Melissa is very special to me. A 49-year-old strawberry blonde tomboy with hair down to the small of her back, she has attracted the attention of men every day of her life. Which would be fine -- except for the fact she's bisexual, leaning toward lesbian. I know this because we've been each other's wingmen, looking for women, while hopping from bar to bar in our city. We've been through a lot together. Melissa would be my wife if I thought she had any interest in that.
Melissa is the focal point of our social circle -- the ringleader of things to do, places to go, etc. Our group includes a straight divorcee (Kim, with whom I hooked up a few years ago), a lesbian married couple, and me (otherwise known as the lucky token straight guy in the company of four gorgeous women).
The five of us got together recently at my condo for my birthday. The party broke up around 10 p.m. Angela and Anneli left first because one of them had work in the morning. Kim split five minutes later because she had a long drive ahead. That left me alone with Melissa to clean up together. She was standing at the sink when I sidled up behind her, taking clear advantage of the situation.
I kissed her on her neck, because I knew she liked it. She was wearing a red tank top, and she wrapped her bare arms around me, buckled her knees, and moaned. "That is so good, baby," she cooed. "What shall we do now?"