(MF, oral)
by Art Martin
Divorced and financially successful, Kirby decides to live out a favorite fantasy...
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted 2015 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted.
Standard Disclaimer: This story contains sexually graphic and explicit material and as such it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. If you are offended by stories featuring group sex, bisexual situations, incest, sex between minors and adults, or any other situation, please check the story code before reading the text. These stories are just that, stories, and do not promote or condone the activities described herein, especially when it comes to unsafe sexual practices or sex between adults and minors.
Chapters | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 |
Nearly three years ago, my wife of twenty some odd years and the mother of my children, left me. She said she wanted to have some fun. Have some fun? At first I thought she was just kidding me, but when the divorce papers were served on me at my business, I had to take it seriously. She was very calm and collected about it, exhibiting about as much concern for destroying our relationship as she would have had for weeds being yanked out by the roots from her garden.
Right out of high school, I enlisted in the Navy, as I didn’t have a clue on what I really wanted out of life. Four years later and lot wiser, I enrolled at Florida State. Then in my junior year, I met Jan. Me the older, sophisticated and experienced man on the prowl and she the naïve gorgeous freshman. The very first time I saw her, 5’ 4”, long brunette hair, green eyes and with a body to die for, I knew I had to have her. By our fourth date and being an eager sort, I promptly fertilized the egg that would be our oldest son. Being the responsible sort, I offered to marry her. Being the good Catholic girl that she was, she accepted my offer.
My parents took the news as, “That’s nice, Kirby.” Her parents were none too thrilled about the circumstances, but after a few years, they all got over it. Meanwhile, we had to fend for ourselves, with me working whatever shitty job that was available, all the while maintaining a decent grade point average. We lived in a garage apartment near school that was little better than a dump. My car had a bad habit of not starting and when it did start, it had a habit of breaking down at the most inconvenient times. Of course she had to drop out after her first year to look after young Kyle.
Somehow we made it and upon graduation I landed my first real job in Tampa, Florida. At last we had a little money and decent place to live. We also had pretty good medical care which came in handy when our second boy, Mark, had a hard go at it first.
Of course with two young kids, we didn’t have two nickels to rub together, but we were confident that things would improve, and they did. We bought a fairly nice house (our dream home) and once both boys were in school, Jan was able to take a few courses and landed a job as a paralegal.
We thought we had it made, and things were better, much better than before, but with a mortgage, two cars and payments on a 23 foot day-sailer that I just had to have, things always seemed to be tight. We’d go out every now and then, go camping at one of state parks and we’d go sailing in Tampa Bay. Problem was, Jan wasn’t a fan of tent camping, which was the only thing we could afford and she got seasick a lot, so she didn’t enjoy sailing at all. In fact, she got to the point that she refused to go with the boys and me either camping or sailing.
As the kids got older, things at work just seemed to stagnate for me. I changed jobs a few times and was the better for it. Still, I wasn’t all that happy working my ass off for someone else and I wanted to be my own boss. Then with Kyle in high school, I took a leap of faith and started my own business. Talk about work your ass off! Anyone who has done that knows exactly what I mean. Those who haven’t, don’t have any idea.
So, here I was, putting in twelve hour days, six days a week and sometimes seven. The fortunes of the business was a roller coaster ride and just when it looked like everything was either going to crash and burn or take off like a rocket, I get served divorce papers!
“I never see you anymore,” she said. “We never do anything fun together,” she said. “I just don’t love you anymore,” she said. “I want to have some fun,” she said. Have some fun?
Okay, just take me out in the back and shoot me!
Like I said, she was a paralegal and the lawyer she worked for, Bert Jones, I considered to be among my friends. Or at least he was my lawyer for the business. Thankfully, divorce wasn’t anything he did. He recommended someone to Jan and recommended someone else to me. Then, behind the scenes, he played referee between the two parties and made sure that it didn’t get out hand like so many divorcees do. Jan went her way and I went my way (to a cot in the storeroom of my business). Jan got the house and was awarded custody of the boys. For me, it could have been worse, though at the time I didn’t see it that way. Basically, after handing over the house and what liquid assets we had, I got the business and the debts.
Six months after finalizing the divorce settlement, I received an offer for the business that made my head spin. Naturally, I jumped on it and in one fell swoop, I was in great financial shape! Immediately I started another business and having made all the rookie mistakes the first go around, the second went much, much smoother than the first. The new business just seemed to take off and suddenly I was very successful.
I bought a very nice home near my old house, I bought myself a Corvette and I bought myself a 29-footer to sail Tampa Bay. Life was grand! Too bad I didn’t have anyone to share my good fortune with. That’s not quite true… Kyle was off at college, but my youngest, Mark, decided that he’d move in with dear old dad after Mom sold her house to get something more manageable. Good god! Was I that difficult when I was in high school? Difficult though it may have been, I enjoyed his antics and enjoyed taking him and his friends sailing. I also enjoyed the girls he’d sneak into the house to bang after school. That’s not to say that I enjoyed them as in having sex with any of them, but I did get an occasional eyeful of blushing teenaged beauty in the buff!
