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This story occurred chronologically before my story “Not Lesbians,” which also features Marilyn. While they are separate stories, I recommend reading this one first, as Mare has made further sexual progress by the time of the other story.
I met this good-looking girl Marilyn in a Psychology class soon after I transferred to a different college my sophomore year.
We hit it off right away, but for some stupid reason, I never asked her out. Before long, she was dating this guy Kevin she stayed with for a couple years, and I began dating another girl for roughly the same time period.
I would see her ever so often, and just kicked myself for not making a move when we were both available. She was genuine and, well, just so normal, and I mean that as the highest form of compliment. Everyone called her Mare, as it seemed to fit her casual, amiable personality better than the more formal Marilyn.
Of course, she was really pretty, too, with long, thick, wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, and, later, with the braces off that she had when I first met her, perfect white pearls making a beautiful, full-lipped smile.
And her figure? Fabulous: A very thin waist with protruding hip bones over a relatively ample butt that was nevertheless perfectly shaped, stuffed inside the blue jeans she always wore. But it was her breasts that were the most noticeable feature of her body. Meaty, beaty, big, and bouncy, to borrow from The Who. It was sheer joy to throw Frisbee with her, if for no other reason than to watch her boobs jiggle and sway, though she was quite athletic and could really hum a disk as well as any guy.
She was no lookalike, but she did resemble Marilyn Monroe, as you can tell from my description, and she said her parents had named her after the star. The way her lips moved when she spoke—I think it started as a way to avoid scraping the insides of her lips on the sharp braces she had for so long—was very similar to the famous sex symbol, and, though the dental apparatus was gone by this point, the sensuous lip motions remained. Thankfully, this Marilyn was as stable as the rock of Gibraltar, in stark contrast to the unbalanced Norma Jean.
At almost the same time, she had a nasty break-up with Kevin, and my girlfriend and I went our separate ways. The first time we saw each other after that, we made a beeline to my apartment and were fucking within an hour. It would have been even sooner, but both being hung up on General Hospital, we had to watch our soap! It was the Luke-and-Laura years (when the then-unknown hot young Demi Moore played a slutty reporter for the Port Charles newspaper) and we suffered an addiction to the show more mighty than heroin. Anyway, we had been faithful to our steadies for two straight years, and now that we were finally unattached, we had all this pent-up sexual energy for one another and wasted not one minute in making up for lost time.
That first time, I slowly kissed and caressed her, taking all the clothes off except her bra–you know, save the best for last. Oh, Lord, I had admired those breasts for so long; this was gonna be great! Unfastening the front closure, it popped open, revealing superb cleavage and extra-firm flesh, but the bra still covered her nipples. My old girlfriend had small titties, so I was craving big boobs, and you couldn’t ask for a nicer pair than Mare’s. I slowly pulled the bra off her shoulders to expose those magnificent hooters in all their glory.
But–WhatTheFuckWasThis? Her nipples were turned in, precisely backwards from the way they were supposed to be. Being a lover of big, pointy nips, I must say, I was a bit disappointed!!! All this time I had been admiring those lovely breasts from afar and now—up close and personal—this!
I massaged them and went to work sucking them from their concave recesses. Oh good, I could suck the nipple right-side-out into a scrumptious little pink pointer, but, within moments of turning to work on the other one, it would pop back in!
Left boob, right boob, left, right, left, right. I could not keep more than one nipple “extroverted” at a time, and her tits were too wide and firm—otherwise very good things–to get both nips in my mouth at the same time. Frustrating!
The whole time we made love, which was otherwise terrific, I could not keep more than one nipple rigid. I admit it was entirely my hang-up, but to me, nipples just don’t look right inverted, and it bothered me to no end!
The only thing that would bring them out to play was mouth suction; no amount of fondling or pinching or finger-twiddling would do the trick. Not that there was anything wrong with them, but her nipples just weren’t as right as they could be. This was not the kind of surprise one wishes for. How in the world could both her nips be kept at attention at the same time? Read on.
We never really dated, as we had both been tied down with significant others for so long, but we were friends with a standing fuck-anytime arrangement. We kept that a secret, though, since we didn’t want the rest of the world to perceive us as dating and thereby rule out seeing others.
