Stacy

When: November 1982 to April 1986
Status:  Married, two kids

Occupation: Dental hygenist (part-time)

Meetings: 40

Age: 30

And that's what friends are forrrrrrrrrrrrrr........

So back in November of 1982,  Four Corners Ronnie and I were having a little food old-fashioned casual sex one night. Actually, we were having a lot of good old-fashioned casual sex that night.  We had only been fucking for a couple of months or so, but I must have made a good impression on her.

I had just cum when Ronnie playfully pushed me off of her and said, "Bathroom!"

"I told you not to have that beer before we fucked."
"Had sex, you savage. Not fucked."

The door shut and soon Ronnie returned. She crawled back into bed and said, "Maybe we can help each other out."

"We just did. Did you want another ride on the Ryan Railway?"
"Well, yes. Hopefully longer next time. But that's not what I'm talking about."
"You need money? I thought you put out for free."
"Fuck you. No....just, well, you're a whore, right?"
"Of course. That's what your sister says."
"She would know. Wanna be set up? For a fuck date? But you have to pretend it's just a date and not a fuck date."
"You're too young to be senile, Ronnie."

"I have a friend coming up from San Diego on Friday. Her name is Stacy. She's married. And having some issues with her husband, her job, everything. She needs to take a mini-vacation."
"Okay."
"So I told her to come out here next week. But she made plans to come out this coming Friday."
"And?"
"So I have to fly to Denver this weekend. Last second family stuff."
"So why doesn't she just come up Monday?"
"She's already made her arrangements and can't wait to get away. So amuse her for the weekend, moron."
"So she wants to get laid."

"Lovely way to put it. Yes. But she doesn't want it to seem that way. She'd just like a guy to take her to dinner or whatever and see what happens. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge."
"So you want me to take her out to dinner knowing full well that I'll be banging her. Do you always help your friends cheat on their husbands?"
"Oh please. The guy's a dick. Cheats on her all the time. I finally convinced her to do the same. And since when do YOU care about a woman being married?"

Good point. And it's always cool when you have a fuck buddy ask you to fuck one of her friends. It's kind of like an x-rated referral service.

"Got a pic?"
"Here."

Yeah, this wouldn't be an issue.

"Now I do have to warn you....before she was married, she was pretty wild. I know she wants to let loose, but....."
"You don't know how much?"
"Yeah. Think you're up for it?"
"Sure. Can I do her here?"
"Ryan....."
"Can I stay over if she wants me too? That better?"
"Yes it is. And yes you can. And......just in case...."

She leaned over to her nightstand and held up a bag of pot. Weed. Mary Jane. California Tea. Green gold.

Some cannibis for the rest of us!

"Cool."
"If she wants to."
"You keep that shit with kids in the house?"
"No dumbass. They're with their dad the next two weeks."
"Good, because that would be irresponsible."
"Shut fucking up. Go easy on this."
"That's what she said. Why?"
"My friend told me that it's a bit stronger that what he usually gives me."
"Sounds good."

It was kind of a busy time for me, girl-wise. I had just finished up with Miranda ("nice hot cum for meeeeeee...."), had just started sexing up Kendall, and was seeing Angela on and off. But I felt that if I was needed to help out a lady in need, what kind of bastard would I be if I said no?

Exactly!

I didn't really need to mention Miranda. But any opportunity I have to repeat her sexual catchphrase "nice hot cum for me", I have to take advantage of. That phrase was so bad it almost KEPT me from cumming a few times.

Someday I'll stop picking on Miranda. That day has yet to arrive.  That moron deserves for not sucking Mr. Happy.  Bitch.

But how did Ronnie know that Stacy would want to hook up with little ol' me?

"I sent her your picture and told her all about you. Totally talked you up. Said we were friends from school, that you were an awesome guy, all that."
"So you just told her the truth. Very good."
"Shut up."

Anyway, so Thursday came (and trashed me out again....) and Ronnie took off for Denver. 

Ronnie gave me the keys to her house and Stacy was supposed to stop by my house to pick them up.  Around 6:30, I saw her pull into the driveway and I grabbed the keys and went to meet her.

"Hi. Ryan?"
"Stacy?"
"Hey, nice to meet you."
"Here are the keys."
"Ah, thank you.  So you have any plans for tonight?"

No beating around the bush.  I liked that.

"None.  Care to go out for a bite after you get settled in?"
"Hmmmm....how about I go to Ronnie's, call and check on the kids....take a shower....then we can have a pizza delivered?"
"Sounds great.  What time?"
"I'm starving....about 8:00?"
"I'll be there."
"I'm looking forward to it."

Then she hopped back into her car and left.

Stacy at the club.  My mind's shot.  I cannot remember what on earth she's 

holding in her left hand.

I drove up to Ronnie's house and sat down in the living room and ate. Stacy was really nice and very easy to talk to.

But I really wasn't sure what I should do next. Go home and let Stacy relax? Go home and come back the next day? Stay? Offer her some nylons and candy to have sex?

Luckily, Stacy answered that question. After we finished eating, she got up and said, "Want a beer?"

That meant that I'd be staying.

"Sure."

A minute later I heard, "That's my girl! She left us stocked!  Sweet!"

