1. My Summer Job, Chapter Two


    Date: 8/3/2016, Categories: Bisexual, Author: marktreble, Source: LushStories

    Christine and I were both excited that I had the job. I reached between her legs and got a finger into her love tunnel, seeking out her clitoris. A whimper escaped her mouth, and we started toward the bedroom. That’s when her phone rang. Christine started to ignore the phone, but then she caught sight of a clock. “Fuck, it’s quarter after seven.” Christine answered the phone, and kept apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry, I’ll be home as quick as possible.” “No, I’m at Erica’s.” She listened for a solid three minutes, then broke into tears. “All right, I’m with Greg. I know you don’t want me seeing him, but we love each other.” Christine had overestimated my commitment to the relationship, but I didn’t mind. “Too late, Mom. We’ve been fucking for three years now. He loves the way I suck his dick, and I love the way he eats my pussy.” Uh-oh. This part of the new side of my girlfriend sounded like a train wreck that didn’t know it had already happened. Christine was dressed and out the door in four minutes. I suspected she was going to have a tough time explaining the torn clothes. There was very little left in the apartment to eat, so I vowed that tomorrow I’d buy some groceries. I checked my clothes; one clean T-Shirt and no clean pants. I’d have to do laundry tomorrow too. I found some decent porn on the computer and put that on. I got out two partial bottles of vodka and an empty glass. The next thing I knew it was nine a.m. I found a loaf of bread and ate two pieces ...
    for breakfast. I put the boxer-briefs in the laundry hamper and put on grey briefs, my last clean underwear. I grabbed the hamper, my key and the laundry detergent and went to the basement to load the washer. I wasn’t concerned about leaving the apartment in my underwear. It was an adults-only apartment complex and nobody was ever around after 8:30 in the morning anyway. As expected the laundry room was empty. Climbing back up to the second floor the apartment door across the hall opened. A guy a little older and a little taller than I was exiting the apartment, also in his underwear. I thought the place was empty. “Hi, I’m Brad Emerson,” the guy said, holding out his hand. I introduced myself. “I moved in yesterday,” he told me. “I saw you going downstairs in your briefs and figured it must be all right. Laundry time.” I wished him well and headed into my apartment. I ate another couple pieces of bread for breakfast and vowed that as soon as I had pants to wear I’d go out for groceries. The computer beckoned and I responded. E-mail was the usual crap – “Increase your penis size” - “Meet your Soulmate on Zoroastrians Mingle” - “Hair Loss? Try this new miracle product!” - “Subscribe to Lesbian Living.” Why is everybody worried about how little privacy they have and how the big corporations know everything about us? I looked in the mirror and decided I wasn’t a balding short-dicked lesbian Zoroastrian, as the marketing geniuses must have concluded. There was an e-mail from ...
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