I had this friend, Jennifer. She used to call me "Dad". I tended to look after her. She was very able at her work. We regularly had a drink together.
I was now alone. It seemed natural that we kept each other company.
Jennifer always seemed to hide her true self. She was tall and thin. Her body was always clad in sloppy clothes. She did not portray attractiveness, but there seemed to be hidden depths.
Jennifer had never been wined and dined. How could a twenty-two year old have been so neglected? I invited her to dine at a good restaurant. She delayed.
"I have nothing proper to wear," she said.
"Was that an excuse? " I asked.
"When I have the proper outfit I would be delighted to accompany you," she responded.
Some weeks later she said she was ready. I would collect her at eight.
She walked out. I gasped. Jennifer was wearing a purple wrap-over dress.
It had just one button and a belt at the waist. She wore high heels and sheer tights.
She looked fabulous.
I opened the passenger door. She stepped in. Leaning low showing that her cleavage was outstanding. Her long leg followed.' Legs right up to her waist' would be the correct term. I felt a stirring in the groin.
Is this my good friend of old?
Throughout the meal I could not keep my eyes off her. She reveled in the attention. The spoilt part was the safety pin. This held the top of her dress together. It hindered the view of her breasts.
They looked interesting.
"It ruins it," said I.
"What?" She responds.
"The safety pin that is holding your dress together."
"You cannot have too much of a good thing," she laughs. "Not all at once."
There is a twinkle in her eyes.
The meal was excellent and the company exhilarating. We seemed to rise to a new plateau.
When we were returning home in the car she asked, "Would you like to come in for coffee?"
"Do you really want me to," I replied.
"Yes, it is a lovely evening and I do not want it to end," she sighed.
Jennifer brought in coffee. She sat on my knee. She put her arm around my neck.
The safety pin had gone. Her breasts are snugly cosseted in a plain white bra.
We sat there. Hands gentle stroking but both knew that nothing else was going to happen. We were relaxed as one. We sat and talked.
We watched the sun rise.
Was this contentment? Was this reality?
Two weeks later she said "I am going to cook you a meal so I will come to your place. It will be a real treat."
She was her normal self. The meal smelt good.
"It will be a few minutes more," she says, "I will change into something more comfortable."
Jennifer appeared in the purple dress. We sat down.
A firm large breast topped by an erect nipple filled my view. There was no safety pin or bra. She watched my eyes.
"I told you it will be a real treat," she says.
How can I respond?
I cannot remember what we ate. It was irrelevant.
We are sat on the sofa. We drank coffee whilst we smoked the ritual cigarette. Her legs were showing. She was wearing stockings. The bare flesh showed through her suspenders. Her white panties were tight into her sex. The firm breasts were free, except for the hanging cloth of her dress.
Jennifer looked so content, and so erotic.
I was gently stroking her. My hands got bolder. The palms were roaming over her erect nipples. The feeling was electric.
She was comfortable.
My hand was stroking her legs. The smooth feel of the stocking. The warmth of the flesh.
"Can I ask you something?" She suddenly said.
"Of course," I respond.
"Is it safe to suck a man's cock?"
"Why?" I reply quite shocked.
"I always dream of doing so," she responded.
"If you trust the man and know him there is nothing wrong with it. Most couples do it."
"Did Pat do it to you?" She asked.
"Yes, she did."
"Good! I would have loved to watch. " Says Jennifer, whilst un-zipping my trousers.
Her hand pulls out my penis. It is erect. Her mouth folded around it. She sucked like an expert. Her tongue licked. It licked under my foreskin. My gland was vibrating. My body tensed. My breath was gasping.
