The Winston Man

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Anal

I try to keep safe in pursuit of pleasure and I try not to hurt anyone. But in this adventure I may have hurt someone, a friend. You have to understand, I can’t resist.

My intent was to help start a relationship for my buddy Debbie. We spied a fellow hanging around at the Southland mall who we called the Winston man. He is older than we but not by much. He reminded us of the fellow in the commercials for Winston cigarettes. Tall, built and fashionably western with a full dark beard like Al Pacino in Serpico but trimmed neater. This Winston man didn’t smoke. We chatted him up and sat with him in the food court. He told us where he lived and told us to come over anytime to party or just hang out.

Debbie is smitten. She wants to hook this guy; however he seems to show little interest in us. I didn’t quite get it. She is cute, tanned white, shapely, long straight brown hair and really smart. She is headed for Mount Holyoke in the fall to major in global business and minor in Japanese. While I, darker of skinned and also very pretty, am destined for Chabot Community College (called a “junior” college at the time) for accounting.

So, I created a mission for myself to rouse this fellow to the opportunity before him. I head, one late warm Saturday afternoon, unannounced to the address he gave. I have the purest of intentions. I ware a flowing faded tie-dye, short, Indian cotton gauze skirt and charmeuse button-down blouse, tails out, but as I do, I wear nothing underneath. It is pretty daring I think, even in that decade. I love the feeling; I am exposed, kind of. I am getting away with something and living on the edge. I have a secret and am being naughty. As people walk past I’m thinking “you don’t know!” Now and again a breeze might float the skirt but that is just more of the thrill. In fact it could be a little stimulating which has its own consequences.

I tell you this because this is just the way I am. It is also superfluous since I’m driving not walking to the Winston man’s over-garage pad.

As an aside about my attire, back in high school, I was part of a cadre of girls who knew that grades could be influenced by piquing the “interest” of the male instructors. I improved more than one quiz grade by arguing a point with a loose blouse.

Anyway here I am at the Winston man’s front door, commando, wondering if I am doing the right thing. He answers, is pleasantly surprised, and ushers me in.

We sit on his couch and I start to speak.

“You know Debbie has the hots for you.”

He just leans into me and starts to kiss me hard and grabs my breast and squeezes. I am astonished and push back. He is rather aggressive, even for me.

“Hold on cowboy, I’m here on account of Debbie…”

“I don’t want Debbie, I want you.” Then he adds, rather arrogantly, “I can make you come!”

This seems ironic somehow. It wasn’t that long ago that I had actually learned what to “come” was, and that I could actually achieve it. Really! I knew about and enjoyed limited sex with a few boys (that is, no intercourse). It gave me a sense of domination and power over them, but I did not have personal knowledge of female orgasm. Mom and the educational system never really covered that. I learned that there was such a thing from girl-talk. I wasn’t sure, though that it applied to me. That was until one boy came along who knew how to push the right buttons.

It happened on a rocky river beach behind bahis firmaları some bushes one delightful day. It surprised me, my beau and probably everyone in earshot. The boy apparently knew the mechanics better than I did but probably hadn’t realized how my climax would manifest. Then, as today, there is only a silent, twitchy build up. I may shake and jitter but make little noise. But then, when I peak I go from pianissimo to fortissimo in an instant and quite uncontrollably. In this first time case I was stunned and embarrassed and, of course, wanted to do it again, in a more sonic-ally confined environs. And I did when I also realized what masturbation was all about!

The key to achieving orgasm is not only the talent and beauty of the partner making the effort. It is also my own “letting go”. We girls want to remain dignified and pretty during sex. One lets go by realizing and accepting that sex is funny looking, with strange noises and contorted expressions. No one can keep their dignity when coming. That’s the law. Vet someone who will collaborate, who is enthusiastic, fun, trustworthy (respectful, discreet, non-violent, safe) and not on a power trip, then dive in and let go. Unobstructed by guilt, fear, or the need for decorum you will unleash the sensations and maximize their impact.

