Part 2

As I always say, the secret to life is timing and fancy footwork! So, let's kick up our heels, and not waste a moment of time...

My Cock is Ubiquitous!

I walk into Les' office and I see him looking at a picture. A color photo of a cute blond woman. "Nice babe!" I tell him. "You know her, or did you merely steal her wallet?" He looked up at me, and laughed.

"I know her. Well, almost know her. We have our first date set for tonight."

I kept teasing him. "The wife coming along, or are you hogging this one all for yourself?"

He grinned at me, quite shamelessly, I thought. "I'd ask Stella, but she's the real hog in our family. Hates to share me with other women. Quirky that way. And it runs in her family. Her mother's the same way with her dad. Stingy women folk, if you know what I mean?"

I nodded. "Where'd you meet this new future conquest of yours?"

"Picked her up on the street. She looked lost, so I told her I was the official city greeter, and it was my job to help lost women who looked just like her."

"Official city greeter? Shit, that line never works for me!" I laughed, then added, "Except on lost women over sixty."

"You lack my finesse, sonny. Anyway, we hit off and she even gave me this picture of her. She had tons of them." He flipped the picture over. "And look, it's even got her name and phone number on it." I looked, but couldn't see much as he had quickly turned it over again. I had the distinct impression he didn't trust me.

He said, "No you don't, you quick-eyed dog, go find your own lost lady."

I put a pained look on my mug. "Les, you cut me to the quick. Me? Con you? My buddy? My old buddy? My old buddy who keeps calling my old girlfriends, and asking them if they'd like a sensual massage, the same kind of massage I used to give them. Me con you? C'mon." I smirked at him, and added, "You ever get lucky with any of them with that bullshit let me massage you line?"

"A few. But their names shall forever be a mystery to you, Tonto. A mild revenge for telling that woman I was with, just last month, that my wife had just called."

"Hey! I thought you were alone in the booth. She was so friggin' short, her head was below the backrest. But who the fuck cares? You? You taking to crying over spilt pussy these days?" I laughed at my silly remark.

"Nah. Besides, I still fucked her that night. So there! I told her you were the vile, jealous type, and always horning in on me, all because you caught your old lady in bed with some guy who just happened to resemble me."

I nodded at him, as if I understood his wily ways. "Well, anyway, Les, I gotta run. Enjoy your date tonight." I took a last glance at the woman's picture and noticed it was out of focus. She could be anyone, any luscious blond with great bazongas.

And I had a date with one this very night. And I didn't need to get lucky. I had been tagging her for weeks now.

We had just finished fucking, with her headed toward the showers, when her doorbell sounded. She asked me to answer it. I grabbed her pink, filmy robe, and headed toward the front door, resisting an urge to swish my hips. I opened door and just stood there, in all my new feminine glory.

There he was, this guy, with a small bouquet of flowers in one hand, and a big box of chocolates in the other. And he looked real spiffy, with his newly shined shoes and all. He gasped upon seeing me, and it wasn't because of the feminine robe.

He said, sounding flustered, "Holy shit, man, you're everywhere!"

"Hi, Les, how ya doin'?"

Fini!

The Naked Newlywed Neighbors!

Quick intro. I'm in the Navy. Ship is in Bristol, England. I pick up a woman. We get a motel, a cheap one. We kiss. We 69. We screw. I want to take a shower. I know we're sharing the bathroom--with our door to it in our room--with the young newlyweds we met on the way in. We saw them go into the room adjoining ours. It's one of those bathrooms set-ups where, if the door is locked, you wait. If not, you go in and lock the door to their room. Simple.

I'm bare assed, a towel around my neck, a toothbrush clenched between my teeth, and a black ditty bag in my hand. It holds all my shaving crap, toothpaste, deodorant, and what have you. Simple.

Well, I try the door in our room, and it's unlocked. So I go in and see that the floor is really wet. One of them, maybe both, must have showered. I go to lock the door to their room, and I see it's one of those simple hook and eye arrangements. Simple.

