Arlene's Long Spermfest Weeend

First of a two part series. It was a long weekend...

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Although I had been looking forward to this long three-day weekend getaway for several months, the pure strangeness of it all, as well as the excitement, had my mind whirling. Not to mention some intruding stirrings in my groin, my penis in a happy state of enchanted anticipation.

Sitting in a stretched-out lounge chair three feet to my right, looking very lovely in a white blouse and dark skirt, was my old friend Lenny's main high school girlfriend. Immediately to my left, in an Adirondack-style chair, was my old jackoff buddy, Lenny himself.

I hadn't seen Arlene, let along thought of her, in decades, and had only just recently gotten back in touch with Lenny through the dubious miracle of internet social media.

We were sitting, and reminiscing, on the redwood deck of his hideaway cabin in remote northern California, looking out over the grassy slope that led down to the river, shrunken now in summertime.

Lenny had invited me out, even offering to pay my air fare from New Jersey for chrissakes, for what he said would be a "splendid weekend of pleasure" up at his place.

I had had a grand visit the year before, and thrilling memories of a little old-time orgy still reverberated in my hopelessly wanton brain.

He had been vague on specifics with me this time, but when he wheeled the big black seven series BMW into his driveway after the three hour drive up from the San Francisco airport, I noted a white rental Ford Fusion parked to one side, so someone else was up for the weekend too.

Lenny had a small, subtle look of amusement on his face. I was totally taken aback to see Arlene greet us at the door.

"Rob!" she said, a big smile on her face when she gave me a hug, and then mentioned she had only come up earlier that morning herself before Lenny had left to fetch me. So she was already in on the scene.

Sitting there in the warm afternoon sun, filtered through the forest tree leaves, we were sipping our drinks and catching up. All of us were closing in on retirement, although Lenny's wealth management skills, some of which were perhaps even ethical, had gotten him, quite happily, there first.

Age had hit us all bit unevenly. Lenny had a sizable paunch and skinny white hairless legs that, with his shorts on, looked like they belonged to a stork, and he had filled out the big barrel chest of his German ancestors.

He had salt-and-pepper hair, nicely cut, and large peasant facial features that had broadened over time – lips, mouth, ears – although his eyes still had the steely glint of desire that they always had, ready for a sexual adventure of one sort or another.

I had thickened too, but I worked out regularly and was considerably trimmer, enough so, I admit, that I still found ways to admire myself in full length mirrors, clothed or not. I still liked watching my penis get hard in the mirror, it just didn't get enough practice anymore. The head hair had mostly gone, however, and what was left was close-cropped and all gray.

Arlene, I have to say, looked good – better than the rest of us anyway. She had never been slender, even in high school, but she hadn't packed on an unseemly amount of weight in the meantime and in fact looked zaftig and healthy. She was a half head shorter than Lenny, maybe an inch or so below me. Good sturdy northern European bones.

No makeup, or at least none I could discern. Her skin was white, quite smooth, and she may have dyed her hair, which was dark and soft with a little gray at the edges, on the short side, and it nicely framed her sweet moon face.

Her dark brown eyes were older, with some crow-lines at the corners, but her face was full and fresh looking. As I remembered from long ago, she smiled easily, with a sparkle in her eyes, always an enhancement to her looks.

Of course her chest was still magnificent, all held in place in her white cotton blouse, big breasts straining the buttons on her shirt. She had a glass in her hand with some sort of tequila drink, and she had just finished telling a story about her second husband, not exactly flattering to his memory.

My thoughts drifted back to the first time I had seen Lenny tail her, in the back seat of my family's Kingswood Estate station-wagon with the fake wooden panel sides I had been piloting late that April Friday evening way back.

Several times I nearly drove off the road since I could barely tear my eyes away from the rear view mirror, desperate to catch as much of the event as possible. I had wanted to park on a hidden side road or one of the pull-offs we often used for our other illicit activities, but Lenny had insisted I keep driving as his lust would not wait.

It seemed to me this was more dangerous than the slim chance that our mostly incompetent but still troublesome rural police would find us on a pull-off, but as usual, his will prevailed.

His silly white rump had been going pretty hard at the end of his little copulatory adventure, its rubbery flesh clenching away as he drove his prick into her, with Arlene laid out straight on the bench back seat, her dress pulled way up and her head on the right door armrest.

