ROUND TWO / DAY TWO:
This will be a long one!
As a follow-up to the story I posted a week or so ago, here's how things played out during Day Two of my visit to SW Minnesota and my long-time red-haired FWB, whom I will continue to refer to by her first initial: T.
It was Monday. We'd spent the previous evening – our first night together since 2021 – watching TV while she got high, which always makes her extra-horny, We ended up having sex into the wee hours (about three hours' worth of sucking, fucking and pussy-eating), despite the fact she'd declared at bedtime that she was uncomfortable with her weight gain due to her taking anti-depressant meds, and therefore didn't feel "sexy." But she had second thoughts after we’d been in bed in less than 15 minutes. She claimed not to have had sex in more than five months (which turned out to be not entirely true, as you'll read later), so the left side of the sexual equation Cannabis + Desire + Dick Proximity was clearly greater than (>) the right side, which was Continued Abstinence + Self-Image Discomfort.
T babysits her grandson every Monday through Friday afternoon, filling in the gap between the time her daughter leaves for a factory job at 2:00, and the son-in-law returns from his chef's gig at 5:00. This commitment was the reason we weren't spending the entire week in the Twin Cities, as I'd originally planned. We negotiated staying at her place for two nights, me driving on my own to St. Paul for Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights, and then returning midday Friday to retrieve her and go back north for the weekend.
Given the late hour when we finally finished Sunday night, it was well after 10 a.m. by the time we climbed out of bed. I'd been rebuffed (gently but firmly) against a morning fuck, so instead we got dressed in separate rooms and she made us French toast for breakfast (at nearly lunchtime!) before hanging out at her place for most of the day. Since she'd quit her meds due to the weight gain (an increase from 115 pounds to around 140 on her 5'5" frame), I was concerned she was reverting somewhat to her agoraphobic ways -- not wanting to go anywhere -- but she insisted she was just tired ("And you clearly know why," she declared in a half-joking, half-accusatory tone). The other underlying factor was this: When I say there’s nothing to do in her town, I mean THERE’S NOTHING TO DO. Instead, we watched TV together for a while, I started a book (“The Collected Works of Franz Kafka”) I’d purchased the previous evening at the town’s lone bookstore, and we exchanged stories about the events we'd each experienced since we were last together, which was October 2021. T had quit her retail management job at the peak of COVID, another in a long line of employment bailouts on her part. “I always end up the victim of two situations,” she said, by way of explaining her less-than-stellar work history. “Guys are always hitting on me, which I hate, and my female coworkers resent it and stab me in the back.” I suggested that’s what happens when you live in a small town, with its limited gene pool and where everybody knows your business. “I’ve been here for 30 years, and it never gets any better,” she lamented.
Meanwhile, at the end of 2021 my partners and I had sold our consulting business to our largest client, the related management contract we held for a micro-brewery in Croatia was taken over by Zagreb’s largest brewery, and my partners retired while I stayed on to continue my tech-writing work. I tried to pry some sexy stories out of T’s memory hole, but she said those needed to wait until evening. In our past meetups, we’d regularly used tales of prior escapades to help whet each other’s sexual appetites (and WET certain other things!), such as the time I hosted a young hottie along with my former gang bang buddy, and experienced my first (and so far, only) DV. Or the time T finger-banged a young woman after spending the day at the Minnesota Renaissance festival. They went at it in full view of the golf-cart guy who’d driven them to the remote parking lot. T admitted to me it was possible her paramour wasn’t exactly “of age,” but acknowledged it was the young lady’s first girl-on-girl experience.
By this point in the afternoon, it was time for T to retrieve her grandson. He’s a rambunctious two-year-old who is already showing signs of ADD, but after she brought him back to her place, I managed to get him to sit still long enough to read him a story. Apparently, that was a major milestone, and I received kudos from the dad when he came to pick up the short person a few hours later. At 4:00, T had a Zoom call with her therapist, so I took a drive in order to give her some privacy, returning about 90 minutes later.