Yeah, that's all I needed to hear. Then again, Alex always says that I only hear what I want to hear anyway, so I guess it didn't really matter if Stacy offered me a beer after all.

We downed a lot of beers over the next hour and a half. And I have to admit that I was a bit drunk. Then again, two beers gets me buzzed--I'm a total lightweight. I wasn't slobbering down my chin or anything, but I was feeling really, really good.

And Stacy wasn't feeling any pain, either.

Finally--and I don't even remember what we were talking about at this point--I leaned over and kissed her. She kissed me back and we started making out on the couch for several minutes. Then she pulled back a little and said, "Ronnie told you I was married, right?"

"Yeah, it's cool. I'm single, so you won't be cheating."

Drunk or not, that was a great line. Then again, I'm biased. But Stacy agreed with my reasoning--so she must have liked it as well.

"Yeah, that makes perfect sense!"

We resumed kissing and I reached around and unhooked her bra. Stacy took off her shirt and bra and I leaned over and started sucking on her nipples (one at a time, of course--I'm good, but not THAT good).

I then slid my hands down her slacks and under her panties and started fingering her. "Fingering" isn't really an accurate word though. It was more like fondling, but THAT word has such a negative connotation, I didn't want to use it.

So did I take the Pilot out of the hangar? Not really. This was more like a Palm Pilot Lite (all the taste, half the arousal). I was a bit too out of it to operate the Pilot good and proper. 

Besides, it's illegal to fly under the influence.

I then got up and leaned down. Stacy lifted her hips up and I slid her pants off.

She laid back and spread her legs and I kissed my way up one leg and up the other. Having run out of legs, I decided it was time to let my tongue do the talking.

I slid my tongue in and out of her several times before spreading her lips and licking and sucking her clit. That drew a loud groan and I knew she was close. I knew it wouldn't take long for Stacy to cum. I'm that good.

Actually, I think she was ready the minute she picked up Ronnie's keys. That's the good thing about poaching; usually those willing to be poached haven't had an active sex life with their spouses for quite awhile (the bad thing about poaching is starting a blog and not making an entry for six months).

After Stacy came, she told me to stand up and "get naked....now!" Being a gentleman, I followed her orders.

She sat back up on the couch and took Mr. Happy into her mouth and blew me for a couple of minutes. Then she laid back down and I got on top of her and slid inside.

Drunk or not, that part always feels great.

It was tough, for whatever reason, for us to get a good rhythm going on that couch. So after a couple of minutes, we got up and went into the guest room.

Stacy smiled and gently pushed me down onto my back and started sucking me again. Then she straddled me and eased herself down my shaft.

The bed did the trick. We finally found that rhythm and she rocked back and forth for a few minutes until she came again.

Stacy then got up and then got on all fours. Cool, my never cum position.

I moved up behind her and slid in again. I started slowly and at her urging, increased my speed. Stacy kept thrusting her hips back to meet me every time I slid back in. After several minutes, she had another orgasm and groaned and told me to cum.

People think I'm joking about having trouble cumming this way. It's true. I don't know why, but I've always had trouble cumming in the doggie position. But that's a good thing. However, I really DID want to cum by this point. Mr. Happy was getting a little annoyed.

So I decided to try a position that's usually best attempted when fully sober. Luckily, I had done it enough so it wasn't all that tough.

Now, I don't know the actual name of the position that I'm about to describe, but Alex has dubbed it "The Shakira". So I'll give it a shot.

We started out in the doggy position--obviously. I slid all the way into Stacy and had her stretch her legs out and followed her down, keeping Mr. Happy inside of her. We ended up with her on her stomach and me on her back.

I lifted myself up just a bit--still keeping Mr. Happy inside of her--and put my legs outside of hers.

Then I had Stacy put her legs close together (an insane feeling for Mr. Happy, I must say). Then I positioned my knees so that they straddled her hips. And then, in a position where I was sitting upright on my knees, I started gyrating my hips and grinding against her (hence the "Shakira" reference to "Hips Don't Lie").

It's a pretty intense position, and I wouldn't advise using it if you need a condom, because that sucker will slide right off--at least that's what I've found the case to be.

That's about the best way I can describe The Shakira. If anybody recognizes this position, please let me know (if you can even decipher what I said--I reread that a few times and can't think of a better way to describe it).

Anyway, I kept rocking and leaning back and forth, and Stacy's hips didn't lie either, as she matched my movements perfectly. Finally, after several minutes, Stacy cried out that she was cumming, and I took one last push in and came myself.

To untangle from The Shakira, follow the earlier steps in reverse order.

My two favorite parts are when she's sitting in the chair
and she spreads her legs and the part where her breasties
go "bouncy-bouncy"!

Anyway, I pulled out of Stacy and rolled off of her. She smiled and said, "That's a new one. Where'd you learn THAT?"

Well, I couldn't really tell her that Ronnie had introduced me to it, so I did the next best thing: I lied.

"An ex showed it to me."

Okay, now the rest of this night starts to get a bit blurry. As in I really don't remember too much blurry.

We were laying next to each other when Stacy said, "Did Ronnie leave anything....special....for us?"

