Retro Moresome

Growing up in a Midwestern farming community, I was decidedly a tomboy. At least I appeared to be heading in that direction, until puberty changed everything. I wasn't blessed with what you would call classic beauty; not particularly pretty either. However, since my teen years, I've been referred to as attractive. This was due in large part to my well developed figure. 'Pretty' and 'beauty' might have passed me by, but in all the parts that attract the majority of men, I matured rather nicely.

Raised in a farming community, you'd think I would have been a late-comer to the constant changes in sexuality during the '60s and '70s. However, my little community was far from backward or even conservative. As a matter of fact, tales about wild parties surfaced on a regular basis. If you were lucky enough to participate in a small town scandal, you would never be forever outcast, unless the infraction was criminal. Everybody had a wink-and-nod attitude toward the true party animals, nothing more.

Among those party animals were the owner/operators of our local steak house restaurant in town, Robert and Charlotte Martin. Rob had resided in town for over 20 years and tried several ventures before settling on managing the local steak house. Through equal amounts of hard work and schmoozing, he transformed a run down, rural restaurant into an appealing, upscale business. When the original owner decided to retire, it was only natural for Rob to step in and take over the reins. Nearly every teenage girl had a crush on Rob in the '60's and I was no exception. He was handsome, ambitious, single and quite comfortable dealing with all kinds of people.

My family dined there regularly on weekends and I can vividly recall always wanting to wear something special to get Rob's attention. The concept of a naïve teenage girl flirting with a grown man bordered on the ridiculous, but at the time it was excellent fantasy fodder. He was always on his good behavior; being extremely cordial to everyone. If I could somehow catch him off guard, he just might slip me a cute little wink. That would be enough to feed my emerging hormones for another week.

A number of years passed, as did my teenage feelings for Rob. I was busy dating one farm boy after another and looking forward to going away to college, when I heard that Rob had married. It was at our last family dinner at the Cedar Mansion before heading off to college, when I first met Rob's new wife, Charlotte, or Charly, as she liked to be called. Whatever schoolgirl crush I had for Rob went 'poof' at that point.

Charly was the most uncommon of common women I'd ever seen. Rob had met the woman (almost 5 years his senior) in Minneapolis and they fell head-over-heels (her term) for each other. I imagined that to be quite a fall from her 4 inch stiletto heels! The first impression most women have of Charly would either be that of an over-the-top hostess or a cheap hooker. Charly, in her skin-tight mini skirt and opened blouse with boost-'em-up bra by Frederick's simply oozed 'slut.' This tramp was what Rob really wanted in a woman? I could hardly believe it. They did have one major thing in common - charm. Once greeted by her warm beckoning smile and bawdy sense of humor, men and women alike fell under the spell of her disarming personality.

Like Rob, she had the uncanny ability of making people feel comfortable and special. Moreover, she seemed to know, by instinct, exactly what buttons people like pressed and she made no pretense in being able to press them. I suppose I will always admire and even envy her abilities in that regard. She practiced the fine art of manipulation flawlessly.

Attending college in the late 60s, I went through all the unpretentious style-altering changes. Penny loafers gave way to platforms, thigh-high boots or sandals. Plaid skirts went to hip-hugging bell bottoms, while preppy cotton button-down blouses morphed into tie-dyed T-shirts and beads. Maidenform bras, corsets and snuggies couldn't compete with going braless and wearing panties. With my almost waist-length straight blond hair and blue eyes, I was the epitome of the real pseudo-hippie chick.

As I previously mentioned, back then I had all the necessary attributes to model such an unforgiving wardrobe. Being a slim 34(D)-23-35, I got more than my share of second looks and glares. I made up for being sensually 'farm-girl' naïve, by using my natural attributes to project the image of a sexy broad who knew her way around the bedroom. I had no religious hang ups regarding per-marital sex and made sure to take my daily dose of 'the pill'. "Sleeping around" wasn't my routine, but if a guy treated me nice after a date or two, and I found him attractive - well, let's say I'd accommodate his advances. All in all, I'd describe myself as sexually active in college.

By 1973, Donny and I were in our mid-twenties, recently married, poor as a pair of church mice, but in the best physical shape of our young lives. I talked him into taking me back home for dinner, drinking and dancing at the Mansion with some of my older brothers and sisters-in-law. Back then he regarded my family's down-home, small-town partying as quaint and agreed to come along.

