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Adam sat in silence on the park bench, idly watching the ducks swim aimlessly around in circles on the surface of the muddy boating lake. It was quite warm for February, and the sun was shining with such intensity that he was forced to screw up his eyes against the glare which was reflected off the water.

What was he going to do? How could he possibly not know who he was or where he came from? If he knew what amnesia was (and he recognized the word as soon as the doctor used it) how could he not know anything about himself? It seemed so strange… to know things you were taught in school, mathematical formulae and historical facts and figures, that Paris was the capital of France and that Gordon Brown was the Prime Minister, and yet not know your own name or even if your parents were alive or dead!

“I’m sorry I can’t say something which sounds more hopeful,” the doctor had said, less than an hour ago as Adam had been discharged from the Infirmary. “I can understand how lost you must feel, but rest assured that most amnesiacs do recover some of their memory if not all of it.”

Adam smiled wryly. “And some never get their memory back at all, correct?”

The doctor nodded. “I’m afraid so, but the percentage is very small. Usually their relatives identify them from the newspapers or through the police, and once the patient is back in their home environment little day-to-day things keep jogging their memory.”

Adam wasn’t encouraged. He’d been in the hospital for over a month, ever since the police had found him, dazed and bloody from a head wound, wandering through the streets late one night. The media had latched onto his case, and for several consecutive days his face had been on more newspaper covers than Princess Diana’s.

But nothing had come of it. No one came forward to claim him, the police drew a complete blank, and, mysteriously, he had no form of identification on him.

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I have been thinking much about Dianne lately. You see, she is a very beautiful single woman, very open sexually, and very caring for others (it is difficult for a man, and some women, to resist such a combination). I met her several months ago — of all places — in the waiting room of my dentist, where she shared with me her business (which is of no relevance to this story). My wife, Kristin, and I decided a few weeks later to join her business venture, and because of this association we have since developed a very close friendship with Dianne.

Kristin apparently has also of late been thinking a lot about Dianne. The signs are obvious — daily phone calls, visits to her apartment, her name being brought up in our conversation, etc. Last week, Dianne and Kristin went backpacking by themselves to the local wilderness area while I kept our two kids at home (it is important for my wife, a financial planner, to get away from the daily grind and enjoy her friends apart from me)….

Last Friday, Dianne called me up and wanted me to meet her for lunch at our favorite restaurant. After a light lunch with some equally light but strangely forced conversation, Dianne looked into my eyes with a look that I’ve never seen before, a look of fear combined with a look of desire, and asked, “Mark, it is difficult for me to say this, but I have fallen in love with both you and Kristin.”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. On the one hand, my sexual desire for her was burning bright, and I got excited about what was soon to transpire, yet her simultaneous love for my wife confused, scared, and intrigued me. What could I say? I looked at her for a moment, and without thinking I said, “Does Kristin know your feelings for her? As far as I know, Kristin is straight, and has never in our relationship stated anything to the contrary. All I know is that my desire for you is very strong, and that I have wanted for several weeks to make love to you.”

“I know about your feelings for me,” Dianne replied, “I could see it in your actions, in your words, and in your eyes. And my feelings for you are just as strong. Kristin knows about my love for her and for you, and she is in love with me as she is in love with you. It was during our backpacking trip that we expressed our love for one another.”

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Shirll spread her legs and reclined on her bed. The music pulsed deeply, going into her very essence, causing her erotic mood to become highly sensorial. Her fingers traced the smooth lines of her body. Using a knife to cut away her panties seemed more erotically stimulating that simply removing them or masturbating through the soaked cloth. She arched her back and tried to rip open her bra by thrusting her enormous breasts forward. Through the material of her bra you could see her enormous tits and the dark subcircle around them. They were very wet from her secretions.

She massages her breasts with her left hand, while her right hand is lying gently and unmoving upon her thigh. Under the smooth caresses and fondling, her elegant breasts dilate as she sighs and smiles, she is beginning to come. Her bosom is so awe inspiring through her bra that one wonders how one could bear it if seen unclad! Suddenly the door opens and her roommate walks in…. and stares. Shirll makes no attempt to cover herself whatsoever. She spread her legs further apart and gently touched her fingers to her genitalia and brought some of the flowing juices up to her tongue.

