My official entry for CAW #12 on our own Sex Stories forum, hosted by member and CAW #11 winner, ahorsewithnoname:
Aging fishermen tell stories about “the one that got away.” The one that got away from me was a girl named Loni.
The heat waves shimmered in the distance, inexorably rising off the sand in an unmerciful display of mother nature's authority. Shade was nowhere to be found. Off to the left, a transistor radio could be heard, the music of the Beatles signaling the start of another day on the beach.
It was the summer of '69. It was the summer of Loni.
I was fresh out of college with a completely useless diploma in a major that had zero job prospects without a Master's degree. The amount of partying I did in college ensured that I wouldn't get into any kind of grad school, not that I had the self-discipline to do the work anyway.
Knee injuries from drunken college foolishness kept me out of the military. I moved back into my parents' basement, hacked off some of my hair, and found a proofreading job at a printing company. Second-shift was fine. I'm not a morning person.
Neither was Loni. She started working there soon after I did. She was a typist, transcribing manuscript into primitive computer files on cassette tapes. When a typist finished a document, she would print it out, put it in a folder with the original manuscript, and bring to the proofreaders.
Loni was gorgeous. Fred, an older guy I worked with, caught me watching her one evening.
“Go for it,” he said. “You're close enough to her age. She's been legal for a year.”
“Who is she?”
“You're joking. That's Loni Svensen. You know? LONI SVENSON?”
“Who's Loni Svensen?”
“What planet did you say you're from?”
“Man, you know damn well I live fifteen minutes from where we are right now. Who the hell is Loni Svensen?”
“I can't believe you don't know. She was high school Homecoming Queen in her senior year, won the county beauty pageant easily, and placed second at the state pageant. She's working here, saving money to go to a fashion design college in Boston.”
“She's cute,” I said.
“Cute? That girl was one unfortunate song choice away from competing for Miss America! Beautiful and sexy as hell are the words you're looking for. She's not dating anyone. There was a boyfriend in high school. The dumb shit dumped her for some other girl. She lives with her mom. I went to high school with that women. Tried to get in her pants more than once. Loni's sexier than her mother ever was, and that's saying something.”
“Way out of my league, man.” I turned back to my work.
Fred spun my chair to face him. “Nobody gets laid with that attitude. Don't tell me you're a virgin.”
“Hardly. I had fun in high school and college.”
“What? Twice? Once each place?” he chuckled.
“If you must know, I had a serious girlfriend in high school. We learned a lot from each other. I had chicks in college, too.”
“Ones you had sex with? And when you say 'chicks', you mean, what? Two? Three?”
“Three in one day once, and there were two girls who slept over pretty regularly. My roommate dropped out. Two dorm beds pushed together made plenty of room for all kinds of fun. A chick lived in my room with me for a few months, and ….”
“All right, all right. Fine. You've been with girls. Were they sweat-hogs?”
“No! But they didn't wear tiaras!”
Fred laughed. “Loni's my daughter's best friend. She's at our pool all summer. Pictures tomorrow.”
“Why would you torture me? I'll never get to see her in a bathing suit in real life.”
“I don't know what brain damage you suffered in college, but if your ears work, listen! You can get that girl!”
“That's insane. You're wrong.”
“I'm not wrong. At least I won't be if you'll just fucking listen to me.”
“Right.” I moved back to my desk.
Fred grumbled, “We'll talk tomorrow, after 'show-and-tell'.”
I dreamed about her that night. We were work buddies, talking at breaks sometimes, but nothing more. I thought the dream might be a glimpse into my future with her. All right. I'd be thrilled with that. It would be more fun drinking coffee with her than Fred.
He displayed an envelope when he came in that afternoon. “I'll show you these on one condition.”
“You forget where you saw them. My wife and daughter would kill me.”
“What the hell is in that envelope?”
“Wait until break-time.”
Loni wore a casual dress that day. Fred said she designed and made it herself. When she leaned over my desk to bring me her work, I tried not to stare at her cleavage. Her aroma was natural, healthy, a hint of sweetness, very feminine, but only mildly sexual – maybe the way a goddess would smell.
When she left the room, Fred tossed me some coins. “You know how I like my coffee. I'll find a table outside. God, she smells good enough to eat.” He rolled back to his desk.
The break buzzer sounded. I made it to the vending machines in record time, but why? If he had nude pictures, it would only make things worse.
He opened the envelope when I sat down. “This is her mom, Camilla, the summer after we got out of high school, about the same age Loni is now.”
Camilla looked like Loni, with the same nearly black wavy hair, but she was shorter, a little more Italian looking. It was a posed shot at the beach. Her suit must have been pretty daring back in those days, and she looked damn good. “Damn, Fred, she's as beautiful as her daughter!”
“Yup, but Loni's taller. Her height and those blue eyes come from Dad. Peter Svensen. Big blond guy, starting tackle all through school. We called him Thor. He died in a car accident, going for milk for the girls. Loni was three.”
He pulled out another picture. “Camilla has a full-time job, and works Friday and Saturday overnight someplace else. My wife and I are friends with her from school. We used to babysit her girls. Camilla and the kids love the pool. They're at our place most Sunday afternoons.”
This snapshot showed a woman Fred's age, doing justice to a bathing suit most teens couldn't wear. It was obviously the same woman, the same beautiful hair, and the same slightly olive skin. This suit showed more of it – lots of cleavage, firm bare midriff, shapely legs and ass. Hot mama!