I wore a cute little red Spanish gingham dress. I always liked that dress for going out dancing. Nestling my sizable melons between its empire waist and wide elastic neckline, I was able to go braless. The wide shoulder straps were fun to play with, if I was in a flirty mood and the ruffled hem, well above my knees, made for excellent twirling. I sported a deep tan in those days, so I didn't have to wear hose. A pair of white cotton panties and hippie sandals completed my sparse but sexy ensemble.

"I suppose it's better than watchin' grass grow," Donny derided with a fake twang.

"Oh, you'll have a great time; wait 'til you meet Rob and Charly. They're something else!" I insisted.

"So, what's the deal with this Charly?" He asked, as if he had heard a few tasty things.

"Oh, I think you should wait and see her for yourself; wouldn't want to ruin it for you," I smiled.

Winding our way through town, we finally pulled up to the Mansion and parked. As was her custom, Charly greeted us in the updated parlor/foyer. Donny was noticeably taken back, as we were approached by the 40-plus-year-old hostess with the mostest. The sight of her heavily ratted up strawberry blonde hair framed her heavily made up face. Her spaghetti-strapped, deep blue sequined party dress featured her trademark deep 'V' front, open back and thigh-high slit. The combined smell of smoke and thick Channel No. 5 followed close behind, as she swept toward us in those stiletto heels. A plethora of rings and assorted costume jewelry swung from her, as she threw her arms around me.

"BARBIE DOLL! God, we haven't seen you forever! Geez, you look great and whose this handsome creature...could it be...Donny?! Come here you big hunk and give Charly a big squeeze," she said, impatiently finishing with me to get to my husband.

In her 4-inch heels she stood eye-to-eye with Donny. Grabbing a healthy chunk of his butt, she ceased her patented salutation banter long enough to take a nice, long look at both of us.

"Seriously Barb, you've never looked better! That whole marriage thing looks so good on both of you," she smiled, taking mine and Donny's hands and leading us into the renovated lounge.

Donny's immediate expression of awe and wonderment changed to one of lighthearted flirting. Charly had caught him and was reeling him in with every wink, dip and jiggle. Bartending Rob introduced himself to Donny, heartily shook his hand and turned to greet me with a big, long hug.

"Hope you know Donny, you probably pissed off half of the male population here in town; marryin' this sweet young thing?" He said, running his hands down my back.

"Only half?" Laughed Donny.

"Yeah. The other half are still in diapers!" Joked Rob, then lightly kissed my cheek.

Several of my siblings showed up and after downing a few extra toddies we all headed into the restaurant for dinner. Charly strutted around like a cross between an aged Bond girl and Miss Kitty from Gunsmoke. My short gingham sun dress garnered little attention - except from Rob. With all of us seated around a large table, Rob stood directly behind me, placed his hands on my shoulders and rattled off the menu specials. Everyone was so focused on his funny anecdotal delivery; they failed to notice his hands gently stretching the elastic neckline of my dress. By the time he described our desert options, he had pushed the straps down far enough to bare my shoulders. Since the dress could be worn either way, I didn't interrupt or resist his innocent teasing. It wasn't until the tips of his fingers found their way inside the fringe of my lace-trimmed collar, that I leaned my head back and smiled up at him. He peered down into my eyes, glanced at my exposed cleavage, turned beet red and immediately pulled his hands away.

I let out a little chuckle, realized no one was the wiser and forgot the incident. I was a big girl now and totally capable of some light hearted flirting. Dinner was delightful; full of tasteless jokes and whose-doing-who backyard gossip. I lost count of just how many vodka sevens I had downed, but by the time we finished dinner I was in a pretty giddy mood.

Most of our table gravitated back into the lounge, while I made my way to the ladies room. Once inside I was surprised to see Charly in an open stall. She had one of her long legs up on edge of the toilet and was smoothing out her sheer black hose. Mesmerized by what I saw, I stood quietly, as she hiked her short dress up to fix her matching black garter straps. It was like the sexiest film noir scene I'd ever seen.

"Damn Charly, you sure are one sexy woman!" I blurted out.

"BARB! I'm sorry - didn't see you standing there," she said, quickly pulling her dress back down.

"NO, I... I'm sorry! I don't know what made me say such a thing..." I stopped and threw open a stall door to hide.

