expression, their bulky cocks heads with that beady-eyed pee hole winking at you as it is dripping pre-cum. Yes, meat is the best description. And as an afterthought, I always thought of precum as the gourmet sauce that God gave to pricks, it tastes so good, and the texture stays on your tongue long after.
Apprapo of that comment, I once came home after blowing a hitchhiker I'd picked up near the bus station. My God, that hobo looked like Brad Pitt and had enough cum in his ripe nut sack to fill a coke can. He said he hadn't had sex for six weeks. You could mix his guacamole with eggs and make a souffle. What I'm getting to, after I quaffed half a pint of his motor oil, I headed home without rinsing out my mouth. I enjoyed the taste of his love juice as if it was a fine wine or brandy, although his cock looked more like a long cigar, smooth and without taper. I have no idea what Pitt's cock looks like. The only famous dick I've experienced was when Hilarie's husband was in town for a speech at the Elk's Lodge and saw me outside the men's room. I think I told you how he grabbed my hand and pulled me in behind him. I guess the blue skirt got him excited, but he insisted I swallow.
When I walked through our home's front door, I was pleasantly surprised that Don was in one of his randy moods. He was naked, sitting on the sofa, his big dick pointing up at the ceiling. As I get near, Don grabs me and puts one hand under my short skirt and feels how wet my pussy is and says,
"I guess you're feeling glad to see me," then with the other hand, he pulls my head into a lip lock, sticks his big old tongue in between, and says,
"No, it ain't me. It's whoever's cock you've been sucking."
I do admit Don gave up on soul kissing for those fifteen minutes. I thought that was so funny, but I slid giggling on top of the dining room table, lifted my long skirt, and let him 'saw off' his hard-on into my wet crim. I'm sure if the cum juice he tasted had been from one of his gay friends, he wouldn't have objected.
Ida, I must say, after your mouth has been full of good quality sperm bath and your pussy is running over, it makes for the best feeling in the world--I know you'd agree.
Let me return to what I wanted to tell you. Before heading down to the mall in my hardtop convertible Mazda, the red one you liked on your last visit, I chose my outfit carefully. I was wearing that long dark plaid skirt and a see-through blouse under a fishnet vest with a bra he had cut-outs over the nipples. You had to be up close to see my nipples, but I intended to be sitting on Santa's lap where he'd get an eyeful. Now, as you've told me if you are going to have sex out in a public space, it's best not to wear any panties, so I went commando.
I lubed up my pussy so it would be an easy, smooth target just in case Santa's cock had a slightly tilted trajectory. As you know, lots of guys' cocks point hard to the right or left.
I'm told this curvature is due to chronic masturbation from when the kids start jerking the Gherkin. I'd take this as an argument for letting the boys of age have early intercourse. I mean incest in the family with Mom or Sis, so they don't have to fuck up and twist their dicks.
When I got there, I went and talked to Santa and brought him a sweet Coke with a powdered viagra tab mixed in. I wanted to be sure he'd be able to get it up. Yes, I flirted with him and told him,
"I want to sit on your lap.
He said,
"Sure, why not. Come back around five pm. It gets slow about then."
"Sure, see you then."
