Petey Pegs the Preacher

(The continuing adventures of Kathy, now a sexy senior, and her lifelong friend and lover Denise "Dene." Kathy's nickname, "Petey" was applied when her build resembled a tall, straight

Pi

ne

T

ree. P.T.--Petey--right? Petey's story began just after she turned 18. There's a 9-part series beginning here, if you'd like the back story.

https://www.literotica.com/s/beebe-and-petey-ch-01)

*****

"Hey, sleepyhead!" I greeted Dene as I bounced back into the hotel room. My lifelong friend and lover was just now stretching on the bed and sitting up.

"Holy crap, Petey, you been working out already? What time is it, anyway?"

"7:30, sweetie, time to RISE AND SHINE" I laughed and clapped my hands.

"Fuck! If you start singing and dancing around the room and I swear I'll pack up and leave."

"Here--brought you some coffee."

"Better. Now sit! Lemme get this down before you get hopelessly enthusiastic again. So how's the fitness center? Any other freaks of nature up and at 'em at this ungodly hour?"

"It's thinning out now. Packed at 6:00, though. The equipment is OK--there was a line for the elliptical, but I did 5K on the treadmill and cooled down on the bike. It was nice--a recumbent with all the electronic bells and whistles. Did you know there's a preacher convention here?"

"No shit!?!" Dene nearly snorted her mouthful of coffee out of her nose. "I thought this was supposed to be some sort of a high-end "meet-'em'-and-fuck-'em" kind of place! Are they putting on some kind of revival for wayward horn-dogs?"

"As near as I could tell, it's a straight-up church seminar. I don't think they have any notion of what else goes on here. I started talking with a guy on the treadmill next to me. It's a bunch of Methodists from all over Indiana. They've got meetings and seminars all day today and tomorrow. They head back home tomorrow afternoon to preach on Sunday."

Dene and I got in last night for a long weekend of shopping, dining, two concerts and (oh, yes) sex. At first glance, anyone who saw us would probably take us for attendees at the church conference--mature, conservatively well-dressed and looking our professional selves. Now in our early 60's, we'd been friends all our lives and lovers since our senior year of high school. We were looking forward to the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra tonight, and Straight, No Chaser tomorrow at the Murat. It was fun to be in Indy! We usually had our play weekends in Chicago, Dene's hometown. Indy was actually closer for me, easier to get to, and full of wonderful treats for a weekend getaway. We had a nice afternoon shopping downtown in Circle Centre yesterday afternoon and a nice dinner at an Italian restaurant before settling into a night of joyful and active sex.

"So, was 'treadmill guy' a preacher?" Dene asked, becoming more alert and civil now.

"He was." I answered, calming down some as the endorphins from my run abated. "John something. He was from Anderson--just up the road from here. He was jealous of our concert plans, especially Straight, No Chaser. He sings a capella with a community group."

"Were you putting the moves on him?" Dene crooned with a teasing smile."

"Well, not on purpose. I sure wasn't dressed to kill--baggy sweat pants and a worn-out sports bra. But I felt my nipples pucker, and he didn't miss seeing them. We just had a nice, non-sexy conversation, though. Music and running, you know?"

"Might be fun to corrupt a preacher," Dene grinned.

"Nah. He's just a nice guy. Reminds me some of my pastor."

"Beats me why you keep going to church, Kath. You know what they'd think of you if told them about your sex life."

"Well, I'M comfortable with my sex life. And I think God is pretty comfortable with it too--even our part. Nobody in my congregation flaunts what they do in the bedroom, or what they think anyone else ought to do. I could probably come out as bi- without raising a fuss; maybe even introduce you as my lover. I just don't think it's anybody else's business at all. UCCs have even been on board with gay pastors for nearly a decade, now."

"So did John ask to see you again?" Dene asked.

"No--we didn't even say 'Hope to see you later' or any such thing. Really, Dene, except for grabbing an eyeful of my pokey nipples, there wasn't any hint of anything else."

"Coffee's working--gotta pee," Dene gave up and headed for the bathroom.

"Join me in a shower?" Dene called through the door after a flush. "I feel a bit gritty after the affairs of the night," she added, paraphrasing W.C. Fields.

"Be right in!"

