Adventures Unfinished Ch. 01

Being one who generally tries to draw as little attention to herself as possible, I rarely went to the beach. It was hard enough simply finding a swimsuit that fit without having to worry about keeping myself inside of it when I moved.

However I found a cute shop that sold swimwear and there was this bright orange bikini that actually fit me. Now, one of the advantages of a two-piece swimsuit is that they offer tops and bottoms that are different sizes to accommodate women who are thusly built. Most frequently these are sold to women who, if they are able to admit it - and in my experience even women who won't admit it, still "know" it - are best described as pear shaped. They can purchase a larger sized bottom and a smaller sized top.

My shape required a top that in itself was a rarity: large boobs, small torso. Then I needed to find a small bottom. Sometimes these things are available, but I usually - on the infrequent occasions when I purchase swimwear - wind up getting two completely different styles and colors on the top and bottom.

So this shop sold mostly bikinis for women who could wear them: thin women on whom a thong looked great and with smallish breasts that had no need for underwires. The shopkeeper told me that, given the bikini market in general, they rarely had customers with larger breasts purchase in their shop. As one of the uncommon women with a slender figure and large breasts, I knew how few options there were in the swimsuit market.

She explained that they had received this one from their supplier in error and she'd been intending to ship it back. So this one bikini top was the only one they had in anything close to my size. When I tried it on and it looked about right, I purchased it on the spot, along a matching bikini bottom and a pretty fuchsia-and-mauve cover-up. Wearing a neon orange bikini was something I'd never do at home or anywhere people might know me, but I was on vacation and if this wasn't a time to see what it felt like, I didn't know when such a time was.

"That woman also gave me some tips about dressing for someone with my shape. I apparently had been looking at my figure incorrectly," I told Maya.

"You could have fooled me. You always got that uniboob look going on."

"Yeah, well, not all of my clothes are like this. These are my comfortable clothes."

"Except for that jacket, they're your 'uniform,' Patty. You wear the same things all the time."

We argued a bit. I eventually told her what the shop owner suggested and Maya surprised me when she explained that she'd been sending me articles and telling me about some television segments for the past year. I told her that I was somewhere in between not listening and not having the money to buy a new wardrobe. But I told her that with my newfound wealth I was going to change.

Returning to my story I told Maya that that afternoon was the first time I'd been to a beach in years. And the first time I'd been to the Mediterranean. It felt uncomfortable taking off my cover-up and jeans shorts, but I was there to relax and get some sun. And that's what I was going to do, damn it. There were a few gawkers, but most of the people there were with families. Once I spread out on my large towel the sun felt great. I even went into the Sea for a brief swim. I fell asleep for a bit, read a little and had a completely lovely, peaceful few hours.

And it was that evening that I met Mace.

So, the next morning when he'd just left, he'd left me with a sexually satisfied feeling and for that I was thankful. But that was the previous night. Today, after the invigorating - and tasty - activity of just a few hours ago, I was surprised to realize that my nearly dead fire had only been stoked. I remembered how much I'd enjoyed his cock in my mouth, getting it hard and getting him excited, and the pleasure he got when I took him down my throat. I enjoyed feeling his cock spit its lovely creamy deliciousness into my mouth.

Boy, no wonder I couldn't get back to sleep.

Part 3

Deciding that I'd just have to suck it up - and not in the good way - I thought maybe another early morning run would be just the thing. I could catch up on my sleep later in the day.

Unlike the previous morning, though, it looked like rain, but for the time being it was barely misting. This was always good for me because I could wear a rain jacket and hide my figure to some degree.

After putting on running gear, I took the elevator down, went outside and started jogging on the nearly deserted streets. It was a little earlier than I usually worked out at home, but my routine had been turned around since I began the trip. Regardless, I took the same basic route I had yesterday morning and was comfortable with its familiarity.

Thoughts about Mace and our night together persisted as I ran. I'd enjoyed the time we'd spent, not just the sex, but the candor and honesty we'd shared. It might have started as a result of too much alcohol, but even in the sober light of day, my memories were wonderful.