"Please Barb, don't be embarrassed. It's my fault for not closing the door," she replied, after a long silence.

"I just don't want you to think that I'm queer or something," I laughed nervously and went on with my business.

"Oh I KNOW you're not queer, Honey. I've seen the lust you have in your eyes for Donny and maybe even a twinkle for Rob. I pride myself on noticing things like that," she stated.

"ROB...what do you mean? I never came on to him," I shot back defensively.

"Never said you 'came on' to him, but you didn't object when he rearranged your dress to get a peek at those big, firm boobs of yours either," she laughed.

"I... I never meant..."

"Now I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury; when she let her straps down to show off those succulent shoulders, did she not lean her head back and give that man a twinkle?"

"OK, OK! I'm sorry. But honestly Charly, it was nothing more than simple flirting," I apologized, flushed the toilet and opened the stall door.

Standing behind her facing the mirror, I watched her paint her face with every cosmetic known to mankind. I caught her glance at my bared shoulders and casually adjusted the straps back to their original state. "Don't be silly Barb. I'm not upset. It was only your feeble attempt at pressing some buttons," she said, applying yet another coat of mascara.

"Speaking of 'pressing buttons,' you seem to be quite gifted at it. Maybe you should give me some tips sometime?" I said, casually applying my own pink lip gloss.

"Tips? For dealing with men or women?" She asked.

"Aren't they the same?"

"Oh goodness no. Well, it's all about knowing what people want and giving it to them. In that respect men and women are similar, but the way those buttons are pressed are distinctly different. As far as I'm concerned it's all about sex."

"Sex?" I repeated.

"Yep. In the basic needs department, sex ranks right up there with air and water," she smiled.

"So, you always give men what they want?" I guessed.

"Let's say I give them as much as they can deal with. They're pretty limited you know. Besides, the dividends nearly always outweigh the investment." I shot her a quizzical look, as she shifted her C-cupped tits around by hand to show more cleavage.

"For instance, suppose Donny wants you to give him a blowjob and maybe you're not in the mood. You decide to suck that wonderful young cock of his anyway, until it explodes in your mouth. You eagerly swallow his cum and suck him dry. Now, bear in mind, every man keeps a mental log of his favorite BJ's and that one you just gave him was a beaut. The next time you want a new car, house, jewelry, whatever, just remind him of how yummy his cum tasted that night. He'll sign on the dotted line every time," she said, like she was parting with secret codes.

I turned red faced with embarrassment at her use of language, when she turned to face me. Standing a few inches taller than me in those spiked heels, she slowly pulled my straps back down over my shoulders. "Oh, and when it comes to women, you ask?" She started, smoothing down my thin laced collar. "Women usually need one of two things. They either need to know that their relationship with 'Mister Right' is not being threatened, or some facet of their own sexuality needs attention," she said as a matter of fact.

Nervously shifting from one sandal to the next, I couldn't help but take in her combined scents of Channel, makeup, tobacco and whiskey. At eye-level with her full, deep red painted lips, I asked in an aromatic trance, "And me...what is my need?" I whispered.

"Hmmm, perhaps some of both, I think," she returned in a throaty whisper.

"I don't FEEL threatened - not by you Charly."

"Good! Remember that for later, OK?" She suggested.

"Then, it must be the other thing?" I asked, now starring up into her darkened eyes.

"Could be; only one way to find out," she said running her tongue lightly under her upper lip.

"You need to press one of those 'buttons' to find out for sure, don't you?" I said, feeling my heart pound.

She slowly nodded and smiled. I answered her nod with one of my own. Her hand gently stroked my cheek, then her long finger nails gently closed both my eye lids. "Don't move," she commanded and ran her hand down my neck and over my bare shoulders.

Feeling the older woman's warm touch, I stifled a giggle. Suddenly she yanked down one side of my dress, exposing my left breast. Before I had a chance to catch my breath, she scooped up my boob in her right hand. My body twitched as if to recoil, until she took my nipple into her mouth. She wasted little time with licking and went right to sucking my hard nipple. Her moans of delight told my conscience this was so wrong. Breaking my unspoken vow not to move, my hands grabbed hold of her hair to push her away. This only made her moans increase. Her mouth opened to the fullest and she sucked in as much boob as she could. I felt my knees give way, as she sucked harder and harder. Backing myself up against the cold wall tile, with her mouth firmly attached to my breast, I felt my pussy betray me with extra lubrication.

