Message-ID: <5493eli$9711081402@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: harkonin@hotmail.com (HaRkOnIn) Subject: SeanA's Collection -=The Swimsuit (Part 1)=- Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Sent-via: StarNet http://www.azstarnet.com/ Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <34642306.19368350@news.azstarnet.com> The Swimsuit - by M1KE HUNT 1 The last time I didn't feel like writing something for a while I went back and found some old piece of shit that I'd done but never posted. It was just a simple fuck and suck story, and I put it up just to keep a lot of assholes from bugging me to write something else, cause I was busy at the time. Checking my stocks and bond portfolio, if I recall. Much to my surprise, I got a ton of positive reaction to the piece, which only goes to prove that Barnum was right. Anyway, my last one was one of those with humor and jokes and blood, sweat, toil, and tears, and the reaction wasn't nearly as good. Why I'll bet I got less than 2,000 e-mails about it! So since I've been busy again lately, (just closing a big real estate deal to buy six shopping centers in Texas) and since I haven't felt like writing anything new, here's another old piece of shit for the horny moron crowd. You know who you are. I wrote this one a long time ago, too. Probably 10 years ago, come to think of it, when I was still in my 60's, and before the prostate operation which left me sterile. Or was that impotent? I forget, the fucking doctor had me on so many drugs. Actually that was the only decent part of the whole thing. Fucking doctors. They're worse than lawyers if you ask me. Walking around with this "god" complex when everybody knows that 98.6% of the time you'll get better anyway. The only thing they're good for is giving out drugs, and even then they usually won't give you what you want! Most lawyers have decent drugs, at least the ones I deal with do or they don't get my business. And plumbers. Talk about a bunch of scumbags! $50 to visit your house and look at a fucking pipe! You think anybody gives me $50 to come to their house and write a goddamn story? No way. I did have a guy once offer me $50 for a peek at my weenie, but I didn't think it was worth it. My weenie, I mean. If I'd known way back then in 1954 that I could have bought 9 shares of IBM with that $50, you can bet I'd have whipped my zipper down in nothing flat. Of course I was only 32 then, and didn't start watching every penny and investing in the market until I was nearly 40. You think a fucking stockbroker would have told me that back then? Leeches. Charging me commission on my own money! Bloodsuckers. And don't get me started on the fat lady at the dry cleaners. Bitch. She wants $17.50 to clean 2 pairs of pants and a crappy old shirt. Hell, that's more than I paid for the damn clothes 20 years ago! What is this country coming to???? About the only decent people I can think of are the garbage guys and the girl who delivers my newspaper. I have sympathy for the garbage collectors even though they make over $100,000 a year and belong to the International Brotherhood of Thugs because who the hell wants that job? It's worth it to me to pay them off. And as far as the girl goes, well, she's just 13 years old and cute, and it's nice to see the youth of the country engaged in earning their own money and learning about the free enterprise system. Anyway, she's the one who brings my drugs along with the Friday paper, and that's a real convenience, especially since I fell down and broke my hip. I hope I'm still around in another five years when she turns 18, because then I can show her my stories and maybe jerk off in her face. The Swimsuit - by MIKE HUNT The TV blared some mindless sitcom, the laugh track so obviously phoney I wondered why the producer even bothered. It was a Tuesday night and I was killing the evening alone at home. My wife had left on an afternoon flight for a business trip which would keep her away until Friday. She was shooting a commercial in Dallas with some hunky TV star - I don't even know who, and if she had told me the name wouldn't have meant anything anyway, cause I rarely watch TV. Anyway, there I was minding my own business when the phone rang. It was one of June's co-workers at the ad agency. Tina, and as the words tumbled from the tiny speaker in the handset I could tell she was in a panic. "Mike," she said, "we have a crisis at the agency. That presentation tape that June worked on last week for the big Kramer pitch...we have to make some changes. They just sold one of their divisions." "Yeah, well, June is on her way to Dallas," I started. She interrupted, "I know, I know. I'll talk with her when she gets