My roommate Gary and I had recently done an MFM—his casino oyna first–with my out-of-town quasi-girlfriend, and he had the time of his life. We had made an agreement to try to share whatever girl we got it on with, and, not that it really matters, but it was, technically, his turn to bring the girl. He was quite surprised how easily I could talk girls into this, as, he seemed to just have a mental block that he could do it, too. Frankly, I think arranging an orgy has as much to do with a girl’s horny curiosity as my persuasiveness. Moreover, the college years are, in fact, the time for so many to do what they couldn’t in high school and wouldn’t later on. Besides, what girl wouldn’t like to have sex with two guys, even if she did it only once?
But Marilyn? Sure, she loved sex, but she had only been with two or three guys, including me, and she was basically a good girl, a local from the college town whose roots were deep in the community and who would not sully her good reputation. So, unattached and boinking several other girls at the time, I began to consider which one of them would be the most likely to serve as the filling for our next chick sandwich, hinting to each of them what might be in store. Marilyn seemed by far the least probable, so I’d never even made a subtle suggestion to her, nor had I mentioned her specifically to my roommate.
Well, she dropped by one evening for a romp, unannounced, as usual. It was still quite early, not even dark yet, and my roomie and I had just started watching a movie we had been really looking forward to seeing on TV–Vertigo. It was the early 1980s, and VCRs had just recently come on the market. Costing over a thousand dollars back then, we sure could not afford such a luxury, so if we wanted to watch something on TV, we had to see it when it was scheduled to play. I’d moved the 19-inch television to the coffee table right in front of the couch, so, having no other plans, she sat down on it between us, joining us for beers, bongs, and the movie. Marilyn was no film buff like us, but she knew who Jimmy Stewart was and that director Alfred Hitchcock was considered among the best. Vertigo is a complex, absorbing thriller, and so we settled in together there on the couch, filling her in on what little she’d missed, riveted to the screen. It’s 128 minutes long, so when you add in the TV commercials, it wouldn’t be over for nearly three hours. The long, frequent commercials on this UHF station proved to be a good thing.
It got dark, and, for that movie-theater effect, we didn’t turn any lights on. Mare and I got cozy, and when she got up to use the bathroom during a commercial, I told Gary to slide closer and get cozy with us.
“Oh, come on, you’re not thinking?” he asked, incredulous.
“Why not? She came over because she’s horny. I’m horny. I know you’re horny. What better way to satisfy our horniness than a three-way?” I reasoned.
“Yeah, but Mare? Mare?!” he doubted.
“You gotta have faith, dude. Just follow my lead. You’ll see.”
At the risk of sounding like a big-head, I had maneuvered several orgies in the past, so was experienced and knew what I was doing. The keys are timing, the right individuals, and a gradual, confident approach.
That it was good timing was a no-brainer: Mare’d come over to fuck. Duh.
Choosing the right people is the most subjective aspect. Short of everyone having previous group-sex experience, it’s a judgement call, but experience is the father of judgement. Of the gals I was having sex with at the time, Mare seemed, on the surface of things, to be the most remote prospect. But she had dated the same guy for a couple of years, and was going through sort of an experimental phase. After all, any girl who has a no-strings-attached fuck-buddy is not exactly pure as the driven snow. Upon reflection, I knew Mare was fond of the super-likeable Gary and just might go for it. And, of course, Gary was more than game to fill out a threesome with any half-decent-looking chick, and she was way beyond half-decent.
The third key is the approach. You usually have to inch your way toward an orgy. The storm-up-San Juan Hill-like-Teddy-Roosevelt approach seldom works. It might take a couple months and it might take only a couple hours; we had a few hours to make it happen that evening, so that’s what I had to work with. The approach must not only be incremental, but also confident. Never doubt that it’s going to happen. A doubter’s behavior sends subtle signals that it’s not realistic, or that it’s inherently wrong. Proceeding with a positive attitude and as though it’s just a normal course of human endeavor often overcomes a newbie’s reluctance understandably instilled by society’s moral strictures.
Finally, though I would not categorize it as key, mind-altering substances can help. Anything that loosens inhibitions, like booze, is bound to make behavior out of the usual routine more likely to happen—unless you consume too much—so you have to be careful and not lose sight of the real goal, using it as a facilitator and not as an end unto itself.
Mare returned. She looked particularly good that evening, with her face made up, slot oyna freshly washed wavy blonde locks falling down over her shoulders, the cable-knit turtleneck fisherman’s sweater accentuating her prodigious bust line, and that ample, curvy ass stuffed in a tight pair of Calvin Klein’s.
