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As long as I was admitting to Dave that I was nervous, he expressed his nervousness also. He said that he had never been with a white woman before, and certainly would not have believed that he would be making love with a beautiful white woman like Barb, especially with her husband watching too. "Hello guys," I heard my wife say in her sexiest voice as she entered the room. "Mind if I join you? Hope you two don't mind that I got "comfortable" right away?" My wife stood in the doorway leaning against the door. She was wearing a very sheer white lacy top and matching crotchless panties. She had on white stockings, without a garter belt and four inch, spiked heels. Dave and I could clearly see her beautiful breasts and her swollen nipples through the thin material. What did surprise me was when I looked at my wife's very sexy crotchless panties. The lips and crack of her sweet little pussy were clearly visible. She had shaved her pussy like Susan's! I glanced at Dave, I think he had noticed even before me.


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Do you know what it’s like to have something take over your whole life? To be so obsessed that every waking thought leads only in a single direction? I do. My preoccupation was the usual one for a sixteen year-old male – sex - but I was a particularly suitable case for treatment. What really gripped me was that I seemed to be the last of my entire class to have a proper girlfriend. To hear the others talk, you’d believe they spent every night in some incredible bonk-fest. Not me. I wasn’t getting any – had never got any! It wasn’t for want of trying. I’d come close on a couple of occasions, if you’ll forgive the pun. There was this one girl who was supposed to be really easy, mad for it. Naturally I was the one who bombed out. I got her to the bedroom and then received that “What kind of girl do you think I am?” line just as my hand was disappearing into her knickers. I didn’t answer that one; it must have been totally bloody obvious! Not even a moron in a hurry could have mistaken my intentions. Still, crashed and burned, again! There I was, sixteen years old and pure as the driven snow. Everyone else had steady girlfriends and seemed to be at it like demented rabbits. Not me. All alone with a dog-eared Penthouse and a box of Kleenex as my only consolation. Something needed to be done! I mean, it wasn’t as if I was that bad looking. Some of my pals were total mobile zit-farms. OK, I’ll confess to the odd infrequent blemish – the kind that usually erupts on a Friday night and you make it worse by messing with it – but other than that I was mostly presentable. I had the regulation number of eyes, ears and teeth. I just didn’t have, couldn’t get, a girl. The problem was the usual prime cause of teen-age angst. The girls I fancied didn’t fancy me, and the ones who did, well, I didn’t want to know. No wonder Auden called it the ‘age of mirrors and muddle.’ Gay Orgy XXX It was probably because I was so obviously desperate. I must have been transmitting signals like Sputnik. Orbiting the Earth every ninety minutes bleeping, “fuck me, fuck me!” That’s enough to put anyone off. I took advice from my all my worldly-wise pals. “Don’t try so hard,” they said, “you scare them away.” Fat lot of good that was! They all had it cracked, didn’t they? My desperation was making me a laughing stock. They’d greet me every Monday morning with “Hey, Mark, get laid yet?” and a lot of snide sniggering. It was driving me mad. Things took a turn for the worse over the Christmas holidays that year. I met this girl, Nicola, at a party on New Year’s Eve. She was gorgeous! She had long red hair and lovely green eyes. We got on really well. To tell the truth, I was just a wee bit hammered at the time so I guess I was quite relaxed. We arranged a date for a couple of days later. One of the greatest trials for a teenager in England is the weather. It must be the only country on the globe that doesn’t have a climate, just weather, lots and lots of the stuff! It pissed down that evening so I arrived at her place looking like the sole survivor from the ‘Wreck of the Hesperus.’ Of course, I was too young to drive and the finances didn’t stretch to a taxi. I walked the mile and a half over to her place in the biggest bloody downpour since Noah turned to boat building. My coat kept me dry for at least the first hundred yards.

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