It's amazing what can happen when you least expect it. In fact, it's probably because you least expect some things that they amaze you. Enough with the philosophizing.
About a month ago, a business friend, Sandra, and I were discussing some recent decisions made by the management of our company (In other words we were bitching. Bitching eloquently I might add, but bitching nonetheless). Sandra, my well-endowed (all natural according to her) friend of nearly ten years with reddish blonde hair, blue eyes and the smile of a Hollywood actress, is a product of the wild 60s and I am a product of the less wild 70s. We constantly tease each other about sexual things, but mostly had done so flirtatiously. We've never gone into much personal detail regarding sex, so it surprised me when she said that her husband wasn't "the man she married" and then cleared up any misunderstanding I might have by flatly stating he was having trouble "getting it up." She then really stunned me by saying that she had over thirty sex partners during her life - mostly during her college years and that she'd come (no pun intended) to expect a certain level of performance in the sex department. To look at her today you'd never guess she has such a wild past. Despite being extremely attractive, she is ever the image of conservative business professionalism and never dresses in a provocative fashion. She never even swears. Talk about a real life example of âhaving to watch the quiet ones.â If she had told me she was in a convent until she was twenty-five, I would have believed her up to this point.
Anyway, being a typical (horny) male, I asked her if she had ever had sex with more than one person at a time. She said she hadn't and really never wanted to. She said she preferred to be the sole object of her partner's attention. Then she turned the tables and asked me if I had ever had multiple sex partners simultaneously. I wasn't really ready for the question. Things were moving a bit too fast and I was far more interested in finding out about her sex life than talking about mine. Just being male again. Anyway, I hesitated and stuttered something stupid like "not really." But Sandra's certainly no fool and quickly realized that "not really" is probably the most bizarre answer anyone could give to that particular question. So, she asked the obvious next question while laughing so hard she could barely say it, "What does ânot reallyâ mean?" I said I didn't want to talk about it and expressed my strong desire to further discuss her sex life. She then started teasing me about being very red-faced. (OK, so I blush easily. Big deal).
She then said If I didn't explain the "not really" comment, she wouldn't discuss her sex life with me any more. Talk about a tough negotiator. I caved in immediately. I told her the "not really" comment was because I didn't actually have "sex" with the women involved. She asked me to go on...
Here's what I told Sandra:
It all happened about twenty years ago when I first began dating a nurse (Note to the guys reading this: As an occupational group, nurses are the kinkiest women around. The stuff other women think is shocking, nurses think is tame. Plus, nurses have all studied anatomy. More on why this is important later.) named Robin. At the time I began seeing her, she was twenty-three (so was I), 5â7â tall and weighed about 120 pounds. She also had light brown hair and blue eyes. Throughout her high school and college years, she was very involved in sports and therefore looked both athletic and feminine at the same time. We were introduced by a mutual friend who knew we were both âavailableâ and were looking for a relationship. We got along well and saw each other quite often. Robin had a great sense of humor (Her favorite joke which she told over and over and over: Q: What animal wants sex ten times a day? A: A normal human male) and was easy to spend time with. Despite my attraction to her, I never attempted anything more with her than a âgood nightâ kiss. I was enjoying the relationship, but began to think of it as platonic rather than romantic and was about to start looking around again for something a bit more promising. About two months after we started dating, Robin and I got into our first argument. I had eaten lunch at her apartment while she was at work and left the dirty dishes in the sink. When she came home she made it quite clear that "such behavior was unacceptable." She actually used those words. I felt like I was back in grade school. I got a little pissed and blew her off saying it wasn't important. She went somewhat nuts and said if I was going to spend time at her apartment, then I needed to "obey certain rules." Since I had no real emotional investment in the relationship at this point, I started becoming very irritated, began raising my voice and told her the only time I'd ever obey her stupid rules is if âI lost a fucking bet.â I was prepared to walk out when she said "do you really want to bet?" I said "What are we betting on?" She responded that if I won, she would do what I wanted for a day and if she won, I would do what she wanted. It was clear from the context of the "discussion" that what she had in mind was house cleaning. What I had in my diseased little mind, on the other hand, was the beginning of a great sexual relationship.
Robin then went to her bedroom and came back with two dice, which she said she picked up on a recent trip to Las Vegas. She said she was going to roll one of the dice and stated if the die was three or less, she won and if it were four or higher, I won. Fair enough, I thought. So she rolled one of the die and then fortune smiled on me. As the die rolled across the kitchen table it came to rest on a fork and appeared to stop with the "six" showing face up. Since the die was somewhat uneven as it rested against the fork, she said she wanted to roll again. She said it wasnât a true âroll of the die.â I told her there was no need to roll again - I was happy with the result and told her she had to "obey certain rules" (e.g., four or more I win) which she set up at the beginning of the bet. I also brilliantly noted that we hadnât agreed to a rule governing what happened if the die ended up cockeyed on a fork. While unhappy about the outcome, she agreed. Then she asked me what I wanted her to do, correctly noting that my apartment was a rich environment for "cleaning opportunities." I said I didn't want my apartment cleaned. She said, "but that's what we agreed to." I told her what we agreed to was that the loser would do what the winner wanted for a day. She protested that she meant "housecleaning." I told her I had a great number of ideas and housecleaning wasn't one of them. From the look on her face it was clear she now comprehended her predicament. She immediately started saying "No, No, No. Oh God, No Way!!!" I responded very calmly, "Well that's what we bet. You only seem to like rules if they work to your advantage, huh." Then she just looked down and said "Ok, but only on the condition we get to bet again after you have your day. I want a chance to win." The request seemed reasonable and my dick was harder than a steel girder, so I agreed. Only later would I realize that even in her rather desperate situation, she had just planted the seed for revenge. And housecleaning was no longer on her mind.
I then set the âdayâ as the following Saturday (it was Thursday when we made the bet) at noon to Sunday at noon. I told her I'd be there right at noon and I wanted her to be showered and dressed in something âloose and comfortableâ that she wouldnât mind being seen in public wearing I told her not to worry about a bra or underwear. I told her they wouldnât be necessary. All day Friday, she tried to get me to talk about my plans, but I just told her to be ready at noon. In the meantime, I made sure I had plenty of film for my Polaroid camera (Note to those less than 35ish: a Polaroid was the best we had in those pre-digital camera days for taking âprivateâ photos) and also stopped by the local adult bookstore for some toys.
On Saturday at noon, I went to her apartment and asked if she was ready. She said she was and asked where we were going. I ignored her and said, âRaise your dress over your hips. I want to make sure youâre ready and I want to get a picture.â She stared at me and the camera in stunned silence and said âWhat? We didnât say anything about pictures. I never agreed to that! My God, if anyone saw those pictures, I could be ruined professionally.â I responded that âYou never agreed to anything other than doing what you were told for the day. So, shut up and do what youâre told. Remember, you have to obey certain rules â For the first time, I saw pure humiliation in her face. Despite her obvious discomfort, she slowly raised the dress above her hips revealing her very neatly trimmed pussy. Since she was still standing, I couldnât get a very good look at her slit and told her to sit down in a chair. She dropped her dress and sat in her overstuffed living room chair. I told her to raise her dress again and put one leg over each arm of the chair so I could fully enjoy her humiliation. Without saying anything, she did what I asked and now sat before me completely exposed from the waist down. In addition to being trimmed, her pubic hair was sparse and light brown, so I had a good view of her pussy and asshole. I could tell she was starting to get excited because her lips were getting moist and her clit was starting to peek out from under the hood. When the flash went off for the first picture, all she said was âI canât believe this is happening. Iâm so embarrassed. â