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“This project will determine your final grade in the class. The assignment is to market a common product in a new, and hopefully, original manner. The product will be sold at the school swap meet on the last Saturday of this month. In other words, you have two weeks from this Saturday.
“You will work in teams of three, and I’ve already chosen the teams. The team is responsible for everything. Your grade will be based on the amount of net income you derive from your marketing effort. All teams making a profit over $500 receive an automatic “A.”
God what a fucking asshole. I felt as if I had finally descended to the lowest level of adult education hell. THREE FUCKING UNITS. That’s all I needed to complete my degree requirements – 3 units.
Thirty-five years ago I left college early. I was offered a position in a growing company, the money was more then I could believe, so I took it. That job, and many others, came and went. Companies came and went. My marriage came and went. And then the economy came and went and I was officially unemployed for the first time in my life.
I was okay financially, years of stock options, cashed in before the “pop” insured that. It’s just that I am not a sit on the couch kind of guy. I enjoy working with people in a company. Only now, in a very tight labor market, I was competing against people with Masters and Doctorates. It was suggested (more then once) that completing my degree might not be a bad idea. I returned to school full-time. Two semesters later and I was three units short of my Bachelors. I decided on a class over the summer to wrap it all up.
They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. I intended on taking a simple Art Appreciation class – 20th Century American Impressionists. That class was cancelled at the last minute. Fortunately, I was able to get into a Art in Advertising” class.
Half way through the term, the instructor was in an auto accident (she’s fine.) I decided to transfer to another class rather then bail on the term. The administration offered me a number of possibilities. I ended up in “The Art of Marketing.” Silly me, it had nothing to do with art. It was more like the Art of Manipulation or Art of the Con. I think my negative attitude had more to do with the instructor then the subject.
I called him “The Bastard.” If you were to take every hackneyed cliché about used car salesmen, telemarketers, lawyers, traveling salesmen, aluminum siding salesmen – I think you get the idea. How the hell this guy ended up teaching a college class was beyond me.
It probably didn’t help that I took every opportunity to piss “The Bastard” off. For instance, the first assignment was to create a political slogan bumper sticker. The slogan was supposed to incite people to action.
My solution certainly incited people to action. It had two blocks of text on either side of a graphic. The graphic was an outline of the state of Texas. Inside the outline of texas with a simple line representation of an affable idiot, a shallow smile and two eyebrows sloping downwards,. The text on the left side said, “There’s a village in Texas missing it’s idiot.” The text on the right side said, “Send his Bush-league ass back to Crawford.”
When I unveiled my creation, a number of classmates applauded. Some squirmed, and some frowned. The Bastard went ballistic. Turned out he was a big Bush supporter. Things went downhill from there to the point that I needed an “A” on the Final project or my summer would have been in vain.
“Now, who to team up with our very entertaining and creative Mr. Stephen Williamson (me)? I believe the proper response is, Rachel and Kimberly.”
Oh fuck! It there were two more obsequious students in the class, I hadn’t met them. Rachel and Kimberly? – Those two hung on every pronouncement of “The Bastard” as if it came from Mount Olympus. What was worse was that their in-class projects were dull and insipid. No need to mention that they always graded my stuff poorly. I glumly accepted that I had wasted a summer of evenings.
The girls approached me after class and I could see from their expressions and body language that they seemed no happier then I was. They invited me to coffee at a local hang-out; I went, not that I expected anything positive to come out of this. No. As a certified old guy on the far side of 50, the best I was hoping for a look or two down their blouses or a flash of panty.
My opinion of the girls wasn’t improved when they admitted that their act in class was for the benefit of “The Bastard.” The asshole had told them from the beginning of the term that they would do just fine if they backed him up. Last week he sprung his trap. He told the girls they would likely fail the class due to lack of assignments completed. He told them that their only hope of passing was getting an “A” on the final project or, having sex with him before the end of the term.
I didn’t exactly sympathize with the girls. Never-the-less, I offered to reconvene our meeting this Sunday afternoon, at my bahis firmaları house. I told them I’d make lunch, they could bring the wine, and that they could use my pool if they wanted.
Sunday dawned cloudless and was well on the way to being the hottest day of the year. They arrived at 1 PM, and went straight to the pool. Well at least my perving desires were rewarded. The girls peeled down to a pair of thong bikinis. I thanked my realtor for convincing me that buying a house with a pool was a good move. Amen to that.