The hotel shower was a treat! It was a large walk-in with water coming from a half-dozen shower heads. We lingered in the endless hot water, soaping, rubbing, massaging and kissing until our fingers started to shrivel. This was the first time Dene and I had been on a get-away weekend since her breast reduction surgery. I had always envied her tits. As kids, she was in a C-cup before I was even sprouting buds. She was in a 38-DD the last time we were together, but the toll of all that weight on her back had finally convinced her to take her Dr.'s recommendation and get them trimmed back. She was now, like me, in a B-cup, and the surgical scars were pretty well healed, though still visible.

Oddly, she'd been nervous about my reaction. I had to keep telling her I loved HER, regardless of how big her knockers were. I'd always nurtured a little bit of an inferiority complex over my small tits, so I understood in a reverse way how Dene had come to cherish hers and rely on them to define her sexually. The plastic surgeon had done a great job. Hers looked as perky as mine did in my early 20's! I was still jealous, and told her so.

"Besides, Dene, you know I only love you for your bush!" I teased.

Dene's bush was magnificent, and had taken on fetish status for me since the first time I'd brushed against it 40+ years ago.

"Oh, Kath, I'm so glad to be with you again. I really needed this weekend! I love you dearly," Dene said, drawing me close for a lingering kiss while she cupped my ass in her hands. I shivered feeling her bush and treasure trail against my bare belly.

"C'mon, though," she said, breaking the embrace. "Let's get dressed and find breakfast! I'm famished!"

We found our way to a LePeep in downtown Indy about 9:30. As we entered, John from the treadmill and another man, both in clerical collars, were just paying their bills.

"Hi, John! Playing hooky from your conference?" I teased.

"No, just cutting it close. This was a popular spot this morning! We've got to get back, get to our rooms, and then back down for the first session at 10."

"This is my friend, Denise, John. We're on a more leisurely schedule, so don't let us hold you up."

"And this is Edward--he's up from Booneville. Well, enjoy the symphony tonight," John replied, and they rushed out the door.

"Cute!" Dene observed, staring after them. "John's got a nice ass!"

"Dene!" I hissed.

"Well, you'll have to admit it is," she smiled back.

"True enough, but let's not embarrass him if he's got other friends in here."

"Spoilsport!"

We abandoned all pretense of a sensible diet and ordered eggs benedict, sausage, more coffee (and cream!) grits, and hash browns. We lingered over coffee until nearly 11:00 and waddled out to the rest of the day. Dene actually some work to do. She'd scheduled a conference and lunch meeting with a colleague in order to write off the trip as a business expense. We said good-bye at the door and she headed off as I returned to the hotel for my car.

My plan was to cruise a couple of other shopping malls north and northeast of the city. I made it to "Keystone at the Crossings" first, and shopped without buying a lot of things. I

did

find a 50% mark-down on a beautiful dress to wear to the concert tonight--a full-length, sleeveless white crepe, open-back Halston with a slit up to mid-thigh. It fit perfectly and only put a $100 dent in my credit card. How could I NOT buy it! I thought I'd probably wear it sans bra and panties. The crepe felt like it would convey an outline of my nipples. My legs were looking good enough to leave bare too. I knew Dene would enjoy watching people watch me in this number! Hell, so would I! Between the two of us, maybe we'd pick up a playmate for the night! I wouldn't mind seeing Dene and another woman again. I let my mind wander back to the strip club we went to in Knoxville last summer.

I'd already learned I-465 was a mess from construction, and I opted to take 86th/82nd street on my way to the new mall northeast of Indy, Hamilton Crossing. As I neared the ramp for I-69 to take me north, I saw not one, but TWO sex shops! One was a "Cirilla's"--they had billboards all over the place, but I'd never been in one, so I stopped. It was in an older, two story building that looked oddly out of character for the flat-roofed strip malls surrounding it. The staff was friendly--all women. I think that must be a trend in adult stores now. No creepy old men allowed. I declined help and just browsed. I'd been meaning to get some nipple clamps for a while--Dene bragged on hers the last time we were together--and picked up a set. I wasn't sure what Dene had packed besides El Whacko (our 40-year old paddle) and picked up a few other whimsical things I thought we might enjoy--a corded egg vibe, a crop, a blindfold, fur handcuffs, and a wicked-looking tawse. Dene had kept possession of both "feeldoes" after our Knoxville adventure, and I splurged on one for myself, along with the lycra panties to hold it in my pussy. The crop was high-end and very pricey. It had an extra-long graphite shaft and a thick leather patch on the business end. It could be used as a cane or a crop. My butt flinched a little imagining the feel of it. Even if what I was buying duplicated things Dene brought, I knew I'd have fun playing with Andy when I got back home. He was, finally, learning to enjoy and accommodate my spanking fetish.

