This is embarrassing.I used to wrestle with my wife. For sex. Totally corny.
It was striking how our fetishes locked together even when our marriage couldn’t get locked up.
First we used to tease each other about how many times we wore the same kind of white socks, usually thick heavy one-fabric jobs. She was a majorette, I was in marching band; we both had tons of ‘em.The teasing became a turn-on which became our first sex, after we did a little posing for each other in just our cleanest pair of socks.
Then we discovered we enjoyed watching pro wrestling. It made us as hot as the socks, but we didn’t talk about it.Finally one night we went to see a live wrestling event.We shared a private electricity. I got invited home, a rarity at that time.
We were tired-and-wired; a lethal combination that saw us eventually wearing just our white socks, circling on the thick rug beside her bed.
We were moving slow and fakey like the pros did at the arena. Watching Christie’s smooth solid thighs jiggle made my cock start to bob. This made Christie smile. As I slowly moved in, her light beige body tone blended with my light skinned leaness. I was 5’6′ 150, Christie had ten pounds on me and an inch in height.
We closed together in a kind of bearhug.Our bodies were an amazing fit. We moved all around that smallish rug. We stepped back a couple of times. We both grunted when my dick sprang up like a diving board . Our cheeks were flushed, our breathing loudly uneven.
” This is sooooo hot”, Christie whispered; then we were trying all these arm holds that we had seen at the matches. My mushroom tip kept digging into her crisply shuddering legs. Another bearhug-hammerlock combo made her legs rub and jiggle against a very hard member. I got my hand down between those vibrating thighs. Her inner lips were wet when my middle two fingers spread them. Her clit was a diamond bead between the fronts of my second and third finger, and I twiddled them in Christie until she squatted and rose up with me in a hug that nearly made me cum all over her legs.
We grappled down to the carpet, and after some tangles of legs, I scissored my firm legs around Christie’s chest. My slippery cock sawed across her raisin nipples.I gave her two, then three fingers worth of pussy massage, shaking my arm like it was some kind of claw hold. She gasped, and bridged up unto my grip.Then she plopped down with a splash of ass and started digging her white socked heels into the carpet, one thump at a time. Her calves dangled at the tops of her heavy wool socks.Her legs were peppered with thick, violent tremors that matched her husky gasps.
The better I handled Christie, the more she bridged her liquid pussy off the rug. Then she panted and sighed out a long, shivering sound that could only be orgasm. She scuffed up torrents of dense leg jiggles. The left side of my cock tickled. I humped my dick across Christie’s nipples .The leg tremors pulled the tickle down my shaft.Our bodies twitched.Hot semen lariats squirted between my leg and over her tits, strands of white that seemed to time out with my own massage that brought Christie to one final, heaving climax.Sleeping on the rug is something we only remembered later
It was our pursuit of these admittedly repetitive fetishes that kept two relatively incompatible people married for six years.
Does anyone have an experience even remotely similar. I hope so. Otherwise, it’s just embarrassing. And oh, so corny.
THE END of “A Strange Blend”