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“Raaaaaaaaaab!” My wife’s shrill voice cut through the damp basement air. Geez, it’s as if she had dropped a brick on her toes while in the middle of saying my name.
I answered quietly, but it didn’t matter what I said because it was a reply so low she couldn’t hear me. I remember when I enjoyed the soothing sounds of her voice, but today the sultry voice had been replaced by that of one with the same jarring noise to my senses as fingernails sliding down a chalkboard.
“Raaaaaab, have you started cleaning out your junk yet? My family will be hear Wednesday and I want the basement clean.”
Let me explain. For the last six weeks my wife has been on my case to clean out what was once known as a guest bedroom in our basement. At least it was relatively tidy until several years ago when we needed more storage space. Since then it has been used as a place to deposit boxes of documents, light fixtures, long forgotten photo albums and whatever unnecessary piles of unneeded items. Whatever did not fit in a closet, under a bed or in the garage made its way to the guest bedroom.
Amid all the aforementioned items were boxes of my “stuff”. Now stuff, as I know it, means all those things I just can’t bear to relocate on either Monday or Thursday mornings in trash receptacles in front of the house to be hauled away. No way I could part with my stuff.
Included were old books, read long ago but just waiting to be read. Old tax documents that sometime might come in handy if we were audited…as if our meager salaries would spark an audit. There were collectibles, like autographed baseballs and a few trading cards, an old lava lamp, and college memorabilia including a box of vintage 1970s Playboy magazines. There were the obligatory yearbooks, photos, newspaper clippings and stuff only I could savor but never had the time to do so.
In recent weeks Ellen had hand walked through many of the boxes, reducing by a half much of the rubble. And for weeks she had been asking (e.g., begging) me to spend time rummaging through my “stuff” and getting rid of anything not required in the national defense. Or something like that.
I, like any normal U.S. Male, did not relish the thought of parting with some of these sure to be worth millions at some point in the future items. So I laid down the law: Do Not Touch My Stuff.
She reluctantly agreed, but still pressed me to get rid of whatever junk I could so that she could have the room ready to be inhabited by the relatives.
“Okay honey, I will get to it. Just finishing up a couple things here,” I replied, casually knocking the six ball against the seven and depositing it into the corner pocket.
An agitated voice replied: “This century, Mr. Benedict”.
(I sense hostility in the voice and knew at once there would be a lack of nookie when I entered the matrimonial bed later tonight. Paybacks are a bitch, I guess.)
“Absolutely, honey bunch.”
I finished off the rack, sat back and took a final swig at my beer and contemplated the task at hand. To clean, or not to clean, that is the question.
Reluctantly, knowing there was no way I could win the battle, I decided to give it a go.
Entering the former and soon to be again bedroom, I immediately noticed Ellen had indeed gotten rid of many of the boxes. One could walk around the room, and actually sit on the bed. I did just that, and began hunting through the closest box.
Records came in to view, the vinyl kind. Grand Funk Railroad and Tony Orlando, indeed. What had I been thinking? I made a mental note to haul this box to the record collector’s store downtown and see what they would give me for the lot. Moving it to the side, I went through a box of tax information, shredding by hand anything dated before 1993 and repacking the rest. On and on I went, a man on a mission, until I opened a box that hadn’t seen the light of day in more than a decade.
It was stuff from college, a couple yearbooks, a textbook, and a stack of photos of me in various embarrassing poses. Nothing risqué, just nutty stuff from the good old days. Then I noticed a familiar looking portfolio, the kind that is fastened by an elastic band. Opening it, I knew I should know what it was and where it was from, but I just couldn’t place it. Inside were the handwritten words: Property of Jenny O’Malley.
My eyes smiled as I remembered the name and the girl who I had spent the better part of my junior and senior years with at State. We were an item, and all who knew us that matrimony was in our future thought it. It was, but not with each other. We went separate ways after graduation, got together for an ill-fated five-month foray at living together a year later. The relationship ended when she unexpectedly walked out on me and moved back to Boston, leaving only a callous note that spoke mostly of my selfishness and need to grow up. Cruel to be kind and all that crap.
When I later moved casino siteleri from the apartment I must have found this portfolio and packed it. After all this time I don’t even remember seeing it, so maybe one of my friends helping me move packed it away. Who knows?