“That was taken last summer. The girls mean everything to her, so she's always spent all her time providing for them and making the best home and family life she can. I admire her, and I'd fuck the hell out of her. The next one is Loni's graduation picture.” He handed me a standard yearbook pose. Her hair was styled simply, but it was still beautiful, and her smile was dazzling.
The next shot showed her perched gracefully on the back of a convertible. She had a tiara pinned to her elegantly styled hair, and she wore a formal gown in blue, to match her eyes. The photographer was at the perfect angle. Loni smiled straight at me. “Homecoming,” Fred said. “She made that gown from scratch. Drew the patterns herself.”
The next picture showed her dressed as a cowgirl, dark hair in braids, belting out a song. “What's this?”
“That's from the talent competition at the state pageant. Wrong year to do a song from 'Oklahoma”.
“I'm not into redneck girls, but she looks great!”
“Swimsuit competition.” Fred handed me a picture of Loni in a conservative but form-fitting one-piece suit. Her figure was more beautiful than I dared imagine.
“Sunbathing last summer.” In this one, she was lying on her belly in a bikini. She had gathered the bottoms up into little more than a g-string, and the top was unclasped. She squinted into the sun, shielding her eyes with her hand. Side-boob competed with ass for my attention.
“My God, Fred! Why are you showing me this?”
“You're looking, kid. My daughter works second-shift too, so I see that every day.” He pulled the final photograph from the envelope. “No one knows I have this.”
She was climbing out of Fred's pool, wearing a white t-shirt and knit shorts, sunglasses in hand, hair dripping. Camilla was in the background, laughing. Loni's clothes were nearly transparent, and she wasn't wearing underwear. Her face looked angry. Her body looked like a centerfold.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
Fred put his treasures away. “You can get that.”
“Man, you're nuts,” I snorted.
“Listen! Be friendly, but not too friendly. Smile when you see her. Don't drool. Let her think you don't really care about her beauty. Talk to her. Listen to her. Let her make the first move.”
“Her first move will be in the opposite direction. I don't have a chance with her.”
“Suit yourself. Someone should be tapping that. It could be you.” He finished his coffee and took the envelope inside.
As the days passed, I noticed her more and more. Shorts weren't allowed in our part of the building. Women wore pants or casual skirts. Loni pushed the dress code with some hemlines. She apparently designed and made almost everything she wore, and she always looked fabulous.
I felt like an awkward kid. I hadn't been bragging to Fred about college. It was “the dawning of the age of Aquarius”. If you had grass or booze, you got laid. Things changed. I was a working man. Granted, living in my parents' basement, but I had hopes, dreams, even some vague plans. None of them included this girl. That was too crazy.
One evening, the workload was light for both proofreaders and typists. Our manager asked for volunteers to work in the factory area of the building, shrink-wrapping magazines and loading cartons of them on skids. Loni and I, the youngest of the bunch, agreed to do it.
The machinery generated a lot of heat, so the dress code was much more relaxed. People wore shorts with tees or tank tops. At break time, I took off my outer shirt. I had a t-shirt underneath, expecting to work in our air-conditioned office.
“Good idea,” Loni said, dashing out to the parking lot. She returned with a bag and went into the ladies' room. When I came back from getting us sodas, she was on her way in from her car.
Her hair was held back by a kerchief tied as a sweatband. She had a Led Zeppelin t-shit, slashed from the collar to an interesting level, and cropped to show sun-bronzed belly skin. She completed her new outfit with a pair of tight, threadbare jeans, cut off so short the pockets showed in front.
Loni took dance lessons for years and competed in gymnastics in high school. She was strong, agile, and light on her feet. If it's possible to look graceful while loading bundles of magazines into a hot shrink-wrap machine, she did it. The manufacturer of that machine would have paid good money for pictures of her operating the thing.
We finally caught up with the rest of the production line. I sat on on a stack of skids, mopping my brow with the tail of my t-shirt. “How fast are you running that machine, girl?”
“As fast as I need to if we're going to get done. Too much for you, old man?” She sat next to me and flashed me a smile of beautiful white teeth and laughing eyes. “How long until lunch?”
“About an hour.” Damn, even sweaty, she smelled wonderful.
A tow-motor arrived with another pallet of magazines still stinking of ink. We got to work again.
Fred joined us for lunch outside. He kept giving me meaningful looks. I was afraid she would see him. She'd never talk to me again if she knew how hard I struggled to keep her from becoming become the girl of my dreams. I was too much of a realist to see her romantically, or sexually, or in any other way but as a work buddy. Fantasy about her was stupid.
At the end of our shift, we were told to dress for work in the plant the next night. We talked in the parking lot for a few minutes before driving home.
The next afternoon, she appeared at the time-clock in a dressy blouse and a skirt. I wore cut-offs and a t-shirt, a bandanna in my pocket to make into sweatband.
“I thought we were dressing for the plant tonight, Loni. You'll roast.”
“No I won't. I have a top and shorts underneath. I wanted to go shopping before work, and I wasn't sure I'd have time to go home and change.”
We punched in and learned that we were doing exactly the same thing as the night before. When we got to our work station, Loni produced a hair tie and gathered her dark waves into a high ponytail. She removed her blouse to reveal a short top, displaying her taut, flat abdomen. Then she undid some fasteners on her skirt and stripped to a pair of athletic-style shorts, slit halfway up her hips. “I'm ready to sweat tonight,” she said.
The large printing press near us that made so much noise the previous night was idle for scheduled maintenance. We were able to talk more easily than we did before, and we learned a lot about each other. Being with her made the work go fast. Still, I couldn't picture myself asking her out.
