“Hi Mandy, I’m so glad you could come!” I smile at Ben as sincerely as I can, as we “mwah, mwah” in greeting, but I’m already starting to regret coming to his party by myself. When Sandra cried off with a migraine that afternoon, I should have jumped at the chance of a night in with Netflix and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. On the other hand, I’d bought this green dress specially, and had my hair done, so I persuaded myself it might be fun. But I knew as soon as I walked in the door that it wouldn’t be. The music’s too loud and too heavy, and there are far too many people trying to dance in far too small a space. Ben’s quite sweet in his way, but he’s more Sandra’s friend than mine, and though he makes me welcome, he’s clearly more interested in getting off with Donna Battersby. His tongue was down her throat just now, and she was rubbing her huge tits against his chest, so I reckon he’s in there. They’ll be shagging on the sofa before the evening’s out, I reckon. I’m already starting to feel all hot and sticky, but not in a good way. The only good thing is there’s plenty of booze, and if I’m honest I’ve been necking it a bit too quickly for the last hour or so. Someone was passing round a joint just now and that hasn’t helped. My head’s starting to throb out a Morse code message warning me to slow down, and I’m beginning to think I should listen to it for once. Cut my losses and go home to bed. I go to the kitchen to get some water, both to cool me down and stop me dehydrating too much. There’s a guy by the sink doing the same thing, so I wait my turn while he fills his glass and swills down a whole pint all in one. He’s about to pour himself another when he realises I’m there. “Sorry, love, after you,” he says, making space for me at the sink. I lean over to turn on the tap. I notice he’s blatantly staring down the front bursa escort of my dress. Not that I can complain, since I chose it for that very effect. It’s cut very low and quite loose at the front, and I’m not wearing a bra, so he’ll be able to see quite a lot of my tits, even my nipples if he’s lucky. In my inebriated state, I care even less than usual, and deliberately fill my glass slowly, to give him time for a good look. I even give them a little jiggle, to enhance the effect. I flash a friendly smile as I surrender my place at the sink, and he grins back. He’s actually quite good-looking, in a slightly feminine-looking way, wearing a tight plain white t-shirt that shows off his well-toned upper body, and skinny jeans. I wonder if the rest of him looks as good. “That’s a nice dress,” he says, not slurring his words too much, “That colour really suits you.” “Thanks,” I say, taking a good swig at my drink. “It’s new. I bought it specially for tonight, though I don’t know why I bothered. My friend cried off at the last minute, and I don’t really know many people here.” “I’m sort of on my own too,” he says. “I know Ben from way back, but we’ve sort of lost touch recently. You know what it’s like.” I nod. “I know; he’s really a friend of Sandra – my friend – which is why I almost didn’t come.” I take another drink, and accidentally tip the glass too much, so a splosh of water misses my mouth completely, dribbles down my chin and drips straight into my cleavage. “Oh fuck,” I say, flapping at the front of my dress, the crudity slipping out. “Still, at least it’s cool.” That gives him the perfect excuse to stare at my tits again, which he does for longer than strictly necessary. I glance down at his crotch. I can’t see much of a bulge, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something there, tucked neatly away. Small bursa escort bayan and soft can easily turn into big and hard, in my experience. There’s a bit of an awkward pause. I’m starting to think I’ll have to make all the running, when he blurts out, “D’you want to dance, then?” No, I don’t. I want to fuck. But if I leave it up to him, my itch might remain unscratched. “I don’t really like this music,” I say, “And it’s too loud. Why don’t we find somewhere quieter? Upstairs maybe.” I don’t even give him chance to answer, just take his hand and drag him out of the kitchen, through the sweaty heaving mob in the front room and into the hall. There’s already a couple snogging on the staircase, but I push past them with a brusque “excuse me”. I’ve already worked out where I’m going, having got lost earlier while looking for the loo. There’s a locked room, then a cupboard, but past that is the bedroom that’s been designated as the “cloakroom”. I just hope nobody’s beaten me to it. Good. It’s empty. I pull him in, and kick the door shut. I put my arms around him. “Hello,” I say, “My name’s Mandy.” “I’m Harry,” he says, smiling. At least he’s got the message now. “Good. Now we’ve been introduced…” I open my mouth and pull his face down against mine. As soon as our lips meet, I stick my tongue in. He reciprocates, and soon we’re French kissing like it was going out of fashion. I feel his hand on my back, holding me against him. Then his other hand slides up between us and finds my tits. He mashes them for a while through my dress, then when I don’t complain he slips his hand inside and makes contact with the bare flesh. I make a little growl in my throat and press myself harder against him, showing him I’m happy with that. He finds a nipple and tweaks it between his fingers: a bit roughly, but I like escort bursa that. Maybe he’s not such a pussy after all. I reach round the back of my dress and pull the zip down, then wriggle my arms expertly out of the straps so the top half drops right down round my waist, completely exposing my bare tits. Harry exhales with the words, “Oh fuck.” He strokes his hand over the left boob, then bends down and takes the nipple in his mouth. He sucks on it, massaging the hard bud with his lips and running his tongue round the dimpled areola. It feels really nice, and I let out a little sigh of pleasure. Then I feel his other hand start to drag my dress up. His fingers are rough against the warm firm flesh of my bare legs, and he strokes up until his fingers ease between my thighs and find my dangling prick and balls. Not surprisingly, that stops him in his tracks for a moment. He pulls his head away and stares at me. “What the fuck…” he starts to say. Fortunately, he sounds surprised rather than angry. It’s the angry ones who tend to push me away. Or hit me. I put a finger on his lips. “Please,” I say. “It’s not a joke. It’s real. And so are my tits. I’ve always had both. It’s the way I am. Please say you don’t mind.” I’ve been holding him, but I let him go, leaving him free to turn around and walk away if he wants to. I hardly dare breathe. He’s been holding his breath too, then he lets it out with a gasp. And smiles. “Wow, that was just a bit of a surprise,” he says. There’s another pause. “Can I touch it?” he asks. “I was hoping you would,” I answer truthfully. He kisses me, then starts to pull up my dress again. I lend a hand, and once it’s over my hips I push a couple of coats out of the way and sit back on the bed. My little prick is already getting hard, and Harry loses no time in putting his hand round the shaft and starting to rub it, drawing more blood in and drawing it to its full erect length of just under seven inches. I’ve had a course of electrolysis to remove all the hair down there (and in other places) and I like how wonderfully smooth everything is.