Painted toenails always make me horny. There is just something about women and painted toenails. I don't have a foot fetish; I'm not really attracted to feet or legs. But I just love painted toenails.
The red painted toenails belonged to my wife's goddaughter and she strolled into the back yard and sat down onto the lounge.
Let me back up a bit. I was in the back yard, a beer in one hand and the Cubs and Cardinals battling it out in a classic midsummer pitcher's duel. I was lying in the sun, soaking up the warmth of the hot July day and wishing I was at the game myself. My household tasks were mostly caught up, and I was relaxing after a long 60 hour work week.
That's when Angela strolled into the back yard, painted nails and all, and threw herself onto the lounge across the patio.
"What a day," she said as she relaxed into the chair.
"Hard day in hardware? Perplexing plumbing problems? Excitement in electrical?"
Angela was a recent college graduate. After a fun four years at one of the top state schools, armed with a duel degree in Art History and Comparative Literature, she found herself unemployed. Although my wife had died nearly four years ago, Angela still stayed in touch while in high school and college. After she had graduated in May, she called to ask if she could stay at my place while she tried to get into graduate school. In the short term she has gotten hired at one of the big chain hardware stores. It wasn't really where she thought she'd be.
"Oh, it was okay. You know the weekend warriors of the home repair world who have screwed up the project at home, rush into the store and want us to fix the problems. I mean if you don't know what you're doing, don't rip out all of the plumbing under the sink before you have the parts and tools."
I laughed. I had been in their shoes, trying to save a couple of bucks and costing twice as much when I was done
"And then, since I'm a girl, it's like I don't know anything and they get all mad at me like it's my fault that they fucking shorted out the whole house when they forgot to reattach the ground wire to the dishwasher."
I gave up on the game. It was the top the seventh, it was tied two all, but Angela wanted to talk. I turned off the radio.
"Want one," I asked tipping my empty bottle toward her?
"Like really bad."
I got us two cold ones and brought it to her on the patio. While I was gone she had taken off her jeans and had draped them over her crotch. She had kicked off her sandals. Her long legs stretched out in front of her.
"I was too tired to go change, hope you don't mind," she said, taking the beer.
"Um, fine with me." I stared at her toes as she wiggled them up and down.
"After work I went over to Jeremy's house."
"Jeremy?
"Yeah, the guy in my American History class. I've told you about him. "
Angela had decided to make herself more marketable by starting a graduate program in history. She had probably told me about Jeremy in the past but I clearly had not been paying too close attention to the conversation.
"I think I missed that part."
"Tall, dark, handsome. He's really a hunk. I know I told you about him."
I nodded my head.
"Anyway, I went over there after work and we started kissing and making out. And I was getting really horny and all. And I'm giving him a great blowjob ..."
I blew my beer out my nose.
" ... I give great blowjobs, and I could tell because he was moaning really loud, and then he came in my mouth. And I swallowed it all."
This time, I nearly choked on my beer. I'm forty five and here I was sitting in the sunshine with a gorgeous twenty-three year old while she's telling me about blowing her boyfriend. My cock was getting hard in my shorts. I started to tell her that maybe we shouldn't be discussing this part of her day, but she continued.
"Then, I figured it was my turn and was starting to take off my jeans when he said he had to go out with his friends."
"What?"
"That's what I said! He said he was running late and had to meet his friends and ushered me out the door. What is wrong with him?"
"Maybe he was ..."
"I mean I just gave him a great blow job. And I swallowed. Most girls don't do that." She drained the rest of her beer. "Ready for another?"
Before I could answer, she was up and walking toward the house. Tall, well proportioned, and wearing nothing but a tee shirt and a pair of white bikini panties. I was glad I had the stress test earlier in the year; otherwise I would have worried about heart attack. She came back, two beers in each hand.
"Figured I save us a trip." She handed me my beer, clinked bottles, and walked back to her lounge. She took a long pull on her beer. So did I.
"What's the matter with him," she asked picking up the conversation where she had ended it.