At the end of the night, we were told there might be some work in our regular departments the following day. If things were slow, we would spend our time in the back-issue warehouse, picking orders for individual magazines a collector or library needed. That area was air-conditioned, but we were told to dress for comfort, since we would be on our feet doing light physical labor.
Loni appeared the next day in a yellow sundress with matching yellow casual shoes. I was in thin khakis and a lightweight polo shirt.
We were given order lists, mailing envelopes, and a cart stacked with empty bins. We found a rhythm. The break-time buzzer surprised us.
Relaxing with me at a picnic table outside, she said, “We got a lot done. This is easy.”
“I wouldn't call it easy.”
“Do you want to trade jobs? I can load the bins,” she offered.
“No, I'm fine. I'm just bitching about being out here doing this work instead of sitting on my ass finding your mistakes.”
“There aren't many,” she huffed, sticking out her pretty lower lip in an exaggerated pout.
“No, there aren't.”
“That's better,” she whined, before she started giggling.
Back at work, we were alone. We didn't hear anyone else for at least an hour. She went into another aisle to start picking a new order while I finished packing the old one.
“Mark, can you come here?”
She was leaning against the wall at the end of the aisle. “I'm curious about something.”
“What's that?” I asked.
“Why don't you like me?”
“I do like you.”
“It's hard to tell.”
Should I admit that I was getting obsessed with her? That I saw her face every time I closed my eyes? That I was scared of seeing her as more than a friend? She was so far out of range for me that I was trying to convince myself she wasn't desirable.
“Does the girl have to make the first move? Well, all right.” She gave me a firm kiss and held it for a few seconds. Then she said, “I liked that.”
“So did I.”
“Maybe we should do it again.”
I put my hands on the wall on either side of her head. The flecks of gold in her smiling blue eyes sparkled in the dim light. I leaned in to her, and she pulled me close. This time, our tongues played, and I could feel her proud breasts against me. I'm sure she could feel my growing hardness. My hands were sliding down her back toward her ass when we heard someone. We separated and made ourselves busy.
Impossible. I must have day-dreamed the whole thing. This girl could not possibly be attracted to me.
Just before lunch, our manager's voice crackled over the intercom. “Mark or Loni, call 312.” I picked up the phone and dialed. “Boss, it's Mark.”
“How are you two doing out there? We have work for Loni.”
“It's almost lunch-time. Do you want her back after that?” I asked.
“Yeah. Can you get to a good stopping point soon, too? We'll need you to check her work as fast as she can pound it out.”
After lunch, she went back to her keyboard. I finished the order we had started and returned to my desk to start proofing her work.
My head wasn't in the game. I had to re-read some of her stuff several times, because I kept finding errors. Obviously, Loni had trouble concentrating too. She made an unusually large number of mistakes. Just before quitting time, I took the final corrections to her desk.
She opened the folder and shook her head. “Sorry. I'm usually much better than this.”
“Don't worry. It's the end of a long work week.”
“We need to talk,” she said. “Follow me to my house after work. It's not far.”
I had no idea what was going to happen as I drove behind her and parked on the street in front of her dark house. She unlocked the door, turned on a single light, and invited me into the living room where we sat on the sofa.
“I'm not sure what you think of me,” she began.
“What do you mean?”
“That business in the warehouse. Let me explain. I never had much growing up. When Daddy died, Mom had to support me and my sister. That's where Mom is now, working. She's a good mother, and she's taught me that when I want something, I need to work for it.”
“That's why you entered those pageants, and why you're working to save for school,” I said.
“Right. I got scholarships from the pageants, but not enough. So I follow Mom's example and work hard. Sometimes, I take a risk. Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
“Men,” she grumbled. “Do you want to come to my room?”
I'm sure I gaped at her. In college, I got my share of pussy. Some of the girls were very cute. I never knew how I landed them, since I was an average college party boy, but I did. None held a candle to Loni.
She stood up. “I'm going upstairs. You can come with me, or you can lock the door on your way out. I won't think any differently about you at work, either way.”
I locked the front door and followed her, thinking about her in ways that weren't about being work buddies. Nowhere close.
She turned on the light on her nightstand. Kicking off her shoes, she sat on the side of her bed. “Join me?”
I couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't completely stupid, so I took off my shoes and sat down next to her.
“Is something wrong with me?” she asked.
“Are you a virgin, Mark?”
“Neither am I. I had sex a few times with my ex-boyfriend. My only boyfriend.”
“What happened? Why aren't you still with him?” Inside I was smacking myself. I couldn't get it through my thick skull that I was sitting on this goddess' bed, talking about sex.
“He got too serious. He wanted to make me into a housewife and mother. I'm not ready for that. I'm going to design school. I want to learn, use my creativity, make a statement, follow my dreams. He didn't get it, so he found someone else.”
“It's a shame he didn't appreciate your dreams and your determination. You'll be a big success.” Could I sound like more of a square?
“That's what I like about you. You treat me like a whole person, one that has something going on inside. Good grief! You're sitting on my bed with me, nice guy Mark, saying the sweetest things.”
“I don't know what to say to you. I feel like it's my first time talking to a girl.”
“Then don't say anything.” She pulled me to her on the pillows. Just before our lips met, she smiled.
I kissed plenty of girls before. Usually, lying down, it felt really nice. This, with Loni, was absolutely mind-blowing. In the warehouse, she showed me she could kiss, and I got an almost instant boner. Now I was aching hard again from one long, sensual kiss. I pulled her tight against me and rolled on my back so she was on top.
“Mark, I feel that.”
She ground herself on me. “That.”
