Georgia

Georgia was a friend of a friend, a terrible flirt, and ultimately all talk. Okay, not all talk. One night we got to kissing somewhat passionately in the back of a darkened bar, and found ourselves headed, alone, back to her place. Unfortunately, Georgia had a real weakness for alcohol. She loved to consume it but could in no way hold it. By the time we got back I had to practically carry her up the stairs, and she was snoring by the time I laid her on the couch. I stood over her while, like the scene in Animal House, the two sides of my conscience fought it out. Except in this case, the Devil was screaming "Fuck her!" while the Angel was whispering "Oh, just play with her spectacular tits."


I listened to the Angel, not just because that's what you should always do, but because it seemed better than even that the physical business of actually fucking her was a lot more likely to wake her up, setting me up for an unbelievably awkward confrontation. He soft cashmere blouse unbuttoned soundlessly, however, and her bra was the kind with the hook in the front. Thirty silent second later and, in the low moonlight of her living room, I was staring at six or seven pounds of grade-A sweatermeat. Plump, firm, with small brown nipples and a heartbreaking constellation of freckles in between them, her nipples hardened as I brushed them with my fingertips.

Quietly I unzipped myself, my right hand (always my right hand) on my dick and my left on her left breast, I stroked her very gently and myself considerably less so. My mouth dry and my legs shaking, I felt myself rapidly building to a climax. I was having a truly enjoyable time, but for some reason the malicious impulse overtook me and, taking my hand of her tits, I aimed my dick straight at them and ejaculated a half a dozen or so streams of thick, white seamen across her chest. I exhaled silently and, dripping with sweat, looked at it glimmer in the moonlight for a moment. Gently I fastened her bra shut on her cum-covered tits - an exercise which took several minutes - scooping up the excess with my finger and pushing it unto the soft lace-trimmed cups. I buttoned up her blouse and slipped out the doorway, locking it behind me.

I personally believe that, hungover or not, it would be hard to wake up wearing a bra soaked with jizz and not be aware of it, but I really don't know. I never heard from her again after that. Today she's a married mother of three, and an attorney working for the state. I see her on the local news from time to time.