Quite naturally, Mark graduated and went off to join his older brother at Florida State. That left me once again with a very nice, but empty house. What’s a successful 42 year old man supposed to do? The business was practically running itself, only needing my input when I felt like it. I decided that with the kids gone and totally unattached, I needed to live a little. Specifically I needed to get laid; not just get laid occasionally, but get laid in style, get laid often and bed a variety of women. Yes, that seemed to be a great doable goal! All I needed was a plan. And part of that plan to put my dick to good use was to actually do something that I had always wanted to do, but never had either the time or the opportunity… By golly, I was going to make my “dream vacation” a reality!
And what was that dream vacation? To go scuba diving? Done that and enjoyed it immensely, but that’s not what came to mind. Rent a bare-boat and sail the West Indies? Done that. Go hiking along the Appalachian Trail? I wasn’t that gung ho about walking for six months. No, my dream vacation was very simple. Two weeks at the Club Orient on St. Martin, frolicking in the nude with a good looking nude honey who I could swap for other good looking nude honeys… yes, a swinger’s vacation. Problem being, I wasn’t a nudist nor was I a swinger, but… I could be one!
But who to take? Even though some of the single moms I’d date would lose a bikini top when out sailing or go completely au natural in my salt-water swimming pool, I didn’t know of any who could abandon their kids for a few weeks to be passed around for sex. Single college girls? Didn’t know any. In fact, realistically I couldn’t think of anyone who would go with me. I supposed that I could recruit a girl from a titty bar, and I did seriously consider that, but it was early September and I wasn’t planning to go until mid-January, so if all else failed, I had a fall back plan for December. Meanwhile…
I had gone to a titty bar to celebrate a business deal and after dropping a few hundred dollars on lap dances with only a case of blue balls to show for my effort, I spied a “newspaper” out in the lobby. I had seen it before and even perused a copy or two in the past. Curious as to the ads for “escorts” and the like, I picked up a copy and took it home with me. As I read through the various personals of women wanting men, and men wanting women, it occurred to me that the type of woman I had in mind for my “dream vacation” just might read this rag herself. The ad only cost a few bucks, so… what the hell? I composed an ad:
WM, 42yo, D&D free, successful professional, seeks attractive WF, 18 to 30, to accompany me for two weeks in January to a world class nudist resort on St. Martin Island, all expenses paid. Successful candidate will be D&D free and sexually adventurous. Please respond with the subject line… “nudie” and enclose recent photograph.
For several days I toyed with this ad and I had trouble coming up with a cleaver, but meaningful, moniker. Finally I said, “To hell with it,” and used what first came to mind… PussyLuver. Okay, I know… lame, lame, lame, but what it lacked in class and taste, it made up for in directness and meaning. No one should misinterpret what I was looking for. Along with a money order, I dropped the ad in mail.
I had almost forgotten about placing the ad when in October I received my first reply. Actually I received several replies. A quick glance at the pictures enclosed and… I quickly surmised that this wasn’t going to work. Then to my surprise a reply came in with a picture of an attractive woman. We exchanged messages through the special mailbox and set up a meeting at safe, respectable bar to get acquainted.
Trudy was her name and even though she wasn’t gorgeous by any means, she was a somewhat attractive MILF. But what struck me about her most was how coarse and vulgar she was, I mean, she was tossing around words like fuck, pussy and dick like a sailor. Not the kind of girl that I was looking for as she was rather off-putting. Still... I asked her if she wanted to go skinny dipping at my house and she said, “Yes. We can fuck too if you want.”
I countered with, “How about a blowjob first?” thinking that she might be put off by my crudeness.
“I’d love to suck your dick, honey,” she replied while licking at her lips.
What a slut! Maybe I didn’t want to spend two weeks with this skank, but as a one nighter I’ve done worse before.
She looked better in her clothes than she did naked. Her push up bra did wonders, whereas unrestrained, gravity took its toll. On the plus side, once we were naked and in my pool, she didn’t waste time before demonstrating her oral talents. She wasn’t a bad cocksucker. I suggested that we go inside for a little in-and-out fun and soon discovered that her pussy was loose and in serious need of toning. She sucked me to another erection and I rolled on another condom.
I put her in a doggie and… “What in hell do you think you’re doing?” she squealed.
“I’m going to see if your asshole is tighter than your cunt.”
“Fuck off, buddy! You’re not going to screw me in the ass!”
“The name’s Kirby,’ I countered. “You’re right, I’m not going to fuck you in ass. The only thing I’m going to do with you is kick your ass out of here.”
“Well, fuck you!”
“You already did, and I couldn’t feel a thing. Just what do you do? Fuck yourself with a quart beer bottle?” It went downhill very fast after that. No matter, at least she was good for a decent blowjob.
With November fast approaching and the ad set to expire at the end of October, I decided to drop the ad. It hadn’t produced the results I was looking for, but at least it did provide me material for an off color story. But now with the holidays bearing down on me, I needed to make some decisions and started frequenting titty bars and surreptitiously interviewing a slew of honeys.
Then in the second week of November, I got a reply to my discontinued ad. The enclosed picture was very intriguing… a back shot sans head and feet, of a naked and very shapely woman. I immediately replied. I tried to set up a meeting at a bar, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with that. “Meet me this Saturday at the Bare Comfort Resort. Meet me in the pool, at the stairs in the shallow end precisely at noon… JanX”
Bare Comfort Resort? I Googled it and found that it was a nudist park about 70 miles northeast of Tampa and just off the Kissimmee River. They had accommodations, but when I checked, they were all booked up for that weekend. Oh, well, I would just make it a day trip.
To be continued...
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