However, the heat of the summer has swollen their door a tad, and the friggin' hook won't slide easily into the eye. It's slightly off kilter. By a good quarter-inch.

So, gritting on my toothbrush, I tug at the hook and get nowhere with it. It ain't going in no how. So I figure it all out, being as brilliant as I am. All the door needs, really, is a little push in their direction, and the old hook should have no trouble finding the old eye. Simple.

So I push, quite gently, but it's a no go, Jose. So I put a little shoulder into it, and Voila! But, instead of moving the door just a smidge, that stinking quarter-inch, my bare feet slip on the wet floor, the door flies open, and I go hurtling into their room, head first, arms flailing, and as fast as a naked express train.

I caught a glimpse of the two of them looking at me, horrified, as I flew into the room on legs unable to find even a shred of balance. They were both naked, and on top of the bedding, and had obviously just been fucking. They were clutching each other as if a ghost had just come in and said boo.

I'll never forget the picture in my mind of his globular, white ass cheeks as I sail-planed across them, my cock actually feeling the crack in his ass as I ricocheted off him on the way to becoming a naked mass of flesh on the other side of their bed.

I landed crash-bam, and ended up with my right facial cheek pressed against the cheap, smelly carpet. I was looking right at my toothbrush, which was now under the dresser. Funny, the things you remember. Like the toothbrush being covered with dust bunnies! And my towel was nowhere to be seen.

But, damn it; I was still clutching my black ditty bag!

I tried to get them to share some of the bedding by frantically grabbing at it, but their bodies wouldn't allow me much. So I hid myself, as best I could, behind the side of the bed. I could see they were quick enough to have grabbed the other side of the bedding, and were now somewhat covered up. But they were still laying in the missionary position, with him on top, and with both of their faces looking directly at me, their eyes big and wide.

I raised the ditty bag up to my face to cover my eyes so they wouldn't think me a pervert, and apologized. After a fashion. I don't remember the exact words I spluttered out, but it went something like this, all said from behind the relative safety of my black ditty bag:

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, the floor was wet... and the stupid hook and eye... and I slipped on the wet floor... pushing on the door, you see... and I put my weight on the door... slipped, you see... on the wet floor. And I couldn't stop myself; you see... " You get the general idea. And I was speaking into a ditty bag.

Then I heard them both laughing. I raised my head up to peek over the ditty bag, and there they were. Cheek to cheek, both looking at me, and both of them shaking with laughter. I even felt the bed wobble.

Then I felt my towel under my knees. I somehow managed to get it around my waist, with great difficulty, I'll tell you, and then I stood up, my legs wobbly. They were still laughing, so I nervously joined in. The ice had been broken, and we now had a strange neighborly bond.

Amazingly, it then all became quite civilized. They introduced themselves to me, and I reciprocated. While tightly clutching my towel, to be sure. I bid them ta-ta, reached under the dresser for my toothbrush, mindful that my towel-covered ass was aimed right at them, and started toward the door.

As I reached it, I heard her say, "Drop by anytime, Art, but next time, please knock first, OK?" She laughed. He laughed. So I laughed.

I had just met our naked newlywed neighbors...

Fini!

Thar She Blows, Sailors!

I'm standing with a bunch of sailors on the port side of the ship, a mighty Navy destroyer, and we're watching two attractive women in a paddleboat going back and forth. Two French women. In skimpy bikinis. One blond, one brunette. Both young and sexy looking.

We're anchored to a buoy off the coast of Cannes, France, with the women paddling their little boaty thingie about forty feet from the ship.

One of them hollered something in English, but with a very thick French accent, that I thought was, "Can we come on board and use the head?" For those not up on their sailorese, a head is a bathroom.

Well, Chief Petty Officer Mason, probably hearing what I had heard, hollered back to them, "Sure, ladies, come aboard!" His big, chubby face looked even redder than it usually looked, which is saying something.