Plus, I found the challenge of making his cock perform was a turn-on. If the various cocks with which I'd been intimate had taught me anything it was what it took to get one to ejaculate. It was clear that his equipment was not working right, but it had been fun getting it going even with the additional work involved.

Aside: That second sentence in the previous paragraph sounded so much better than the alternative: "I'd sucked so many cocks, I knew how to make them come."

As I ran by the soccer pitch there was the same bunch of guys over by the field house standing under a jutting roof that provided a little shelter from the morning mist. I opted against doing a track workout, but as I ran past I could hear a new round of harassing calls.

Yesterday morning they were simply annoying. This morning though, was different. I'd become a bit of a mad woman the previous night, working hard on and (figuratively) attacking Mace's cock and I'd received my rewards. ("Just desserts" was too obvious!) As I said, this seemed to have opened up in me some sort of sexual floodgates. After months of doing without, I'd had a taste of that old familiar excitement. And I wanted more.

The only potential thing on the horizon was possibly hooking up with Mace back in Seattle, but at the time I had no idea what was going to happen there. A more mainstream woman would have simply enjoyed the night before and would not feel any need for additional sex, at least not four or five hours after having it.

Clearly, I was not a mainstream woman. I was still feeling that excitement and I wanted more. I wondered if there might be an opportunity to satisfy that old familiar itch.

Deciding to check out the catcallers (What harm could it do, right?), I entered the field and began to run the half-lap over to them. As I did it began to rain seriously. Their crude remarks started and continued until they realized that I was not running laps; I was running toward them.

They fell silent as I approached and looked to be a little embarrassed.

"So, boys, if I remember correctly, one of you guys has a dick that goes to his knee. Which one of you told me about that? This I'd like to see."

There were five of them and each looked at the others. No one seemed to want to own up to the previous day's bragging.

"OK," I said, looking at each one, "maybe you were exaggerating a little and it only goes down just above the knee. Come on, show me."

At this, they seemed to realize that I wasn't going to bite and that I was beginning to play a game, one that might get one of them lucky.

Actually seeing them up close reminded me how different the world looks when you're thirty than when you're twenty. Realizing that I was getting older and that in not too many years I could be old enough to have had a child their age didn't make me particularly sad; it was simply a fact of life. Anyway, from this viewpoint they were all nice to look at. Fit, muscular, in shape.

My challenge did get a rise out of them once they got over the shock of my forwardness.

After a little back and forth, during which I was accused of "typical American lack of subtlety," I was introduced to Christophe, Lucien, Marc, Perrin, and Luc. Apparently, there was a story that Lucien, the team captain and Christophe's older brother, had a seriously big cock.

I sure couldn't tell from the shorts they were all wearing. (I did really like those blue-aqua jerseys, though.) But with the rain coming down in buckets they offered me shelter inside the structure and I took it.

Inside it seemed, through some sort of Hogwarts magic, somehow much roomier than it looked from outside. There were benches, lockers, showers, exercise equipment, balls, and even a small kitchen area. Naturally, they had a large espresso pot on one of the burners, an array of demitasse cups set up for the nearly ready brew.

As the others found seats and turned towards me, the look of surprise still on their young faces, Lucien came up and offered to show me his cock. I had to give him credit for staying focused and for stepping up. As for me, I was just glad to be out of the rain - and maybe a little shocked at my own assertiveness. That was not my style, historically at least.

When I repeated that I wanted to see it, he asked me what he'd get out of it.

"If you're so big I doubt you've ever been deep throated." (Did I really just say that? I hoped that a literal translation of deep throat, une gorge profonde, meant the same in French.)

This elicited a round of French guffaws from the others, but Lucien seemed to take my statement seriously.

"He always complains about Marie-Laure's lack of skill giving blowjobs," said Marc, apparently his closest friend, was somehow expecting me to know that she was his petite amie.

His brother Christophe curiously added, "But she's got other issues too."

Deciding to disregard Christophe's interjection, I gave Lucien a sarcastic look of pity.