Again the Winston man leans in with a bit more force. Again I hold him off, but realize in that moment, maybe I don’t really want to. I may not be doing the right thing here, but I do want to establish control. “Stand up, cowboy!”

He does. I stand also. I reach under his pants and grab his cock and fondle as I look up at him and smile seductively. It is already stiff, so I twist it to a more natural upright position. It is the Winston’s man’s turn to be astonished at my audacity. I unbuckle his belt & unbutton his Levis and pull them down. Like me, he is commando. His cock is nearly straight up. In my short sexual history at this time of my 19th year, I don’t realize this Satyr erection is unusual. Others were more perpendicular (perpen-dick-cular) to the body, maybe at most 10 o’clock, but this was 11:45!

“Now you take off your clothes,” he says.

“Convince me,” I say.

He holds out his hand and we walk to the bed in this rustic studio loft. He sets me on the edge of the double bed. Now his approach is slower, but just as deliberate. He kneels at my knees, parts my legs and lightly caresses inside my thighs. This sends a shudder through me so the Winston man knows he’s on the right track. I give a moan of approval. He lifts my little thin skirt to my waist. There, ever so stark, is a black triangle of hair, straight as typical with my race. Ever so lightly & briefly he brushes my pussy already awash in slippery substance. Button by button from the bottom up, he undoes my not-quite-opaque muslin blouse. Then he separates it to reveal my breasts. They are just a handful with pronounced dark nipples. He leans in and with dry lips tickles one side then the next and back. Oddly, not only can I feel his lips on my nipple but also in a sensation, like an itch, along the edge of my middle finger. I wonder why. It makes me smile and I feel good, almost euphoric.

I lean back on my elbows. Up to the crook of my neck he goes which tickles so intensely I can’t take it and push him off. With his body between my legs and that unbelievable erection on my belly the Winston man French-kisses me with the frenetic kaçak iddaa passion of a first-timer. We are in the zone. I am in heaven as I fall back onto the bed. I can feel his hard butt and sinewy back. His spine sits in a trough of steel muscle flanked by hard ridges of spinae, dorsi, and trapezius.

The Winston man descends along my sternum with his tongue, down to my belly button. This is the first time someone has focused there. It is an unexpected feeling so just as he seems to be moving on I let out an “mmmm”. He stays and blows lightly. “Wow,” I think to myself. It is not an intense sensation but pleasing, like a good back rub or maybe the warm sun on my wet body. He uses his fingertips around the opening and my belly shakes. He spends a very pleasurable minute there.

He straightens and takes ahold of his cock and aims it at my pussy.

“NOwah”, I say. “That can only lead to trouble not worth the pleasure. I’m not on birth-control”

“Holy crap! Really?!” “So, what can we do besides fuck?”

At this point my original mission is forgotten. The Winston man dives into my vagina with the zest of an eating contest champion. That may not be the best analogy but you get the point. I hold on to his head. In short order, with a couple fingers up my canal, a tongue furiously flicking my clitoris and his lips humming on my lips, and his soft beard caressing my thighs, I orgasm. Boy, do I orgasm. Bucking and screaming he can’t hold me and I tumble off the bed. He follows me down to follow up the ecstasy but I again hold him off.

“Stop! Let it run through me! Oh wow!” I’m on my elbow with my other arm out holding him off. My eyes clinched shut in concentration and I’m breathing like the end of a foot race. I focus my mind on the dwindling sensation. It is concentrated in my pussy of course but bolts of pleasure seem to extend down my inner thighs and up my ass.

In a moment the peak fades like a band of revelers strolling away. Tiny climaxes antagonize my relaxation. I lie on the floor reacting like I am doing crunches. Finally, all gone, I go slack. The Winston man, very proud of himself, attempts to separate my knees to go for another round but I’m sapped. I want to immerse myself in the moment. I ask him just to lie with me for a minute.

He lays his head on my shoulder and caresses my breasts and tummy bringing me back to the pre-climax pleasure. I think I’m in love or maybe lust…at least for the moment.