Ah, the marijuana......

"In her nightstand drawer."

Cool. We'd toke that mother up, get high, and engage in altered-perception sex. I'm always up for a little altered-perception sex. I just made that term up, by the way. And I'm the only one who's ever used it, so consider it trademarked.

Ronnie--or her supplier--had graciously rolled the joints. Excellent. So Stacy lit it up, took a deep drag and it my was turn.

Then her turn. Then my turn.....

Okay, you get the point.

Of course, having the attention span of a puppy with ADD, I had forgotten Ronnie's warning of going easy. And after we knocked of the first one, we were feeling so good that we decided that since some is good.....

more is much, much better.

And to just put fuel on the fire, we figured that some more beer would go just dandy with Mother Nature as well. So she lit up another doobie and I grabbed us a couple of beers and we destroyed that joint and pounded down those beers. And after that, some more beers.

Oh man.

Altered-perception sex? More like barely conscious sex. I THINK we went at it a couple of more times that night. But I've never really been sure. I do have a few mental images that flash in my mind. One is of Stacy on top of me and a couple of more are me on top of her on Ronnie's sofa (maybe we thought if at first you don't succeed....).

But that pot fucked us up pretty good. And throw the beer drinking on top of it and you have the perfect storm for an almost total-blackout.

We woke up around noon the next day, and we were hurting. We had hangovers and whatever was left of that super pot left in our systems as well.

Stacy staggered into the shower while I lay there, wondering what the fuck was in that pot. I'm not sure I really wanted to know. I was just happy to have survived it.

Perfection.

Stacy got out of the shower and flopped back into the bed.

"Did that help, Stacy?"
"Kinda. A little."

I grabbed a towel and got into the shower. The hot water felt pretty good. It didn't really help me remember anything that had happened, however.

Stacey didn't remember much either. She also thought that we got it on a couple of more times as well. We weren't using condoms, so we couldn't, uh, count them.

Oh well.

We sat there, trying to recover and I figured that I might as well get my ass out of bed and make some lunch for us. I asked Stacy if she wanted something and she nodded and offered to help me. I told her to just relax, watch some television, and I'd make us a couple of sandwiches.

And perhaps some soup to go with our sandwiches.

I pulled on my shorts and went to the kitchen. And I stumbled upon a clue as to our activities of the previous night.

The fucking kitchen looked like a frat house after an eating contest. Empty chip bags, candy bar wrappers, pretty much the remains and scraps of anything edible were strewn around. But it gets worse.

As my eyes scanned the kitchen, I looked down at the tile when my eye caught a glimpse of something.

That was disgusting. Well, it would have been had it not been I who had deposited that DNA onto the floor.

Then a little bit of the previous night came (uh...) back to me. I kinda/sorta remembered us going into the kitchen and munching whatever we could find. And Stacy getting on her knees (apparently, Mr. Happy finds pot to be a stimulant) and started blowing me. And that's it. We either had sex on the kitchen floor or I got me an old-fashioned-between-snacks blow job.

Not that it mattered. I couldn't remember it. The tree fell in the forest with no one around.

I cleaned up my DNA (thank you, Pine-Sol--ta ta ta ta ta ta, Pine Sol!), straightened up the kitchen, and then created two grilled ham and cheese sammiches, as well as some towmayter soup.

Because when you're feeling fucked up, you need comfort food. And aspirin. Aspirin taken with said comfort food.  That way, you can get better and resume what you had previously been doing to get you fucked up again.

And that's right. I went old-school again with that Pine-Sol theme. I would've embedded a clip of one of those old commercials, but couldn't find any on YouTube. Just so you know that I did look. Remember: I went old school with that old Tootsie Pop commercial in the Josie entry.

Obviously, I'm all about old-school. How did I get on this?

Anyway, I brought our lunches into the bedroom and we talked as we ate. I mentioned my little kitchen discovery and she stopped talking for a few seconds and then nodded her head.

"Yeah....I kinda remember that. Blow job. We went in to get something to eat....you were hard....yeah...."
"Cool."
"Yeah."

At least I knew. Kind of.

We kicked back and watched some television for awhile and then headed back to the bedroom for a couple of hours of fun.
I actually remember that, but, I've already done the required blow-by-blow descriptions for the entry.

Get it? I'm funny.

But after the afternoon of lovin', we showered up again and I went out and got us some In N' Out.  We had planned on going dancing at a local club, but Stacy had a change of heart. She still wanted to dance, but she wanted to drive to Los Angeles and go to a club there.

Okay, I figured. It was only a forty minute drive, so why not? Not knowing all that much about Los Angeles nightlife, I called a buddy named Phil.

I had attended high school with Phil, and after graduating from high school, he enrolled at U.C.L.A. Surely, he would know. I was just hoping he was home. Unlike yours truly, Phil was a hard-working, smart student.

He was home. And he told me about a club in L.A. called "The Cusp" (long since closed). He and his girlfriend liked it and that was good enough for me.

Is it me, or does Englebert look A LOT like Stephen Seagal?

We hopped into my Chevy Nova and drove down. I knew the area fairly well and it wasn't too tough to find.

