My wife, Julie, was disgusted. Apparently the tattoo -of some sort of tribal design- went from Angie's lower back down to below her panty line. My wife thought it was totally inappropriate and considered the tattoo to be even more evidence that our next-door neighbor's eighteen year old daughter was a trashy person of the lowest moral character.
"Isn't she disgusting?"
"Yes, dear."
"I can't believe her mother puts up with it."
I always acted like I was horrified by Angie's exploits. When she had her pregnancy-scare a year before, I agreed with my wife that it was typical of someone like her. When she wore her revealing bikini around their backyard pool, I nodded when my wife, Julie, said that a teenager shouldn't be allowed to dress so immodestly.
Julie continued her rant. "She's had three boyfriends this year alone, and she comes home drunk every Friday night. I know she doesn't help out at all around the house, and who knows if she is even trying to get a job now that she's graduated." My wife was building-up steam now. "She really thinks she is god's gift, you know? I really believe that girl thinks that some guy will come along a buy her everything she wants if she'll just flash him a little ass. She's in for a rude awakening."
"Yes dear. You're right dear", I said as my wife went on about her least-favorite person in the world. I wonder how Julie would react if she only knew that I was dying to see the tattoo in question. What would my wife have thought if she knew that her devoted husband liked nothing better than to stroke his cock while thinking of his spouse's teenage nemesis?
I was completely smitten by Angie. The eighteen year-old oozed sex-appeal. I had no doubt that, contrary to what my wife thought, Angie would easily convince a man to take care of her every indulgence. Hell, I would have gladly been that man. She was my dream girl. Her perfect little tits and her tight round ass kept me awake at night. Her jet black hair was cut short and perfectly complimented her olive skin and especially the dark shades of lipstick that she favored. Those lips! They were puffy and full and seemed to mock me with a little sneer whenever the girl caught me staring just a little too long. I wondered what it would be like to kiss them or to, heaven forbid; feel them on my poor neglected penis.
I lived for the days when Angie hung out at her parent's backyard pool and I loved nothing more than to lock the bathroom door and to spy at the teenager sunbathing as I stroked myself to completion. She was so petite compared to my wife. Her waist was narrow but over the last couple of years I had watched as her hips began to flare out enticingly. Her breasts remained relatively small and firm. They sat high on her chest and the bumps caused by her nipples were usually visible. She was a b-cup, I would have guessed although, truthfully, I didn't know enough about girls or women to confidently judge a bra size.
By the time my wife had noticed the girl's latest (and skimpiest bikini), I had already memorized exactly how the fabric clung to the teen's perfect body. I could have vividly described to my wife every inch of Angie's 5'5" frame and every strand of the bikini in question. "Yes dear, that bathing suit is completely inappropriate (and that's why I just had to stroke my cock to the sight of it a few minutes ago)."
I had never in my life had sex with an attractive girl. I was 30 pounds overweight and blessed with a dick that was only four inches in length. I was teased enough in the high school locker room to know that my equipment would be a disappointment compared to other men. The girls like Angie -the attractive teenage sexpots- had never given me a second glance, unless their boyfriends were in the mood to pick on me.
So I married Julie, the first woman to give me any attention. She was a chubby sour-faced prude who was nothing if not a gossip. We were thirty when we met and were married a year later. Sex with Julie was sparse and uninteresting. I was a virgin and was so excited to finally see a pussy that I came before I had fully entered her. She was disappointed, I know, and it was several months later before she let me try again. Again I was too excited and came too quickly. A pattern had been established.
Early in our marriage Julie was happy to let me eat her fat pussy and I enjoyed giving her pleasure. Cunnilingus was by far our most common conjugal act. My wife didn't mind me licking her but intercourse was rare and unfulfilling.
At one point I tried to save our sex life by buying a vibrator to use on Julie. She liked it well enough, but she preferred to use it while alone. After she had the sex toy to satisfy her, she didn't seem to need my tongue so much. If anything my plan to kick start our sex had backfired. I realized that in our own little way we were a perfect match: two serial masturbators.
One night my wife came storming out to the kitchen to where I was playing on the computer. "I promised Dana that I would feed the little bitch." I knew immediately who my wife was talking about. In our house, Angie was known as "the little bitch" and Dana was her mother. "I made her a plate of lasagna, but I'm sure as hell not going over there to give it to her. Here. Go make sure the bitch is fed. Heaven knows she could use some meat on her bones."
"Where are the Robinsons, her parents?"
"Bill had some sort of conference in the city and Dana went with him. They're getting a hotel for the night. How they can trust that girl by herself I'll never know. Their house will probably be destroyed by morning."
I dutifully took the plate next door. I rang the doorbell and waited. Thirty seconds. Sixty seconds. Was anyone home? I turned to leave before the door suddenly opened behind me. I had a speech all prepared. "Hey, Angie I..." As I turned around I realized it wasn't my teenage crush but a large athletic looking shirtless man.
"Can I help you?"
"I, uh..." I was flustered. This guy was big and intimidating. I wondered what he was doing there and where was Angie? My mind raced. He was there to have sex with her. That much was obvious. "Damn," I thought. "Look at the size of this guy."
Angie appeared behind the stud before I could compose myself. "Oh, Mr. Dalton. You brought supper. How cute." She was wearing a short pink robe that kept her considerable charms out of sight but did nothing to hide the black seamed stockings or the spiked heel shoes she was wearing. Her face was freshly made up and the dark red lips that were here trademark set my heart to racing. Angie was dressed for sex.
"Here Rob, put this in the fridge. I'll see mister Dalton out." The brawny guy -Rob presumably- walked to the kitchen as Angie asked.
I found myself staring at her calves. They shone under the black nylon stockings. They looked so firm and smooth. My mind raced and I wondered what she looked like in the sexy outfit that was obviously contained under the terry cloth. Even though she was wearing a robe, I could make out Angie's enticing shape -her small waist and round hips. Shit, I was getting hard as I pictured her in lacy black lingerie to match the stockings. For once I was happy to have such a small dick. Maybe she wouldn't notice my little erection.
"You're so sweet Mr. Dalton." She leaned forward and kissed my cheek just under my earlobe. I knew that her dark red lipstick had left an imprint and my skin seemed to tingle where her lips had touched me. "Mister Dalton, you're not going to tell anyone about Rob coming over tonight, are you?" Her eyes were mesmerizing as she peered at my reddening face. "You know how the gossips in the neighborhood can be."
"No, Ma'am", I said. "I won't tell anyone". She giggled. It was strange and awkward that I had called her "Ma'am". I was old enough to be her father, but I was so flustered by the whole situation that I felt out of my element. My palms were sweating.
Angie looked down and noticed the front of my slacks. A small wet spot was apparent near the fly and my dick made a little tent in the front. My hard penis was small but still evident. "Oh, Mr. Dalton", she said, "You are just the cutest."
She pushed my shoulder gently, guiding me out of the threshold to the front steps of her parent's house. She smiled and said "Your secret is safe if mine is." She closed the door and I stood there catching my breath.
I walked home with my hands clasped over the hard-on in my pants. I rushed by my wife into the safety of the upstairs bathroom where I locked the door. Fumbling, I undid the clasp on my slacks before quickly stroking myself to orgasm. My cheek still tingled where it had been kissed by my stocking-wearing queen.
That night in bed I reached for my wife. I had spent the evening thinking about my encounter with Angie and imagining her with the shirtless stud, Rob. I was horny. I snaked my arm around my wife's body and felt for the fat heavy breast. She was only half awake and I felt her stir as my fingers probed for her nipple over the cotton nightshirt. My wife's large soft tit was so different than the small firm breast of my teenage temptress, but I imagined that the large nipple was Angie's.
"What are you doing?" My wife was awake now. "George, stop it and go to sleep." Julie removed my hand from her chest and sighed, exasperated. Soon she was softly snoring, and I crept away to the bathroom to relieve my aching hard-on.