He then told me, "Although I've had girlfriends try, none has ever been able to take the whole thing. Marie-Laure's tried a few times but she just can't, no one can."

Marc was talking about blowjobs, but Lucien's statement was ambiguous. Did he mean in her vagina or was he just staying with getting deep throated? Regardless, if I hadn't been excited enough by the idea of sucking this guy's cock, now that he'd suggested that he was so big I took it as a challenge.

Since I'd become comfortable deep throating three or four years before, I'd never found one I couldn't do. Yes, there'd been a few that were extraordinarily thick or long or both, but I'd managed them. Not necessarily easily. Even forgetting about having something as big as a serious hard-on in your throat, just keeping your mouth open wide for a long time takes some getting used to. But with exceptionally big ones, they were more like doing a trick at a party. It was one thing to get it way down your throat and show that you did it. It was not however especially comfortable to have the thing push in and out of it rapidly. Of course, it could be really exciting at the same time, working hard to make it spew.

But sometimes I was amazed that the big ones would fit. From the paltry amount of research I'd done, I knew that a cock might compress a little and that a throat could expand. Plus much of the "opening" is accomplished by the relaxation of the back of the tongue muscle. Once you are able to stop its natural desire to make you retch, the foreign object can simply press it down as it goes in. More normal sized cocks were much more fun, but I'd still managed the big ones. It was the intensely exciting male ejaculate that was my motivation, though, and if deep throating a cock gave me more of that, well, I had already signed up!

I was never too interested in size, but there was something about looking at and even just playing with the really big ones that was a bit of a turn-on. Still, as I said, the bottom line for me was output: cum.

So after some negotiating and a little self-doubt (What if he were truly huge, say the size of a horse?), we agreed upon a trade. If his cock was just too large for me to deep throat all the way, I'd suck all five of them and let them all fuck me.

If, on the other hand, I were successful at getting the whole thing deep throated, he'd give me his blue-aqua jersey. Nothing was stated about if or where he would come. And nothing involved the other guys. It was just the deal between the two of us.

Then he brought up the audience and if they could watch and maybe jerk off, and...

I made it clear that this was a bilateral agreement between the Lucien and me. Nothing more. I asked if there were a place where we could be alone.

He was a little disappointed, but he said that he understood. His teammates, who'd been following the discussion closely, were devastated.

When he walked around a corner behind the kitchen area and I followed. We went into what looked like a tiny office for the coach. He closed the door and we were alone.

So, I guessed we had a deal.

The room immediately gave me claustrophobia. It was loaded with all the things you'd expect to see in a soccer coach's office. Plus, there were at least a half-dozen cartons of what looked like party decorations. I wondered about those, but really needed to get focused.

As he was getting out of his shorts I unzipped and removed my rain jacket. This met with his outright ogling of my chest that seemed to stop him cold. This should not have surprised me: During the year I spent in France, the men in general didn't seem to be too overly interested in breasts - unlike many American men. Yet my breasts did get a fair amount of attention. But now I was wet and my shirt was clinging to my sports bra. I'd forgotten how well the jacket hid my chest. Oh well. Let him ogle away. There wasn't anything to do so I just let it go.

Lucien and I were standing in front of a tiny desk as he pulled down his underpants. The jersey was still covering his hips, but fortunately I didn't see anything hanging down to his knee! (I really didn't want to get screwed by five horny twenty-year-olds that morning. All I wanted was one big dick to come in my mouth.)

Looking down and staying focused on his crotch, I was standing directly in front of him.

Once Lucien had removed his jersey, I could see what I was going to work with. It looked to be a good-sized cock. Not the biggest I'd seen but larger than average, plus he had nice abs.

He was looking at me as though he was thinking about kissing me, like I might expect it. It was a little awkward. Sucking a guy's dick is one thing, but kissing him is a whole different story. I could never figure out how actresses did it even with a good-looking partner whom they might have just met. And they did this in front of a camera and crew, no less.