In any event I opened it and noticed a few letters, some from me, as well as some from names that brought back memories. Jenny’s friend Carrie talked about school, someone named Franklin spoke of a science project, and several test papers displayed As and Bs. There were some pictures, some of her and me, others of college landmarks. In the back of the portfolio was a locked booklet. I surmised it was some kind of record keeping book or maybe a diary. No key was in the portfolio, so I flipped open my pocketknife and jimmied it open.
It was indeed a diary of sorts, listing initials in one column and numbers in another. Sort of a secret code. But not the kind of code needing James Bond to break, because midway down the page I saw an entry which brought a smile to my face: JR, then across 1stO, then a date, March 9, 1982. It was a day etched in my memory, because it was the first time Jenny and I had made love, and after she told me it was the first time a guy had given her an orgasm.
What memories it brought back! Instant hard-on time.
I looked around, as if a Candid Camera had been placed to capture my priceless expression.
After a deep breath, I looked at the entries. Apparently Jenny had been with seven men by the time she left me that fateful day. I was third on the hit parade, and apparently there had been four other from the time we parted college and had gotten together again for our brief encounter in Boston.
As I paged through the next part of the diary I saw poems, important dates and various notations made about happenings, friends and phone numbers.
I read about some of the highs and lows of her life as memories fired through my brain. At some point I noticed another small booklet in the portfolio, and opened it. Pretty mundane stuff, really, as Jenny wrote about favorite dresses, classes and the like. Then, as I turned a page toward the end of the booklet, I saw what appeared to be diary entries. There was no year listed but the month and day were, and my eyes widened as I began reading.
“April 5: My mom uses a vibrator! Yes, diary, she does. My mind wandered to that revelation today, probably because I had been thinking of sex all day long and somehow I began thinking of mom and her vibrator. Heck, for several years I didn’t know what the cylinder massager I accidentally came across in her bedroom was used for. I was so naive.
“I stumbled upon it quite innocently. Mom had asked me to go to her room and find her eyeglasses, and while looking for them in her bedside cabinet I opened the second drawer and saw IT. It was plastic, about six inches in length and a couple inches around. It has some nubs on one side, smooth on the other. I picked it up, put it back, and went on my merry way looking for the glasses. I had no idea what it was, nor did I care. When I mentioned it to Mom, she turned red and snapped at me. “That’s a muscle massager, but it’s only for adults.” Okay, chill out, I thought, and didn’t think of it again until last week. That’s when Jill and I were talking and she mentioned using a vibrator on herself when Tommy wasn’t around.
“My eyes were opened that day! Mom was a vixen!
“Anyway, I was thinking of that vibrator today because I was horny from last night’s petting session with Kelly. It’s a little weird dating a junior when I’m a senior, but we are the same age. And heck, I have to get ready for those college boys who Mom says will be after me next year. She says I’m 18 going on 30 sometimes, especially when I dress the part, yet I am still her little girl.
“Kelly is hot, and I was still hung over with hotness today. It especially got to me when my mind wandered when I got home and went to my room. As I was lying on my bed I couldn’t help caressing my pussy, and that’s when Mom’s vibrator came into my mind. If she could, I could, and I looked around my room for ideas. My eyes focused on a long white candle on my writing desk, and I made a hasty decision.
“I placed it by my side, removed my white cotton panties, lifted my skirt, and gently rubbed the candle along my wetness. Oooooh it was hot. After playing with my nubbin for a while, first with my finger and then with the candle, I inserted the waxy man into my flaming pussy for relief.
“Ohh, it was good. My pussy was on fire, and once I got the hang of it, I came like never before!
“I think I have round a new friend.
“April 11: I did it twice since that first time, each time with my loving candle, each time placing it back in its holder, each time having a wonderful cum. Whenever I come into the room and spot it, I smile. But today I two-timed my new lover, I was really canlı casino bad. Mom was at the store and I was drawn to her room in search of that magic wand she hid somewhere in her bedroom. I ultimately found it in her lingerie drawer, hidden beneath some undies that would make Madonna blush! Ok, dad-i-o.
