Pussy Pecers and Pizza

Life After 1994

We moved back to the Midwest in June 2016, 23 years of Florida fun now a thing of the past.

Employees come and go. Restaurants close or new owners take over. The stories are true and now they can be shared. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Any similarity of people and places is pure dumb luck. These games happened in a small town much like Mayberry or Hooterville.

PECKERS and PIZZA, a re-INTRODUCTION

I still can't explain why most nasty, dirty, perverted, kinky, wild, exciting, fun, illegal games happened in pizza places. But I'm gonna try. Here's my reasoning for our PECKERS-N-PIZZA games.

We mostly went between normal meal hours. Usually mid afternoon or near closing time. Most of the pizza restaurants have full tablecloths which hang down around the tables. You know the type, red and white checkerboard or black and white checkerboard vinyl oil cloth.

Many places we went to had separate semi secluded dining areas. Balconies and short walls separating tables and complete sections in many. Most seemed to have friendly kinky staff and customers. Oh yes, and my wife was as obsessed with my pecker as I was pussy hungry.

A recipe for fun and games, when you are dressed to play and horny. The horny part comes from the fact we were often dressed to play our flashing games or had just come from a day of playing, even cavorting around nude, or on secluded beaches nude.

This was the same recipe for games we played with Dollie. Only then tablecloths were sometimes an obstacle and tits were above the tables. Table cloths were an obstacle when we wanted to show off Dollie's pussy, an advantage when I was masturbating her, as she occasionally did me.

More PENIS and PIZZA

Finally! I'll skip the basic quickie Jack-off games and get right to a few rare surprises.

Here's how those pizza parlor masturbation games began. Those times near home and during regular outings we were just regular people going out for a regular meal, wearing normal shorts and tops like snowbirds, tourists, and Floridians do.

A female hand under the table, rubbing a bare male leg, creeping up a loose pair of shorts, can create feelings a male can not control. Similar reactions occur when a male hand creeps up a skirt or shorts. Possibly it's times like those when "I DARE you" is spoken.... Or "do you DARE me?"

Can you imagine being jacked-off while a cute young thing in a mini skirt takes your food order? Or while eating and others are eating nearby? Can you control the look on your face as you ejaculate on the floor under a table with that gal asking how your meal is, or as others chat about the weather? What do you do when your partner is masturbating you and you are about to shoot a wad, as one or two pretty waitresses wants to know if you'd like another beer? What? You've never had those problems?

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RETIRED BUT NOT DEAD

I'll start with some masturbation sessions I received shortly after retiring to Florida at two separate pizza places. Both times were so much fun my lovely lady repeated the sessions a few times a year for many more years when possible. Dollie enjoyed teasin and pleasing me while the young, and sometimes middle aged, waitresses fussed over our table.

In time these gals became our table side friends, which made it even more difficult for me. As you know, women sense strange things happening. Our secret leaked out with two waitresses. What was scary is knowing women can't keep a secret. How many more employees eventually knew? The cooks? The clean-up crew? Speaking of the clean-up crew, did anyone figure out what those dried up piles of gooey stuff were on the carpet? Gosh ain't love grand.

Pizza Joint #1.

I'll just say it wasn't too far from home and we never expected such a thing to happen at our advanced ages, 55 for me, 53 for Dollie. We'd eaten at the Pizza Palace several times since retiring. We enjoyed the small balcony area with the low wall separating it from the main dining area below.

(These descriptions fit two popular fish joints we also used for our games).

We usually went in mid day when very few others were there and we liked looking out over the open table area. There was only one way in and out of this elevated area with perhaps 6 to 8 tables.

We also could see the entrance, the reception area, and doors to and from the kitchen. Anytime a waitress walked out we had plenty of time for Dollie to slip her tittles back in when we saw the waitress heading toward the few steps up to where we were seated. We'd eaten down below so knew that we could be seen only from the shoulders up.

Even I dressed to play.

Another secret I had, I'd stopped wearing underwear soon after we married, which was in late 1958. Even dating, I often went without. Living with grand parents, I had to wear boxer shorts around home and during school.

Beginning about spring of 1959 I began letting my meat swing free all the time. Yet, I didn't wear regular outer shorts for several more years. It just wasn't normal in the mid west. Even then real men wore long shorts!

