Jessie was 17 and I was 20. She was school friends with my best friend.
She would crash at our place a lot, even when my (now ex) husband was home.
We would get stoned and giggly together while he was playing WoW. Sometimes we would kiss, but we would say it was only experimental, because she had a new tongue piercing to test out.
That metal barbell on my tongue felt amazing.
I always joked, while my husband had his headset on, that one of these days I was going to make her cash those checks she'd been writing.
After weeks of this, one day she shyly agreed to accompany me upstairs. I lifted my husband's headset and told him I was going to go fuck Jessie. He was raiding, so he tuned me out.
Now, Jessie was a real suicide girl type. If bettie page had been a blonde. If monroe had been a kinky teen sex kitten.
It started with massages in bed. Then I had her take off her clothes. I traveled from the neck and back to her breasts, butt cheeks, and inner thighs. Just massaging.
She started to squirm and wiggle.
My touch slowed and softened, and started grazing delicate areas. Letting my fingertips barely brush the tufts of her groomed little pussy. I would trace circles up her thighs, watching her slowly but surely spreading her legs for me. I then took the entire palm of my hand, and placed it just above her mound.
I paused.
She finally groaned out "Just DO it already!"
My hand dove at her pussy lips, shocked to feel them so slick and so warm. I rubbed slow but firm circles on her outer labia, letting my middle finger stick out just slightly enough to part those slimy lips and bump against her protruding clit.
Spreading the slick, I worked her pussy as she writhed and gasped. The gasps turned to moans as I brought my face down and put the broad side of my tongue flat against her clit, before lapping upwards and ending in a kiss tugging her pussylips out with a slurp. The kisses grew deeper and more urgent, and her knees began to quiver.
Then, in one fell motion, I stiffen my tongue to a point, and slip my pointer finger inside her warm cunt. I attacked her clit fiercely jabbing it and nibbling at her. Her whole body tensed up, and she put her hands on my head, bucking her hips into me.
When she came, she even squirted a few drops!
Afterward, we high-fived, and she called me a "clit ninja".
The next day, my husband wasn't pleased that I went off and fucked her. He could have joined, but he was 26, and didn't want any statutory charges.
Any man who doesn't have the spine to join his young wife with a teenaged bettie page wasn't man enough for me.
Hence the divorce.

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My first introduction to voyeurism was about 25 years ago on holiday; I was in my early thirties. I had always enjoyed watching women on the beach topless. In the hotel pool changing room I noticed two small holes had been strategically drilled into a cubical wall. One was at chest height, the other just below waist level. I was curious and took a look, both spy holes provided a surprisingly wide view of the next cubicle. I decided to wait and see if anyone came to use it. After a few minutes I heard footsteps, I opened my cubicle door slightly to see who was coming. I was slightly disappointed at first as a woman in her mid 50s, who I had seen earlier on the poolside in a rather conservative red two piece costume, approached. She looked rather ordinary with curly permed hair and a rather plain complexion. I had hoped it would be a pretty younger girl. However, my disappointment soon disappeared and my heart began to race. I removed my swimming trunks to allow my cock some room to expand as it had already become erect in anticipation of what I was about to see.

Through the top spy hole I had a fantastic, front on view, of her sturdy read swimsuit top, the cups fully covering her breasts. She reached behind and undid the clasp allowing her ample (DD cup) breasts to spill out right in front of my eyes. As I was only a few inches away from her giant breasts I could see clearly the contours of her huge pink areola and erect nipples. She was obviously not into topless sun bathing as I could clearly see her tan lines, it excited me to think I was seeing something so private. Her copious breasts hung like great bells, dangling as she bent over and moved about, the blue veins in her breasts pulsating. As she started to dry her upper body she turned slightly giving me a profile view of her lifting her sizeable breasts, one by one, to dry underneath. Once dry she faced me again and started to rub body lotion all over her big breasts and upper body before putting on her substantial white bra. Firstly, she attached the clasp at the front, turning the bra around to position it over her bulky titties. One at a time she put the straps over her shoulders and carefully manoeuvred her mammarys into the cups and made them comfortable. Part two was about to start and my cock was ready to explode.

The view through the lower hole was equally advantageous as I had a full frontal view of her red pants, plump thighs and chubby belly. Beside the pool she held her belly in, but in the privacy of her cubical she had let it out unaware that anybody could see it. Whilst I had seen mature women on the beach topless I had never seen any woman in her fifties naked from the waist down. I did not have to wait long. She put her hands on either side of her pants and began to pull them down. First of all she pulled them down over her hips exposing more of her pot belly, and then rolled them down her thighs and took them off exposing her most enormous black bush; I had never seen such an expanse of pubic hair in my life!

As she was standing facing me, only a few inches away, I had a great view of her naked lower body and was able to examine it in detail while she continued to dry herself. Her belly was fully exposed now and I had a close up view of her stretch marks and other blemishes. Her pubic hair had obviously never been shaved; it covered the entire area between her legs and extended a little way down the inner aspect of her thighs. It also came up above her bikini line to about an inch below her belly button. Her large red pants had covered this area but now this vast expanse of hair was exposed for me alone to observe for my sexual pleasure. As this area was so thickly covered with hair I was unable to see her labia or any other part of her vulva.