"Oh God Charly, please stop," I whimpered and dropped my hands from her super-lacquered hairdo. I felt the sure signs of an impending orgasm, as she hard sucked my tit like no man ever had. Shaking my head from side to side and moaning in disbelief, I watched spellbound while she pulled my dress down to expose my other breast.

"OH GOD PLEASE!" I begged, as she took my other melon in her mouth and ran her hand to my crotch. Sensing I was on the verge of an orgasm, she rubbed my hot pussy harder and faster.

Something snapped in my brain and I felt an uncontrollable need to have her take me. Without a second thought, I reached down and began to hike up my dress. I wasn't sure what I expected her to do. At that point I just needed to come. I tugged at the top of my cotton panties and forced them down over one hip. Grabbing her hand, I prodded her to touch my wetness. I felt her fingers on my slit. She was content on teasing my labia. I wanted more. I needed her to fuck me! Still fondling my hole, she retreated from sucking my tits and brought her face near mine.

"One button at a time Baby," she cooed then stuck her tongue in my open mouth. As if by some perverse instinct, I sucked the older woman's tongue into my mouth. After swapping each other's saliva for about 15 seconds, she broke off the kiss and found my clitoris. Rolling her fingers over it a few times, she stopped and pulled her hand away.

"OH NO! GOD CHARLY, you can't stop! I'm coming!!" I begged and tried to force her hand back between my legs. She briskly tore away from my grasp and brought her fingers, wet with my juices, up to my face. My hand and fingers went directly to my pussy to take her place.

"Don't get me wrong, Barb. You do have some beautiful buttons that need pressing, but this is hardly the time or place to do it properly," she decided and licked my juices from her fingers.

"Think I'll just save this though, to remind me for later, hmm?" She added and ran her coated fingers up and down her open cleavage until they were dry. I leered at her intently, as my fingers feverously brought me to a climax. I had never felt so embarrassed and bewildered in my life. I hated her for using me like that. At the same time, I lusted for her touch.

She winked and blew me a kiss. As the door closed behind her, I tried to take stock of what had just happened. My mind couldn't cope with the fact that I had just had my first encounter with a woman, so I tried thinking of something else. Fixing my clothes and checking my emotions, I shrugged off any unexplained feelings. One thing was for sure, I was horny as hell for my husband's hard cock.

Combing back my long hair, I looked in the mirror and took stock of myself. That's when I noticed the overwhelming scent of my arousal coming from down below. "Shit, I can't go out there like this!" I thought and quickly slipped out of my stained panties. Suddenly the door flew open and in walked my petite sister-in-law, Peg. I dashed into a stall.

"You alright in there Barb?"

"Ah, ah YEAH! Be right out!" I yelled and slipped on the floor. Stumbling to regain my balance, I lost hold of my panties and watched them fall into the toilet. "SHIT!"

"We thought maybe you fell in, so I came into check on you," said Peg. "Sure you're OK?"

"Oh yeah, just marvelous," I answered, fishing my drenched panties from the bowl.

"Come on Barb. Hell, Donny's already out there dancin' up a storm with Charly," she smiled and checked her impeccable makeup and hair.

"Oh really?" I said, twisting excess water from my panties and shoving them into my purse. "Well I suppose we'd better see about that!" I exclaimed, feigning jealousy and blew past her to the door.

By this time the kitchen had closed and the few couples that remained were on the dance floor doing the 'bump', including my husband with Charly. Taking a deep breath, I realized I was in no condition to cause a scene and headed to the bar instead. "Give me a vodka seven Rob. Hell, make it a double," I ordered, keeping my focus on the dancers.

"Doubles are all I make for THIS crowd," he laughed, then saw I really hadn't heard him. "What's wrong Barb, don't you do the Bump?" He smiled.

"Sure I do!" I came back, taking a long swig of my drink.

"Well then, let's go!" He demanded, took hold of my hand and walked us to the dark dance floor.

Seeing that Charly had her hands locked around Donny's neck, I opted to do the same to her husband. Clearly Charly was doing the 'dirty' Bump, which included an extra fleshy grind or two. With Rob's hands around my waist, I bent my legs and occasionally ground my crotch into his leg. Two could play this game. "I think you're mad at me Señora," Rob said in my ear.