“Anyway, I caressed that vibrator for the longest time, stroking it, stroking myself with it, masturbating with my mom’s vibrator on her own bed, like she undoubtedly did many times before. Like mother, like daughter, I rubbed and tugged and fucked against the vibe. Once I figured out the on-off switch, I was a demon, as the vibrator came to life and brought me over the top in seconds flat. YES!!! After my debauchery, I placed it back beneath the undies, batteries weakened and a smile upon my face.
“May 18: I’m addicted. I keep thinking of things that resemble, well, hard cocks. And wonder how they would feel in my decadent pussy. My closest friend in the world, Tammy, and I were having a heart to heart the other day when I mentioned I had a friend who used a candle on herself. She looked me in the eye and said, “You have two friends like that, because I have done it.” I couldn’t believe that she had, and she added something like: “Jenny, I am still a virgin, but I have had sex with a candle and something even better.”
“That’s when I learned the secret of having a banana serve as my knight in shining armor for a night. Today, just minutes ago in fact, I used a real, tapered, yellow banana on my honey pot, as Tammy calls her pussy. A firm, long, hard banana. And yes, I am addicted. That little devil got me off like nothing before. With my eyes closed I imagined it was Sean Connery pounding his cock into my willing pussy, his hands on my ass, his face buried between my breasts. Mumbling sweet nothings in an Scottish brogue.
“June 5: I was the belle of the ball last night. Prom night. Graduation this Friday. And I made good on my promise to myself to lose my “virginity” before graduation. I made Kelly ravenous by flirting with him all night. When we got to the hotel (he and four of his friends had rented a room, and they passed the key between them) I let him go down on me right there on a bed with my prom dress raised above my waist. I can’t decide if fucking is good or not, because Kelly came so quickly I didn’t, well, feel special. Fireworks did not go off, but the second time he did me was better, and feeling him explode deep inside me (well, I think I felt it, the condom sort of dulled the true feeling) gave me a warm feeling all over. But then there was a knock on the door and we quickly had to make ourselves presentable as Jill and Bob wanted to use the room.
“Thinking back it was nice, but not spectacular. I felt the power of sex…Kelly had been begging me…but it wasn’t fireworks and explosions. Maybe he wasn’t doing it right, or maybe he isn’t experienced. He said I was his first, so maybe we have to do it more to get it right, but he didn’t feel as good inside as my “friends”. Gee, is it perverted that I have had so many different friends (hahaha)? I’m a real slut, cause I have slept with a guy, a candle, a vibrator and a banana all in a couple months.
“June 25: Add a carrot to the list! Yup, just like Bugs Bunny, I love carrots. I visited the refrigerator innocently enough, looking for something cool to drink, and low and behold, there they were. A bunch of virile, hard, succulent carrots. I picked the best of the bunch, an eight-inch torpedo, and proceeded to walk through the house past my sister Kate and little brother Buzz. I told them I was going to my room to study, and wasn’t to be disturbed, but I made sure to lock the door once inside. From there it was just a few minutes to my quickie with Mr. Carrot.
“I don’t know if he liked it, but I sure did. I think my pussy was soaking wet before my orange lover made its way to my loins. It wasn’t as big as Mr. Banana, but what it lacked in size it more than made up for in pliability. It had a rough texture, but it felt great against my clit. I slowly rubbed it there before I needed something to fill my pussy. In Mr. Carrot went, furiously fucking me while my finger danced against my clitoris. UUUmmm.
“July 4: It was a night of explosions in more than one way. Kelly took me to the lake, where we watched a fabulous display of fireworks before parking by the tall pines to make some of our own. The backseat wasn’t all that comfortable, but I felt pretty good sitting on top of his pulsating cock. He’s lasting a lot longer now, at least in my pussy. I don’t dare blow him, cause if I do he comes faster than a bullet, and that means no cock for my aching pussy. I think I need to take him through this step by step. Maybe I should bring along a friend, like, well, my second carnal visitor on this holiday night.
“After Kelly deposited me back home, I sat with mom for a while talking about life…and boys. She wanted to kaçak casino make sure I was “taking care of myself”, and I assured her I was not a loose girl, was not stupid, and wasn’t going to get into trouble at the ripe old age of 19. After she headed up to bed, I went looking for Mr. Carrot’s twin brother when I was drawn to the crisper and asked Mr. Zucchini for a date instead.
