I heard a knock on my office window. By late fall night comes early and outside it was pitch black. I could hear young voices laughing and, putting my hands up next to the glass to reduce the glare, I could recognize teenagers in their cross-country outfits. It was my son, James, and some other runners from his High School.
"Dad, can you let us in, we want to use the bathroom and get some water." James called from the dark.
"Sure thing, come around to the door," I said through the glass.
The main building entrance locks from the outside after 5, so I had to leave my office to let my son and his friends enter. There were the usual suspects, James, his buddies Ethan and Rob, and to my pleasant surprise Violet was with them. James and his friends had come through before but never with her in tow. It wasn't surprising, as the high school girls' star runner, she could keep up. They tumbled into the foyer all rosy cheeked and panting, the boys all topless with their silly short shorts and Violet in her much more flattering gear. Ethan and Rob raced down the hall past me to the bathroom after a perfunctory hello. James and Violet stood before me, and once again I was smitten.
Violet was a senior, in between James, a junior, and my daughter Allie who was off to college. She was friendly with both, although sleepovers and shared female interests made her fast friends with Allie. She was one of those precociously cool kids who got straight As and was a great athlete, but who also took risks and did things her own way. She was a high-achieving iconoclast, good qualities in a person.
The most memorable event we shared together was when she got busted by a chaperone for smoking weed with Allie on a school trip when she was a sophomore and Allie a junior. It was never reported to the police or the school luckily, but there were a lot of fretful phone calls between parents. Some adults might have freaked out, but my wife Maeve and I were not that type. We knew our kids were smart, their friends were kind, and that they all would have to learn to make better decisions by making a few mistakes. The fact that we liked smoking weed now and then too also helped us continue to bless Violet's friendship with Allie and James—she was not a bad person, period. We would even tease Violet about it now and then and remind her to be smarter.
Maeve and I always tried to get James to ask her out, but the two of them just remained platonic and we no longer pushed the issue. It's just as well, because while I'm not an obviously lecherous man, when I'm around Violet I can't help myself from trying to get in as many looks at her beautiful face and tone body as I can without being noticed. I don't think I could have handled the idea of my son touching and fucking her—I'd be happy for him, but it'd be hard to be around. Now, she was before me in her tight running shorts, a running bra that hugged her chest and let a just a hint of her nipples poke through, and her long dirty blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her face, with her high-cheekbones, aquiline nose, and full lips, was an example of classical beauty.
"Dad, do you have any of those snacks in the office?" James asked. We often had junk food left over from events and the kids would raid the stash whenever they came by.
"Maybe, you can check, but I'm not sure that it'll have the best options for middle-of-running eating. Speaking of which, isn't it late for you guys to still be out? Won't Gillings be waiting or mad or something."
I knew Coach Gillings was probably already gone, he trusted the top runners to get their workouts in and be safe—it was stupid of him, but good running coaches are hard to find so we didn't push the issue.
Violet responded with her slightly scratchy voice, something that always made her a bit sexier.
"We're juvenile delinquents, out to do crime," she cracked and raised her fists up in mock defiance. "But, actually, I bet he has no idea whether we're finished or not—he's kind of clueless that way."
"Well I do," I said as I opened the door to my office hall and let them in, "and besides Violet, aren't you 18 now? You could be charged as an adult!"
"Well, in that case, I can do what I want!" She said, putting her hands on her hips and puffing out her chest—I tried not to notice too overtly. She stood for a moment that way, smiled, then turned away, "Thanks for the snacks, Mr. Warren!"
The interior door to my office suite locks too, so I waited for Ethan and Rob and watched my son and the hot girl trot down the hall to raid the snack closet. My eyes were glued to Violet's ass as she pranced away from me, her tight round cheeks pushed up alternately by the stride of her long strong legs.