I chose to avoid joining them, there was no need to embarras myself; so I just sat in the shade and enjoyed the view. I will say one thing; both girls were world-class teasers. Their tanned butts flashed repeatedly as they frolicked about. I think the girls dove underwater more times then Jacques Costeau. After about 30 minutes, I went inside to prepare lunch. I made a grilled salmon salad.
I set the patio table and called the girls got out of the pool. The wine they brought was good. Their company was better. I opened a second bottle to their protests. I suggested that it would help get our creative juices flowing. For some reason, that statement teased a giggle out of the girls.
After lunch we started brainstorming. The girls dropped their towels, which became very distracting, for me, while they finger combed their hair. One hour later, the only progress we had made was that their hair was dry and I had a raging hard on. Thank God we were sitting at a table.
I called a break and asked if they were interested in dessert. They declined at first until I told them what dessert was. French Vanilla ice cream, with Chocolate Peanut Butter cups melted into a high-calorie slurry poured over the top of the ice cream. They changed their votes.
I pivoted the chair and stood. The girls laughed, “Are you having your own wardrobe malfunction?” I stopped, looked down at my tented shorts, turned and stuck my tongue out at them. Which was a mistake because they immediately commented that any guy that had a tongue that long would never lack for dates. I actually blushed.
I was gathering the ingredients when the girls sashayed in and offered to help. I put Rachel on Ice Cream scooping and Kimberly squashing the Peanut Butter Cups. I stood on the other side of the island counter (I still had an erection to hide) and supervised.
Rachel seemed to have trouble scooping the Ice Cream. She would bend over the counter, her full breasts challenging the ability of her top to contain them and try to dig into the cartoon. Her effort caused her upper body to tremble with effort. Causing her breasts to shake; I almost had to leave the kitchen.
“Rachel always gets those looks. Guys and big tits, I think I should be offended.” Kimberly laughed as she caught me staring at Rachel. Not that Kimberly had any reason to complain. Her breasts, while noticeably smaller, were perfectly shaped, and seemed to have perpetually hard nipples.
I laughed in embarrassment. “It’s not the size, it’s the motion.” That comment got Rachel blushing and she refused to finish scooping. I egged Kimberly into taking her place. When her own effort caused her small breast to quiver I feigned passing out.
“I think I may need to change my shorts.” Rachel laughed, and Kimberly just kept scooping and quivering.
Rachel asked if I had any whipped cream and cherries to go on top. She said it with the straightest of faces. I’m sure she meant nothing by it. I answered that as a certified “dirty old man” of course I had whipped cream! As far as cherries, I replied, I didn’t even get my ex-wife’s.
Rachel went crimson all the way to her bikini top and Kimberly nearly fell over in hysterics. We all enjoyed a good laugh.
I popped the PB cups in the microwave, zapped them for 45 seconds, stirred and poured it over the ice cream. Three spoons attacked the bowl. The feeding frenzy was quick and merciless. Their words of praise were graciously accepted.
“We forgot the whipped cream.” Rachel picked up the can, shaking it up and down. I caught Kimberly’s eye and arched my eyebrows, feigning alarm.
Kimberly’s face lit up. “Better be careful when you do that Rach (Kimberly mimicked her hand wrapped around a cylinder and stroking up and down), or his cream will be all over the place.”
Rachel squeaked, put down the can, and blushed. Then her nipples swelled magnificently. I was stunned.
Kimberly picked up the can and pointed it at Rachel’s chest. “Pearl necklace Rach? Or would you rather have Stevie do it?”
Rachel looked confused, and that caused both Kimberly and I to fall apart in gales of laughter. I wasn’t about to explain the reference. Kimberly didn’t hesitate to demonstrate.
“SWOOSH.” Kimberly arced a trail of white confection across Rachel’s chest. Rachel’s response was to wrestle the can out of Kimberly’s grasp and spray at Kimberly’s breasts. The two mock wrestled for control of the can; sprays of whipped cream arcing through the air.
Somehow Rachel got the kaçak iddaa nozzle inside the top of Kimberly’s bikini bottoms, who screamed as they were filled with cold whipped cream. They’re wrestling became more serious and I moved to stop it when Kimberly pulled Rachel’s top down. Rachel didn’t know what had happened because she made no effort to cover her tits. I quickly changed my mind about interceding.
When Rachel realized what had happened, she went serious. She grabbed Kimberly and picked her up, draped her over her knee and began to spank Kimberly’s bottom – hard.