“Not after what I felt in the warehouse.” She straddled me and pulled her sundress off over her head. “I was in pageants. I'm used to guys leering at me. Most are complete pigs. You never act that way. You act like a friend.”
My brain was processing the sensation of her grinding on me in damp, white bikini panties, and the sight of her tan-lined body, with breasts better than I dared hope them to be – full, round, carried high like only a young woman can, and topped with succulent nipples on beautifully round areolas, centered in triangles of pure pale skin. Finally, I comprehended her words. “I want us to be friends, Loni.”
“So do I. That's why this might work.” She pulled my shirt off and leaned down so I could fondle her. “I'll still try to see you as good old nice guy Mark, but I want you, at least once.”
She climbed off and helped me with my pants and socks. When we kissed this time, there was nothing but my briefs and her panties between us. Our mouths locked, and I grabbed her breast lightly, palming the nipple. Her hips moved to mine, grinding her sex against my erection.
I abandoned her breast to fondle her ass. “The panties gotta go.”
She rolled on her back and lifted her hips to let me pull the moist fabric down. Her black curls were cropped and shaved to ensure that only luscious bare skin would show around the most daring bikini. She watched me comb her muff with my fingers. “Show it to me,” she said.
I yanked my briefs off. Her hand went to my erection, touching, fondling, not stroking, but teasing. “Do you have condoms, Mark?”
“Oh. Well, I don't know why I would think you did. Maybe we can still think of something fun to do.”
“Maybe.” I kissed her cleavage. Her clean, fresh cologne scent was stronger there. My fingers played with her trimmed curls as I kissed and licked softly, finding a nipple.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Enjoying your breasts. Is that okay?”
“No one ever kissed me there before.”
Her breathing quickened, and her hips began to move. I touched her moist slit for the first time.
She gasped, “Please.”
Her legs parted. I cupped her hot sex in my hand, tickling the tender flesh with my fingertips. The middle one found its moist mark. She let out a little moan when it first entered her. Slowly, it sank to the hilt in her grasping tunnel, and she began to stroke me.
My index finger struggled to join his neighbor in her velvet depths, and the clear syrup I leaked lubricated her hand. Our tongues wrestled furiously. Breaking the kiss, I sucked and licked my way down to her precious nipples again, my thumb finding her engorged clit.
“Oh, God!” she squealed. Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow, her thighs clamping shut to trap my hand in her special place until her spasms had passed.
“I want you to do that too,” she breathed between kisses.
“I want you to feel that good.” She resumed her handjob in earnest, stroking me, fondling the head to smear new moisture around, teasing me with her fingertips, using just the right pressure and speed.
It didn't take very long. “Loni, I'm gonna ....”
“I know,” she said. She continued her stroking, spraying me all over herself. When I was done, she was a mess, gobs of cum splattered in her curls, in her navel, across her belly, and onto the undersides of her perfect breasts. She kissed me and got out of bed. “Don't go away.”
The full-length mirrors on her door and in the hall let me see her at the bathroom sink. I worshiped her face, admired her breasts, and feasted on the view of her naked ass when she turned to get a towel. Just before she left the bathroom, she saw my reflection.
“You were watching me,” she said when she joined me in her bed.
“Am I attractive to you? Do you like me?”
“You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I love being around you.”
“Then why didn't you ask me out?”
“I didn't think I should.”
“I'm not into rejection.”
“Does this feel like rejection?” She climbed on top of me and crushed her mouth to mine. My hands stroked her back and ass, her beautiful breasts pressed firmly to my chest.
“I wouldn't have rejected you,” she sighed. “I've been attracted to you since I first saw you, more after we started talking to each other. You're not like other guys. We can have a conversation without you just standing there looking at my boobs.”
“I didn't want to see you as sexy.”
“Because then I would have wanted to go to bed with you.”
“That's where you are.”
We made out for a while, caressing each other's bare skin and cuddling. I was in bed with a nude goddess, talking almost like we did at work. Eventually, the subject came to Fred.
She propped herself on one elbow, showing me her breasts. “He told me you wanted to go out with me but were afraid to ask.”
“I'll kill him. What else did he tell you?”
“He said you were hopeless. Said you claimed to have had lots of girlfriends. He thinks you're lying.”
“I'm not lying.”
“Then why were you so awkward about it with me? Girls aren't supposed to be the aggressor.”
“It's 1969, Loni. The rules have changed. Women are considered equal to men.”
“Women ARE equal! But we're not used to having to ask someone out.”
“Okay, fine! Would you go out with me?”
“Considering that I'm naked in bed with you, yes.” She touched my fully-recovered cock. “Maybe you can stop at the drugstore before you pick me up for our date. I don't want to get pregnant.”
She smelled of cologne, soap, and sweet pussy. I knew what I wanted to do to please her. Between kisses on her breasts, I asked, “Has anyone ever gone down on you?”
I kissed lower, my hands keeping her breasts entertained as my tongue caressed her navel. Further down I went, until my mouth was on her soft, black curls.
Her legs spread on their own. She jolted when my tongue first touched her inner thigh, and again several times as I licked and kissed my way up to the tender skin where thigh met womanhood. I licked the crease there and then repeated the treatment on her other leg.
Without warning, I stabbed my tongue against her wet hole. Loni gasped and wrapped her hands in my hair. Not forcefully, not pulling – more like holding on for the ride.
I gave her the best ride I knew how to give, licking, sucking on her lips and clit, plunging my tongue inside her, savoring her. She moaned and gasped as I worked. When she got louder, I pushed a finger deep inside and concentrated my oral efforts on her button.