Then she started to dry her feet, she put her foot on the small seat in front of her causing her legs and pubic hair to part. The lips of her wet pink labia protruded from within her bush as she put each foot on the seat, in turn, to dry them, giving me a further look at her most private of parts. She then crouched slightly so that she could dry her minge this time exposing her rather large clitoris as she gently dried her pussy.

Finally, she turned and bent over to get something out of her bag behind her. I got a great view of her big sexy ass. Then, prior to pulling on her large white granny pants and white dress, to my complete shock and surprise she started to brush her thick black pubic hair with her hair brush, this was too much for me!. My cock exploded � I never thought I would stop ejaculating. Finally it was all over.

I saw her in the bar that evening with her daughter and son-in-law. Little did she know, when I said good evening, that I had masturbated while observing her mature unclothed body for my most basic sexual gratification. I had seen her completely stripped naked at such close quarters and had such a personal knowledge of her bare body and especially her very private parts. I felt I had been intimate with her without her knowledge.

Has anyone else spied on naked women at the pool?

Megan often comes to me in dreams. She represents a profound familiarity that I’ve experienced little elsewhere. A comfortable old pair of shoes. You don’t consider their presence as such, you just slip them on. Not dismissed, but seldom considered as such. Not taken for granted - accepted as is. The way we accept a hip connecting to a pelvis, and so on. A perfect fit continued to be forged through wear and time. Familiar, easy, a place where, should one have their way, would forever be. Yet alas, I awake from the conjured feelings of long ago, and feel them fade. But they leave behind remnants protruding of a time gone, but to not be buried. A loss, but not in vain, as I didn’t know this feeling before meeting her. And now there’s more. Something to move back and forth with - to aspire to. And I do so with hope. It solicits hope. It is hope. To believe in the thing you aspire to as though it’s already here. There’s no question it exists. There’s no question it’s obtainable. And you allow that knowing to stroke you. That settled warm feeling of fire rising from your belly. It emanates from your heart. That for me is hope. And is what these dreams leave behind.

We didn’t get along, Megan and I. For nine excruciating years we didn’t get along. But we were passionate and familiar and comfortable. And so we stayed, despite the pain of needing to not be together. Because those are the things I aspire to be with someone. Only this time with love. But we stayed. And passion was our love.

We kissed as though we belonged to one another. Mouths interlocked. Each tongue exploring the other’s. This singular act elicited depravity within both of us. An equal exchange of rational behavior for pleasures, summoning an irrationality neither ever cared to resist - only dig our claws deeper into. An equal exchange of saliva. This roused me. I couldn’t get enough. We couldn’t get enough. And what made it hard, harder than even I thought was possible, was her arousal for the reverent exchange. And so we proceeded as so. My insatiability met with not only acceptance, but a desire for more. And not simply more of the same, as though continuing on cruise control. But if 55 MPH was good, then for her, more MPH would be better. So more meant deeper diving into insatiability. And more quenched the fire while stoking more desire.

My arousement extracting hers. Her receival reciprocating mine. Exchanging spit, I couldn’t believe that drooling into someone's mouth could turn them into the demon for desire she became. I couldn’t believe I was being met there. And not only met, but summoned. I often deem my lust for underbellied passions of life to be met only in my fantasies. But then I remember Megan.

I fed her, and she received it. Gobbling as though feeding her pending orgasm. Grabbing at my tongue. Pulling me into hers. Latching on. Quite frankly, I drooled and she drank. She suckled and I provided. Her hand to her vagina, she rubbed. Mine on myself. We fed from each other our longing to no longer be together, misdirected toward the quenching of our insatiable desires for pleasure. Our desire for more became our passion toward each other. Meeting only where we both knew how to feel good. Satiating the insatiable, we came. Her with her hands, me with her mouth. I fed and she lapped, treating my head as if it were still my tongue. I provided the familiarity of taste, of her pleasure. I edged myself, sometimes for hours. The first white glistening drop emerging proud from its tip was received like a diamond on an engagement ring. The look on her face as her eyes rolled back into her head. Her mouth opened, her cheeks softened and glazed over with blood red. Her tongue searching for proof of my enjoyment. My cock slowly released into her mouth, a little at a time, precum wiped onto her tongue like a rag she loved to use for cleanup. My edging, edged her. She couldn’t cum until I did. This wasn’t a rule or a game we played. There were no rules. Megan did not have the ability to cum until I came. My cum created her orgasm. And her orgasm I was after.

A trickle of spit added to her mouth. Replacing my tip with my tongue. Back and forth. My swollen head making a quick visit to the back of her throat. “Oh fuck.” Her large gravity defying bust heaving upwards in one snake-like full bodied writhing motion. Her two words said more than seductive measures ever could. Not more of the same, but more. And so our synchronicity became locked on each other's cum. And she suckled until my orgasm became hers.

I search for the familiarity of not only a mouth to cum in again - there’s been many - but the knowing in myself that despite the deepest and sometimes darkest desires I hold, the ones I sometimes feel only exist in my brain, also carry the ability to not only be met and received, but carried in someone else's desires as well. For every cock that needs to cum, a mouth awaits to receive it. And for every mouth that needs to feed, a cock waits to feed it. What we search for is also searching for us.