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 ï>¿Helping Melinda be Naughty by WillC2020

   HELPING MELINDA BE NAUGHTY CH.  01

   Jake's wife is restless.  Jake & Sam Come Up with a Plan.

   It was the damndest pint of Guinness I've ever drunk.  Jake, my friend
of many years, invited me to O'Leary's for 'an unusual man-to-man talk'. 
'Unusual' ain't the half of it.  Jake is your typical clean-cut
All-American boy.  He works for a physical fitness company and he is
physically fit, and almost annoyingly positive and upbeat.  He is married
to Melinda who friends call Mel.  Mel is pretty and perky and constantly
upbeat, too.  They are early forties, with two kids in college, but they
could pass for mid-thirties, maybe less.  As a first impression, they are
people you might expect to be greeters at the Sunday morning church
service.

   So Jake, looking very uncomfortable, takes a sip of beer and says, "I
have a little problem at home, and I'm hoping you..." And he pauses and
takes a long swig, "Shit, Sam, I've got a big problem..."

   "Okay, talk to me."

   "Mel...is having some kind of mid-life crisis or something."

   I felt my eyes blink, involuntarily, "What the hell?  Surely not an
affair."

   "No, at least I don't think so, but a couple nights ago, she told me
point-blank that she's 'restless'.  That's not like Mel, at all."

   "What the hell does restless mean?"

   "When I asked her that, she admitted she doesn't understand it, but she
told me that 'she' is having sex way more than 'we' are having sex.  And
she was talking about plastic friends she's found somewhere."

   "Your wife MEL?  You've got to be shitting me."

   "I know.  Hard to believe.  She has a tennis friend that may be the
villain.  They were apparently talking about spicing up marriage and Marge
admitted to watching some porn, and now..."

   I tried to be comforting.  "They say a lot of women watch porn; it's not
just a guy thing anymore."

   "I don't know about that, but I do know something has played with her
mind.  She actually told me that she's not sure she can resist, you know,
acting out."

   "MEL?!?  What the fuck?"

   Jake took a couple deep breaths, focused again on his glass, then looked
up at me.  "Okay, here's why you and I are here.  Mel trusts you.  I trust
you..."

   My amazement-meter red-lined.  "Whoa, pahdner, if we're talking a
threesome with Mel, you're about to witness a live heart attack."

   Jake studied his beer for a moment.  His face was turning red, neck up.
"No, nothing like a threesome, but she's wondering...I'm
wondering...whether we can party a little at our house."

   I chuckled, not because anything was funny, just because the strangeness
got to me.  "Fuck, man, I don't even know what to say.  I would have
guessed hell would freeze over before I partied -- whatever that means --
with you and Mel."

   "I think we're just talking about a few drinks and some conversation
more like when we were college kids..." He paused, again clearly
uncomfortable.  "And I know she wants to wear something sexy."

   I'll admit that my dick was listening at that point.  Melinda is not
voluptuous.  She dresses conservatively, even her swimsuits.  But she is
nicely formed in every way a guy defines nicely formed.  Still, I focused
on being a good friend, "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

   He managed a laugh.  "Well, you are an unworthy jerkwad, but you're
better than any alternative I've been able to come up with."

   So I laughed, if a bit uneasily, and we had another beer, and made
arrangements for me to drop by on Saturday evening.

   *****

   I struggled with how to prepare mentally for the evening.  I guessed it
would be clumsy, with Mel somehow being casually sexy and me pretending I
didn't notice.  I had no idea what we would talk about, but feared that the
elephant in the room would be her newfound restlessness.

   I parked on the street and walked up the sidewalk toward their
whitestone two-story.  I rang the doorbell, the door opened, and a radiant
Mel smiled warmly and practically jumped into me, arms around my neck,
breasts vividly in contact with my chest, "Sam, I'm so happy you could
come. Thank you."

   I'm sure I went crimson like a green teenager arriving for his first
date, but I managed a reasonably suave, "My pleasure, ma'am." She led me
through the house, toward their patio.  I'm not sure whether her dress was
a mini or a short sundress or whether there's a difference anymore, but it
had bold yellow and white stripes that beautifully accented beautifully
tanned legs.  I had noticed during my front-door greeting that the neckline
was scooped, string ties at the shoulders, almost certainly braless.  As I
enjoyed my rear view, I said to myself 'OK, prim and proper Mel, this
definitely counts as wearing something sexy.'

   We arrived at the patio where she said, "Jake will be right back.  He
had to pick up a couple things at the grocery.  I made us some rum punch.
Ready?"

   "Sure," I said agreeably, beginning to relax, but still having no idea
where this was headed.

   She walked to a side table and filled two yellow party cups from a
sizable crystal punch bowl.  As she handed me a cup, she smiled sweetly,
"I'm one ahead of you.  You'll have to catch up...  Let's sit on the deck."