“Do you want to know what we talked about,” T teased upon my return. “Isn’t there such a thing as doctor/patient confidentiality? I asked. She replied, “It’s OK if the patient divulges the info, doofus.” I love it when she calls me endearing names! I acquiesced and prepared myself for a fairly boring storyline, but it turned out rather fascinating.
“We spent most of my 50-minute session talking about you, actually” was her opening salvo. I responded with, “Well, that sounds totally boring. You should probably ask for your money back.” She reminded me her therapy sessions were free, based on her minimalist income and the charity of the county government. “You still got robbed,” I said, only slightly tongue-in-cheek. Here’s the gist of what she told me (edited for brevity and my semi-faulty memory):
“I told her in our last session that you were coming to visit, so we started out talking about how you and I had met all those years ago, when was the last time we’d gotten together, and if I was *ready* to have someone stay the night. We’d previously talked about my lack of sex since the year started, and whether I felt ready for the two of us to fuck. I told her we had a great relationship, always enjoyed each other’s company in and out of bed, and that you’d back off if I wasn’t comfortable – which you did. Then I told her I’d been too high to miss out, so we had this amazing session that lasted three hours. She wanted to know if I was planning to go for another round, and I said I hoped so.” That elicited quite the eyebrow-raise from me, but I refrained from making a snarky comment, so she continued.
“She wanted to know how serious you and I were, and I explained how there’s no way we’d ever live in the same city, but I felt better about having you around. I also told her you’d offered to take me to France in 2022, but I was too freaked out to consider going [Ed. note: I ended up taking my friend Liz, a 38-y/o Denver woman I’d met on a dating site, with whom I’ve been having occasional sex], but that you suggested I could come with you to Italy next spring, if I felt up to it.”
The previous day, I chastised T for not applying for her passport, for which I’d prepared the paperwork and given her the $175 document fee, while also floating the idea of her coming with me to visit Milan and Florence. “I’ve always wanted to see Florence,” was her dreamy response to my suggestion, but I’m not holding my breath on that one.
Anyway, as we were about to continue the discussion, her son-in-law showed up to collect his rug-rat, who’d been doing who-knows-what in the rear bedroom. I subsequently suggested we go somewhere for dinner, but T offered to scour her pantry and cook something for us. We dined on homemade chicken tenders, rice, and a salad. Afterwards, she suggested we go for an early evening hike in the local state park, so we doused ourselves with mosquito repellent – it WAS Minnesota, after all – and trekked about three miles up hill and down dale, through forests primeval and meadows replete with wildflowers, before finally ending up back at my car. “Let’s go for a drink,” she suggested, so we drove a mile or so to the local country club and headed into the clubhouse. T ordered an incredibly complex Long Island iced tea, substituting one ingredient for another, explaining exactly how she wanted each element added and mixed, and what style of glass to serve it in. As for me, I ordered a hard seltzer and drank it straight from the can!
“You realize,” I said to her, “the only reason the bartender put up with your micro-managing antics is because you’re gorgeous, and beautiful women always get what they want.” Before she could respond, a young woman sitting a few stools away at the bar – herself a particularly tasty tall, svelte and very desirable brunette who couldn’t have been much older than 21 – slid over to sit next to us and declared, “He’s right, you know.” T asked, “Right about what?” “One, you ARE gorgeous, and two, I get the same treatment.” Previously, in situations like these, an in-depth discussion would have ensued, followed by T trying (and usually succeeding) to pick up the younger woman, or at least have them agree to meet later. I’ve been on the receiving end of a few MFF threesomes thanks to T’s ability to pull a variety of hotties, which has included waitresses, bartenders, and even a bridesmaid at a bachelorette party being held in a strip club. More than once, I’ve said to her, “Who knew the best possible wingman would turn out to be a red-haired MILF.”