to her hotel. But in the meantime, all of the raw tapes are at your house. God I hope they are. I can't find them anywhere around here. All we have at the office is the finished piece. We need the raw material to reassemble the tape." "Well if they're here, you're more than welcome to them. But I wouldn't know which is what. You'll just have to root around in her office to find them." June's office was always a blizzard of audition tapes, field footage, demo tapes from camera guys, and god knows what else. "Why would they be here?" I asked. "June did the edit plan for the piece. Remember, she worked from home a couple days last week?" I shook my head, as though she could hear it through the phone. "Can I come over now?" she pleaded. "Sure, sure. See you in a while." I hung up, and looked around to see if the house was presentable. Just a couple of pillows out of place in the living room and a Fritos bag on the floor and an empty Coke bottle on the end table. And a few magazines strewn about. No big deal. I took an old bathrobe from the clothes hook by the front door and wiped some cat puke from the foyer floor, then got out a broom to clean the front porch before I ripped up the old subfloor in the kitchen and put down some new linoleum. A few minutes later I was done. Another 20 minutes passed, and the doorbell rang. It was Tina, and I invited her in. She was still dressed in a business outfit but packed a strong visual wallop anyway. Tina was a doll. Literally. Though barely 5 feet tall, Mattel could have used her hourglass proportions and sculpted face to sell a million. I guess I like my women short; the wife is barely 5' 1". I led Tina to June's office and told her to help herself. In less than 10 minutes she poked her head back into the living room, arms full of tapes, saying she had found everything she needed. I asked "So you're running right back to the office to reedit the piece?" "Oh, no," she replied. "We can't do anything until tomorrow when the studio opens. But it won't be any big deal now that we have all the raw footage. Whew. What a relief." "Well then, how about a beer?" I offered. "You look frazzled." "Thanks, that would be great," she responded. "I feel frazzled. Do I really look it?" "Fraid so," I said. "A double frazzle with sugar on top, actually." "Yeah, that's how I feel, I guess." She paused for a moment, as if to catch her breath. "But now everything's fine. Mind if I run down to the ladies' room and see if I can un-frazzle at little?" she asked. "Help yourself," I offered. "I'll pour the beer." She reappeared a few minutes later, her face scrubbed and hair combed. And she had taken off her jacket and unbuttoned a button or two on her blouse. She looked, and apparently felt more casual. As she came in she said "I noticed a bathing suit in the bathroom. What is June doing with a bathing suit here in November?" "Oh, we have a hot tub out back. We don't really use it much...you know, the novelty has worn off. It's still a kick once in a while, tho'. But I have to take that suit back," "Why?" she asked. "June says it makes her look fat. I think it's sexy as hell, but she told me she'll never wear it again," I explained. "Sorry to break the news, but stores don't take back bathing suits after they've been worn, even once. It's uh, personal clothing, like lingerie and underwear..." her voice trailed off. "Oh great," I groaned. "Now I'm out $90." "Well maybe not. I'm about June's size. Maybe I'll buy it from you," she said. "Are you serious? half-price, how's that for an offer?" I said. "That way you get a deal, and I'm not totally shafted. Go ahead, give it a try." This particular suit was a gift for June for use in the hot tub - I knew she would never wear it at the beach. It was such thin material, and while not quite a thong, had just a 2 inch wide strip of cloth that went up the crack of the ass. It was a one-piece that was really two pieces, a top and a bottom, which just fastened together with a couple of strips of cloth, kind of like suspenders. I didn't think Tina knew what she was in for. Still, I hoped to salvage at least some of the dough. >From the bathroom down the hall, I heard her exclaim, "Oh my god." Then she laughed aloud. "Jeez, I'm not even sure which part of me goes into which hole!" "You're a bright girl, you'll figure it out," I called back. I already had. (continued in part 2) MrM1KE@aol.com archive at http://members.aol.com/mrm1ke ============================================ HaRkOnIn harkonin@hotmail.com Web Page: http://www.azstarnet.com/files/Authors/Sean/wwwa Sex Stories: http://www.azstarnet.com/~ajew ============================================ -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /