My wife and I have enjoyed an active and exciting sex life for many years, and I recently began sharing stories detailing some of our sexual exploits, or sexploits, with Literotica readers.
By the way, I don't think sexploits is considered to be a real word, since it is not in my Webster's Dictionary, and the spell-checker on my computer does not recognize it, but portmanteau words, created by blending two or more words together, are used very often, even in scholarly literature. A good example of a portmanteau word is the name of this very web-site, Literotica!
But back to my point.
I have written multiple stories for Literotica describing some of the sexploits my wife and I continue to share, including many involving our two dearest friends, a sweet lesbian couple with more sexploits of their own than anyone could even count.
Often, my wife reads my stories before I submit them to Literotica, but the tale before you is an exception, in that she did not read it first, because, excepting this introduction, it does not include her, and because it is not true. What is true is this: several weeks ago my beautiful and alluring wife asked me to create an erotic fantasy about a sexual encounter outside of our marriage. Maybe this is some sort of test, I don't know. But I gave her request a lot of thought, while enjoying the process immeasurably in a surrealistically erotic and kinky sort of way, and imagined the following story.
For the record, and the preservation of my longstanding marriage, the events described herein are fictitious, as I already mentioned, and are set to have occurred before my wife and I were married.
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I grew up across the street from the only high school in a small town which was surrounded by even smaller towns, and as a youngster I used to marvel at the yellow buses coming and going from a wide radius of nearby communities. I watched the boys and girls gather in separate groups after school with their books and folders, each group keenly aware of the other but pretending not to be interested. I saw the boys with their smart varsity jackets and duffel bags, and imagined how it would feel to be so grown up, but mostly I gazed at the girls and their long, shapely legs and pert breasts, and the way they shook their heads and covered their faces when they giggled at the boys who did stupid things to gain their attention.
I knew someday I, too, would take my place among my own group of peers and pretend not to be infatuated with the budding sexuality of the opposite gender. I couldn't wait!
Eventually it was my turn to attend high school, and my house, since it was right across the street, became an unofficial hang-out for classmates of both genders waiting for their buses. I can't really say I was popular or had a lot of real friends, but on a superficial level, everybody knew me. I was the kid who lived across the street.
Senior year began with a transfer student, whose father was recently discharged from the Army, joining our class. She was tall and clumsy, pale-skinned, had braces on her teeth, and wore thick glasses. Her hair was mousy. She was quiet. Some of the other kids started calling her "Lurch" behind her back, after the tall butler from the Addams Family reruns on TV.
As I mentioned, I was not one of the popular kids in my class, but sometimes I felt like the unofficial social director because so many of my classmates hung out at my house after school waiting for their buses.
On one of the first days of school, I noticed the new girl standing all by herself waiting for her bus, and I invited her to wait at my house with the other kids.
Her name was Wanda, and once the rest of us got to know her, she was really a riot to be around. At seventeen years of age, most of us had never been any further from home than the next state, but Wanda had traveled all around the world and knew swear words in several different languages. She was worldly and mature in ways most of us could not understand. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was the first friend she made at her new school, and would later reap the benefit.
Fast-forward to the summer following my first year of college, when happenstance caused Wanda's and my paths to cross for the first time since high school graduation.
A few of us old high school buddies had gotten together and piled into someone's station wagon for an afternoon at a small lake about half an hour out of town. As we rode along the dirt roads, the talk became raunchy, with various members of our group bragging, or most likely, lying, about all of the girls they had "done it" with since the last time we were all together. The laughing and carrying on continued as we spilled out of the station wagon and commandeered a spot on the sand a few yards from the water, right next to a group of sunbathing girls who seemed to be doing their best to ignore the libidinous loudmouths encroaching upon their space.
None of us wore actual swimming trunks in those days, just cut-off blue jeans or whatever we happened to have, and my white cotton gym shorts did not seem at all out of place, until they got wet. This change in my appearance never occurred to me until I stepped out of the lake, to the cat-calls and cackling laughter of my former classmates, and even then, I did not immediately recognize the object of their levity.
Like most red-blooded teenage boys, it took very little to get me physically aroused, so to speak, and the gentle touch of the tepid lake water against my most vital organ was enough to have me strutting, shamelessly unaware, across the wet sand with my transparent gym shorts unable to conceal the fully loaded weapon packed within.
For a long, uncomfortable moment, the entire beach was quiet, with all eyes directed on me. They were not looking at my face.
By the time I understood the reason for such undivided attention, it was too late. Red-faced but still rock-hard, I returned to the water as the bellowing continued.
It was a shallow lake, and fifty yards out, the water was only as deep as my shoulders, but at this depth, my throbbing member and I felt safe from the eyes of the world.
Sufficiently obscured from view, I turned toward the shore, and noticed a familiar face among the girls who were roused from their tanning blankets by the sudden commotion, that is to say, something about the face was familiar. Gone were the braces and thick glasses, the hair was sun-bleached and the skin no longer pale, but as sure as I was standing up to my shoulders in lake water, that face belonged to my old classmate Wanda. She stood as her eyes met mine, and without saying a word, walked gracefully into the lake toward me.
The laughter and cat-calls continued, but I couldn't take my eyes off of the beautiful figure heading my way. Wanda had changed! Always taller than the other girls in our school, her figure had perfectly caught up with her height: round, supple breasts peeking above the dark blue fabric of her sexy two-piece bathing suit, smooth skin glistening with tanning oil in the midday sun, slim waistline, and hips just the right size to complement the overall picture, with the dark blue triangle of fabric concealing from sight, but not from mind, the wonders it held within. As she stepped into the water, like the swimsuit model she appeared to be, her radiant smile seemed brighter than the sun, and she was smiling at me.
Naturally, seeing Wanda, and what a knockout beauty she had become, did nothing to diminish my arousal.