But this time around, either her heart wasn’t in it, or else she didn’t feel that special “vibe” bi-sexual woman sense in detecting others of their ilk. T grabbed her elaborate Long Island concoction and beckoned me to follow her to a table out on the patio. After we finished our drinks, she suggested we stop at the liquor store and pick up some additional hootch. I’m definitely not a drinker – never developed a taste for it, plus it’s bad for my gout – but if T wanted to get a bit tipsier, who was I to argue? She decided on some god-awful Smirnoff Red-White-Blue cocktail in a bottle, and we went back to her place. It wasn’t late – only around 9:30 – but I said I wanted to take a shower and put on my PJs. She said she’d do the same, and when I returned to the couch to watch some TV, T was tucked into the far end and wearing only an extra-long t-shirt. “I couldn’t find my nightgown,” she explained, “so I just tossed on this thing.” She was sitting cross-legged on the couch, with her hand gripping the hem of the shirt in order to pull it down over her crotch. “Are you wearing anything under that?” I asked in as innocent a voice as I could manage. “I left on my sports bra,” she explained. “You know I don’t ever wear panties.”
Oh, how well I knew that! The last time we were together, we’d gone to a bar in downtown Minneapolis where a band was playing on their outdoor patio. She wore a filmy, knee-length dress and sandals, but nothing else. About halfway through the band’s second set, after she’d consumed a glass of Merlot and an Amaretto sour, she was sitting on my lap and I had two fingers up inside her pussy. The band was loud enough to mask her moans of pleasure, but any semi-observant person could have figured out what we were doing, if they’d cared to look.
In this case, by way of further explanation, T lifted up the bottom edge of her t-shirt and flashed me her pussy. The previous night, with the bedroom darkened to near-blackness, I’d only been able to imagine how things looked down there. However, under the bright lights of the living room, I was treated to a lovely view of her natural bush (neatly shaped into a red inverted triangle), a pair of engorged outer labia, and just a hint of moisture at the entrance to her vagina. I took this as some sort of invitation, but as I slid in next to her and started to run my hand up the inside of her thigh, she twisted away from me and tugged the t-shirt down again. “Let’s watch a movie, OK?” was her solution to forestall any action on my part.
Because she lives out in the boonies in a trailer park that’s not served by cable TV, she relies on some crappy five-dollar-per-month antenna subscription, plus about a thousand DVDs. OK, so maybe I’m exaggerating, but she has this gigantic zippered case filled with sleeve after sleeve of movie disks. They were arranged alphabetically by title (a nod to her OCD), but I didn’t have a clue where to start. “Any porn in there?” I asked innocently. She gave me that look – you know the one – that was a combination of scorn, disappointment and shock that I’d even assume such a thing. “My last boyfriend took them all when I kicked his ass out,” she said with a laugh. I asked her to make a recommendation, and rather than getting up to find the DVD herself – I was jonesing for a look at that lovely ass – she rattled off a title and instructed me to dig it out. I don’t remember what it was called, but it was some PG-13 fantasy film with a bunch of young actors I didn’t recognize, reciting lines that were less believable than a legal deposition by a perpetual liar, and special effects whose main claim to fame was NOISE!
Meanwhile, T was working her way through a second glass of that vile Smirnoff stuff, having also taken one of the THC gummies I’d brought with me from Colorado. Although cannabis was now legit in Minnesota, they didn’t have edibles on the list of legal substances, so she was happy when I showed up with a tin of pomegranate-flavored “happy candy.” She complained the gummies worked more slowly than the wax dabs she’d had the previous evening, but I was in no hurry. Besides, the vodka was apparently having some effect, since she kept moving closer to me as the movie slogged its way to its inevitable happy ending. I was looking for one of those myself, naturally!
“Are we gonna have another late night?” T asked, leaning hard against my side and pulling my arm up around her shoulders. “The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish,” I replied with a sly grin. She sat up and gave me a seriously passionate kiss. “The sooner YOU finish, you mean,” she said. Then she added, “Fuck, I’m horny!” followed by a giggle and then, “Wait – did I say that out loud?” “Say what out loud?” I shot back in an innocent tone. “Never mind, Zac. Let’s go to bed.”