"Tammy" (so her nametag said) wandered by and commented on my selections.

"Can I offer a recommendation, hon?"

"Always open for advice, Tammy."

"Those handcuffs aren't worth a damn for anything but show. If you really want them for restraint, I can show you some alternatives."

"I don't have any specific plans, but if I do find a use, I think they'd have to hold pretty well," I said, "let's see what else you've got."

I ended up with a pair of leather wrist straps sporting big D-links and a padlock.

I browsed the lingerie, but thought it looked pretty cheesy. I left it alone and headed to the register with my toys.

"Are you in for the Secret Sinsations hotel takeover tonight?" Tammy asked.

"No--I mean we're staying in the same place, but only accidentally. We're not part of the group. Did you know the hotel has a convention of Methodist ministers there tonight too?"

"Holy shit!" Tammy laughed, "How the fuck did that happen! I think I'd better go after all, just to watch! Are you sure you're not joining in--that's some great gear you just bought."

"Nope--private rendezvous." I replied. "But listen, have you got something I can disguise the crop in? I'll be going right through the hotel lobby--can't say I want to display that to either group."

Tammy retrieved a nearly used up roll of wrapping paper--the crop fit perfectly inside. I gave her a hug which she returned, along with a little peck on the cheek.

"Have fun," Tammy called as I exited.

There was another sex shop just west and across the street a little way, and I headed there next. I was surprised to find it had a wide glass storefront with all their sexy lingerie on display, and racks of toys visible in the back. Christ, was this ever different that the sex shop my sister started out with in Corpus Christi. There wasn't ANY display window, and she had to keep the good stuff in a back room! Here, I ended up with a load of wearable goodies: a mauve baby-doll/g-string set; a cupless bra, waist cincher, g-string set; a flaming red garter skirt/stockings set; a "barshelf" bra; a fishnet bodystocking; a club dress with a neckline that plunged to my navel and a hemline that just barely covered my ass; and for grins--a pony tail butt plug and a bottle of lube! Honestly, I don't know what I thought I'd do with all that gear, but I was getting wetter and wetter picking it out. My credit card smoked a little as I swiped it.

"Oh, Honey!" the sales clerk exclaimed, "You are gonna have some fun tonight! Secret Sinsations party?"

"Nope. Private get-together. But I imagine we'll have some fun!"

I figured my credit card didn't need yet another shopping spree. I decided to hit Hamilton Crossing another time and headed back to the hotel.

The check-in desk was busy as I came back into the lobby. I had transferred the bright purple Cirilla's bag to my own eco-friendly tote and carried the wrapping paper/crop under my arm. There were lots of middle-aged and younger couples holding hands as they waited in line to register, looking surreptitiously around to check out the other arrivals. I carried my treasures up to the room, dumped them and stripped naked. I tried on the gown first--it was stunning, if I do say so myself. The white crepe displayed my nipples, even though they weren't erect yet. On a whim, I unzipped the gown and put on the "barshelf bra." It wasn't really a bra--just a band that strapped around my chest under my tits with a "shelf" that pushed them up and out. Holy shit! With the gown zipped back up, the effect was spectacular--like I'd had a boob job! My nipples puckered immediately, and the results were impossible to miss! I'd have to have my libido revved all the way up to overcome my modesty if I put this combo together. But when I turned, the gown's low back left the bra strap on full display. Not cool. Well, to be honest, I was kind of relieved.

I re-dressed, leaving my bra off this time, hung the gown in the closet, stowed the other treasures and headed out to find a coffee shop.

I found a local shop before encountering a Starbucks, thank goodness. It was nice! I settled into a quiet corner with a Vente medium roast and the latest Daniel Silva. Actually, the whole place was quiet--I had it all to myself!

"Well, hello again!" a voice said, pulling me back out of the novel. "You seem to be everywhere I am today!"

"John! Hi! Is your schedule done for the day?" I asked.

"Confession--I AM playing hooky this time--for the next two hours, anyway. I just couldn't keep my eyes open in the last session and decided to wander. The heavy issues aren't till tomorrow. Did you ditch your friend?"