When she joked like that with me, she always made a funny face, like I was a conspirator with her—sort of a half-wink. A foolish man would think more of it, but I knew it was just her manner. It didn't stop me from recycling such moments to masturbate to, usually after a recent Violet sighting. This little visit, with its images of her tone belly, tight ass, and constricted breasts ready to be sprung would be fresh on my mind for quite a few jerk off sessions over the next months—starting in my office immediately after the surprise runners left.
I didn't see Violet again for almost three years, but I came on her young body in my mind many times in the interim. I'm not proud of this, but occasionally I'd be that guy: the creep who jerked off to his daughter's friends' Instagrams. At least because I'm a "cool dad," they were genuine contacts and they all followed me too—and I was very judicious in what I "liked" so no one would know what perverted Mr. Warren was up to. Most of their pictures were usually tame, certainly not the racy illicit stuff that was likely on their "finsta's" or fake accounts, but now and then there'd be some young woman I knew as a teen, now purposely showing off a nice adult ass in a bikini or pouting their lips above ample bare cleavage. Violet's own account had its share of those, but most her pictures highlighted her travels and social justice work. Towards the end of college, though, I noted a considerable uptick of sex-positive racier shots and messages, and appreciated the new emphasis as I tugged my cock while panting her name at least once a month.
I love masturbating and thinking about anything and everything—a lot of it taboo—but it's important to note that Maeve and I lack nothing in our love life and are honest about most of our interests. In addition to being "GGG" (good, giving, and game in bed—thanks Dan Savage), Maeve is the most gorgeous brunette I've ever known, with thin long legs, an ass to die for, nice weighty C cup breasts, and a face that resembled a classical Renaissance Madonna. We are both in our late 40s, so she's got a bit more of a belly than she wants, but I'm a bit softer than I'd like to be too. Our bodies still worked well together, though, and our minds were only getting closer when it comes to sex. Although Maeve and I are serial monogamists whose lists of conquests are much shorter than most of our peers', our vanilla histories and conventional relationship hid a torrid private sex life.
I was the influencer. My libido, going non-stop since before puberty, had me gravitating to nasty thoughts and behaviors early in life. As a semi-closeted pansexual, I have quite the imagination and discovering internet pornography, erotic literature, and Tumblr over the years has given me a bit of an obsession with sex. Maeve started from a much more inhibited place, but together we developed through honesty and experimentation a robust set of sex practices that centered on hotwife, cuckold, and cheating fantasies, and me spanking her for being a "bad girl." Each of these developed from small hints and broaching of taboos during drunk sex sessions until blossoming into open and frank dirty talk most times we had sex—especially after smoking some weed. From abstract ideas to fantasizing about real people and saying their names out loud while fucking, we had become sexually daring and compatible. Despite my always-wandering eye and never fully indulged compulsions—including a few secret fetishes that I had yet to divulge—with Maeve I am a satisfied man.
In one of the first frank conversations we had about sexual fantasies a few years into marriage, Maeve told me she had thought about sex with a woman before, and since that's such an easy thing for a guy to groove on, I brought that into bed for a bit. Over the years, much more nasty behavior supplanted that fantasy, and we never really revisited it.
To be honest, my personal desire for "strange pussy" wasn't about wanting my wife to be with another woman. Unlike thinking about other men, whose bigger cocks, prowess in bed, and alpha domination and great sex for my wife—and sometimes me—turned both of us on, women in the fantasy world were usually just for me. Even in a fantasy scenario in which one might be in bed with us, it was usually because
I wanted to fuck another woman
, usually a younger version of my wife with a toner body and tighter pussy. In my professional world as the executive of a major non-profit chain of educational camps—with whole rosters of college-aged counselors in training every summer and lots of facilities visits to watch them teach swimming---I had a lot of nice sights to think about. Maeve would tease me from time to time about "the girls," and probably assumed I had my urges, but I never crossed the line or told her just what I'd do to a couple of them. My lust for younger women, an absurdly typical male fantasy, remained muted between us while we plunged into more rarified fetish territory. Violet was on my mind alone.