I’d taken the precaution of popping a 5mg Cialis as soon as we got home from the liquor store, so I was seriously erect as I walked back to the bedroom. I’m not usually in need of pharmaceutical assistance, especially around T, but I had a feeling this was going to be a marathon event, so I wanted to be fully prepared. T had stopped off in the bathroom, so I stripped off my pajama bottoms and slid underneath the covers. She popped in a minute later, climbing over me to reach her side of the bed. As she joined me under the comforter and pulled me toward her, she felt my hard cock bump up against her thigh. “Well, I see you don’t need a hot story to get you in the mood,” she whispered into my ear. I reminded her she’d promised me one anyway, so she rolled onto her side with her back against me, and we spooned a while as she worked her way through a very interesting tale.
T’s EROTIC STORY: After some soul-searching and advice from a couple of girlfriends, she’d dumped 20-y/o “James the Boy Toy” on New Year’s Eve, primarily because he was boring, not very bright, and lacked ambition. Also, “I could put up with his premature ejaculations, because he has a big dick and got hard again fast. But he did a shitty job eating pussy, so that was the last straw.” T decided it was too much work to find some other guy, especially since the pickings in the area were slim, plus she was starting to freak out about her med-related weight gain. “My Rabbit became my best friend, although I tried not to use it too much, since I was worried about desensitizing my clit.” In mid-February, one of her former convenience-store coworkers had been invited over for dinner. During the evening, more than a foot of snow got dumped, and it kept coming down, which resulted in them being stuck in her double-wide trailer for three days. Thankfully they had plenty of food, about a thousand DVDs to watch, and a fair amount of weed. Donna was an athletic 5-10 Scandinavian blonde in her late 30s, slender with barely B-cup tits, and a firm butt. T said they’d never done anything remotely sexual during the six months they’d worked together, but the combination of isolation, cannabis, and having to share a bed got the best of them. “She saw my Rabbit on my bedside table and asked me how it worked. Instead of using it on myself, I pressed it against her panty-covered crotch and switched it on. Before you knew it, we’d stripped off all our clothes, the vibrator got tossed aside, and we were grinding against each other’s pussies like crazy. She had her first girl/girl orgasm, and things just escalated from there.” T admitted she talked Donna into going down on her, although, “She didn’t need much convincing, after I’d initiated things by munching on her cunt for nearly an hour.”
T probably would have continued her tale but, halfway through her narrative, I’d slipped my erect cock in between her thighs and she’d arched her back just enough so I could enter her well-lubricated pussy. It was easy to do, since both of us were naked below the waist. I held steady to keep from distracting her, but she suddenly stopped talking and started to thrust against me. I let her do most of the moving and waited to see how far she wanted to take things. “I’m too drunk to get on top,” she admitted, even though I hadn’t made any such suggestion. “Doggie me, OK?” It was more an order than a request, but I was happy to oblige.
At my age, my knees aren’t what they used to be – arthritis, you know – so I find it much more comfortable to modify that position. I withdrew from T’s pussy, climbed off the bed after tossing the covers aside, and grabbed her ankles to pull her toward the bottom edge of the mattress. She squealed a bit from the rough way I manipulated her, but after I spanked her ass and told her to get up onto her knees, she understood immediately what I was after. I clamped my hands onto her hips and hauled her as close to the edge as I could without having her fall to the floor, and then I thrust forward. Her wide-open pussy accepted my erection with ease, and I leaned forward with my knees pressing firmly against the top edge of the mattress for improved leverage. While standing up, I’m much more capable of fucking for a while, since rocking back and forth on my feet is far easier than doing it on my knees, where I find it necessary to use my arms to support my weight. T likes a long, hard fuck, where she can reach down and rub her clit with no worries about sudden withdrawal. The orgasms she experiences from finger-fucking and pussy eating are frequent and continuous, but the ones triggered via fucking can be incredibly intense and nearly exhausting for her.
