Summer of 1975, and my marriage was becoming a farce. It had become more like a vehicle for sexual experimentation, with the fact that we were married seeming to be part of what made it exciting for my husband Mike.
Having said that, I freely admit to going with the flow willingly, even if not always enthusiastically. We were now heading into some very strange areas and doing things that I had no idea existed.
That's where Randi comes in.
PLEASE... As a warning, let me mention that this chapter is rather kinky and may not be for everyone's tastes. If you are squeamish about posterior activity, you may want to bail out of this entry after we get to the bedroom.
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Chapter 1. Here's Randi!
Randi DiRima. That's how Mike introduced our guest as he led her into our home, and he just about doubled over with laughter as he watched me stick my hand out to shake hers. I guess the joke to Mike was that she had no hand, as I discovered when Randi stuck her arm out.
"You might say I left it on the road when I fell off a dude's Harley a long time ago," Randi said with a roaring laugh of her own, "Go ahead babe, you can shake it."
It gave me the creeps for a minute as Randi waved that skinny little stump in front of me, but I gathered myself up enough to take her up on it.
"Hey, she's alright!" Randi announced, and with out warning practically jumped in my lap, which was no mean feat considering we were both standing. Randi wrapped her left arm around my neck and gave me a kiss that almost knocked me over.
"You're alright Becky!" Randi exclaimed. "She sure is a party girl Mikey baby, you weren't shittin'! We gonna have us a real good time tonight!"
2. Huh?
"What the hell was that?" I exclaimed as Randi went into the bathroom.
"Randi!" Mike said as he pinched my ass. "Ain't she a trip?
"Where the hell did you come up with her?" I asked as I tried to figure out what had just happened.
"I get around," Mike said. "She's totally crazy Becky. She will do anything, and I mean fucking anything. You wait and see!"
"She's a kid!" I said.
"Bullshit! She's almost 30!"
The little spitfire certainly seemed like a kid when I first saw her, but then again I was still reeling from our introduction so I assumed I was wrong as usual.
When Randi came charging out of the bathroom I got a better look at her, and it seemed as if she might indeed be 30, as I saw the slight signs of age around the corners of her eyes, and neck.
She was a tiny gal, probably not even five foot tall, and very skinny if her arms were any indication. Randi had short and frizzy blonde hair and did seem to have really big boobs for a girl her size, as they swayed provocatively beneath her short sleeved denim blouse.
"Let's party!" Randi declared as Mike handed out beers for us all, and Randi proved herself to be a person who had become independent and overcome her handicap, as she adeptly popped the ring of her beer can with no assistance.
"Ain't Randi a trip, Becky?" Mike roared in my ear, and I could tell that Mike was not opening his first of the evening, as he had become noticeably louder and dumber sounding than usual.
"I guess," I answered as Mike herded us into the kitchen.
"You two are going to get along really well," Mike announced as he put his beefy arms around both of us and hugged us. Lucky for me I got the hand with the beer can in it, and he splashed some on the front of my blouse as he squished us together.
"Careful big boy," Randi said as she reached over with her hand and brushed the damp spot, which happened to be directly over my left breast.
Randi's fingers stroked around my nipple, which had already become stiff from the cool beer and was now almost throbbing. Randi's hand stopped rubbing and her fingers began plucking and tweaking my engorged nipple through the fabric.
I choked as I took in a deep breath of air while Randi continued to pull on my nipple, all the while alternately smiling at me and my husband, who was enjoying what was going on quite a bit.
"Becky's got little ones, but they're really sensitive," Mike informed Randi.
"So I see," Randi smirked.
"Feel Randi's, Becky," Mike first suggested, and then encouraged more blatantly by grabbing my hand and pulling it onto Randi's chest. "Randi's got really big ones, just the way you like 'em, huh Becky?
"Oh, so you're a tit girl?" Randi giggled as I shot my husband a dirty look. "Heard of tit men, but never a tit girl before. It's cool though."
3. I digress for a moment.
As Mike held my hand against Randi's breast, which certainly was as big as Mike advertised, I once more lived to regret ever speaking to my beloved husband about anything.
Mike was always trying to get me to talk about other girls I would want to be with, and when we would go to porn movies I would tell him ones that caught my eye. This seemed to arouse him a great deal, and since we were alone at those times I felt comfortable talking to him like that.
"Geez Becky," Mike had mentioned to me after a recent conversation in front of the television, in which he had asked me my opinion of one of the characters in a sitcom we had been watching. "Kay Parker, Honey Wilder, and now Adrienne Barbeau."
"You asked, so I told you," I replied afterward in bed, where I had been dragged after he managed to get me to admit that I would love to rip the clothes off "Maude's" daughter if I had the chance. We had just been talking, and I was only kidding about me ripping off her clothes. I would carefully undress her and...
"You really like women with big tits, don't you Becky?" Mike deduced. "Suzanne too! She had a rack on her!"
"Well, you seem to find them all attractive too."
"Yeah. That would be so cool if we could get Adrienne Barbeau here some night!" Mike opined.
The thought of dragging some actress from Hollywood to our tilted dump of a house in Utica so she could get ravished by a couple of clowns like us was so incredibly preposterous that I broke into a giggle fit. Mike had been dead serious however, and the more I thought about it the more I figured that, the way he could talk people into things if he ever got her ear for a minute, who knows?
4. Back to Randi.