“Mark! Oh my God!” She climaxed forcefully. I struggled to keep my mouth on her. Her next one could have woken the neighbors. This girl was everything I wanted – breathtakingly beautiful, sexy, bright, funny, career-oriented, and a screamer.
When she was more-or-less done, I wiped my chin and started on her breasts again. She pulled me up for some intense kissing. “I taste myself,” she breathed. “I need you inside me.”
“We don't have condoms.”
“I don't care. I want you to take me. I should be pretty safe with where I am in my cycle, but will you promise to pull out?”
“Yes.” I knew how foolish we were, but I didn't care, either. We were going to have sex, relying on one of the most unreliable birth control methods of all time – the willingness of a man to pull out of a hot, wet pussy, just when nature says he should be buried deep inside.
As soon as I answered her, Loni took hold of my straining manhood and aimed me. She was very snug. warm, but so slippery that I pushed in without a lot of trouble. When I was balls-deep, she kissed me hard.
“Make love to me. Fuck me good and long. Make me cum again.”
I raised up on my arms so I could watch her face and her amazing tits as we moved as one. I couldn't believe it: I was inside Loni Svenson, one of the most beautiful girls in the nation at the time. Me, Mark, the proofreader who lived in his parents' basement.
“Remember, you have to pull out.”
“I'm nowhere near ready yet, but what should I do then?”
“I want it all over my belly. Let's see if you can hit my boobs again.”
She wants to cum on my cock and have me shoot my wad all over her. How cool is that, coming from a beauty queen? I slowed down, made my strokes longer and deeper, changing my angle, working her. She wrapped her legs around me, pulling herself onto me, helping to bring us closer to the end.
It became an endurance contest. I wanted to be THAT guy, the guy who made Loni Svenson cum on his cock riding bareback before he had to pull out. I wanted her to remember me for that, even if this never happened again. I raised myself up on my arms so I could look at her. Sweat was beading up on her high forehead, her blue eyes shone with want, and her nipples were hard as thimbles, her breasts bouncing with our newly forceful thrusts. I moved so I could suckle on her, and worked two fingers over her clit.
“OH, GOD!” she squealed, pulling herself up by my shoulders to bury her tongue in my mouth.
I managed to last until her legs began to relax. Then I pushed deep, slow, memorizing the contours of my goddess' cunt, bringing myself to the end. At the last second, I retreated and simply held myself, trying to control the shower. Loni watched, wide-eyed and sweaty, as pulse after pulse spewed out of me, one drop reaching her left nipple. I dribbled into her belly-button again.
“Wow, I'm glad you pulled out.”
“Yeah,” I chuckled. “I don't think I ever came that much.”
“It seemed like a lot. Has it been a while for you?”
“I live with my parents. What do you think?”
“I think we're going to have to get creative, because I want to do this every day.”
“So do I,” I said, getting off her sweat and cum-smeared torso and lying down on my back.
“You're helping me change the sheets after we shower.”
She wiped the worst of the mess off her skin with some tissues, and stood up. “No, come with me. I've read about people showering together, but I've never done it.”
I followed her into the bathroom, awed by her beauty. She was so natural in her nudity, so comfortable in her own skin, that she didn't seem to notice it very much. She sat on the toilet and started to pee, and then, embarrassed, forced the flow to stop. “What am I doing?”
“You've never peed in front of a guy before,” I stated.
“Should I leave the room?”
“No.” She finished, blotted herself dry, and flushed. “Oh, damn, I shouldn't have done that. Now we'll have to wait to start the shower, or the temperature will change.”
“I can wait,” I said, pulling her against me, ravishing her greedy mouth. Her fingernails gripped my buttocks as she returned my kiss. We held each other, our tongues at war, feeling, gripping, and grinding. Our skin was sticky against each other.
“The toilet's done,” she said when we paused. “We can get in the shower now.”
She picked up a clear plastic tube of the green shampoo everyone used then, backed under the water to wet her hair, and began to lather. There wasn't much I could do but stand there and watch, giving very serious thought to fucking her again right there in the bathroom she shared with her mom and sister.
Loni saw me watching her breasts bounce with the movement of her arms. She also saw me getting hard.
“What time is it?” she asked.
I looked at my water-proof Timex. “Almost two.”
“Mom sometimes comes home for lunch. You should be out of here in half an hour.” She pulled me under the spray with her, and plunged her tongue into my mouth. “We don't have time to make love again,” she said, rubbing her hand over my engorged shaft, “but we can do this.”
Our hands gave each other pleasure. As the water cooled, we washed the evidence away and dried off. I spent as much time as I dared watching my goddess prepare herself for sleep, kissing her, holding her, racing toward our deadline. I saw headlights turn onto her block when I rounded the corner at the other end.
The next day, Saturday, I thoroughly cleaned my car, got a proper trim on my hair, and shaved carefully. I had decided to take her to a play at my old college and to a party with some friends who hadn't yet graduated, kids only a year or two older than her.
We had a good time. Loni wore a new dress, one she had made herself. It was basically a wrap of avocado satin, gauze, and lace, simple, but amazing in detail. She's repeated the theme several times with garments she's designed, but that night, she wore the prototype.
At intermission, she asked, “Do you like my dress?”
“It gaps open at the top, doesn't it?”
“I'm glad I'm with you tonight. I don't mind you seeing me.”
Conversation stopped for a second when we walked in to the party, guys and girls both appraising her, but Loni's smile and natural charm made her part of the gang. After and hour or so, she came back from the bathroom and pulled me into the hall. “I need to talk to you.”
