I love Christmas time. The cold crisp air, sitting around the fireplace drinking hot mulled wine, caroling, oops! Back up there a sec. Need to say more about the caroling. I mean it’s fun to be out roaming around with a bunch of friends, laughing and having a good time, then being able to blend our voices in some great harmonies and seeing how much the old folks appreciate our efforts. Oh, did I mention the opportunities for a little grab-ass?

What other time of year allows you to stand right behind a beautiful lady who may be married to a good friend and be able to take advantage of the high spirits and darkness to sneak in a little grope here and there? How much more fun is it to have the Christmas “goose” returned as you are all piling back into the van to go to the next appointment?

Laura was Bob’s wife. Bob was one of my best friends and I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that friendship, like come on to his wife in any kind of blatant manner, but a little goose here and there that didn’t lead to anything else should be ok, shouldn’t it?

Laura was built like the well known facility, with no bricks left over. She could have easily been a Miss America if she had been into that sort of life, but she was a very private person and always dressed very demurely. Almost always, I’m happy to say. There were a couple of times when we all got together at the lake or in somebody’s back yard for a cookout and she would show up in shorts and a sweatshirt. The reason they call it that is because of the way it made me sweat when she wore it.

Like, hey! When a woman like that is wearing a very loose, thick garment with a bra, things just don’t move around like that. It was sort of like tectonic plates shifting. On the other hand, there was nothing at all floppy about it. There was just the slightest movement when she walked or jumped to catch a Frisbee, but it took a long time for the movement to settle out.

My greatest fear was that I was being so obvious in my adoration that my wife would have no choice but to annihilate me on the spot, or that Laura would ask Bob if there wasn’t some way to pour a bucket of cold water on me. Somehow, they never noticed or else just decided there was nothing short of electroshock therapy that could be done about it and nobody ever mentioned anything to me. Not even my ever-vigilant wife. Perhaps it was because Laura was so far out of my league that everyone knew there was no chance whatsoever of my getting closer than an eyeball to her. At any rate, I was either tolerated or ignored.

My voice isn’t very wonderful, but I can sing loud and on key, which are two useful things for outdoor caroling. Laura’s voice, as well as that of my lovely wife Donna, was clear and angelic, like their complexions, so they stood in front of us horny old guys when we sang. Bob carried the tenor.

When it’s really cold, it helps to stand closer together. Somehow (don’t ask me how), I always managed to place myself directly behind Laura and Bob would usually be behind Donna.

Now that we had been singing together for some time, everybody seemed to be a bit more comfortable with moving in a little closer together. It helped the harmony, too, because we could hear each other better.

Having that glorious body so close in front of me always made my palms sweat, even in the coldest weather, so I usually left my gloves off.

One evening as we were serenading a neighbor, I made my big move. As casually as possible, I put my outside hand on Laura’s hip, waiting in dread for her to remove it in disgust or to say something about it. When I felt her hand cover mine and her ass move back against my already rigid member, I nearly lost it.

She gave no outward sign that some sort of barrier had just crumbled between us. If anyone had seen my face at the moment, there would have been no way to explain the mixture of pain from trying to hold a bucket load of cum inside with muscle control alone, and the rhapsody I was hearing above our singing.

If I had any doubts whether the contact was intended or a wonderfully inadvertent movement, all doubts were dissipated as we continued to sing and I felt Laura’s hand slowly work its way back around to my thighs. When her gloved hands brushed across my lump, I came close, but managed to hang on. How much longer I could make it was anybody’s guess. I suppose that the utter amazement I felt at such an overwhelmingly unexpected response was enough to distract my body long enough to abstain from erupting.

As we continued singing, her fingers stroked up and down the length of my prick. When we belted out the high notes at the end of the verse, she would give me a little squeeze.

I frankly do not understand how I was able to continue singing and to refrain from producing great gobs of liquid evidence. I began wondering if there were some way I could sneak away and finish the job before I passed out.

Somehow, my fervent wishes were fulfilled. The people we were caroling invited us in for a little “punch” and I managed to convince the others that we should accept because I really needed to use their bathroom. Boy, did I!

“You mean ‘Jake, the camel’ actually admits to producing waste water like the rest of us?” My darling wife was amazed. She had never known me to go to the toilet in a public place before. Even on long car trips, when the rest of the family would be running for the restrooms at gas stops, I would simply wait in the car. My bladder was famous for its capacity.

It wasn’t my bladder that was full now, but I sure needed to go. “Laugh all you want, my love. I don’t normally need to go as often as everybody else, but that last cup of punch must have been too much. May I please use your bathroom, folks?”