So when he uncomfortably looked like he was going to move to kiss me I decided to save us both the embarrassment of whether or not to have any kind of display of faux affection, I sat down on a side chair and motioned for Lucien to follow. Once I settled in, he brought his nice cock just a few inches from my face. It didn't smell strongly or badly. In fact, it smelled like he'd just showered. I mentally thanked him for that.

Reaching out for it, I could feel him respond to my touch, a knee jerk reaction sans the knee. I hefted the thing and began to play with it as it continued to get harder and turgid. Once it appeared to be fully developed I was impressed by its thickness too. This was one good-sized cock in both length and girth.

Fortunately, I'd had them this big before and I was confident I was not going to be getting gang-screwed. In fact, I was pretty sure I'd be going home with a load of cum and a new jersey.

Wrapping one hand tightly around the thing I began playing with his balls with the other. He was now as big as he was going to get and the feeling of this big cock in my hand was exciting. I began to jerk it slowly and steadily. This elicited a low moan, always a good sign when engaging with a new and unknown cock.

I next pressed my tongue to the tip but so far there was nothing to taste. I pulled him a few inches away so I could get a good look at this impressively proportioned hard-on. I definitely liked what I saw. I had a sudden, brief but strong shiver-spasm as I thought of the cum I'd soon be tasting.

Some things are timeless.

After jerking him off a bit longer, I brought the head to my lips. It was that old familiar soft-and-hard feeling that always gave me chills. Licking it a bit more I looked up at him. He was completely focused on my lips and his cock. I thought about the guys in the other room. If Lucien could come for me once, imagine the enjoyment I could get from four more loads. For a moment I entertained the thought of including the others in this morning's blowjob session, but decided to just focus on the cock in front of me. (A bird in the hand, if you will.)

Regardless, just thinking about the others was more than enough to ratchet up my level of excitement. It had been quite some time since I'd been in a room full of hard cocks and I'd almost forgotten how stimulating just the visuals could be. Maybe another time I could come back and they'd do me the honor.

Yeah, right. Stay in the moment, silly girl, I told myself.

I looked up at Lucien again and ran my tongue around the head, now tasting a tiny bit of saltiness. He was staring so intently, from the look in his eyes I thought that he would not have noticed if the storm produced a thunderclap at the moment.

Returning my attention to his cock I pulled my tongue down to the bottom of my mouth and brought the first two or three inches of his cock firmly down onto it. Then I did a little trick I discovered when I first started giving blowjobs a long time ago: I wiggled my tongue back and forth while strongly pushing up against that sensitive under head part. Just doing it for a few seconds seems to make men happy, but if you're in the right mood and comfortable, you can get a lot of mileage by continuing the movement longer.

Actually the first time I did this I was dating a guy who played keyboards in a blues band. One day he was at home playing on his classic Hammond B3 organ when I decided I wanted to play too: I wanted to play with him. He continued his practicing - even as I pulled his zipper down and fished out his cock. I could only imagine the inner struggle between his artistic motivation and his baser instincts said struggle produced. I only had access to the top few inches, but I put what I could in my mouth and began to lick under his dickhead. He moaned a little and left his hand on a chord as he stroked my hair. The organ was connected to an old Leslie amplifier and it was on "Chorale" mode, the slow setting for the circulating horn.

I found myself rubbing his cock with my tongue in time to the speaker's vibrato. How cool was that! Before long he shot a nice load in my mouth. Whatever his diet was he always had good-tasting cum.

Anyway this tongue rubbing, along with some hand movement on the remaining portion of cock, had worked for me to get many cocks very close to coming - as long as the hand is wrapped tightly around the shaft. I wouldn't have wanted the shaft to feel left out with so much attention paid to the tip. (And in a way I always work for tips!)

At that moment with Lucien (remember Lucien?), I had to stop myself because I wanted to win that jersey. If he came too soon that might be a forfeit. So without even looking up, I stopped the tongue movement and began to bring his dick deeper into my mouth, past the back of my tongue, the controllable portion at least, and felt it hit the back of my mouth. It was a good-sized mouthful of hard-on, but it always felt exciting, knowing that I'd soon be getting a supply of semen.