We helped the gals up onto the deck, and the first thing out of the one who had yelled to us before, was, "Hello Americain sailors, my name Fifi, and this Yvonne. We both give zee good head! You'll like. You'll see. Only five dollar Americain. Each man." Ho ho!

The Chief looked absolutely apoplexic. But, and in spite of it being a Navy no-no to have civilians, especially foreign nationals, even on the deck, he said, which surprised all us guys, "Okay, ladies, but make it three bucks... American." He was haggling price! With two French hookers.

Fifi nodded. We had a deal. Now all we needed was a place to take them to. Chief Mason solved that little problem by leading us all, the gals and us dozen or so salts, in single file, straight to the Captain's quarters. In for a penny, in for a pound. But it was, really, quite safe. The Captain and the First Officer were ashore, as well as all the other officers. We inmates had the ship all to ourselves.

I had never been inside the Captain's stateroom before, but the moment I entered, I was bowled over. It was indeed a stateroom, in the full sense of the word. Just like on a fancy yacht. Soft, plush seating. A full wet bar. A stereo. And a huge bed in the adjoining room. The Captain lived real well on a ship meant to destroy the enemy.

Chief Mason asked them if they also fucked. We heard an, 'Oh, oui, oui!' out of both of them at the same time. Along with some giggling. "Ten dollar Americain." Mason, flushed from his last haggling success with hookers, gleefully, I thought, got them down to five. Their teeny-weeny, itsy-bitsy bikinis were on the floor less than a minute later.

There these French women stood, naked, and surrounded by a dozen, or more, horny, goggle-eyed swabbies. All in their work clothes of blue denim shirts and dungarees. Except the Chief. He had a khaki uniform on. And h looked right smart, too, if I remember rightly.

Chief Mason, taking command, as only a Chief knows how to do in these situations, organized the order of things. The who's on first? He was first, of course, with rank having its privileges and all. And then, I'll be damned; he did the rest of us alphabetically! Which made me fifth. I was glad he hadn't done it by height!

Fifi took the sofa, and Yvonne went to the bed in the other room. They each pulled out a wooden cigar box and set it down beside themselves. I hadn't noticed either of them carrying the boxes, but I guess my eyes were on something else. Hey, I was only nineteen at the time, so cigar boxes ran dead last in my titty-ogling department. They still do, Bucko.

The bedroom, if you can call it that, didn't have a door to it, so when the Chief went in there and stood before Yvonne, with his back to us, we all knew he was getting just three bucks worth out of her. We all watched his fat ass khaki pants go in and out as he enjoyed himself.

Somebody whispered, "Hey, look! He's standing at attention!" And he was. His arms were ramrod stiff down both sides of his body, and his legs were together, with the shoes touching. He looked as if he was getting a blowjob to the national anthem. A short while later, we all heard Yvonne say, "Ooh la la, Cheri, you taste like zee salty popcorn!"

To the Chief's embarrassment, I'm pretty sure, we all busted out laughing. The Chief, unamused, glared at us, which shut up the laughter pronto.

Then the Chief came out and, sounding as efficient as all hell, called out the first two names, "Abbott, Boone! Take your places." It sounded so fucking insane, I half expected him to yell, "Now, Abbott, Boone, gimme twenty each on her! Up, down, up, down. C'mon, you turds, move your dead asses!" It wouldn't have surprised me even one whit.

I stood there, with the other onlookers, watching each guy take his turn getting sucked or fucked according to his preference, and possibly his pocketbook. And watched both gals collect the cash, count it quickly, and stuff it into the little wooden boxes. I had the feeling they had done this before. Either that, or they were quick studies.

My eyes were flying back and forth from the sofa to the bed in the other room. There was Fifi, a big cock in her mouth, sucking away like a pro. There was Yvonne, her legs out in space, wiggling away, and being pounded by a sailor who was naked only from the waste down. She had a firm grip on the tail of his denim shirt, and was yelling something like, "Oh, mon Cheri, you are zo good." She would say this, often repeating it over and over while being fucked, with each guy, to where she sounded like a recording. With a French accent.