They surfaced after a few miles, Lenny with a big shit-eating grin on his face. He rolled down the window and tossed the sloppy, limp, sperm-filled condom out to land by the side of the road in our corner of backwoods New Hampshire where some poor prison roadside crewman would fish it up in his collection bag later that summer.

"You remember Bob Murdock in our class?" he had just asked Arlene suddenly, turning his head to look at me too.

"Big meathead?" I asked. "Red hair, dumb as a fencepost?"

"Yep," said Arlene. "What about him?"

"Remember his sister Dora?"

Arlene wrinkled up her nose. "Short? Chubby, but cute? I think she was a year ahead of us?"

"Right," said Lenny, "I never got her to fuck, but she took my prick in her mouth a good half dozen times. She'd let me come there but never would swallow my sperm. Always spit it out afterwards."

Arlene nearly choked on her drink.

"What! She sucked you? Dora? I don't believe it. Where?"

"In the car. Out on North Lempster Road, that secluded turn-out you remember."

"I remember very well," she made a face. "Sounds like you didn't keep 'our special place' all that special. After we broke up."

"Well, we'd broken up."

There was an awkward silence.

"Her tits weren't that big, but she had wonderful hard nipples," Lenny finally volunteered. "They were fun to fondle whether they were in or out of her shirt."

Another silence. Arlene appeared to be thinking.

"Her tongue was remarkably adept for a first timer," Lenny continued.

Arlene shot him a nasty look.

"Just how many other high-school girls did you fornicate with, anyway, back then?"

"Do you mean girls actually from Greenvale High? Or anyone during the Greenvale era?"

Arlene scowled. "Either, both."

"Do you mean fucked technically? Or dumped my sperm in, on, or around them one way or another?"

"Or maybe even in his own shorts!" I interjected, remembering how Lenny had told me of a tall blonde girl, Carol I think was her name, who would tease him silly on a date but wouldn't touch his penis outside his jeans.

She would kiss him madly and rub his cock furiously through his pants until he had put a thick wet undercoating of semen on the inside of his jockeys. It seemed to be a particular amusement for her, although she wouldn't let him do anything to her more than rub her breasts through her shirt.

I saw him on the town green one Saturday night, coming home earlier than I expected from his date, a large dark spot on the crotch of his jeans, and he was walking gingerly, like he didn't want his thighs to rub together. I guessed he was still slimy on the inside of his under-shorts with wet sperm.

"Don't ask!" he growled at me before I could say a word.

She drove him nuts, he kept calling her "the original pricktease" and only through a monumental effort of will on his part, since she was so handsome and he was ever over-optimistic on his chances of getting into any girl's shorts back then, he finally managed to get over her and set his sights on another target.

Arlene's face fell even further. She shrugged, "The whole number..."

"Trade secret," smirked Lenny.

"A dozen?"

Lenny nodded.

"Two dozen?"

"Not saying," said Lenny.

I could have given Arlene a pretty good estimate, give or take a couple cunts or so, but decided to keep silent. It was closer to the second number than the first.

We talked various sexual escapades and told stories for some time. My cock was getting worked up.

I steered the conversation to more current times.

"So how's your love life these days, Arlene?" I asked. "I would think you would have a pretty good line-up of suitors."

"It goes in spurts," said Arlene.

Lenny snorted. "Mine always has too, the more spurts the better!" he brayed, grabbing his crotch.

Arlene leveled an annoyed look at him. "After all these years, talking to you is still like talking to an eighteen-year old adolescent."

Lenny tried to look offended.

"I'm pretty happy by myself, no more marriages, thank you very much," she said, turning back to me.

"Got the beach house on the south shore," she said, meaning Massachusetts, "from the divorce from Morris, and I can go months without a date, or even wanting one. There's work," she made a living at a small advertising firm in Providence. "I read, I paint, I do some yoga."

I looked at her, taking in her handsome shape and the easy confident way she sat in her chair. I tried to imagine her in some yoga pose, but my mind somehow kept seeing her do a pose without any clothes on, her big tits slopping to one side or another while she contorted herself around. I flashed on her doing the "downward dog" pose naked, with those big heavy breasts hanging voluptuously, like large beckoning tropical fruits, and her ass pointing skyward. My groin tightened.