We went in and after a short wait, got a table and had a drink. And we danced (she could dance all night and shake the paint off the wall...).

And that's how we spent the next two hours. Well, I only had two drinks. But Stacy kept knocking them down. Finally, I suggested that we go out and get some air. Stacy agreed.

This was a good thing. Stacy had, among other things, stood on a table and laid down on the dance floor. She was also getting a bit loud. The bouncer was giving me the "dude, could you kind of get her out of here, she stopped being funny five shots ago" look. When he gave me that look, I gave him the "just give me a minute and we're gone" nod.

So we left.

We walked. And kept walking.  

About half a block down, she grabbed my hand and pulled me into an alley.

That's right: Alley sex.

I didn't particularly think going into an alley was all that safe. But it sorta, kinda looked safe from what I could see.

We didn't go too far in and stopped in front of a dumpster (ah, romance....). Stacy crouched down, took Mr. Happy out and got him nice and hard. Then she took some lubricant out of her purse and got him all done slickered up. Pretty cool stuff, too; Mr. Happy loved how warm it was and sent me a memo about how this proves that we needed to get our own hot tub.

Hey, I don't know how or why he thought of that, so don't ask me.

Then he sent me another note: "We're doing this in a fucking alley? You're standards get lower by the minute, loser." I told him to shut the fuck up and concentrate.

Stacy turned around and braced herself against the dumpster. Hey, you gotta use whatever tools are at your disposal, I guess.

I lifted up Stacy's dress and slid right in. I can't say it was really great sex. We were in an alley right next to a dumpster. My only concern was getting the whole thing over with and getting us out of there and back to the car.

So I really didn't care if Stacy came or not. Usually this is a concern. Not this time. And I don't think Stacy really cared either. Just a minute after we started, she was encouraging me to cum. And it didn't take long for me to oblige.

And I took Mr. Happy out and did to the alley what I was sure I had done to Ronnie's tile. Stacy turned around, kissed me, and said, "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Then she puked. Yeah, that's the effect I have on people. Hey, sometimes I even make myself sick.  The best part was that she didn't even puke in the dumpster.  It would have been awesome if she had hurled into a parked BMW.

We drove back to Ronnie's and Stacy passed out on the bed the second she walked into the bedroom. I took a quick shower and joined her.

The next day, she wasn't even hungover. We spent the day eating and fucking (not at the same time) and kicking back. And Stacy even got the full version of the Pilot. 

Ronnie got back on Monday and spent the week hanging out with her buddy. But Ronnie was always uber-cool and I got to go over a couple of times for some bonus fun with Stacy.

Ronnie always had my back.  Even after Ronnie and I ended our relationship in 1984, Stacy and I continued to see each other on occasion.  I would have loved to have fucked her at least once a week, but she had a job, a family, and lived over two hours away.

Still, we did make the effort to see each other for some fun.  No drinking or pot, just sex.  Sometimes she'd drive up, but mostly I'd drive down or we'd meet in south Orange County.  In 1986, we ended it.  She and her husband started divorce proceedings and with all that was going on, hooking up with me was just a complication for her.  We did stay in touch for many years through the mail and some phone calls.

In 1992, she got married to a guy she started dating after the divorce.  In 1992, she and her new husband and their blended family moved up to Seattle.


I never did tell Ronnie about the Mop N' Glow job I did in her kitchen.

For Stacy's pictures, click here (members only).

Janice

When: September 1981 to April 1982;

June 1983 to February 1984

Status: Married five years, no children
Occupation: Student
Meetings: Lost count
Age: 33
Quotable:  "Pot and beer have no peer."

Okay, it was the Fall of 1981 and I was fresh off a summer of fucking married women.

Wait. That's crass. That's crude. And on top of it, it's disrespectful.  I have a lot of traffic coming through here now and I should show a little more class to my female readers.

 Let's see.....

Okay, t'was the Fall of 1981 and I was fresh off a summer of carnaling the knowledge of many married women.

Oh. "Carnaling" isn't a word.   Fuck it.  Sorry ladies.  I tried (not very hard, but the blog's free, so oh well.)

Anyway, I had started with Amanda and had just kept going. Much like an x-rated Energizer bunny.

"Hey, baby, wanna learn how to fuck like a bunny?"

That's right!  The Energizer Bunny, much like The Most Interesting Man In the World, is a member of Poacher Nation!  How cool is that?

Anywaysssssss.......I had taken a couple of courses over the summer and was ready to head full-speed into one of the most forgettable college careers ever.  I've always felt that if you're going to do something in a half-assed manner, be fully committed to half-assing it.


Um.......

I started out with three classes: History, English, and Intro To Business. I was happy that I was able to schedule all on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. So on Monday, I waltzed into history classand looked for a cute girl to sit next to.

I saw a lady with blonde hair sitting in the back, so I sat down next to her and said hello. She smiled at me. Little did I know that I was about to embark on my first international poach.

"Hello."
"Hello, how are you?"
"I'm fine, thank you.  Is that an English accent?"
"No, it's a British accent."
"Wow. What part of California are you from, anyway?"

That got a laugh. I'm that good. Or she was humoring me. Probably the latter. 