Once I began wearing shorts I kept wearing them shorter. I was never one to follow the flock. I figured if I was gonna get my legs tanned I didn't want a goofy golfer tan. In time I and shorts changed. At least in Florida men were wearing shorter shorts. In Illinois and throughout the Midwest I was [ Florida Man. ]

With the shorter shorts I had to be careful just how short they were and how I sat. The legs of the shorts were usually loose, making it easy for Dollie to creep up my pants. She was as cock crazy as I was tittie and pussy crazy. Strangely she rarely touched another man's prick until later.

HA! I laugh at men's swimwear today. Sort of compare them with those of the roaring twenties. Today's manly men aren't supposed to show kneecaps even though their ladies can show their labia and nipples peeking out of modern swimsuits. I may look gay in my short shorts and Speedo. But I'm comfortable.

Yes, again I wandered off topic to do some splainin! Back to the Pizza Palace. This time we sat up on the balcony so I could fondle Dollie's bare boobies. We never tired of this and when we got home it was payback time.

Of course playing with titties gave me an erection. Odds are Dollie just reached under the table to see how much of a rise she was getting out of me. Dollie then probably just pulled my cock out. This is where that plaid full skirted tablecloth came in handy. She began stroking it slowly. Most often this was all she'd do in public places. Prick teaser!

Maybe I said "I dare you to keep pumping."

Maybe she said "do you dare me to keep playing with it?"

Whatever, she was stroking it good when the waitress arrived to take our order. I remember Dollie had her hands above the table as we ordered. One of us most likely dared the other to have her resume the masturbating after the waitress left. We did a lot of daring back then!

Seems like a young couple sat nearby and soon a waitress was there to take their order. I remember Dollie stopped pumping me but still held my cock. I dared, probably begged, her to keep pumping because I was about to ejaculate and the young gal across the isle was looking hot in her short shorts.

Dollie gave me 'the look' and just held my prick. Begging and daring her, she went at it long stroking fast. She knew what would happen but sometimes begging pissed her off. When she was pissed she'd play rough!

The other pretty little waitress and pretty little female with a young man seemed to be staring. Yet they had no idea what was happening under that table when I exploded into the air. I warned Dollie to keep it pointed straight out and please don't stop. She did good!

Our pizza arrived, my pecker drained on the floor and probably on the edge of the chair. We giggled, ate, drank, Dollie reached under the table and helped wipe my cock off, and we left a nice tip.

We had repeat performances at the Pizza Palace many times for the next ten years. Waitresses came and went. I came and went. For many years we had the same waitress, Sandy. I'd ejaculate before, after, or during times that Sandy was standing next to our table talking.

There were times Sandy questioned why I was making funny sounds and lookin goofy. Sandy was no dummy. One day Sandy told us she knew what we've been doing. Possibly the semen stained carpet was a giveaway. Possible it was when I was gasping for breath and gritting my teeth.

She'd already caught Dollie with her titties hanging on the table long ago. We talked kinky with Sandy before and she knew about some of our tit games. Sandy described what we were doing as she spoke.

"Tell me or I'm going to look."

I believe I'd just shot a wad or was about to. Sandy agreed to keep our secret. After Dollie and I admitted we were dirty ole perverts Sandy hugged Dollie and kissed me on the cheek. She said it is great we are so much in love.

Then Sandy said "I'm still gonna look under the tablecloth to make sure."

Or something like that. "OMG," and comments about my dripping prick.

After that Sandy brought extra napkins and begged us to please use them. "The clean-up crew is getting mad cleaning up your messes."

Sandy often asked Dollie to masturbate me while she visited us at the table. Sandy watched the expressions on my face, telling me she usually knew when I was going to ejaculate. I might have told her she couldn't guess.

Then Sandy would say something like "you better get some napkins you're about to cum."

Things were getting kinky and more than I could handle. Sometimes Sandy raised the tablecloth in time to watch the semen shoot out onto the carpet. It was always embarrassing. Sandy enjoyed watching Dollie's final pumps and my ejaculatory performance.

Sandy was around her mid 40's. Another young waitress later told us Sandy squealed to co workers. We were afraid management may find out so didn't return for several years. Sandy was long gone.