After a few minutes I plan retaliation and ready myself for attack. I sit up and dump the Winston man’s head on to the carpet. I lose the skirt and blouse. As I stand over him naked he studies me. I can feel his gaze. It pets my nipples, cups my breasts and strokes my pussy. He says what I want to hear, “You’re so beautiful.” I straddle his legs just below the knees. His shirt is still on so I grab the tails and pull apart the pearl buttons like tearing the newspaper. His stiffy is just that, rigid, body center, pointing to his six-pack. It is about average, not a record-breaking dick but pleasant to see and touch. I draw it to right angles with both hands and sniff either side of the pecker like a European greeting. I run my tongue from base to head and cap it by inserting between my lips. I get the shaft good and slobbery then hold and stroke, hands one on top of the other. Both hands may not be needed but I think it helps build his ego. The Winston man is getting good and kaçak bahis unsettled when I gently lay his pecker back down. With my thighs I gird his loins and place my majora over and around his shaft. Only the head of his penis peeks out from the cloud of pubic hair, his and mine. Now I slide along the rail of his phallus.

Naturally, an immense desire comes over me to insert him into me. I know the consequences though, which keeps a bad decision at bay. My aim, as always, is pleasure and not a ball and chain. If he can keep quiet about this tryst, I can too, from now on, even when he or I run for congress.

The skating back and forth of my cleft along his poll works up lather. I place my clitoris in just the right spot. I can see the Winston man is about to pop as he stares at my pitching breasts and assists the sliding with his hands on my waist. “Oh,OH, OOOHHH”

And he goes, to my delight. I giggle with pride as he spurts over his tummy and fills his bellybutton with cum.

“Yahoo!”, I yell.

I continue the sliding as I coyly place my finger along my lips. Is there anything more fun than to see someone get turned-on? Especially when they get turned on by you? It is a vicious and delightful cycle.

Then, my turn again. As the intensity in me shoots to peak I can no longer slide but fall to his chest and involuntarily pump my hips. I straighten my legs and lie completely on top of him jittering and hoping I didn’t break his eardrum. I decelerate to just rocking a little side to side as I chase the ecstasy through my body. This orgasm is different from the first. It is pinpointed just below on my clitoris and is almost painful in intensity, like strong minty mouthwash. But if this is pain I will not be taking an aspirin.

Again I go slack on his body. He holds me despite the mess between us and firmly strokes my back and fondles my bottom. His index finger finds my anus and presses on it. I object and he moves away. It is not that it didn’t feel good in that brief encounter but all I can think of is “eww”!

In a few minutes after the spell is cast I recall my mission and state, “I came here to promote Debbie, not me. Will you please give her consideration? She is delightful.”

“You are who I want. Your attitude is perfect. Your body is perfect. Maybe too your mind, but I don’t really know you yet. Did I mention your skin? Perfect!”

“Debbie! Please would you consider Debbie?! I wouldn’t want to deprive her of your talented tongue.”

He replies, “OK, OK! Hey, how about the both of you? That would be fun!”

I just groan: “I need a shower.”

We both get up and head to the shower naked and holding hands. The shower is a mix of misty, soapy fun and cleanliness. He plays with and scrubs my whole body but concentrates on boobs, butt and pussy.

“You must keep that Dr. Bronner from getting ‘inside’,” I warn.

I hand wash his endless stiffy, shampoo his hair, and commit his truly underwear-model-body both to visual and tactile memory.

The Winston man and I had a few more meet ups. Movies, dinners, dancing and occasional sex. It was what we now call a friends-with-benefits kind of thing. However we continued not to have intercourse. It just seemed less complicated that way and just about as fun, maybe not. There was a great deal of experimentation however with his lovely cock. We called it “everything but…”

The Winston man though, never pursues Debbie. I don’t know how much it matters to her because I avoid speaking of him. Anyway, she soon leaves for the east. Debbie and I are still messaging friends. Certainly by now she has forgotten about the Winston man. I have not.

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