"Birmingham, silly."
"Alabama?"
."Sure, if that helps you."
 
We chatted for a few minutes before class started and she told me that she had been married for five years to an American who had been working in England. They met through friends, one thing led to another, they got married, and moved back to California. She brought her accent with her. I don't know how she got it past customs. 

"You like marriage?" 
"In theory."

I always loved the first meeting of a college class. All the professors do, in general, is go over the syllabus and attendance requirements and all that. Usually it takes half an hour.

Of course, then you get those idiots who go over stuff for five minutes and launch into the first lecture of the course. Fuck that shit. I dropped those assholes. If they're THAT gung-ho, no thanks. 


Anyway, this teacher was cool and fifteen minutes later we were walking out."Grab some coffee?"
"Sure."

We had a great chat. She absolutely hated her husband.  Of course, I was totally sympathetic. I told her that it must be tough being so far away from home and unhappy. Mostly, though, I just let her talk.

I'm very caring and compassionate that way.

Around 9:45, I had to get going. But I really liked the roll I was on with Janice. So I asked her if she had any other classes that day. She said that she did. 

"You going home and coming back? I have to hit my next class but should be back soon."
"I was gonna stay. We live in Ontario, so by the time I drove down, it'd be time to come back up again," she laughed. 

I went to English and the professor handed out the syllabi (or is it "syllabuses"), talked for five minutes, and sent us on our way. I knew from this that he was going to be a good teacher whom I would always love and respect.

"Both 'syllabi' and 'syllabuses' work, dude.  I checked Wikipedia."

Hey, thanks EB!  You know that you're set when the Energizer Bunny has your back!  And as we all know, Wikipedia is as reliable as it gets.

Cough, cough.

I went back to the cafeteria."Well, that was fast."

Those are usually words you DON'T want to hear from a woman.
 
We chatted until it was almost noon. I liked Janice; she was funny, smart, pretty and the conversation flowed easily. I think she was glad to have someone to chat with.  Her large breasts also enhanced her personality.  

Amazing how things like that work.  You wouldn't think that that breasts and personality would have that connection. 

We talked about our families, where we grew up, some sports, friends, all that. Time really flew. And when it was time to head to our respective classes, she got up and thanked me.

 "Haven't talked this long in years. Thank you!" 
"My pleasure."
 

We met up again on Wednesday and chatted for awhile after our last classes. On Friday, the same thing.

That day we chatted for a bit and she asked if I wanted to grab some lunch with her. I was hungry and was happy to take her up on her offer. We drove a few miles down to Denny's and had a great lunch. We chatted for a couple more hours. Janice insisted on paying (another reason to date married women with money--free meals).

Now you know how I actually had money saved up when I graduated from Cal Poly. I never paid for anything.

I gave her my phone number in case she wanted to call and just chat over the weekend. I had to work a mobile home job in Glendora on both days and told her that if I wasn't at home, to just leave a message on my machine.

She smiled, thanked me, and took it. I figured that I wouldn't be hearing from her, but hey, it's never a bad sign when a woman takes your number.

The following day I worked until about 3:30 and got home a little after 4:00. Sure enough, that little red light was blinking. I had a few messages from some ladies, including Janice. I returned the calls and then made sure it wasn't 5:30, the time Janice said it was safe to call by.

Safe? We hadn't done anything except grab lunch. This was a very nice turn of events. I knew that she was already thinking about us in more than just a platonic way. That or her husband really was a dick who'd be upset if a classmate called. I dialed the number (with my thumb, just to be different).

"Hello?"
"Janice?"
"Hi Ryan. Listen, the reason I called was just to thank you for our lunch. I loved it."

Cool.  It was hard to concentrate, though, with Mr. Happy trying to get me to tell her that he loved her breasts.  I told him to shut the fuck up and then he called me a dick.  I think that's, like, ironic or something.  So I decided to out-ironic him and call him a pussy.

"Me too. Grab some coffee again Monday?"

"Well, are you busy tomorrow?"

"Until noon or so."
"If you'd like, we could meet for lunch again if you don't have any other plans."

"Sure. Where?"
"Bob's Big Boy?"

Yeah, I'll show you my "big boy", baby.

49, why?

Anyway, I told her that I'd call her when I got home and we'd set up a time to meet. Then we hung up (because that's what you do after you finish a phone conversation, unless you're a huge fan of dial tones).

The next day, I finished up a around 11:30 and got home around 12:30. I called Janice and we chatted and agreed to meet at 1:30. I hopped in the shower and got dressed and took off.

Janice was already there when I arrived and we sat down and ate and chatted some more. An hour or so later, we finished up and paid our check and left. As we walked to our cars, she said, "I do appreciate you being such a gentleman."

Ugh.  I'd rather have been called an asshole (which I have been, many times--how I love my wife).  

Duh, Janice.  You forgot to take your shoes off!

Well, that was that. Janice wanted a friend, not a friend with benefits. Oh well. She was nice and fun to chat with, so sometimes you take what you can get. I thanked her and told her that I'd see her the next day.

