Date: January 4
To: Dr. R. Anniston
From: John D. Connors
RE: Essay/Letter For The Friday Night Group Session
Dear Dr. Anniston,
As per your request, and as required by my parole officer, I am writing to you to tell you of the events that led up to this writing. At the outset, let me reiterate that I am doing this under protest. The best way that I can explain all of this is to write it in story form so I can keep the events straight.
It began two years ago when I was sixteen. I was living my life of semi-normalcy just fine. Then it happened, as an accident, I think.
I have three sisters, a mother and a dog. Dad left when he 'found out' that he was as queer as a three-dollar bill. Now there is the one you need in these sessions instead of me.
David was bitchy as hell. He was playing some sort of videogame in the next room and I was trying to study. I told him to shut up like 17 times, and he would, but five minutes later, he was yelling again. Something about campers and newb-tubes or whatever. I wasn't even paying attention any more. I just knew I lost my concentration every time he screamed.
"Mom!" I yelled into the phone after dialing her number. "I'm trying to study! And Dave's in the next room screaming at some random idiots online! When are you guys gonna be back!?"
Mom and Aunt Clarissa were in Minneapolis, shopping. They'd left that morning, leaving Dave with me to play his games. They told us to fend for ourselves and drove off.
"We're gonna be back tomorrow. Probably in the afternoon. We told you that six times."
"But I have to study!"
"You're a big girl, Beth. You're sixteen. He's fifteen. You should both be mature enough to settle this. Handle it."
Penny's cheerleader costume was attracting more attention than she anticipated. She wore the vest top without the requisite turtleneck sweater underneath, plus she left the top three buttons undone. Her D-cup breasts put a tremendous strain on the remaining two. The vest was spread so wide that her nipples were barely covered. Once when she was dancing a whole tit popped out. The skirt wasn't much better. Her husband, Rick had her shorten the pleated little number by five inches. Instead of being mid-thigh it just covered her pussy. He had wanted her to go to the party commando, but that's where she drew the line. In reality, the panties didn't make much difference. She wore the smallest white see-through thong that she owned. When she bent at the waist it was invisible. All you could see was her glorious ass.
The morning after she sold her graphics design business for a sum large enough that she could comfortably retire, Francesca Weaver looked at herself naked in the mirror and considered what she wanted to do with herself, and her life. She was forty-two, married but childless, and she and her husband Edward led mostly separate lives. Her looks were undiminished, and though she had never been conventionally beautiful, she knew she was sexually attractive, with high cheekbones and an aquiline, regal profile. In her stocking feet she stood nearly six feet, with long light-brown hair she usually pulled back into a patrician ponytail. Her 34C breasts and her ass might have sagged a little, but only a little, and her exercise regimen kept them in shape.
In her youth Francesca might have been considered a little on the scrawny side, but she was now merely slim. Oh, her youth, she thought. Her wild, lusty youth.
She raised her arms above her head lazily, and admired her smooth, sleek body. After years of shaving and waxing, she had indulged in laser treatments that gave her a form utterly free of body hair: not under her arms, nor on her legs, nor on or around her delectable pussy and ass.
She liked what she saw. And she was determined that many others would see it, and like it, and enjoy it also.
While our child is away visiting her grand parents my husband and I experiment with the swinger life style for the first time.
For the first time in since her birth, our daughter wasn't at home. My parents had finally convinced me that putting her on a direct flight would be okay, and with a tearful wave at the excited six-year-old, we watched her board the plane for San Francisco and her grand parents for a two-week visit.
It was as if my husband Don had become a new man. We always have had a great sex life, a child didn't change that, but he suddenly couldn't get enough sex.
It started in the car on the way home from the airport, with him rubbing me through my ever-increasingly damp panties while I tried to maneuver the car. I had my first orgasm as we pulled into our driveway, and I was barely inside the front door before he ripped my panties off and shoved his stiff cock deep inside me.
Jake Carlton awoke from sleep when he heard a noise in his bedroom. He sat bolt upright and peered into the darkened room.
The seventeen year old boy was pissed. Who would be disturbing his slumber in the middle of the night?
He had been having another wet dream about fucking his hot mother, Jane Carlton, when he'd been rudely interrupted by a distrubance in the room.
In his dream, his mother desired him badly and had offered herself tp her young son. And she was obeying his every whim. It had been a very vivid and real dream and Jake had awoken with an aching erection.
I was bored out of my skull, it was a Friday night and I should have been out enjoying myself, but everything had gone wrong that day, first the party one of my mates at school was giving was cancelled, then I discovered that most of the crowd I hung around with had been collared by their parents to do various things. So I was forced to stay home, across the room my twin brother was looking as bored as I was, not that he looked like me at all, we weren't identical twins just born within a minute of each other, me being the oldest by that minute. There we sat, two fifteen year old boys, and there sat our eighteen year old sister who had been assigned to baby sit by our parents who had gone off for a long (and I suspected dirty) weekend. Don't get me wrong, I love my sister and I think she's a dishy bird, but at fifteen I felt a bit miffed that my parents thought a baby sitter necessary.
"What's on the box Pete?" I asked my brother.
He picked up the telly guide, glanced through the listings and sighed.
"Bugger all." he replied.
"Andy," my sister said, "why don't you read a book or something."
"I don't feel like reading Becky." I replied.
"So what do you fancy?" she said sharply.
"Hell," I grinned, "I don't know, but sitting here doing bugger all is not my idea of fun."
"Put a video on." She suggested.