Kimberly was begging Rachel to stop, even though Kimberly wasn’t resisting anymore either. When Rachel did stopped the weirdest silence ensued. We were all panting, and the air was thick with sexual tension. I was looking at Rachel’s still exposed breasts, and Kimberly’s glowing red bottom.
I know what I wanted to happen. I wanted it so badly that I could almost… (forgive me) taste it. “Why don’t you girls go get cleaned up in the pool. I’ll clean up the kitchen.” I couldn’t believe that I actually said that, but I did. What an idiot!
I walked back outside once the kitchen was clean (it took all of ten minutes). Judging by the flash of tanned bottoms the girls were swimming the way they had earlier. Then I saw their bikinis sitting on the pool coping by the steps – they were skinny-dipping!
They stopped swimming and encouraged me to join them. I said that I didn’t want to embarrass myself, “Too old and too out of shape.” They insisted and I reluctantly joined them after they said I could get in the pool first before removing my swim suit.
AS the now naked old guy in the pool, I stayed in the deep end. They swam back and forth in the shallow end. Every so often, they would stop and talk. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. They would look my direction and smile, I would smile back.
Then they kissed.
It was a simple meeting of their lips. Then they kissed again, and this one grew more passionate. Tongues flashed and slid back and forth. My erection returned with a vengeance. I was in so deep over my head I didn’t know what to do. So I did the manly thing – I just watched.
All too soon they broke their kiss and drifted slowly apart. They looked at me, I looked at them. I was at a loss. My smart-ass, quick-to-quip lip was strangely silent. I wanted to say something that would lead us all into some kind of wild orgy. I prayed I wouldn’t say anything to cause them to leave. I was paralyzed with indecision. I was in the grip of, ‘Curse of the Nice Guy.’
Rachel slowly stood. Her magnificent breasts rose out of the water, as cascadeing beads of silver water mesmerized me. I realized that I was slowly drifting toward them. Kimberly slowly stood, her beautiful breasts revealed. I was about four feet from them. I slowly stood.
As the short one, Kimberly was belly button deep in the pool. Her long blonde hair glowed as it spilled across her shoulders, and partially covered one breast. Below the surface of the pool a wedge of darkness winked in and out of view. So, she wasn’t a natural blonde, nobody’s perfect.
Rachel, a full head taller then Kimberly’s 5’1” or 2” at best, and standing in a shallower part of the pool, was a natural redhead, no doubt about that. She turned and walked toward the steps and climbed slowly out. Standing on the pool deck, water streaming from her hips and legs, I was eye level with the thick lips of Rachel’s cunt.
“Is the can of whipped cream still out?” I stared open mouthed at Rachel, glanced over at Kimberly who was chewing her bottom lip, and suddenly got a clue.
“I’ll go get it.” I pushed through the water to the steps. Any sense of embarrassment disappeared as I walked across the patio, my erection proudly pointing the way. I tracked wet footprints to the kitchen. Cold can in hand I turned to find Rachel standing in front of me. She removed the can from my hand and led the way outside.
Kimberly was drying off and looking quite nervous. She glanced at me and then leaned in close to Rachel. I heard a quiet, “not here.” My hopes were dashed. I stifled a groan of disappointment. I had to admit that I had scored anyway, seeing two gorgeous girls in the naked glory was nothing to moan over. And their kiss would stoke my strokes later on.
Rachel turned and I was pleased that I had a benign expression of equanimity for her.
“Kimberly will be more comfortable if we carry the party to your bedroom. She tends to get really loud…”
“Rachel!” Kimberly mock punched Rachel in the arm. Rachel leered into a theatrical rolling of her eyes. I broke out in a smile unparalleled.
“This way.” I extended my arm in direction, then verbally steered them to my bedroom. Thank God I kept the King-size bed!
Kimberly pulled the comforter and top sheet off. As she crawled across the bed toward the pillows, the pink slit of her cunt winked in and out of view. She rolled onto her back, stuck her legs straight up in the air then spread them horizontal, kaçak bahis right parallel to the bed.
“Show off!” Rachel was laughing. “Kimberly was a gymnast growing up and loves to perform for an audience.”
“I do not! I can’t help it if I like sex and fooling around.” Kimberly was looking positively dangerous as she rolled around the bed flashing her wet pussy at us.