“Make no mistake about it, Mr. Z is huge! I could barely get my lips around him, but I did manage to suck his tip for a while fingering myself to a new high. But like any man he soon wanted more, more, more and I was doing the evil deed once again. He was insistent on doing it doggie style too, so there I was, on hand and knees and head down upon my pillow, with my other hand firmly grasping and thrusting Mr. Zucchini into my wet, hot and slightly aching pussy. Whoa, boy, do it! Who-Ha, it was great.
“I wonder, am I totally perverted?”
Needless to say Jenny’s writing gave me a huge hard-on, which I caressed through my jeans. I would have never guessed she was so, well, I don’t know what she was. I mean, perverted is probably the word, but she was surely enjoying herself. I had seen some porno where girls were screwing dildos and veggies, and my wife and I used a vibrator on each other from time to time, but here was my own former little Jenny, prim and proper and skirts no higher than two inches above the knees Jenny, fucking more fruit than Richard Simmons. I wanted to jerk off, but was wary about the wife upstairs, and besides, how could I put down this diary of sweet little Jenny taking on a bevy of lovers?
I was almost to the end of the diary, so I made sure the door was securely locked and got back to the business of being a sort of voyeur.
“August 18: My second day at college orientation week. Classes won’t begin until after Labor Day, but I get to stay a week learning the ins and outs of college life. Last night was a blast. After dinner several of us went over to Gibby’s, a local hangout, and flirted with some guys. It was a lot of fun. We danced a bit, laughed at each other’s jokes, and then went back to the dorm where we were supposed to settle down. Only Margie had smuggled in a six-pack and a pint of rum, which we proceeded to down like sailors on shore leave.
“Somehow we got into a game of truth or dare, and we went through the obligatory questions. Have I/She ever sucked cock or fucked (yes) or been ass-fucked (no). I thought I had her when I asked if, when masturbating, she ever used any special accessories. She said truth, and went over to her backpack and pulled out a red, pliable vibrator that she intimately kissed. She asked me the same question, and when I hesitated, she said I wasn’t playing fair. So I came clean, probably because of the liquor, and admitted the magic wand and a various assortment of vegetables had violated me. Surprisingly she wasn’t shocked.
“She revealed that she had long masturbated with an assortment of Helpers. Like me, she had used a candle, a carrot and a banana, but she had also used a variety of other toys. Then, much to my surprise, she finished her beer and set it on the bedside stand. She lifted her nightie, slid down her panties, and began caressing her pussy as my eyes widened. I was mesmerized by her actions, her wantonness, and her openness. I saw her sink one, then two fingers into her wet pussy, stroking furiously. Then she looked me right in the eye, reached over, and as I watched to make love to the neck of an empty bottle of Corona right before my eyes.
“I couldn’t help myself. I was rocking in my chair to her fucking, and lust grabbed hold of me. I finished my own beer and after a deep breath took it and began sliding its slippery head along the wetness of my cunt.
“I watched her, inserting Mr. Corona into my pussy, as her head sort of nodded back as she fucked herself silly. In and out the glass container went. She tried to get all of it inside, but couldn’t, and neither could I, but we both fucked the hard male substitutes as if it would be out last fuck for a month. Needless to say, the combination of the fake cock and the moans and groans emitting from deep inside our stomachs led to orgasms like no other.
“Later, after overcoming our embarrassment, we made a pack to never breathe a word of our exploits, assured each other that we’d be friends to the end, forever bonded together by our special “friend’.”
Jenny’s exploits excited me, and I couldn’t stop myself. I double-checked the door to ensure it was locked, then pulled out my cock and started stroking it, thinking of Jenny’s exploits. I re-read a couple of the passages, and had to struggle to keep from cumming. I used my free hand to turn to the final pages of the diary, when the date struck me. It was the date she walked out on me.
“May 14, 1988: Hi Special Diary, it has been ages since I have written you about my exploits. I have missed them, but I guess I didn’t want to write too much about the m-e-n in my life when you know all my deep dark secrets from behind closed doors. I think about you often, My Diary, especially when I am laying over. I’m a Stewardess now…I should say Flight Attendant.
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