As suggested, Gary had moved over a bit, and she nestled that nice butt between us. She could have sat on the other side of me, but she made a conscious choice to sit between us—a good sign. I swung an arm around her shoulder, and he lay his hand on her leg. She was perfectly comfortable with that—no surprise–as he was a really laid-back kind of guy who was touchy-feelie with everyone. Small, with long, very curly hair, a sanguine smile, and the easiest guy ever to get along with, Gary did not have an intimidating bone in his body. At the risk of sounding denigrating, he was almost like a cute, friendly pet.
We all got ever more touchy-feelie, but so far, nothing overtly sexual. I complimented her sweater. She asked if it made her look fat, and we told her no, no, that the only thing that was “fat” were her breasts, and we all laughed. Mare said it was actually a man’s sweater, and she’d had to return the medium for a large, as the medium was way too tight in the bust, but the large seemed too big everywhere else. Being the fashionista, I explained that those fisherman-style sweaters were supposed to fit somewhat loose and that she looked great in it.
I went on to tell her about a turtleneck almost just like hers that I’d had in junior high but had long since outgrown, that it was my all-time favorite sweater. We’d had a few beers and bong-hits by this point, and I was feeling bold. “I’m a large. Mind if I try it on?”
“No, not at all, but you better give it back!” she made clear. She could have gone into another room to take it off, but, instead, removed it right there, carefully pulling it over her head to keep from smearing her lipstick on the ivory-colored sweater. OK, this was looking good.
Mare always wore a bra, and that night was no exception. Honestly, though D-cuppers or maybe a bit bigger, her boobs were so wide and firm that she could have at least occasionally gone bra-less, but as I said before, she was a “nice girl,” and such girls always wear a bra. Fortunately, she did not ever wear those industrial-strength type so many big-breasted women prefer for support. This one was a pretty, off-white lightweight seamless one that showed the tops of her orbs and some cleavage. Mare’s tiny waist made her big-in-their-own-right boobs seem even bigger.
In just that bra and super-tight jeans by the light of the TV, she looked great, and was not the least bit self-conscious—another very good sign. I tried on the sweater, “modeled” it to their amusement, and made sure my long-sleeve polo shirt “accidentally”came off when I removed it. To get Gary involved, I handed the sweater to him to try on. It absolutely swallowed him, falling halfway to his knees, and we all got a charge out of that. Following my example, he, too, pulled off his tee-shirt when he took off the sweater. So, now he and I are both shirtless in our jeans, and we quickly snuggled back on the couch with Mare as soon as the movie returned from the advertisement. Gary had a hairy chest, and I, very little body hair at all. Something for everyone, don’t you know, hopefully Mare.
Now, with much more skin available, our touchy-feelie antics became necessarily more sensual, but our eyes were mainly on the fascinating film but for a few glances at her boobies when she was looking down doing a bong-hit.
I had noticed all along that every time Mare would get up, she’d pull at her jeans. Since I was doing the same thing, I knew exactly why. So, during the next commercial break, I commented that I had washed my new Ralph Lauren jeans several times over in hot water to fade them a bit, left them in the dryer too long, and now they were super-tight, uncomfortably so when sitting down. Back in those days, new jeans were very stiff and just came in very dark indigo blue, and you had to do a lot of washing and wearing to get them faded and broken in. But you had to do it many times and wear them a lot to eventually get them molded to your body and comfortable.
“Me, too,” agreed Mare. “My Calvins are new, too, and I did the same thing to them. I love the tight-fit look but they feel like a straight-jacket.”
Chimed in Gary, “Mine are getting awfully tight, too, but washing them in hot water’s not the reason.”
Well, finally he’d said something to advance the plan!
“Hey, we’re all good friends here. Who are we trying to impress with our skin-tight jeans, anyway? Let’s peel these tourniquets off before we get gangrene,” I suggested, venturing to the very edge.
Mare hesitated, so I handed her the bong to distract her from considering this too carefully. It gurgled, she took a huge hit, held it long, blew it out slowly, and took a few slugs of the cold courage of Budweiser.
Though it was an obnoxious car ad, he and I kept our eyes on the TV. We could see Mare in our peripheral vision, but did not look directly at her in order to take the pressure canlı casino siteleri off and make it more likely she’d take the jeans off, too. Remember, she was a nice girl, not a stripper. Besides, Gary’d caught glimpses of her in undies before, coming to and from the bathroom when she’d been over to fuck me.