"No, Denise is an attorney--she actually has a meeting today. She should be done by 5, so I've got a couple of hours to myself as well. Join me?" I asked putting a bookmarker in place and setting the Silva aside.

"Um, well--OK. I mean, thank you."

"Don't let me distract you if you need to get back," I said, sensing he was just being polite.

"Oh, I'd

much

rather be

here

!" he exclaimed, a little too quickly, and a little too emphatically, then blushed. "Boy, I feel like I'm making a mess of this now."

"John--sit. Please. I enjoy your company." I was beginning to think the image of my erect nipples under the sports bra this morning might have been coming back to his mind. I felt them stiffen again now. He slid in across from me. His eyes briefly dipped to my chest and he blushed again. I was flattered and mildly surprised. I decided to do more than make small talk.

"John--I'm curious. Did you know there's a swinger's convention in our hotel this weekend?"

"WHAT!! You mean like, um, wife-swapping? That kind of swinging?"

"Well, they probably don't call it wife swapping anymore, but yes--couples come in and have sex with other people. I gather there's a party on one of the upper floors tonight where all the attendees get progressively more and more nude, and maybe more drunk, and then pair off and have sex. I don't think the sex stops with hetero couples either, or with just couples at all, for that matter."

I watched his face as he took this in and waited for the reaction. To my surprise, he wasn't outraged. He looked at the table for a moment, then spoke.

"So, are you and your friend here for that?" he asked. He didn't seem angry or condescending or hopeful--just curious.

"No--we knew that this hotel had a reputation for that, but we didn't know there was an event this weekend, and we're not planning to attend."

"I didn't mean to imply that, uh . . ."

"Oh, John," I laughed, " imply all you want. Denise and I have been lovers for over 40 years. We've married and had families, and we like men too, but where men have come and gone, Dene (that's her nickname) and I love each other deeply and have been steady friends and passionate lovers all our lives. It's OK if you disapprove, lots of people do, but I hope you feel like you can stay and visit for a while longer. Just, please, don't try to 'witness' to me."

"I'm supposed to disapprove. My denomination would have me disapprove. But actually, it's OK with me. I've got to say, it's oddly refreshing that you can say that without being either confrontational or embarrassed. I have some homosexual members in my congregation, I know, but the only one who has ever talked to me about it almost dared me to cross her. There are two gay men who I know live with each other. At least everyone THINKS they're gay, but I have the feeling that if I brought it up, I'd never see them again."

"I don't out myself in my own community," I said. "I think I could, even at church, but sexual orientation just isn't a topic for public conversation, and I keep it to myself. I think it's widely known I have a 'boyfriend' who lives about 30 miles away. Nobody seems to mind except my Pentecostal neighbors who feel compelled to "witness" to me from time-to-time (so I'm sensitized to that and easily irritated.) It doesn't cost me any friends or standing in the community otherwise. And you might be surprised if you reached out with acceptance to your gay members. I'm guessing they know the denominational stance--they might be relieved to know you don't personally adopt it."

"You go to church?" John asked, his eyebrows lifting.

"That surprises you?"

"Some. May I ask what church? Is is a struggle to listen to their teaching?"

"Sure--I've been going to UCC churches nearly all my life. And I don't usually hear anything I can't accept, at least not in recent decades. We have a lot of freedom of conscience."

"Good. I can imagine the UCC would be a good place for you. How about Biblical teachings, though. How do you handle those?"

"I think the passages usually trotted out as proof-texts are misinterpreted. I think the Sodom and Gomorrah story, for instance, is more about hospitality than it is about homosexuality. If the Bible references are taken in the context of the ancient settings they describe, you can come away with a wholly different meaning. In the end, though, I think that sex is pretty low on the list of the things Jesus tried to clue us in on. Fundamentalist rants about sex seem to be more like an extension of Jewish ritual law at their base--not a teaching of Jesus Christ. I think those most vocal about gays and lesbians maybe think that

they

are the second coming of Christ. How about you, John?"

"I don't disagree. At least, I don't disagree sitting here talking with you. Which is amazingly easy, by the way. You have something very open--I'd say even pastoral, about you. You're bright and thoughtful. I'd set off a firestorm if I voiced that back at the hotel, though. Not that I would be without supporters--we Methodists aren't unanimous about the denominational stance--but it just makes me weary to think about it."