Rachel moved to the bed and climbed on. She held the can over Kimberly’s breasts and sprayed, covering both with circles of whipped cream. She knelt down and licked up a tongueful of white from Kimberly’s left breast. Rachel looked back at me. I climbed onto the bed.
“I think she’s big enough for both of us.” Kimberly started to protest, but it died a moan as Rachel and I lapped at her breasts. Evidently those hard nipples of her were very sensitive. I felt her hand on the back of my head as I joyfully licked, sucked, and kissed.
I heard a “swoosh” and saw a trail cream from above her navel to her pubic hair. I started at the top of the line and licked up a series of dashes, then I returned to Kimberly’s breast and nipple.
I was surprised to find Rachel’s hand and fingers twisting and pulling hard on said nipple. Really hard. Rachel kept her hand there as she began to lick up the whipped cream I’d left. So I did the gentlemanly thing and reached across to the unoccupied breast and nipple. I began to rub and squeeze and manipulate them. I wasn’t nearly as hard on them as Rachel was.
I new “swoosh” drew my attention to a white triangle of whipped cream that framed Kimberly’s pubic hair. Rachel looked at me with lust-filled eyes and told me to clean my plate this time. I scooted down between Kimberly’s legs and went to work. Every so often I glanced up to see what was going on.
Rachel and Kimberly were really kissing now. When I had licked up all of the whipped cream I asked for more. I had to ask twice. Rachel blushed a bit as she reached down and sprayed a dollop of cream on Kimberly’s clit. “I guess you’ve figured out that we’re both into girls.”
I smiled. “Me too.”
I feasted on Kimberly’s yummy cunt and clit. She was writhing through her second orgasm when I introduced my index finger to the roof of her cunt. The old “come hither” motion took her over the top.
“Swing her hips to the side of the bed.” I obeyed Rachel’s order. And semi-squatted to align my cock with Kimberly’s cunt. “Hey, hey…no glove, no love.”
I looked up at Rachel and shook my head. She looked back at me as if I was the most ignorant man on the planet. Which happened to be the exact way I felt. I hadn’t replenished my supplies after my last girlfriend. I enjoyed opening a fresh box for a new girl. Some kind of misplaced chivalry, I guess.
“Does having had a vasectomy help?” I saw Rachel’s expression change slightly. “After the third kid, we were through, and both my wife and I preferred bareback. I only use condoms while waiting for a girl’s blood test.” My voice quieted to a whisper. “I had one five months ago – I’m clean.”
“Fuck her.” Common sense was over-ridden by lust.
Rachel swung a leg over Kimberly’s face and lower herself on Kimberly’s eager tongue as I teased her cunt. Kimberly was wiggling it around to try and get me inside her. I looked up at Rachel and made pinching motions with my fingers as I mouthed “on three.”
Rachel pinched and pulled hard on Kimberly’s nipples as I thrust deeply into her. You could hear her wail into Rachel’s cunt. Kimberly trembled like she was having a seizure, went stiff as a board (including clamping hard on my cock). It was more then I could take and I shoot off into her with a cry.
I fell limply from her as I slowly collapsed to the floor. I was looking right at Kimberly’s swollen labia when a hand with can appeared before my eyes. A ‘swoosh’ of whipped cream, and Rachel’s clear voice, “Clean up on aisle one.”
I glanced up at her. I guess I was expecting her to lean forward and clean Kimberly. She didn’t make the slightest movement forward. Instead, she de-straddled, and knelt beside Kimberly, kissing her face and mouth. I had never done anything like this. Even my ex-wife would shy away if I tried to kiss her after a blow job. None of the women I had dated before or after my wife had ever asked or even suggested I do this. My heart was pounding. I began to lap the cream up, until the plate was clean. When I was finished, Kimberly said she needed a potty break, so off she scampered.
“First time?” I nodded at Rachel. “Not so bad is it?” I shook my head and began to grin until it broke into a full smile.
“I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.” I crawled up onto the bed and lay beside Rachel. I started playing with her nipples. “I did have a vasectomy by the way.”
“’S ok. We’re both on the Pill.” Rachel rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. I watched as her areolas swelled like miniature Mt Fuji’s. “That feels nice.”
The toilet flushed and Kimberly sauntered back into the room. She flopped on the bed next to Rachel. “You two have ruined me for the rest of the night you know. After I come that hard, no more pussy play for me.” She bent forward and licked Rachel’s left nipple. “Got anything left for my girl here Steveie-boy?”
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