They gave me directions and I nearly ran, trying to walk straight and still hide the Tower of Power. Locking the door behind me, I leaned over the sink and gave just two or three pulls before my world exploded. It seemed to go on forever. It just wouldn’t stop. I would think that the last spurt had flowed out the tip when I would remember what got me there in the first place. The memory of her hands on me and the excitement of wondering why they had been there, together with the potential implications for our future relationship ... It all came together and so did I--again and again.

“Are you ok in there Jake?”

It was Laura’s voice! Laura was standing just on the other side of a thin door panel while I stood there with my pants around my ankles and my swollen dork still clutched in my sticky hands. Unbelievably, I was once more at full attention.

“What’s taking you so long, Jake? Is everything ok?”

She was obviously laughing at the complete and total power she had over me. She knew exactly what I was doing and why. Perhaps that was why she had groped me--just to exercise her power. Maybe she thought that 29 was too old to have retained her full powers and just wanted to put her mind at rest. If her powers were any higher when she was younger, it was just as well that I hadn’t known her then.

“Do you need any help?” She was whispering now.

I managed to squeak out a reply. “No, you’ve helped quite enough, thank you.”

“Any time, Jake. Any time.”

Did I hear that or was it simply my damaged brain making up things to satisfy the thing that had damaged it by draining all the blood away from it?

“Uh, what?” I had to get some kind of confirmation.

“You heard me. Now clean up that mess and come back in here. Maybe you better open a window to let some fresh air in. I asked to go next so I could delay Donna long enough to let some of the fumes out.” She started banging on the door. “Come on out, Jake. Others need to go, too.”

I knew it was for show and silently thanked her for all the above. She wasn’t missing anything. As a test of our new relationship, I left one long strand sticking to the mirror in such an obvious spot that she wouldn’t be able to overlook it and leave it to be found by Donna.

As I left the room, she gave me a wicked little conspiratorial smile and a grope of my recently pounded crotch, in passing.

My return to the living room went completely unnoticed, at least I thought so. Everyone was sipping their punch and laughing animatedly at nothing in particular.

Laura rejoined us in a few minutes and Donna took her turn. Long minutes passed as I waited to see her expression when she came out.

With great relief, I was unable to detect anything in her face to indicate that she knew or suspected anything.

“Come on, gang, let’s hit the musical trail again. Time’s a’wastin’ cowpokes.”

“Oh, shut up Roy.”, they chorused.

At our next site, I was unsure just what the drill would be. I leaned forward to put my lips near Laura’s ear. “Did you get my present?”

She nodded just enough for me to see it and I thought I heard a faint, “Unh-huh”.

When the opportunity presented itself, she reached into her coat pocket and stuck something soft in my hand, which had somehow found her hip again. (I’ll have to look into that wandering hand business sometime.)

Looking down very casually, I saw that she had given me a tiny pair of panties, wadded into a ball. Wrapping them into my handkerchief, I pretended to be wiping my nose as I sniffed them. Whoa! I wasn’t the only one who had fun in the bathroom tonight. My smell I had no problem recognizing, but there was other wetness and a tantalizing smell that was almost new to me, then I realized I had smelled it many times and just never before realized what it was.

A groan escaped my throat.

“What’s the matter, honey? Are you coming down with something? First you break the first rule of machismo to use somebody else’s bathroom and now you’re groaning. Are you falling apart on me?” My wife was only partially joking.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not Iron Jake or anything like that, but such displays are not part of my everyday life.

“Uh, I guess I got too close behind Laura and she stepped on my foot.”

“It’s not a foot, Jake. Can’t be an inch over ten.”

Everybody got a good chuckle at Donna’s jibe, but I noticed Laura’s eyes light up at the mention of “ten” and “inches”.

Soon, we were back in harmony and doing rather well, I might add, until I squeaked. Basses don’t usually squeak, but then basses don’t usually have Miss Ohmigod surreptitiously unzipping them and reaching in to grab with cold fingers.

“Seriously, Jake. Do you need to go home?”

“I’m ok, honey. Must be early Alzheimer’s.”

She gave me a suspicious look and went back to singing, but it was touch and go there for a minute as my dear wife is inquiring into my health while our good friend and co-caroler has her hands deep in my pants.

Undaunted, I pressed forward. Two could play at that game. I slid my hand into Laura’s coat pocket and used the silky pocket lining to caress her thighs. Just to verify things, I felt for a panty line. There was none, so she must have given me the ones she had on. The memory of the way they smelled caused a squirt of pre-cum into her stroking hand.

I used the hand in her pocket to pull her firm ass back into me. Her hand was trapped between us as she continued to squeeze and caress me. Soon, I found her very puffy lips and delighted in the feel of the silky lining over her equally silky dress that I was pushing slowly into her moistness. She was going to have as big a wet spot on her dress as the one on my pants. I would show her!