“Hi Tanis”, she said, and arched her back with a scream of pain and ripped open her bra. Her breasts stood almost straight out, rare for someone who has ’em that enormous. And on the end of those immense nipples there was a clear fluid seeping that somewhat resembled semen. Tanis was gaping in astonishment, partly because she had never seen her stripped before, and the other reason being that of the alien fire she felt racing through her body. Unconsciously she touched herself through her jeans, as she always did whenever she felt like it — she had done so in front of Shirll many times, and had even got off when Shirll was in the room watching, however nothing ever developed beyond watching each other masturbate through their clothing. Now, however it was looking like that might change. (click to read entire story…)

When this story began, you may remember, I slipped Wanda’s panties and little bra from her basement laundry shoot, took them upstairs to my room one afternoon after school, thinking I was all alone in the two-family house we shared. After I put them on, masturbated, sniffed, and rubbed them all over myself (I was careful not to cum on them, but into my hand, which I wiped carefully with tissues as well); I returned them to her laundry shoot when I started to do my family’s wash for my mother, who had left instructions in a note. While I was in the basement, Wanda came down from her first-floor apartment, aroused me, and led me upstairs to my room again, for my virgin fucking and sucking. I had little reason thereafter to put her panties on, fucking and eating her delicious cunt was far more exciting that masturbating with nylon panties on. I loved cunt-licking far more than anything else sexual I had ever even dreamed about. Now you’re about to read about the second adventure with Wanda and her bisexual husband, Wayne.

The following Saturday night, after a boring, sexless week of impatient waiting, Wayne and Wanda had invited me downstairs for more sex play with them, beginning again at 8:30. My friend Richard agreed to cover for me again, if my parents called, and I had given him Wayne and Wanda’s phone number to alert me to call home or to come home. (I was lucky enough to go until 11:30 again with no call, so the second Saturday night orgy was uninterrupted and wonderful.)

When I knocked on their door at precisely 8:30, two, not one, sexy women greeted me: Wanda, the delicate, and a stranger with big tits, which a jersey top could hardly contain. I wanted immediately to release those jugs from her blouse even before Wanda told me that she was Wilma, her sister-in-law. It was dark in the living room, and again Wanda led me down the hallway to their back bedroom. In the darkened front part of the apartment, however, Wilma grabbed me in her strong big arms, pressed me to her voluptuous chest and french kissed me with the largest, searching tongue that ever entered my mouth. She turned me on good; and I had already come downstairs with an erection. I reached up for her mammoth mammaries, but she forced my hand away from them casually. I accepted that and figured that I could wait until she took them out to show me and to have me suck them later.

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It started when I was in junior high school.

One day, as I was sitting in the back of the classroom during study hall, I began to daydream about one of the older boys in the school. Unconsciously, my hand drifted under my skirt, and my fingers were lightly rubbing the edge of the elastic of my panties.

Vickie’s voice, from the seat behind me, was startling when she whispered, “Oh, Barb, isn’t that lovely.”

“Shut up! Someone might hear you!”

“Don’t worry, No one is paying any attention.” Then Vickie’s hand was suddenly under my skirt, feeling the location of my fingers. She squeezed my hand, and her hand drifted slowly, gently upward. “Where is it?”

Her fingers generated marvelous feelings as they caressed my pubic mound. But, all too soon, the bell rang and it was time to leave. Confused, I tried to avoid her as we left school, but she caught up to me and walked beside me.

“I can make it feel really good,” she said in a hoarse voice, as we walked side by side. Frankly, my knees were weak, and my mind whirled with plans for letting her prove her ability.

Although I hadn’t paid much attention to her before, I began to treat Vickie as a best friend.

Just a few days later, we were playing after school in her back yard. Her house was the same as the others in the neighborhood, but her back yard was very deep–it actually extended the length of two or more of the ordinary back yards. And, there was a grove of about a half dozen pine trees, that surrounded a cool, dark glade. In that glade, I felt completely isolated from the rest of the world.

We were doing something–I can’t recall what–then I felt her presence behind me, and her warm breath in my ear, as she whispered, “I’d like to make you feel good.”

Her arms went around my waist, and she kissed me, or licked me–I don’t know–on the nape of my neck. It would sound icky to a young girl, but it felt–well it felt nice. Very nice.

How hot she seemed as her lips caressed my neck–and how natural it seemed as she pulled my arms upward, and lifted my shirt off in a fluid motion. Her hand rubbed the surface of my ‘teen’ bra, and focused pressure on my right nipple. My breasts were still conical, just developing, but her rubbing showed me for the first time just how sensitive my nipples could be.

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