“I was really looking forward to later tonight, but, well, I can't.”
“You can't what?”
Her cheeks burned red. “I got my period. It's two days early. I wanted to make love with you tonight.”
“It's okay. I don't want us to be only about that.”
“Did you get condoms?”
“Yes, in case we thought we might need them.”
“Are you squeamish?”
“No,” I grinned. “Are you?”
We left the party soon afterward. Her mother was at work, and had said she wouldn't be coming home for her lunch break. Loni swore Camilla had never surprised her, from the time Loni was allowed to be home alone. When Mom said she wasn't coming home, she didn't come home. We locked the door behind us and went upstairs.
Wordlessly, Loni undressed me, kissing and caressing after each piece of clothing, removing her own as she went. When we were down to my distorted briefs and her panties, she ground herself against me and kissed me as hungrily as I've ever been kissed. She stripped off my briefs and fondled my iron cock. “Wait. Please don't peek. I'll be right back,” she said, giving me a squeeze and scurrying to the bathroom. I heard the toilet and the sink. Then she returned naked, carrying some old towels. “This might get kinda messy, so we don't have to do anything if you don't want to.”
“Whatever you're okay with, Loni.”
“Could we make love and then shower again?”
I pulled her against me, my hands gripping her firm buttocks, and guided her by the ass to grind on my hardness as our tongues fucked each other's mouths. “Sounds great.”
We spread the towels and lay down together, kissing, fondling, touching each other's skin. Loni brought out the best in me. I had to take it slow with her or I would have gone off way too early. Her hand was on me constantly, not trying to make me cum, just trying to make me crazy. I feasted on her breasts.
“What do you do to me, Mark? How do you make me want you this much?”
“What do you mean?”
“For weeks I've wanted to kiss you and have you play with me. I can't stop thinking about last night, thinking about what we did. You took me places I've never been. I want you inside me again.”
I ran my fingers through her trimmed curls, touching the hood of her clit. “Let me get something.”
“No. I'll never be safer. If you can stand the mess, I want to feel it all tonight. I want you inside me to the end.” She kissed me passionately, pulling me to get on top of her, and guiding me to her entrance.
I pushed gently, her moist muscles relaxing enough to admit me. Holding her tight, worshiping her face with kisses, I pushed into her.
“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Do what you did last night, but don't you dare pull out.”
We moved slowly, Loni responding to my pace, kissing, cuddling, and moaning as we coupled. I wanted desperately to bring her off, but couldn't imagine how I'd last long enough. “I want to make you cum, Loni, but I'm so close.”
“Go ahead. Just stay inside me. I'll try to get you hard again.”
Her wet tunnel grasped me as I thrust myself into her. Moaning as our tongues raged, I filled a beauty queen with my spunk. With every pulse, I grunted, and she bore down with her internal muscles to coax more from me. When I was done, she smiled.
“That felt good. I've never had a man fill me before.” She kissed me, and we wiped the sweat from each other's brows with our hands. “Do that again.” She wrapped all four limbs around me and pushed her pelvis up, working me inside her.
I never really went soft, not inside Loni Svenson! She clenched her muscles, helping me to slide in and out of her until I was fully hard again, ready to pound her silly. That's what we did, and that time, I think I came harder than the time before. She climaxed twice, screaming her pleasure as she did, and when she knew I was close again, her nails raked my ass, holding me deep to bathe her cervix.
When our mutual spasms calmed, I rolled us over so she was lying on top of me. She sat up, giving me a clear view of her amazing body impaled on my tired cock. “Mark, I think I need to get in the shower real soon before we soak through these towels.”
She got in the shower first, while I put the soiled towels in her mother's washing machine. Then, I joined her, still dumbfounded. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't be this lucky. Obviously, the man upstairs liked me.
As we washed, I came alive in her hands. She knelt in front of me, bathing me, rinsing me, stroking me with her soapy fingers until I was hard as stone again, studying my erection that bobbed in front of her face. “My ex made me do this, but I didn't like it. With you, I think it might be different.” She rinsed the soap from us and pushed her wet hair behind her ears. “See if I do this right.”
Oral sex was something of a rarity in those days in the circles I traveled in, so while I had lots of sex in college, many girls didn't give head. Yet here was my goddess, on her knees to worship me, the water cascading over her lovely back, moving her mouth to take me inside.
Her first lick on my crown almost buckled my knees. Loni bathed my entire penis with her sweet tongue, her blue eyes sparkling at me. She advanced, taking half of me into her mouth and rubbing her tongue on the most sensitive parts. I reached down to stroke her wet hair as she worked on me. There was no hesitation on her part, nothing to show she hadn't done this hundreds of time before. I played with some slutty girls in college, but none of them treated me so well.
Loni's beautiful face bobbed slowly back and forth, her eyes smiling at mine, her breasts mesmerizing me. Her hand played with one nipple, and mine with the other. And still she bobbed and sucked.
“You're going to want to stop soon.”
“I don't want to stop. Not with you.” She went back to sucking, her hands now clenched on my butt.
The pressure built to an unbelievable level, the pleasure with it. I fought the urge to fuck her face, trying to stay still, to prolong the delicious agony a second more.
I failed. I could see lust in her eyes when I got even harder than I had been, and pleasure when I began to moan. She swallowed what she could, excess drooling from both corners of her mouth, still bobbing and sucking. When I moved away, exhausted and going limp, she quickly washed the residue from herself and hugged me.
“I told myself I'd never do that,” she said, barely audible through the cooling spray.
“I'm sorry, Loni.”
“Don't be, silly! With you, I'll do it again.” Unselfconsciously, she washed her tender pussy, rinsing a little blood down the drain. “I'm ready to get out. The water's getting cold.”
We dried off, and Loni put in a fresh tampon while I watched. “Will you stay? I can set the alarm for six to give us time for a quick breakfast, and still have you out before Mom gets home.”
I had slept with a girl in my arms before. This was my first time with a goddess.
Loni had plans for Sunday, and I needed to mow my parents' lawn and do some laundry, so I didn't see her until I got to the time-clock Monday afternoon. She looked amazing, like always, and flashed her usual sparkling smile. It was like nothing had happened. We were work buddies again.
Fred came into our office a minute or so after me. “You dog, you fucking lucky dog!” he said from his chair.
He rolled across the space between our desks until he was right next to me. “Details, kid. I already know some of it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You and Loni this weekend. She and her mom came to our place to swim yesterday. The girls were outside, and the adults had come in. I was headed out to the deck to start the grill, and I heard Loni telling my daughter that you amazed her. What did you do to that lovely body?”
“Why would I tell you anything, even if something happened?”
“You owe me. I'm the one who pushed you to go after her.”
“You're also the one who told her I was too chicken to ask her out.”
“So how did you get together? What did you do with her?”
“Screw you, Fred. Even if I had a story, I respect her too much to tell you.”
“Hey, I'm just jealous.”
It was a typical busy Monday. I was relieved when the break buzzer sounded. Loni beckoned me to her table, where I drank my coffee and listened to young women chatter. At lunch time, Fred sat across from me at a table with three chairs. Loni took the remaining seat a moment later. He tried to ask questions, but we ignored them until she said, “Fred, you know I love you like a father.”
“If you were my father, I'd never say what I did or didn't do with a boy. Since you're not my father, I'll say you should mind your own damn business.”
Lunch ended in silence, and Fred and I didn't speak when we went back to work. Loni came in an hour or so later with some corrections in a folder. “You need to look at this right away, Mark,” she said, and walked briskly out of the room.
When I opened the folder, I found a hand-written note. “I enjoyed the weekend. I'd like to see you again. Can you come to my house for lunch Wednesday around nine?”
I looked over the corrections, folded the note and put it in my pocket, and carried the folder to the person who needed it next. On my way back, I stopped at Loni's work station. “Lunch at nine in the morning?”
Her eyes crinkled in her playful laugh. “I was asking if you wanted to come to my house at nine. We don't have to be here until three, so that should give us time for more than just lunch.”
“I'll be there.”
Monday night after work, I stopped at a bar and bought a six-pack to take home. I needed something to do to keep from thinking about her. It didn't work. Halfway through the last can, I fell asleep and dreamed about her all night.
Tuesday, I woke up late, hustled through my before-work routine, and barely punched in on time. Loni was already at her work-station with a stack of folders when I walked past. Another busy night.
Fred was on his good behavior, grumbling his usual complaints, gabbing about sports, and telling bad jokes. It's his way of getting through a though shift. He let us alone at break.
As soon as I sat down across from her, Loni said, “I made something.”
“I'll show it to you tomorrow. I hope you like it. Plus, I went shopping.”
“You'll see. Don't ask so many questions. You're too impatient. That's going to make me impatient.”
Lunch with Fred centered on one of their many spirited arguments about sports. Loni knew the stats for players I had never heard of. She was more of a sports nut than Fred, taunting him when “his” teams lost or one of “his” players was ejected from a game.
“You're wrong about New York, Loni, but that's nothing new. I've been trying to educate you since you were five, and you still don't know anything.”
“You were the one who didn't know who hit the first home run at Yankee Stadium,” Loni huffed.
I rang her doorbell at nine Wednesday morning. She answered it in a pale pink dressing gown, a creation of lace, satin, and gauze, and high-heeled sandals dyed to match. She shrugged off the gown, letting it fall to the floor to reveal a matching short top, patches of the same pink satin covering her nipples when she stood still. The short pants were made of the same materials. She model-strutted the length of the living room. The backs of the top and shorts were sheer, almost invisible against her skin.
I followed her upstairs, stopping halfway to rip off my shirt while she gracefully shed her top. At the door to her room, she loosened the sash that held the shorts above her hips, and walked into her room wearing only her sandals. When she reached her bed, she sat on the edge and removed them.
“Let me show you what I bought,” she said. She rolled to her nightstand, pulled out a small package, opened it, and read the folded paper inside. “Over 99% effective if used according to package directions. Odor-less, taste-less, guaranteed non-irritating to sensitive tissues. Stays ready in the applicator for up to one hour.” She put everything on her nightstand. “My periods are always short, so I'm nice and clean again, and now we don't need condoms.”
Many of our mornings were spent like that. Sometimes, we'd prepare and eat lunch in the nude, and then go back to bed, barely making it to work on time. Fred stopped teasing me about my shit-eating grin. Loni and I were a couple, spending much of our off-work time together. Camilla became very fond of me, and my parents fell in love with Loni.
I knew she would leave town at the end of the summer. As work buddies, we talked about college a lot. She was anxious to go, excited to pursue her dream. I didn't want to miss her, but I knew I would.
We both wanted to go to the beach before she left for school, so we took a week for ourselves. As we listened to the the Beatles sing “Ob La Di, Ob La Da” on a transistor radio on the hot sand, she brought up the subject of her departure. “We need to talk about college again. I'm leaving in three weeks.”
“I'm going, Mark. I love you, but I'm going.”
That was the first time either of us had used THAT word. Knowing that our relationship had an expiration date, we had an unspoken agreement to avoid saying it and to try to not to feel it too strongly. “This doesn't have to be the end,” I said.
“You know that long-distance phone calls and letters don't really work, don't you?”
“Don't do this, Mark. Don't make it hard for me to go. We can be in love this week, but soon I'll leave, and you may never see me again.”
We made love morning, noon, and night in our motel room. We kissed and held each other as much as we could. We walked the beach by moonlight, our arms always around touching.
It was the summer of '69.
We wrote to each other pretty regularly that fall, calling when we could afford it. Loni came home for Thanksgiving, having turkey at noon with my folks and ham in the evening sitting next to me at her mother's kitchen table. We visited some friends, and late that night, I took her home.
“Will you come up to my room with me?”
“Your mom is home.”
“She knows what we mean to each other.”
Somehow, we kept the noise down. Both of us knew it might be the last time we made love, so we savored every moment.
She put on a robe to walk me to the door, kissing me long and hard on the threshold. Then she stepped back. Tears were brimming in her eyes. “I'll always love you Mark, but we can't be together. Your life is here. I must go.”
“I love you, Loni.”
“Remember me, but don't look back.” She closed the door.
It was the summer of '79. Years ago, I reconnected with my high school sweetheart. She grew up to be a wonderful woman, and we fell in love again easily. Monique and I were old friends whose new love grew stronger every day. By 1979 we had been married for nine years. We had a beautiful daughter and a handsome son, both of them gifted in many ways. Life was good, filled with absolute love, happiness, and devotion.
We had no secrets. I'm pretty sure I knew the names of all Monique's college-days lovers, and I was honest with her. We were comfortable enough that the mention of a past relationship was met with tolerance that allowed both of us to cherish our memories, rather than hide them. That's why she had such a smile on her face when she handed me the phone one evening.
“Mark? It's Loni Svenson, well, Loni Davis now.”
“Loni? Is it really you?”
“Yes, a blast from the past. I survived college. I have my own studio and clothing lines, and I'm getting into the doll business. Little girls need to know they they don't have to be blond.”
“Good idea!” I said. “Monique showed me a magazine article the other day about the top young designers. You were on the list in every apparel category.”
“I owe a lot of that to you, Mark. You made me be an aggressor, made me take a big risk. It got easier probably because of you. I've had some success, but I'll be on the list of biggest failures if I don't do this doll thing right. YOU are on the list of top new designers and manufacturers of packaging and point-of-purchase displays. I need your help!”
The first time Loni came to my office, I wanted Monique there in her role as full partner in my business. I loved my wife completely, but this was Loni. I had no idea how we would react to each other.
She was even more beautiful than I remembered. My wife liked her immediately. We all quickly knew where we stood, honoring and celebrating our feelings, past and present. The women became friends, and our families visited several times a year. Our kids adored their new “aunt”.
“Loni” dolls were the must-have gifts for every doll-lover, young and old, that Christmas.
It was the summer of '89. Monique and I talked with Loni a lot, both about business and our lives. She made our daughter a prom gown, and stayed at our house that night after the final fitting. The three of us were up late that night, renewing our friendship.
We talked about her recent divorce. Loni had been through Hell, leaving her husband when he became physically abusive. I almost joined the women in crying about what that bastard put her through. I didn't understand why someone would do that, especially to a woman like Loni. Monique and I disagree, even quarreled at times over the years, like any couple can, but our love always found a solution to the problem.
The “Survivor” clothing line was a huge hit that fall – swimsuits and lingerie shown by models with bandages and painted-on smiles. Evening-wear was the “Other Woman Collection,” and the men's lines were “Lawyer,” featuring sharkskin, and “Bastard,” pajamas and cruise-wear modeled by men wearing boxing gloves. As usual, Loni, still beautiful, appeared on the runway herself many times.
It was the summer of '99. Monique had a congenital heart condition. She was careful about her health, but didn't let fear stop her from doing what she wanted. Childbirth was risky, but she insisted on giving me kids. She wanted to learn to water-ski and ride a dirt bike, so, in her vibrant way, she did. I came home from a business trip to find her in her chair, a novel in her lap, dead.
My friends were supportive of me, helping me to celebrate Monique's too-short life. Loni seemed particularly hard hit at the funeral, seeing my wife in her casket, dressed in her favorite “Loniwear” outfit. Monique was her best friend.
The fall collection that year was all black. The models wore black wigs and veils, to look like the stunning, mature model who still headed every runway parade.
It was the summer of '09. Loni and I burned up thousands of cellphone minutes a month. She canceled meetings to come see my newborn granddaughter the previous year. My princess was starting to walk now, an adorable little munchkin with two teeth. Loni would be at the first birthday party in September.
I got an e-mail. “Sent you something. Please call before you open it. We need to talk.”
When it arrived I was tempted, but I followed her request and opened it while on the phone with her. There were several packages inside the box. Inside the first were some dresses and play outfits for my little angel from the new fall kids' line. Also inside was a re-issue of the original “Loni” doll, a young, raven-haired beauty like the girl I once loved. The doll wore all white – gown, train, veil, and headpiece, to match the tux on the prototype male doll also in the package. He looked like he was in his early twenties, with glasses and shoulder-length brown hair.
Loni said, “With your permission, I'll call him 'Mark.' Forty years ago, a young man who looked like him forced me to be the aggressor. I still am. I miss you. I miss us.”
My son and daughter run my business now. I live in Boston with my goddess.
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