Lenny and I, in the early stages of his interest in her, had taken to skipping last period math to watch the girls' basketball team practice in the gym that senior year when the three of us had turned eighteen. Arlene had been a late-bloomer, never attractive or remarkable enough to catch our attention until that last semester of our high school careers.

Watching her drive to the basket in practice and launch towards the hoop was inevitably arousing however. We watched her breasts bounce up and down as she ran the court, as they were poorly restrained by the primitive sports clothing for women athletes back then. They moved around something lovely under her gym-shirt.

When she rose with a jump-shot to send the ball towards the rim, her soft twin orbs would veer upward with the leap and back down again when she landed.

This prompted all sorts of physics discussions later between us: Newton's laws of motion, the actual mass of her boobs, how we might manage to calculate the actual mass of her boobs, boob density, spheroid shape deformation in movement, and so on.

I think we even contemplated some experiments to measure her breasts' angular velocity, using her nipples as data reference points and plotted spatially on two reams of graph paper. We figured we would have to do this experiment with our subject topless however, if we were to get truly accurate data.

Her chest had kept us in constant salivation mode, not yet knowing that Lenny would soon experience her hidden wonders so intimately. I quivered at the memory.

"You used to look dynamite in cut-offs," I ventured, thinking back to the cut-off jeans she wore those long-ago summers, faded denim with white frayed ends.

She wore them short, and they barely contained her ass. Combined with a halter top, her dark belly button had been appealing, deep in her soft stomach. She had somehow, without us noticing, turned into a heart-stopper in our tiny little backwoods town.

"You be up for wearing them again?" Lenny asked, eyebrows arching.

Arlene laughed. "Haven't had a pair for decades. Think I have moved on a little in the style department since then." We looked down appreciatively at her tasteful skirt and her expensive, leather-strapped sandals.

"I could fix you up," said Lenny, with a vaguely wicked grin. He got up and returned with an old pair of work jeans and a pair of scissors.

He proceeded to cut off the legs, one leg had a hole in the knee anyway, he must have used them for yard work around the house. Not quite satisfied with the look, despite cutting them off nearly to the crotch and at an acute angle, he used the scissors to fray the edges.

"Here, try these on," he said. "Your hips are wider than mine, but my gut is plenty bigger. I bet you could get 'em on."

Arlene gave him a long look.

"Alright," she said, with a slight smile. "I'm game," and she stood up.

Lenny was clearly hoping she would disrobe in front of us but she made her way inside to the bathroom. "Gotta go anyway, be back in a few minutes," she said, while we stayed on the deck.

I got up to get another beer from the cooler at the corner of the deck.

"She looks good," I said. "You been in touch with her? You didn't say anything last year."

"I poked around and found her online about six months ago. Haven't seen her in person til today, but we have traded most of our personal history details online."

"You reckon she is up for some amusement this weekend?"

"She wouldn't have come here otherwise," he said, his eyes glinting.

"I remember the first time I got my cock up her," he mused, and had just started re-telling that story, which I had heard a hundred times before, the details of which had become increasingly elaborate, when Arlene returned in the cut-offs.

The button holding the shorts together was straining, her hips overflowing the waistband, "muffin top" I had heard some call the look, and her ass hung amply out the back, the creases on the underside of her cheeks quite visible. But almost more arousing, she had removed her bra, then put her shirt back on and tied the shirt-ends together under her boobs, a bit like a halter.

The top buttons of her blouse were undone, her cleavage inviting. Her navel gleamed darkly in her soft round white middle. And every time she shifted her body, her boobs jiggled around underneath the thin white fabric of her shirt. You could see the large dark areolae that surrounded her nipples clearly through the cloth.

"Holy shit," Lenny exhaled.

Arlene smiled beguilingly. "You like? Just like the old days?" She twisted from side to side so her tits swayed.

"Better," I said.

She turned to me suddenly. "Sorry big fella," she snapped, a bit unexpectedly. "Flattery will get you nowhere. And flat-out lying is even worse. I can tell you very well that my body thirty plus years later is not the same, and nowhere near as nice now as it was when I was a high-schooler. 'Better' sounds like a mocking word."

