Unethical Behavior

It was in the 70s in Colorado. My buddy, Bob, a biker with a bitchin' old panhead chopper, was on friendly terms with his "connection," a local dealer, Eduardo. That made Bob popular with his crowd of biker friends who were always looking to score.

Bob and I built stained glass pieces, and he had a contract to build a large, oval shaped stained glass scene to hang over the bar of a local club. That night we were working on laying out the lead caming that joined the pieces of glass for the thing. An occasional toke a nice joint or a line or a beer, kept us tuned up. About eight o'clock, we heard the unmistakeable rumbling of a Harley pulling into the yard.

Turned out to be one of Bob's biker-bar acquaintances and the dude's old lady. Now, "old lady" wasn't really an apt description for this delicious creature. Long golden hair fell straight around her pixie-like face, nearly down to her bell-shaped bottom, which sloped away from a fine narrow waist. A pretty face she had, too: high cheekbones, pert nose, wide mouth, smooth complexion without makeup, some sexy freckles scattered under her eyes, and bushy blonde eyebrows that made me think she was natural. She wore a baby-blue pullover sweater that had soft fuzz all over. It was hiding small, perky breasts, my favorite kind. Snug fitting saddle-butt jeans completed her stylish, sexy appearance. As she walked to the kitchen and I scoped those jeans from the rear, my mouth watered.

After some weird hand greetings and introductory bullshit, friend-dude detailed to Bob what he was lookin' for. Bob nodded, then turned to me to say he didn't have on hand what dude wanted and they'd be taking a trip to the "farm" to pick it up. Said they'd be gone about thirty, forty minutes, which I knew would be an hour or more 'cause Bob could never resist stopping at Showdown's on the way to say hi to the gang and soak up a couple brews, or six. As a by-the-way, he says the blonde can't go with them cause at the farm, they don't like it when unnecessary unknown folks come 'round when there's business afoot. So it's just Bob and friend-dude this time. I knew that, of course, but Bob explained for the benefit of Blondie. So she'd be staying here with me, he tells her, and she should help herself to the beers in the fridge and just relax.

Dude gave Blondie a perfunctory wave goodbye, and then he and Bob mounted their bikes and roared off toward the farm about ten miles out of town. I resumed putzing around with the caming and the glass. Blondie walked around the big layout table watching me, checking things out, pulling on a beer now and then, making small talk about what the glass project would look like when it was done, how it would be framed, where it would hang, stuff like that.

After a few minutes, I decided to take a break. I guided Blondie into the den where there was a big TV, and asked her to find something for us to watch. As she did, I buffed out four lines of my own personal stash. When she saw that, she gave a nice "Oooooo" - which rhymes with "who" which rhymes with "do." So we did. I held the glass Harley plate up to her with a straw and she made a couple of those lines disappear, after which I did my magic on the other two. "Snuff, snuff... ummmm... ahhhhh... smack smack." Or something like that. Twice each. Very nice. She was happy. Me, too.

Then we relaxed with our beers, some TV movie on with the sound down low. We sat in a pair of easy chairs, bantering back and forth like any pair of average heads, pushing out words so fast they just pile up, mostly unnoticed. Then we shared a joint to mellow out a little. And got kind of quiet.

Now, as often happened when I snuff and toke, I was starting to get body rushes, based -- I was sure -- on Blondie's warm, golden aura, which I could plainly see and feel. 'Me cock started to rise, matey,' and when that happens my brain gets blood-starved and I do dumb-assed things.

Without so much as a second thought for the consequences, I stood up, clearly showing her the good sized bulge in the front of my jeans. It caught her eye right away. Obviously she was a smart girl. But just in case she hadn't really appreciated it, I kind of emphasized things by rubbing it with my hand a few times. Subtle. Then, to my surprise, I hear myself asking Blondie right out in my weed-croaky voice if she'd wouldn't like to just make it with me right now. Before she can think to respond, I add that I'd just had a vision of her, bare-butted, bent over the big rolling arm of the sofa, with me slipping it in her from behind. "Blood-starved brain at work," I joked, "right?"

Well, damned if she didn't blink a couple of times, raise one of those bushy eyebrows for a few seconds, then stand up and begin unfastening her jeans. No conversation. No nothin'. In seconds, we both had nudified our actionable parts and I helped position her over that sofa arm, giving her a couple of very warm kisses and lots of admiring "ummmmms" as I did. Dropping to my knees behind her, I spread her cheeks and started to kiss and nibble all around her fine little butt. She rolled forward a little on her sofa-arm perch to raise her box high enough for me to lick and probe there for a bit. That brought some nice sighs and moans from darling Blondie, and some throaty groans from me as my tongue played with her clit - a real "hummer" for the girl. She liked that big time.

All that was fine, yes it was. But fine rhymes with time, and time was not on our side, so before long I stood, stroked myself a few times to spread my juice around on my shaft, then rubbed the head up and down her sweet, pink bald slit and you know what? It just kind of opened up for me, and I slid a little more than seven thick inches inside this golden-aura'd girl's cunny, right up to my balls, pressing them onto her bare, warm flesh. I squeezed my butt to pump blood into my cock, expanding it. She squeezed her cunt, compressing me. The battle of the sexes. Over and over. Good. Yes it was!

In that position, she couldn't move much but I sure could and I did. I slipped in and out of her, I moved around in circles, I raised myself to a higher angle and fucked, then I stooped to a lower angle and pumped even faster - that last one she especially liked. In short, we did get it ON.

I looked down and saw what a nice ring of foamy lather our fucking had made where we were joined. That made me harder still and I pumped harder, faster, deeper. She kept squirming around on my cock several minutes more. Lucky Blondie went off big twice, both times squeezing my dick so hard it was all I could do not to cum yet. But finally I got that unstoppable, "Oh so fucking sweet" sensation starting deep in my bowels, working its way up through my balls, conveying to my brain that there was nothing it could do to prevent this so you might just as well relax everything and let it GOOOOOOOOooooooooo! I did. Blondie did. Oh God! We collapsed into a heap on that old sofa's arm.

But not for long! Time had gotten away from us and we were fretting about it, so we put ourselves back together again fast. While she got a washcloth and cleaned us both up, I buffed out another set of lines and we uploaded them (cleans up the brain like Norton Utilities clean up a hard drive, you know). Turned the TV up, took our separate seats, opened fresh beers and chatted like civilized strangers until, a few minutes later, we heard the approaching sound of two deep-throated Harleys.

Friend-dude didn't even come in. He had what he wanted. Bob just blew in and told Blondie that friend was waiting, so she split and rode away with her dude. Never knew Blondie's name. Never saw her again. Bob didn't know her. Never told Bob I just balled friend's old lady, either. Bob wouldn't have liked that. He'd have said it was unethical behavior.