Such was the case here, where I pounded her nonstop for a good 20 minutes. She was making a lot of noise, none of which came out as actual words but was more guttural. Suddenly she reached back to dig her fingers into my thighs, which indicated she wanted me to stop pumping, shimmied her ass against my crotch, and let out such a massive groan that I was glad the closest neighbor was two lot spaces away. It ended up being the most intense orgasm she experienced the entire time we were together, although I didn’t know that at the time. I wasn’t even sure how long she’d held her breath, but she finally exhaled loudly and flopped forward. I backed away from the bed, breathing hard myself, and admired T’s lovely thighs and dripping-wet pussy. Unlike the previous evening, she’d left the bedside lamp lit, clearly less self-conscious about her appearance. Either that, or she’d been too well-lubricated with alcohol to notice the room wasn’t dark. Either way, I was definitely enjoying the view.
T asked me for a glass of water. When I returned, I found she’d stripped off her t-shirt and sports bra. “Is it fucking hot in here, or what?” she asked rhetorically, using her right hand to reach for the glass I’d brought while simultaneously patting the empty spot on the bed next to her with her left hand. I slid in alongside after quickly stripping off my pajama top, pairing my naked body with hers. She set down the now-empty glass and reached across to run her slender hand across my chest and tweak my nipples. My cock had sagged a little during my trip to the kitchen, but her touch revived things down below. “You didn’t come yet, did you?” T asked while already knowing the answer. I explained I’d been too busy concentrating on staying hard enough to make sure she got off, which she had – massively. “OK, it’s your turn,” she declared. Roll over onto your back. I want you to pump that man-jizz down my throat!” Rather than setting up alongside me, with her body resting against my chest as she had the previous night, T climbed over my outstretched right leg and knelt between my widespread thighs. She wrapped the first two fingers of her left hand firmly around the base of my cock, slid her right hand down against her crotch, and lowered her mouth until it engulfed the length of my penis that extended above her hand.
I’m not a large guy – 5-1/2” from base to circumcised tip – so she didn’t have much difficulty taking the entire exposed length of my cock between her lips. I hadn’t wiped my cock off after we’d fucked, so I knew she could taste her pussy juices on it. One of the things she told me years ago was allegedly the easiest way to determine if a woman was bisexual. “If she likes the taste of her own pussy on your cock or your fingers, she probably enjoys the taste of someone else’s pussy, too.” I’ve never experienced evidence to the contrary, so it must be true.
T can be quite enthusiastic when it involves cock-sucking. I was fairly sensitive, given how much I’d used my dick over the past 24 hours – a lot more than in the previous month, quite frankly. Several times I asked her to slow down and lessen the pressure she was using at the base of my cock. Finally, she slid her hand down around my balls and massaged them gently while deep-throating me and even gagging a bit. I started to pump my hips, so she stopped bobbing her head up and down and instead let me fuck her mouth at my own pace. While all this was transpiring, she was rubbing her clit with her free hand and groaning loudly – not nearly as much as before, but enough to signal she was close to a self-induced orgasm. A few grunts on her part, coupled with my faster pace of bucking my hips up and down, and I cut loose with three healthy pumps of cum down her throat. Even though all the signs had been there, my ejaculations may have caught her by surprise. Nonetheless, she remained in place until I was finished unloading, swallowing every drop like a champ. I was too wound up to notice if she’d induced her own orgasm while I was spurting, but at that point I didn’t really care.
“Damn, Zac – how does a guy your age come so much two nights in a row?” I had no answer for her, so I simply said, “Beats me,” shrugged my shoulders, and rolled onto my side. T laughed, which meant her words weren’t intended as an accusation, only an observation. She climbed off the bed, declaring she needed some more water to clear her throat, and walked out of the bedroom stark naked. When she returned a couple of minutes later, she slipped her t-shirt back on but left the bra on the floor. A quick kiss goodnight sealed the deal, and we ended the evening lying bare butt to bare butt as I quickly fell asleep.
Part III to follow.