I was startled by her irritation, since my compliment was genuine.

"That's not what I meant." I looked her straight in the eye.

"First of all, you do look good. No lie there." My eyes took in her body, feet to neck, lingering on her boobs nestled in her bra-less shirt.

"Second of all, at our age, you are a composite. When I see you now, besides being aroused," I paused, weighing my words carefully, "my mind races back to the old days, the times I watched you couple with the big lug," pointing at Lenny, "the days we went to the beach, and you wore that brown bikini you'd bought that your mother hated."

Arlene smiled in spite of herself. "The one whose top kept getting pushed around in the ocean surf?" she asked, eyes twinkling. "The one where my boobs kept popping out?"

"Yep. My, that was nice. And now when I see you, I get a visual of everything. You when you were eighteen, all those memories, but also I can guess a little at the intervening years, the experiences you have had since then, the way your sexuality has grown and matured and your experiences have multiplied in the interval.

"In the flesh now, you are," I was trying for the right phrase, "a sensual totality. You pack a whole lifetime of love and lust and living into these woefully, ah, abbreviated, clothes." I ended with more of a flourish than I wanted. But I meant it.

Arlene looked at me hard. "Okay, I think I understand. It wasn't clear to me what you meant when you first spoke up." She paused and sat down, then looked at me carefully.

"Thank you." God, her breasts looked nice as they spread out to the sides under her shirt.

"Did Lenny tell you I would be here today?" she asked suddenly, shooting a sidelong look at Lenny.

"Nope," I said. "Took me totally by surprise."

"What did he tell you?" she asked, eyebrows arching.

"Said it would be a 'pleasure weekend.' 'Course at my age, that can mean everything up to and including a round of golf and a nap."

Arlene laughed softly and fidgeted with her fingers. Lenny had come up to stand next to her, and was unable to restrain himself from reaching a hand down to her left boob, and began rubbing the outline of a nipple. She carefully removed his paw.

"Unhand me, animal," she said, annoyed. "We have absolutely no hurry, and it appears you have learned nothing about the female of the species in the intervening decades. For us, most of the time, slow is always, always, nicer."

"Besides," she said, looking up at him a bit indignantly, "Here we are and I have already gone and done a favor for both of you and put on these ridiculous, slut-like, teenage-tramp, cut-off jeans. What are you proposing to do in return?"

Lenny looked at me before answering.

"I dunno. Wanna see our cocks?" he asked brightly.

"Let's get something straight right now," went on Arlene. "I am not necessarily adverse to having some pleasure with you gentlemen."

I couldn't quite tell if she was applying a sarcastic tone to this last word.

"But the street will be two ways. Understood?"

We both nodded.

"Good," she said, and stood up. Lord, how nicely her chest moved when unrestrained by a bra.

"I have something for both of you," she said, reaching inside her purse.

"Do you want red or blue?" She directed the question to me.

"Blue's a boy's color," I said, and Lenny snickered.

"Okay, I'll take the wimp red one," he said, "whatever it is you're handing out. Balloons?"

She handed us each a small article of clothing, and we both examined them.

"Thongs?" I asked, a bit astonished.

"Not quite," Arlene said with a sly smile. "Why don't you both go put them on. You can keep your sandals or footwear on if you like, but nothing else."

Lenny and I looked at each other stupidly.

"Go on," she urged. "I aim to take a quick walk down by the river to check it out in the meantime. I reckon you'll be done in a few minutes by the time I'm back," and she sauntered off. We both watched her soft, wide appealing ass sway from side to side as she stepped carefully down the path to the river.

We looked at the handful of fabric in our hands, all strings and a pouch thing attached.

"I know better than not to keep her amused," muttered Lenny, and he took off his shirt and shorts and pulled on the tiny garment.

It looked even dopier than a thong, basically just enough fabric to hold your bundle together, not even very well, and thin cords of a waist band with a string that ran down your ass-crack to the bottom of the pouch.

I had to laugh as Lenny stood up, his balls and penis inelegantly hogtied into submission, but Lenny insisted I follow suit.

Shortly we both stood up tall and checked each other out. All white skin, with our pricks and nuts held in place with these silly things.