She lay face up on the floor in near darkness and began to wriggle out of those jeans, so we lay down on the other side of the coffee table—not too close but still in sight–and did likewise. My Ralph Lauren’s were so tight that my briefs came off right with them. Seeing that, my roomie looped his thumbs into his tightie-whities and intentionally pulled them down with his Levi’s. It had been quiet too long and someone needed to say something quickly to break the tension but still propel things forward.
As usual, that someone was I: “Brooke (Shields, the Calvin Klein model/spokes-babe back then) says ‘nothing comes between her and her Calvins.’ What about you, Mare?” I asked, glancing over to see her blonde pussy hairs brushing across the zipper into view.
“No, silly, I’m wearing panties as I always do. I just can’t get these tight jeans off without pulling them off, too.”
All right, this was going very well. It was time to ratchet things up another notch. I stood up with my jeans and undies stuck around my knees, and Gary did likewise. Our half-hard cocks waggled in the light of the TV screen. We could both see the deep crease of her pussy extending into the light, pale growth of her pubic hair. Blood pumped into our dicks to make them about 2/3 erect.
I leaned over to tug the legs of her jeans over her feet, pulling her legs up into the air. She was completely bottomless now, her panties still lodged in the bunched-up Calvin’s I held. We sat down on the couch, Mare crawled over to us on all fours, got on her knees and helped us out of our jeans, which, like hers, contained the rolled-up underwear. Now, but for our socks and her bra, we were naked.
“Looks like our shorts are caught in our jeans. Mare, would you mind fishing those out?” I asked.
She dug mine out, and I sat down and raised my feet up together in a put-them-back-on gesture, so she did. When she pulled them up to my crotch, I was at full attention, and she just stared at The Man for a moment, so close I could feel her breath, then attempted to pull them over him, leaving the head peeking above the waistband, giggling.
“Looks like you’ve kind of, uh, ‘outgrown’ them,” she teased
Then she got my roomie’s shorts, and slipped them over his feet, but he stood up as soon as she did so, and she, kneeling on the floor facing his crotch, slid them on up to his balls. It was clear by the look on her face that Mare was captivated by his turgid member, and I can understand why. Don’t get me wrong here—I like women—but he had a beautiful cock. About 7 ½ to maybe 8 inches in length, it seemed even longer extending out of his small frame, and though almost an inch longer and not as thick as mine, its slender sleekness had not one bump or blemish or errant vein or even freckle to interrupt its smoothness, and the flaring head was like a big mushroom trimmed in velvet, parting on the underside over a particularly prominent sensitive-spot strand of flesh. Big balls hung down in a flawless, finely-wrinkled scrotum, an especially protrusive ridge dividing it in half. Gary just had a perfect penis.
“Oh my!” exclaimed Mare, as she let it slap against a cheek before, like me, unsuccessfully tucking it into his briefs. “Is it just my imagination, or do you guys have, like, real big penises?”
“Not really. Everybody knows Kevin (her former boyfriend) has a pencil dick.” I deadpanned, knowing she’d enjoy such a comment, still hating his guts after he’d fucked her roommate the very day after she broke up with him and making their break-up even nastier than it already was.
She laughed as I smoothed my hands over her luscious contours, then raised her up to her feet, had her step into her panties, and sensuously pulled them up, up, up her legs. I let my nose trace from her clit up through the crease in her pubes, breathing out hard as I did so, before pulling the bikinis all the way up over her hipbones to cover the goodies, copping a feel of both buns as I did so. The three of us cuddled back on the couch, and continued to watch the movie, which had already come back from an obnoxious local furniture ad. Why is it that everywhere I’ve ever lived, the local furniture ads are obnoxious?
Anyway, the obvious question is, why did I put the underwear back on when we could have got down to it right then and there? Well, first, it was only about half over, and I really did want to see all of Vertigo! But another reason was to put into play a technique I’d been fortunate enough to learn early in life, the technique of transferring the perception of who’s in control. People tend to resist being told what to do, especially if it’s a new experience, out of the ordinary, or if they feel manipulated. Yes, I was the prime mover, but by getting Mare really horny and then not jumping her bones in favor of watching the film, she becomes the one who seemingly most wants to go forward. In truth, at that point, we were all pretty much equally motivated, but Mare was the nice girl who’d never done anything like that before, so let her take the reins, or at least feel like she was driving that stage coach.
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