   I followed her to the backyard deck where three lounge chairs were
arrayed around a circular fire pit.  She sat on the side of her chair and
swung her legs onto the long cushion.  It would be fair to say that she was
careless about the whereabouts of legs and hem before arranging herself a
bit more modestly.  I took a hefty swig of rum punch immediately upon
sliding onto my chair.

   "Sam, I want to ask you an unusual question."

   "Okay, fire away."

   "What color are my panties?"

   I shook my head, badly disoriented, but I assuredly knew the answer. 
"Uh, white; really bright white."

   "Do you know when the last time I did that was?"

   "Did what?"

   "Intentionally showed my panties to a boy." This was getting weirder by
the minute, but Jake had warned me, more or less, and what voyeur doesn't
dream about a conversation like this?  I silently shrugged regarding my
ability to even guess when the last time was.  "I was eleven, and I got in
big trouble because my mother figured it out."

   "How did she figure it out?" I asked, although unsure which of several
possible questions was best.

   "I rode my bicycle home while I was wearing a skirt.  I didn't think she
would be home yet."

   I furrowed my brow hoping to appear thoughtful and wise.  "A no-no,
right?" And to myself, I said, 'Buddy, that was truly lame.'

   Mel nodded, her recollection turning her expression to near grim.  "She
kept asking me questions until she made me admit that I did it for a boy
named Johnny Hart."

   I sipped punch, having no idea where to go conversationally, hoping my
loose-fitting slacks were loose enough that my forming erection wasn't
obvious.  She said, "Do you like my outfit?" as she flipped at the hem and
shifted her legs just I little.  I was able to verify the whiteness of her
panties and actually see the tanned skin of her stomach above the bikini
waistline.

   "That would be a yes.  I like your outfit."

   "Jake said you would."

   "Jake's not supposed to reveal guy secrets."

   "He probably wouldn't have, but I kept asking him until he talked about
it." I finished my rum punch in a long gulp, but the tension didn't end
swiftly.  She said, "Hey, you've almost caught up," and got up from the
lounge chair more carelessly than she had sat down.  It was definitely best
that she went to the punch bowl for me.  My dick had spoken to me, 'Rise
and shine, man.  You've gotta admit that this is really cool.'

   She returned with my glass, then sat again.  I was breathing harder,
probably noticeably.  Her expression was serious.  "Sam, I really
appreciate this." If she hadn't looked so earnest, I might have laughed a
hearty guy laugh.  In my wildest imagining -- and I've done some pretty
wild imagining -- I wouldn't have predicted being thanked for watching the
greatest leg and panty show of my entire life.

   I tried to shift focus away from my boner.  "Jake told me you're
struggling some."

   She looked at me with troubled eyes.  "I am, and I don't understand it.
Maybe we'll talk later, but tonight I want to get a little drunk and have a
little fun, and I think you are the perfect fun-buddy."

   This time I couldn't avoid a laugh.  "Mel, I'll do my best.  So far it's
been grueling, but I'm willing to soldier on."

   She laughed with me.  Jake arrived shortly thereafter.  We grilled
burgers, drank too much punch, told stories and jokes that were
increasingly bawdy, and before it was over I was able to study Melinda's
panties, almost stitch by stitch, and to verify that she was braless and
that her breasts with their pert nipples might cause a leg-and-panty man to
become a switch hitter.

   As I got ready to Uber home, she said, slurringly, "I just figured out,
Sam ol' buddy, that this isn't fair to you."

   I chuckled and gave her a serious smooch on the forehead.  "No problem,
I'll take care of it as soon as I get home." And I did.

   *****

   I called a meeting of the Buddy Club on the following Tuesday, again at
our favorite Irish pub.  "Jake, ol' buddy, talk to me about whatever the
hell went on Saturday night."

   He grinned as if fully understanding my multi-faceted question.  "Mel
thought it was great, as long as you thought it was all okay?"

   "I want to talk about that, but before we start I want to say that the
prim and proper Melinda knows how to dress up for an evening.  She is an
awesomely attractive lady."

   He nodded agreement but said, "I know this will sound crazy, but I think
I learned as much about Mel as you did?"

   I literally laughed in my beer.  "I seriously doubt that."

   "She was pretty blatant, huh?"

   "Yeah, and I hated every minute of it."

   "She told me there might have been a couple moments when you seemed to
be enjoying yourself."

   "I thought she might have noticed that.  Guilty as charged.  So what did
you learn?"

   "She has some kind of need to be naughty -- her word -- but she knows
it's important to be safe."

   I shook my head.  "I'll tell you, man, you and I are having a strange
discussion.  Are you SURE you're okay with all this?"

   "Same answer as last time.  This thing in her head is real.  You are way
better than any alternative I can think of?"

   "But are WE okay.  I mean, not to go softy here, but you are my best
friend in the entire world."

   He met my gaze.  "I'm okay..." He paused.  "...  to be honest, I enjoyed
her show a lot more than I thought I would...  " He paused again and
grinned like guys sometimes do "...  and she stayed naughty after you left
if you know what I mean."

   An odd angle occurred to me.  I looked at him accusingly.  "Are you
saying I'm something like a volleyball player who sets it up so you can
spike?" He thought for a moment, apparently arrived at the same visual I
had, and we shared a hearty guy laugh.

   Jake turned more serious.  "I hadn't thought of it that way.  I've been
thinking about all this from Mel's viewpoint."

   "So was Saturday naughty enough?"

   "That would be a giant yes.  I think she surprised herself about how
well it seemed to go, I mean how comfortable she was.  She's hoping for an
encore; maybe a regular encore.  What do you think of that?"

   I shook my head, trying to process the non-stop astonishment.  "Well,
I'll need to check my calendar, but I can probably work you in."

   "Cool, she'll be happy to hear that." His brow furrowed.  He took a long
moment to study his beer.  "Sam, I need to ask you something that I think
is going to be an issue, not right away, but I can see it coming like a
freight train."

   I just waited, watching him fidget, wondering what new strangeness might
take place between two close friends.  He took a deep breath.  "It really
bothered her that...that you were going home...you know..."

   He paused and I thought 'What the fuck?  Is this really happening?' I
said, "She mentioned that at the door Saturday, but I thought it was just
rum punch talking."

   "If so, the punch was still talking Sunday morning, So I guess the
question is, when the time is right, are you okay if she...you know...  if
she jerks you off."

   This time, my red-lining amazement-meter caused me to laugh out loud,
even though Jake was looking earnest.  "Do you know how fucking crazy this
sounds to me?  Are you really asking whether it's okay if a spectacularly
sexy woman wacks me off?"

   He laughed, but not a hearty guy laugh.  "I know, asshole, but is it
okay?"

   I grinned at my friend, "I'll have to think about it."

   ________________

   We didn't meet until two weeks after the initial party, a time interval
that had worked well for me.  I have a lady friend who is an airline
stewardess, stationed in our city, but a literal world traveler.  It will
never be serious for complicated reasons, but Tess and I play a role in
each other's lives, in terms of bottled-up passion.

   When Jake and I were setting up the next get-together he said, "She
would like to do the last one, all over again.  She really is happy with
how it went."

   I smiled inwardly, sensing that this coming Saturday was not going to be
the night she would help me out, but I was A-OK with the idea of an encore.
Once again, it was a great time.  She wore a white minidress that was truly
mini, as in purchased online in the '70s disco-dress category.  The top was
a deep V that was, well, deep V'd.  Not the slightest hint of a bra.  Even
though I had been here once before, I still struggled to fit my prior
perception of Melinda with the eager party animal that was sitting across
from me, laughing and joking while enjoying cups full of a slightly
different flavored rum punch.  And this time, she didn't need to
intentionally show me her panties -- which, for the record, were tiny
bikinis in a medium shade of blue.  There was no way she could NOT show me
her panties -- non-stop while we sat on the lounge chairs and while she was
giving OMG crotch shots when she was maneuvering in or out of her chair.

   Here's what I realized about halfway through that second night.  The
voyeur moments were fascinating, putting it mildly, but I really liked
being with them.  They are fun and funny, and bawdy jokes were just fine.
They are well read and great conversationalists.  The amount of rum punch
was a little too much but under control.  No one sloppy drunk or sick.  And
I continued to be amazed by Mel's honesty about her need to be 'a little
naughty'.  At one point she caught me staring, or maybe drooling would be
closer.  "This dress is a bit much, right?"

   I looked toward Jake who gave me that guy expression that said, 'what
the hell can I do, she's on her own.' I looked back toward Mel, again
gazing shamelessly.  "It is a bit revealing."

   She said, "I know...  and look what happens when I try to pull it down."
She grabbed the hem with both hands and tugged mightily.  "There, did that
help?"

   I laughed out loud, but affectionately.  "Not much."

   "I know, I guess you'll just have to put up with it."

   That night was, indeed, almost exactly like the first except that at the
door, I got a full body hug and cheek kiss that I could feel, all the way
home.  It reminded me of those magical moments as a hormonal teenager when
you realize that the female body is soft and curvy and it's great when she
holds 'her warm and tender body next to mine'.

   -------------------

   Jake called me the next Monday morning.  "Can you do this Saturday?"

   "Why so soon?"

   "She just asked me to check.  She, uh...  she wants to dance."

   A warning bell went off in my brain, but faintly.  "I'll need to check
Tess's schedule, but I think Saturday will work."

   "And, uh, Sam, I'm okay with whatever she's thinking about."

   *****

   Her outfit this time was a mini jean skirt with a purple tube top that
was barely more than a bra.  Panties were pink that accented the tube top,
and the mini jean skirt didn't do much better at keeping her covered than
last week's disco-dress.

   I didn't mention it last time, but I'll mention now that at this point
in our relationship I was making no effort to hide the erection that was
becoming something like an annoying friend that wouldn't leave me alone. 
Mel was clearly aware.  Sometimes we exchanged private glances and smiles.
I had the sense that she viewed my arousal as a triumph of her new
naughtiness.  I wasn't bitching, but let's just say it was becoming a real
issue between me and my dong.

   The first two-thirds of the evening was much like our highly enjoyable
previous parties.  Then Jake went inside for a couple minutes, and music
began playing through the all-weather speakers built into the deck.  I
didn't recognize the artists or songs, but it was "slow dance" music
compared to the upbeat stuff that always causes me to make an ass of myself
on the dance floor.  Mel and I were in our lounge chairs.  I was gazing
adoringly at the best-formed pair of legs I've ever seen, at least as
judged in the moment.  Jake came back and sat down.

   Melinda spoke, but huskily.  "I want you guys to do something for me."
Of course, she had our immediate attention.  "I want to dance, but first I
want you to take your shirts off."

   Jake glanced toward me and nodded.  I grasped that this was the moment
he had pre-approved during our phone call.  He lifted his golfer shirt over
his head.  And like any good friend would I followed suit.  My dick and I
noticed, right away, that a new dimension was at work.  There was a warm
breeze blowing on newly bared skin.  Hell, I think my nipples were getting
hard, although they usually don't.

   Mel stood and walked to an open area on the deck.  "Okay, my husband
first." Jake approached her.  She waited, with a truly beautiful smile and
a different kind of expression.  They danced, and it was definitely 'warm
and tender body next to mine' or I guess I should say 'next to his'.  Her
arms were reaching upward, around his neck.  Jake and I are both a little
over six feet tall.  Mel is maybe 5'4".  They danced for a minute or two,
mostly just swaying with her arms around his neck, his hands on her hips
but roaming on and under the jean skirt.  Then I heard her whisper, but
loudly enough for me to easily hear, "Take my top off."

   I could read surprise on Jake's face, leading me to believe she was out
in front of him in terms of clearly communicated plans for the evening. 
But he said nothing, put his hands under the sides of her top, and lifted
it over her head then over arms she had raised straight up to make removal
easy.  Because of the way they were standing, I didn't have a full view,
but neither did my dick and it had sprung to its full upright position.

   They danced through at least two numbers.  They kissed sometimes.  They
talked and laughed sometimes.  And when she leaned back to smile or laugh
with him, I did have a full view.  My dick was screaming 'wack me - wack
me' and I damn near did.  But I decided to wait for my turn.

   I approached her and saw the same beautiful smile and expression.  As
she prepared to put her arms around my neck, her eyes were sparkling in the
dim light.  "Hi, Sam."

   "Hi, Mel.  You'll have to excuse my pecker, he's a little out of
control."

   Her reaction was somewhere between laughter and giggle.  "Good, my plan
is coming together."

   I met her dancing eyes.  "Naughty, huh?"

   Instead of answering, she squeezed tighter around my neck and pressed
her breasts into my chest.  "Do you think this counts as naughty?"

   "A lot of people would think so."

   "Do you think so?"

   "I don't know what to think.  I do know that this feels...  oh hell, I
don't even know what to say about how this feels."

   "Does it feel good?" And she squeezed tighter.  I felt her upper body
gyrating somehow, making her nipples trace mini circles against my chest."

   "Jesus, Mel, where did you learn to do that?"

   "Take a guess?"

   I just shook my head and danced on.

   A few minutes later -- or maybe it was an hour -- she stepped backward,
took my hand and pulled me toward the house.  "Jake, honey, Sam and I will
be back in a few minutes." And I easily picked up on the humor in her voice
as she emphasized 'few minutes.'

   A jumble of thoughts were rattling in my brain, including faint
awareness that things were happening fast and might deserve some careful
thought, but my dick was shouting at me again, 'Holy shit, man, just relax
and let this happen.'

   She led me to a couch in the family room.  "Lay down here." I was
feeling helplessly obedient.  She unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, and
pulled everything south far enough that my cock sprang free.  I could
almost hear it cheering.

   She began stroking, caressing gently sometimes, teasing the head
sometimes, fully enveloping me and pumping, slowly then faster then slower
again.

   She leaned to whisper in my ear.  "Could you see my panties tonight?"

   "You know I could."

   "Do you like looking at my panties as much as Jake told me you do?

   "Yes, Mel, probably more."

   "But did you like feeling my nipples against your chest, too?"

   "God, Mel...  Yes." My heart was pounding, my breathing now a struggle.

   Her hand began rotating, moving faster, squeezing harder.

   "Did you notice how short my skirt was tonight, how it was almost
useless?"

   I just whispered a tortured, "Yes."

   "Did you think about those tiny panties being the only thing between me
and being naked for you?"

   OH FUCK, GAME OVER.  My orgasm seemed to come all the way from my toes,
exploding through my body.  My moan turned into a muffled roar.  I
instinctively reached toward Mel, awkwardly trying to put my arms around
her.  I realized that I had shot my wad over my left shoulder, maybe
against the far wall.

   As I tried to resume something like normal heartbeat and breathing, I
realized she was still holding me, stroking gently, my shaft, balls, and
inner thighs.  She smiled at me, naughtily.  "Feel good?"

   "You're bad, Mel."

   "Thanks for helping me be bad,"

   I had no idea what to say, I just relaxed backward into the couch,
totally spent, aware that she was still stroking and caressing.  Feeling a
little guilty, but loving every minute of it.

   *****

   We were back at O'Leary's for an emergency meeting of the Buddy Club.  I
looked up from my Guinness.  "I guess you heard what happened, right?"

   Jake laughed.  "I heard all right?"

   "Hmm, that's not what I meant, but holy shit."

   Jake nodded, "She was really into it Saturday, and my after-party was
awesome."

   "One more time, ol' buddy, are you really okay with...  with...  you
know?"

   Jake leaned forward, expression earnest.  "I suppose a Sunday school
teacher would say I should feel guilty, but our plan is working, man.  She
isn't saying boo about being restless." He paused, reached across the
table, and gave me a buddy fist-bump.  "You're doin' great, my friend. 
Please soldier on."

   So we'll see where this heads, but I know already that Mel's naughtiness
is a moving target.



   HELPING MELINDA BE NAUGHTY CH.  02

   Mel asks Jake and Sam to Understand Her Mind and Body.

   If you've read 'Helping Melinda Be Naughty Ch.  1, you know that Jake
and I spend a lot of time at O'Leary's Pub, trying to understand his wife's
needs.  There's a great line in an old Willie Nelson classic called 'Angel
Flying Too Close to the Ground' ..."Trying to keep her spirits up...and her
fever down." Well Melinda's spirits seem to be just fine, but her fever is
another matter.

   Jake and I have been close friends for years.  I've known Jake and Mel
as a couple for years, too, but not socially because they traveled in the
married-with-family crowd (two daughters in college) and I lost my
membership after a sad divorce that is a story I hope never to tell.  Today
I am a confirmed bachelor with a mutual-comfort friend named Tess, a
rarely-in-town United stewardess flying world routes.

   Melinda, usually called Mel, is bright, personable, and attractive, but
more like perky-cute than stunningly beautiful.  Her ancestry is likely
Irish: auburn hair, cut short, but stylish.  Her eyes are blue and usually
smiling, her chin is a bit pixyish but it all works together nicely,
especially when she smiles and her dimples form.  Jake is bright and
personable, too, and has that annoying clean-cut, All-American look that
keeps some guys looking youthful forever.  If you saw Mel and Jake on the
street, you could easily imagine them as co-greeters at Sunday morning
worship services.

   I'll give you one more piece of background, and you'll be able to fill
in the blanks from today's O'Leary's conversation: A few months ago, Mel
ambushed Jake with the news that she had become obsessed with sex, at least
in part triggered by porn.  She confessed that she was making regular use
of plastic friends and that she wasn't sure that she could resist 'acting
out.' They (as in Mel & Jake!) asked me to help Jake "keep her fever down"
-- thus far by periodic 'parties' at their home.  The latest party was a
helluva night.  We're not talking about anything close to all-out swinger
behavior, but we are talking about hard-to-imagine interaction with Jake's
wife Mel.

   *****

   Our traditional Guinness pints had arrived.  Jake seemed thoughtful. 
"Sam, I really want you to stop worrying about whether you're betraying me
as a friend.  You are doing exactly what I hoped you could do.  Mel hasn't
said a word about being restless in weeks.  It's working, man.

   "I hear you, but until the last party, I thought we were just helping
her channel her inner exhibitionist."

   He paused, seeming to enjoy the detour.  "We sure as hell did that."

   "Did you have any idea, I mean, how much she wanted to channel?"

   "Almost no idea at all.  When I think back, she did surprise me in the
bedroom now and then, with outfits -- or lack of outfits -- that didn't
seem Mel-like.  But I thought it was all for me...  no idea she wanted to
flaunt for anyone else, especially your sorry ass."

   I laughed a guy laugh.  "Well my sorry ass isn't sorry about getting to
know Mel's underwear choices, but holy shit, she raised it to another level
last time."

   Jake lifted his glass as if he might propose a toast, but took a long
swig instead.  "That she did, my friend.  I can still hear your
blood-curdling scream, and I was out on the patio."

   As you can see, this conversation is very strange in a relationship
sense.  I said, "And I can still feel her magic hand..." For a moment I
allowed myself to drift into memory of the intense minute or two, possibly
three, lying on my back on their family room couch.  "She did warn you that
she wanted to, you know..."

   He tipped the glass slightly this time.  "That she did."

   "And you're okay with..."

   He interrupted me, leaning forward with eyes angrier than I had ever
seen.  "Godammit, Sam, stop the fucking 'am I okay?' shit.  Mel is happy.
She isn't thinking about black dick or whatever the fuck she was thinking
about.  I get it that this is weird to you -- shit, you should be me..."

   He leaned back and exhaled loudly.  "Jesus, man, I am sorry for that
temper tantrum..."

   I leaned across the table and put my hand on his wrist.  "I'm sorry,
too. I just want this to work out for everyone."

   "So do I, my friend." There was a pause while an unusually emotional guy
moment dissolved into more normal guyness.  We drank our beer then one more
with potato skins.  Jake said, "Here's a heads up for next time.  She wants
to explain to us how her body and mind work."

   Our eyes met, as if we didn't really need to speak, but I picked up the
ball.  "Oh man, that's scary."

   "Yes it is."

   *****

   My relationship with Mel is complicated, but part of it is very
straightforward.  For my entire life, I have been addicted to leg and panty
voyeurism.  I can clearly remember the life-changing period.  I was maybe
ten years old and spent a lot of time with my closest friend whose mom was
a beautiful war widow.  My relationship with her was purely visual, but oh
my God, it was visual.  I don't know whether 35-year-old moms intentionally
tease 10-year-old kids, but intentional or not, her awesome legs and white
silk panties and thin white slips inspired me to quickly learn about
masturbation and I remember individual scenes vividly all these years
later. When my interactions with Mel were strictly verbal, I shared this
story.  It turns out that she fully understood the meaning, at several
levels.

   Once the ice was broken, it became increasingly clear that Mel loved
showing what I love looking at.  Our relationship soon had an adult honesty
that I had never imagined possible.  Here's a simple example: She was
sitting on a kitchen-counter stool reading some mail.  I came out of the
downstairs john and was walking toward her, on my way to find Jake.  She
swiveled her chair toward me, but one leg lagged the other by a
considerable margin, and we're talking about legs, etc.  fully competitive
with the star of my childhood-memory show.  I decided to act cool vs. 
drool for a change, so I just kept walking, but as I passed her, I said,
"Nice shot -- yellow with white trim." She just giggled, "Right again,
eagle-eye man."

   Even harder to imagine is that the entire honest relationship is fully
understood -- often witnessed first-hand -- by Jake.  So I can count on the
fact that every party at their home will be deeply satisfying, even if only
through the lens of the 10-year-old-boy within.  But Mel, for complicated
reasons of her own, seems to be pushing the envelope to another level, with
Ch 1's topless dance scene and my subsequent orgasmic roar being a vivid
example.

   So Saturday rolled around, and the three of us were on the deck chairs
around the firepit, working through a giant pitcher of Long Island Iced
Tea. Mel was wearing a flippy little cream-colored skirt and a burgundy
blouse that actually V'd to a point well below her breasts; no sign of a
bra.  I already knew her panty color.  While I followed her from their
front door toward the patio door, she looked over her shoulder, smiled, and
said, "Spoiler alert." And she flipped her skirt to her waist...  A light
shade of purple.  Tiny.  Really high cut.  Almost a thong.  I just shook my
head in wonderment and admiration.

   So we drank, we grilled steaks, and Jake put on some music, although no
dancing this time, and we drank some more.  On this night, Mel was an equal
opportunity exhibitionist, having visual fun with her husband who is a
great lover of breasts.

   She's sitting on her lounge chair.  "Jake, if I lean forward like this,
can you see my nipples?"

   Of course, Jake is happy to go along with the routine.  "Sorry, Mel,
nope."

   She tries another pose.  "How 'bout this?"

   "Negative."

   "This?"

   "You're striking out, babe."

   She pouts and says, "Dammit." She gets off her lounge chair -- always a
good moment for me -- walks to his chair, and leans at the waist, her
loose-fitting top now inches from his face.  "How 'bout this?"

   Jake laughs and says, "Bingo."

   Mel is likely something like a 34B, maybe 35B if bras come in that size,
but she made a spirited try at the stripper routine of burying a guy's face
between her breasts and slapping him on both cheeks.  Jake managed a
muffled, "I can't see your nipples anymore." And the shared laughter was
hearty and long.

   We were already clued that Mel wanted to teach us about her mind and
body, whatever that meant.  If tradition held, it might include some erotic
moments, and as you'll see, tradition did hold, big time.  She said,
speaking to the two of us, "Guys, I know a lot of this is about me and my
sexual issues.  I think it'll help you understand me if you understand more
about my body...  then we'll talk about my mind next time."

   She paused and looked toward Jake, then me.  I glanced at Jake and saw a
calm, ready-to-go expression.  I feared that my expression was more like
'Duh, what the fuck is this about?' But Mel plowed on.  "Please come with
me to the family room."

   The scene she set up was very simple.  She's sitting beside Jake on the
couch.  My refilled drink glass and I are sitting across from them on a
standard easy chair.  She says, "I think I'm blessed or cursed with way
higher than average responsiveness.  Jake, show Sam what can happen, even
while we're just doing something like watching TV."

   I realized, of course, that the Buddy Club alert system had been
compromised again.  Jake was clearly an actor in her play, and I had no
advance warning.

   He put his left arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.  She
looked at me with an expression I couldn't read, some combination of warm
and expectant.  His fingers disappeared into the top of her blouse.  It was
quickly evident that he had made contact with her nipple.  No more than ten
seconds later, her eyes closed.  I could hear her gasp.  Her breathing
became audible.  I could tell from the way her blouse was moving that his
fingers were caressing lightly, then pinching gently, then back to circular
caresses.  Her eyes closed tighter.  I heard 'Oh, oh, oh..." softly with
each breath.  Her legs began to spread as her hips pushed forward and her
back began to arch.

   Each movement of her hips seemed to cause her skirt to ride up further,
already at the top of her thighs.  For me, legs spreading in passion was an
incredible turn-on, but it was the expression on her face that nearly blew
me away -- an amazing blend of ecstasy and something like tortured need. 
Her rhymthic "Oh...oh...oh..." became louder, more like gasps through
tightly clenched teeth.

   Jake's role was simple.  He did nothing at all except continue the
circular nipple caress, with occasional gentle pinches.  Her whole body
began writhing, her hips moving, almost like she was being fucked.  Her
breathing became short gasps.  "Oh God, Jake...  on God...oh Fuck...oh
Fuck..."

   I was hard as a rock.  I had an enormous desire to beat off, in fact I
wasn't sure I needed to beat off, it might just happen.  Then her hips
bucked violently, her back arched, almost creating a U.  She stayed that
way through a long raspy moan, as her orgasm seemed to ripple through her
in waves, then she settled back gradually while her hips and thighs
continued to spasm.  Finally, she was lying almost flat, her legs splayed,
her eyes still closed as she struggled to catch her breath.

   Jake withdrew the hand from her blouse.  He made a husband's instinctive
effort to pull her skirt down, then seemed to realize that it was a
hopeless; her hem was nearly at her waist, and it was a short skirt.  He
looked toward me, "I'll give her a minute, but then I'll show you why she's
amazing."

   I was still breathing hard myself, now struggling to understand what he
just said.  "Holy crap, more amazing than that?"

   He replied with a nod.

   Mel said nothing while Jake helped the recovery happen.  Maybe three
minutes later, she was upright on the couch, her knees together, her skirt
pulled down as far as it could be.  He changed places with her on the
couch, so this time his right arm was around her shoulder, hand ready to
invade her blouse.  She gave me a look that showed an odd sense of
determination.  I couldn't read the expression then, but she explained it
later.

   And it started again.  Almost an exact repeat, except this time her
panties were visibly soaked and her body's response was even more
immediate.

   I couldn't imagine that the intensity could be greater, but I could see
it in her face, a look that was like clenched-teeth physical pain as she
tried to reach the relief of orgasm.  Her hips bucked more wildly, her legs
spread wider, her back somehow arched even higher, and this time she
screamed from deep in her throat, Then she finally returned to flat on her
back, gasping, her skirt again at waist level, her hips and glistening
thighs continuing to quiver.

   Jake looked toward me, his expression odd, almost more awestruck than
anything sexual.  He simply said, "Two fingers on one nipple."

   I then amazed myself.  "Can I get her a drink of water or something?"

   "She would like that."

   So my boner and I went to the kitchen, found an oversized glass and
filled it with ice and water.  When I got back, Mel was sitting up, clothes
re-arranged, but her skin was splotchy pink.  She accepted the water with a
grateful look and a typical Mel comment.  "Thanks, I worked hard for this."

   And I surprised myself again, letting wordplay on 'hard' remain
unspoken. At least for a while, I felt more like a concerned big brother
than her voyeuristic playmate.  As you'll see, my period of selfless
concern was not destined to last long.

   Mel excused herself, saying she needed to run upstairs to freshen up. 
After popping open two beers, Jake and I looked at each other in quiet
amazement for a minute or two.  I said, "I can't help feeling you withheld
important information from me."

   He nodded.  "I did.  She wanted you to see with fresh eyes how, you
know, how her body works."

   I tried but failed to grasp her why, then new questions hit me.  "So
you've known this all along?  How the hell do we never talk about it?"

   "I didn't really know, until all this restless stuff started?"

   "Give me a fucking break.  You're telling me you've had that body in
your bed for over twenty years, and you never noticed that...  Hell, man,
the percentage of women who can orgasm by breast contact is tiny, much
less...  How the fuck do you not notice?"

   He just shook his head, in something like guilty bewilderment.  "I knew,
I guess.  I knew it was easy to turn her on, but I was such a fucking idiot
that I thought it made me lucky, you know, I didn't have to piss around
with all the foreplay a lot of guys talk about."

   I pondered his explanation and had to admit that it made sense, at least
to another guy who was probably a fucking idiot himself.  I decided to keep
worrying about Mel rather than closely examine my own history.  "How 'bout
O'Leary's Tuesday?"

   "Sounds good." And the agreement to meet next Tuesday, with Mel's
challenges on my mind, ended ol' Sam's exercise in personal nobility.

   Mel rejoined us, wearing the same skirt and blouse, although her hair
was less tousled and the splotchy pink had evaporated.  She sat beside Jake
for a minute or so, whispered something in his ear, then told him she had a
couple of things to discuss with me in private.  He nodded and headed in
the direction of his office/den.

   She looked at me, seriously at first.  "Well now you know part of the
story."

   "Mel, I don't know what I know, except that your tits enjoy your hubby's
fingers."

   She grinned, but playfully, "There's a lot more to it than that, smarty
pants..  I want you to be thinking about it."

   I returned a playful grin.  "Don't worry, I'll be thinking about it."

   She stood, "Want to assume your position?"

   I said, "Oh, yes...  I really do."

   I setled backward onto the couch.  She quickly handled unbuckling,
unzipping, and cock release without saying a word.  Then, as she began
stroking me, she proved again that she has a way with words.  Of course,
she has the advantage of knowing the secrets of my soul, at least
erotically.

   "I guess you saw my panties a lot tonight, right?

   I laughed out loud at that.  "That would be emphatically true."

   "Did you like the color?"

   "Yes, Mel, you look good in lavendar.."

   Then she leaned to whisper in my ear while her hand began doing its
magic.  "Guess what I tried to do tonight, while Jake was touching me."

   I squirmed as her hand became more active.  "I don't have a clue."

   I tried to keep my knees together, so you couldn't see my panties."

   I chuckled.  "Not successfully, I'd say."

   "I know.  When Jake does that to my breasts, it's like a signal goes
straight to my, you know..." She found another way to tease my cock; this
time returning to the head.  She whispered, "I didn't have a chance...  I
mean, all of a sudden my legs were spread, right?"

   I was really enjoying this moment, easily her best work as a verbal
tease artist, but my dick was saying, 'Better take it easy, buddy, it's
beginning to rumble down here.' I croaked a feeble, "Yes, Mel, I noticed
that."

   Her mouth stayed at my ear, a teasing whisper.  "Could you tell how wet
I was?"

   "Pretty much." It was my tortured whisper that signals reaching the
point where a guy knows he is helpless, just waiting to be finished off.

   Her hand gripped tighter, loosened, gripped tighter and swirled.  "God,
Sam, I was really wet --- clear down my thighs.  So my panties are upstairs
in the dirty clothes hamper." She gave the head of my cock a different kind
of twist,.  Then she gently caressed my balls.  "And guess what I forgot to
do before I came downstairs?"

   "You're bad, Mel."

   The cock massage returned, became faster; swirling like she's somehow
learned to do.  I could feel her tongue, rimming my ear, then she
whispered, "At the end, I was glad I couldn't keep my legs from spreading
for you.  I wanted you to see me...to see me screaming and cumming."

   OH FUCK, GAME OVER.  And for those of you who haven't read Ch.  1, let's
just say that I proved again that I'm qualified to join the Olympic
ejaculation team.

   *****

   Okay, let's start with total honesty that won't surprise you.  A lot of
my thinking between Saturday and Tuesday was purely sexual.  In fact, I
might have proved that I'm qualified for the Olympic masturbation team. 
But I did give serious thought to Mel's reason to formally declare a
teaching moment for Jake and me.

   I quickly convinced myself that she's not a closet nymphomiac finding
ways to lure me into sexual encounters Of course, that conclusion was aided
by the realization that I had literally not laid a hand on her except for
holding her hips during the dance scene.  I was delighted to provide a
chest for her to rub her nipples on, but surely a nympho would have
demanded more, right?

   It was also clear that I wasn't being asked to cuck my friend Jake. 
Hell, his sex life was soaring, and I was getting wacked off every now and
then.

   So I couldn't even pretend that I understood her, but I was able to take
a theory to the next meeting of the 'What the Hell's Going On?' Committee
of the "O'Leary's Buddy Club.

   *****

   After the Guinness pints were in place, Jake started the meeting with an
entirely unnecessary apology.  "I was thinking about whether I should have
clued you in better, you know, about Mel's body...  anyway, I think I
should have."

   "Put your mind at ease, ol' buddy.  I forgive you.  Mel has a way of
helping a guy release all his anger and tension."

   He winced at the lame humor try, but said, "She definitely has talents I
didn't know about." Then we got down to business.  "So what do you think...
what's the lesson we're supposed to get?"

   I was ready.  "I do have a theory.  It doesn't use terms Mel would use,
but try this on for size." I paused to nurse some Guinness.  "I think she
was telling us that we're like a dirt-track stock car racing team.  She
likes us.  She loves you.  But she wants us to understand that she's an
Indy Car."

   Jake's expression turned thoughtful.  He sat back and took a long swig
of Guinness.  Then he leaned forward, meeting my eyes.  "You came up with
that all by yourself?"

   I chuckled at an angle he hadn't considered.  "Who the hell would I have
asked to help me?"

   He chuckled too, but his expression stayed serious.  "That's a holy shit
thought."

   "Here's a thought that may be scarier.  This was only part one."

   "You mean about her body, right?"

   "Right"

   We had another round of beers, this time with shrimp tacos.  But a full
hour later, we had not generated a single good guess about what we would
learn about Mel and her mind.

   Stay tuned.