We continued to meet for coffee over the next couple of weeks and even went out to lunch a couple more times. By then, I was convinced that I was nothing but a friend to her.  That was fine.  It wasn't like I wasn't getting laid at all (remember:  recruit, recruit and recruit some more, folks).  And I could at least sneak peeks at her peaks when she wasn't looking (nicely done there, huh?).

Illiteration on the tittyration, I believe that's called.

Two weeks after that first lunch at Denny's we were having coffee again when she asked if I had any exciting plans for the weekend. I was bummed. A date had cancelled, so I really didn't have anything planned, exciting or otherwise.

"No, nothing at all. Just studying, I guess."

"Well, another lunch, perhaps?"

"Sounds good."

"Fine. I'll call tonight to confirm."

We split up for our last class and afterward, I headed home. After stopping to do a couple of errands, I arrived home. I went into my room and saw the message light blinking on my answering machine. I hit the button to hear the message.

"Hi Ryan. This is Janice. I was wondering, my husband is out of town camping for a few days, so perhaps you'd like to come over for dinner tonight? I'm home, so just call me back when you get this to let me know. Bye."

Fucking cool.  I think more husbands should go camping--all of them, in fact.

I called her back and told her that I'd love to come over. We talked for a few minutes and Janice said that if it was okay, she'd just order a couple of pizzas. Hey, as far as I was concerned, pizza was health food and the more you ate, the better off you were.

I'd like to add here that our family physician vehemently disagreed with me on this.  Fuck that.  What do doctors know about nutrition?

I asked her if she wanted me to bring over some beer (ah, my fake ID was such a wonderful thing....), but Janice said they were well-stocked. As we were about to hang up, she said, "Ryan, one more thing?"

"Yes?"
"What we were joking about? You can get some? I really want to unwind this weekend."

The "what" we had been joking about was a poacher's good, close, personal friend: Mutha Fukin' Nature.

I'm sure that comes as major shock to you all.

"Sure."

I was a bit low on my reserves, so I decided to give Jim a call. I knew that he'd have some. He was fucking a married woman who was a complete pothead. All he had to do was get her high and he was fucking her (sometimes, he didn't even have to get her high). 

Being the best friend ever, he said that he had to run a couple of errands and he'd just bring it by my place. I checked my condom inventory and just put the box in my overnight bag (yeah, I figured I could go through 500 pretty easily). Soon, Jim was pulling into the driveway. I let him in and he pulled out this huge baggie of joints.

Pre-rolled. THAT'S what I call service!

I figured, hey, too much is better than too little. and I asked him what I owed. He laughed and said, "Nothing, it's on Cindy's husband."

Cindy was a lovely married lady that Jim had taken a bit of a shine to.  So he was fucking her.

Cindy had taken a some money from the family vacation fund and had Jim buy some pot. "She'll never know I gave you some. I rolled them with one of those little devices people use to make their own smokes. I just bought some tubes and cut off the filter."

"Let me get this straight. You're fucking a married woman. They have two kids. When she wants to toke, she sends the kids to her mother's for the weekend to visit their gammy."
"Correct."
"You then get said married woman high and fuck her for a couple of days or hours, depending upon the circumstances."
"Correct."
"Husband is gone away for days at a time because he runs a charter service to Vegas."
"Correct."
"And Cindy takes some of his hard-earned money and gives it to you to buy pot, which allows you to fuck her like a porn star."
"Correct."
"Excellent."

Fuck yes. It's one thing to lay it to a married woman (or any woman), but for her to pay for her own aphrodisiac? Well, that's just really special. Beautiful, in it's own way.  This is why Jim has always been such a great adviser and friend to me.

In retrospect, it was incredibly shitty  that we thought it was so funny, only because that money was earmarked for the family vacation, and this family included children. But the way I figure it, those kids are now in their thirties, so I'm sure they got over it. 


And if they didn't, well, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. I'm sure they have families and can afford to take them to Disneyland now. Really, Jim did them a favor. The first time they went was probably with THEIR kids, so they could enjoy that first-time Disney experience just like they would have when they were little--had Jim not cruelly ripped that dream from them all because he wanted to plow their mommy.


See? It all worked out for everybody!

And as for Cindy's husband, well....that's what you get for being away from home so often.  What a dick, totally neglecting his wife and kids like that under the pretense of running a business.

Anyway, soon Jim was on his way and I showered, dressed up a bit, and finished packing an overnight bag I was desperately hoping that I'd need.

Actually, considering that Janice had asked for some Puff The Magic Dragon, it was less "desperately hoping" than "pretty fucking sure". Whatever.

I considered embedding  a Peter, Paul and Mary clip, but

I like this version better.

Oh wait....Peter, Paul and Mary have denied that the song is about drugs.  My bad.

coughcoughyeahfuckingrightitisnttgivemeabreakcoughcough

I drove down to her place, drove around and found her place, and then parked a few houses down and walked over to her house.  I knocked on the door and Janice let me in.

Jean shorts and a tank-top.  No bra.  Fuck yes.  Bras suck.  All women should stop wearing bras.  It's a corporate conspiracy to keep women down and take their money.

Yeah, that's it.  So stop wearing bras.  I care about you all of you ladies out there.  Really, I do.

Ahem.

Anyway, she ordered the pizzas and we cracked open a couple of Budweisers and kicked off the evening good and proper.  Not too much later, the pizzas arrived and we were eating.

Beer and pizza.  The perfect food/beverage match.  And some good old fashioned pot for dessert.  

The pizza from Pizza Slut  Hut was great.  The beer was awesome.  And after we had chowed down several slices and pounded down several Bud.....wei.....swers, I handed her some a small baggie of joints.

We lit up and baked up pretty good.  It's was an old-fashioned, heel-kickin', pot smokin'.  Back in my day, we didn't have no fancy gizmos like roach clips, bongs and such.  We had to smoke out pot like a cigarette.

Before anybody writes, yes, they did have bongs and roach clips in the 80s.  I'm aware. 

And after we toked and got baked, we were hungry again.  Stunning development.  Oh, and everything was hilarious.  

As you might've guessed, I paraphrase all these conversations.  I didn't walk around with a wire on me.  But this one is really paraphrased.  I think what was said.....was.....

Fuck it.  I'm not even going to try.  

At some point, Janice spilled some sauce on her top.  I told her to take it off.  She said something like fuck no and laughed.  So I took off my shirt (I'd like to add that I was going braless as well that night).  

And she took hers off.  And I DO remember saying, "Fuck....." and her saying, "Thank you."

Yes, they were real.  And spectacular.

Then I told her she had some sauce on her shorts.  Hahahahaha.  Yeah, good one, Ryan.  You is so funny and clevur!

She shook her head.  So I took off MY shorts (and nearly fell on my ass while doing it).

Janice stood up (kind of), steadied herself on the arm of the couch, and slid off her shorts.  And they we were, drunk, high, well-fed, and standing in our underwear.  

Time to go over and initiate a little kissy-face with my "platonic" friend.  And I took one step, and then the other and then fell on my face onto the couch.

While I had slid my shorts off, I had forgotten to take the last necessary step:  actually stepping out of them.  So it was have a nice trip, see you in fall.

Janice leaned down and asked if I was okay.  Aside from feeling a bit foolish, I was fine.  She had me roll over and laid down on top of me and we started kissing.  I ran my hands up and down her back and then slid them under her panties and squeezed her ass.  Then I noticed something that definitely wasn't cool.

Mr. Happy wasn't, shall we say, reporting for work.  My great friend was AWOL.  And he wasn't responding to any internal messages I was sending.  This was something new.  And it sucked.  

Janice lifted her head and said, "Let's go to the bedroom."

Janice was as--if not more--fucked up than I was at that point, so we helped each other stumble our way into the bedroom.  Janice laid down on her back and lifted her hips up and I pulled off her panties.  

Maybe I could buy some time this way?  I was pretty sure it was the beer--I had really downed quite a few--combined with the pot that did this to Mr. Happy.  But it really didn't matter.  But even if Mr. Happy couldn't report, I could take care of Janice another way.  Then maybe I could beg off from any activity requiring Mr. Happy's attention until the morning.

So I lowered my head and started licking her pussy.  I was so out of it, I didn't even really, uh, fuck, I just ran my tongue everywhere.  Over her clit, inside her pussy, up and down her lips.  OAnd it seemed to be working.  She was moaning and breathing heavily.  

So I figured that I'd just keep doing whatever I was doing, even if I didn't really even know what I was doing.

But whatever I was doing, it was working.  I have no idea how long I had been going down on her, but I remember her groaning and her body stiffening as she came.  

Good on me, mate!  Oh,wait...that's Australian.  But good on me, anyway.  

Actually, her orgasm was due more to being buzzed and being in a sexless marriage than anything my magic tongue did.  And I was just fine with that.

But now what?  Mr. Happy was still out.  And lucky for me, Janice was about to be as well.  

I crawled up and we kissed.  She was fading, and fading fast.  And so was I.  

Then, she was out.  And I rolled off her and then I was out as well.  The room gently spun around, easing me into dream land where Puff The Magic Dragon and I watched some lesbian porn flicks and pounded down some Doritos.

Yeah, apparently, working a bunch of hours, going to school, getting 2 to 3 hours of sleep a night for a week or two can soften even an 18 year-old's dick.  Go figure.  But that's okay.  Because soon I--or I should say, Mr. Happy--was about to return to full strength.

Around eleven the next morning, I felt Janice kissing her way down my chest and slipping her hand into my underwear.  Still fuzzy, I was worried about, well, you know.

I didn't need to be.  He was at full attention by the time she slid my underwear down and starting moving her mouth up and down my shaft.  

THAT was a relief. 

Janice then straddled me and slid right down my cock.  She smiled and said, "Don't worry about me, I just want you to cum."

Yeah, I knew there was a reason I liked this woman.

She rocked back and forth several times and then leaned forward and buried her head in my shoulder.  I had my hands on her hips and thrust up several times and unloaded, my, uh, load.

She kissed me and said, "That's to make up for falling asleep on you last night."

Oh, not good.   I didn't want her to think she shortchanged me.  So I confessed.  And she laughed and said that she could have gotten him up. 

We showered up and got dressed and headed out to get some lunch.  When we returned, we resumed the bedroom activity, as well as the drinking and toking activity (I made sure to take it easy after the previous night's failure to launch).

After that weekend, Janice was a semi-regular FWB.  We'd get together whenever she had time.  We spent a few weekends together, but mostly it was just a couple of hours each time.  She was a fun name to have in the sex Rolodex. 

However, even though things were going very well between us, Janice ended it in April of 1982. And that was due to a very close call.

Janice's husband was away on business on Memorial Day that year. So we thought it'd be cool to take off on a Thursday and spend a nice long weekend in Las Vegas.

It was a blast--until that Sunday afternoon. We were in the Golden Nugget--I think--losing money in some one-armed bandits and drinking. Free drinks are awesome. We figured we'd pound some free booze, try to win some bucks, and then go up to our room and have some more sex.

We had been at the slot machines for about an hour and were feeling no pain. We were laughing, winning some, losing more (big deal--they were nickel slots) and having a good time.
 
And before I knew it, the weekend was pretty much over.  We were still at the machines when I heard some guy say, "Janice?"

Oh for fuck's sake. A gazillion people in Vegas that weekend and she had to run into somebody she knew. Or, to be more accurate, somebody she knew had to run into her. Either way, it sucked.

I didn't panic. I kept gambling and listened to them talk.

Apparently, this fellow named Ben had retired from the Rancho Cucamonga Police Department a few years earlier and moved to Vegas to work in security (can't say I blame him for that). Janice and her husband (he wasn't a cop, by the way) had known Ben and his wife for several years. The couples lost touch when Ben and his wife moved away.

Sheesh.  Why didn't they just text, Skype, and e-mail?

After several minutes, they hugged and said goodbye and Ben The SexCation Ruiner Dude walked away.  Janice sat down and started playing her slot machine again and blankly staring ahead.  

I'm not ashamed that I've always been the dullest spoon in the drawer (in fact, I take pride in it), but even a dullard like myself could see that all the fun was over with.  Finally, she played one more nickle and looked at me, smiled and said that we should go up to our room.

Aw, fuck.  Dumpsville straight ahead.  And I just knew I wasn't going to get any end-of-relationship fucking, either.  That certainly sucked.

And I was right on both counts.  We went upstairs and she ended it.  I'm sure SexCation Wrecker Ben wasn't the only reason--he was merely the final straw.  Something had to have been bothering her.  Maybe she was feeling guilty, maybe she had been feeling paranoid.

But if you want awkward, fuck a married lady--or any lady--for several months, go to Vegas, break up......

...and then spend four fucking hours with that lady driving home.  The only time time we spoke was when she would ask occasionally if I needed to stop for anything.

Yeah, some heroine to make the drive easier.  Other than that, just keep fucking driving so I can get out of this fucking car and end this fucking weekend.

She pulled up to my house, forced a smile, and told me to take care and thanks for everything, blah blah.  I shrugged and got out and watched her leave.  

I didn't hear from her for over a year. 

 I can't think of anything to say here, so just admire the view.

One day, I came home and played my messages. One was from a lady with an English British accent.

"Ryan? This is Janice? Do you remember me? I was wondering if you'd like to meet for lunch? Call me at work at 555-1234."

 
Yeah, right. I don't think so.  Besides, any number with "555" isn't real.

Then again.....

It could lead to some more sex. And really, pride doesn't get you laid. Unless you're dating a woman named "Pride". And I wasn't.

Just another area in which I have no pride......

Muahahahahahahahahahahaha!  Come for the sex, stay for the laughs.....

To make an already too-long entry a bit shorter, I called her and she told me that she and her husband had split up and she was working full-time at a chiropractor's office.  We started meeting like we had done before:  nothing steady, just whenever we wanted to get together. 

The only thing that was different was the conversation.  After we started seeing each other again, it was pot, sex, and see you next time (after the pot wore off--I never drove under the influence of anything other than "Radar Love", by Golden Earring).  When we first met, we talked quite a bit.  This time, it was brief casual chat followed by not-so-casual sex. Sometimes, not even the pot.

It was never the same.  I don't know why.  She seemed to have changed a bit.  I guess she just needed the benefits and not the friend.  Oh well.  The sex was still great.

And that still-great sex lasted until March 1984.  One day, I called her up to see if we could set up a meeting for some fun.  We hadn't talked in over a month.  

Well, I attempted to call.


It's hard to complete a call to a number that's been disconnected.  So I called her at work.  And the nice lady who answered informed me that Janice no longer was employed there.


Weird.   I considered going over to her place, but that seemed kind of creepy.  I write a short letter and mailed it to her.  It came back with "not at this address" scrawled on it.

And that was that.  I never heard from her again.  


She had been dating and seeing a couple of guys.  Maybe she split with one of them.  Maybe she headed back to England.  I've done searches in the past for her, but have never been successful.  


Janice is a weird poachette for me to look back on.  It was like two relationships, not one.  The first was lots of sex with a lady I really clicked with.  The second time, it was just sex, nothing else.  In retrospect, I kind of wish I just hadn't bothered when she called me to get together again.  I had enough playmates.  


Besides, sequels are never as good as the original.

And frolicked in the Autumn mist in a land called Hon-a-lee.......... 

For Janice's pics, click here (members only).