Copyright © 2002, Phil Phantom

I married a living doll, a very bright, sexy, beautiful woman who I am very proud of. Everybody loves Wendy, and I am the envy of every guy I know. I am very popular because of her. My place is where the guys want to hang, and my place is where they drool and act the fool, get drunk, get courage, and often get lucky because Wendy does have one weakness - drunken fools with courage. She simply cannot say no to a drunken fool with courage who she knows absolutely adores her. My wife is the queen of mercy pussy, a Florence Nightingale to fools in-lust, a Mother Theresa to dirty old men with hardons and hangovers - a living, breathing, walking, talking fantasy in pure white.

Wendy is her formal name, but friends call her Buns, which used to be Bunny. She grew out of Bunny, but she liked Buns, and loves Sugar Buns. When introduced as Sugar Buns, they'll look at her bare ass and say, "They sure named you right."

She does have a remarkable fanny, and she loves showing her cute fanny. She never wears anything over her Sugar Buns except a short skirt. She sees nothing at all wrong with showing fanny, letting people feel fanny, taking a playful fanny slap, and fanny pinches if they don't leave a bruise are fine, too.

I agree, but most who admire her fanny are actually gawking at her pussy. You can't show fanny without showing pussy, but you can show pussy without fanny. The pussy always comes into view first. When she bends over in a short skirt, sometimes, all you get is a great shot of shaved pussy, and the finest, fullest, fleshiest, pinkest, juiciest pussy you ever saw. Wendy's pussy is stunningly vulgar. She has a pussy that screams CUNT - big, fat, gutsy, juicy CUNT. With a fanny like Wendy's, what she needs is a subtle, flat, formless, dry, hair-shrouded slit that in no way attracts attention away from a very sexy fanny or cute, ultra-white buns.

She has the opposite. She knows but doesn't care. Men love seeing her type of pussy, which, as she will quickly correct, is highly visual vagina not taco twat grande. I know men do love seeing her type of pussy, but it sure looks like a taco twat grande to me. It also makes her look like a woman in heat, or a wife in season, or a sexy woman in a high state of sexual arousal, and that will encourage men to come on sexually. She uses her taco twat the same way a bitch in heat uses her inflamed, swollen, scent emitting, mating organ. When my wife gets in among a group of horny men, she acts like a damn bitch in heat. Men love being around a woman like that.

I think most men in my shoes would think very poorly of a wife like Wendy, but I never have. I know where her heart is. I know why she does what she does. She gives of herself to those in need. Men who get around her need quality sex - pin-up quality, NFL cheerleader quality, movie screen quality, thousand-dollar/night hooker quality, or lady of exceptional breeding quality. She does a great Southern Belle. "Suh, I do believe your impudent hand is resting on my nekid behind. Please move it, or I shall be forced to remove it."

When I met Wendy, she was a thousand-dollar a night escort to support a life of pussy charity that took from rich whites with little dicks and gave to poor blacks with big dicks, what I called a Communist whore, but never to her face. Her motto was Karl's motto: From each according to his ability, to each according to his need. I thought that motto should read: From each according to his INability, to each according to MY needs. To her face, I called her the Robin Hood of white pussy. That made her smile and fall in love with me, because she took that as a great compliment.

We did what single people in love do - fuck up - we got married. I got her away from that life by moving us from Austin to Dallas. Bucky was right, the bitch was loaded, like $220,000 loaded, all cash in the bank in CDs. After the wedding, she turned it all over to me without a thought or a care, so I started my own building demolition business, hired a demolition crew, and got in good, thick, black ink within three months. I started with three guys and had a crew of twenty after only three months, but that was as big as I needed to be to bid any job that didn't require blasting type demolition. We did machine assisted hand jobs. Those twenty brick busters became the crew of losers that kept hanging more and more at my place.

The reason, of course, was Wendy. She loved playing hostess to the crew. They were her kind of guys - hard-up, very horny, and couldn't get laid in a two-bit whorehouse if they walked around whistling and swinging a sack of quarters. She saw them as down-trodden masses who couldn't make passes or get off first base without a seeing-eye dog who knew that the way home to pork chops was past second to third, then hang a left.

They were welcome any time, day or night. Beer was free and plentiful, always food to eat, a bed to crash in, and if you love looking at great visual pussy, there was plenty of that. Her usual attire was a man's shirt or a shorty silk robe, and that short sucker just barely did cover all the ass flesh. It did not hide any of the pussy, and Wendy's pussy is best seen in full glory from the rear. It was useless to try to talk to anyone with Wendy walking away or standing nearby facing away. Her ass commanded all eyes. She knew it; she loved it; she had to have IT. I had a choice - shirt or shorty robe - pick one or both - pick none and you got yourself a nude wife.

I was never sure what the IT was that Wendy had to have. IT wasn't fucking, but IT got her fucked. She never wanted me to actually see any fucking, and no one on the crew wanted the boss to know that they were boinking the near-naked wife, but I'm no idiot. They were all fucking my wife, and one by one, they were all getting caught in the act of fucking my wife.

That was always awkward, unpleasant, and strained the employer/employee relationship, and Wendy always felt badly, but I couldn't get upset with Wendy or come down on the employee. She was asking for it. I can't blame a man for being a man. In my work, I need real men. I had em, and they weren't about to leave me, or stop hanging at a place they were always welcome. A real man will go where free beer, food, and pussy is. If the pussy is fine, you don't need to feed 'em. If the free pussy was finer than frog hair, they'll bring food and beer and won't ever leave, using the beer and food they brought as an excuse to stay so they can eat and drink what they bought and brought. Can't waste good food and drink - good pussy, neither.