[Part I is here](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/8zpwo3/this_just_in_ff/)
[Part II is here](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/908vya/this_just_in_part_ii_the_pizza_party_ff/)
[Part III here](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/90kdfn/this_just_in_part_iii_why_do_bees_make_honey
_ff/)
Welcome to Part IV
Well, I really have to emphasize that I did *not* expect the reactions I received on the earlier parts of my ‘story’. I’m ecstatic about it; and I suppose the only reservation I have in hindsight is that I have disclosed certain pieces of me and info personally to some of you (privately). I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, just something I hadn’t set out as the goal of this endeavor; maybe kind of like The Roots band, I mean are they hip-hop artists or rock? Who the fuck knows. At the end of the day, I Got You. Anyway, if this isn’t you’re first entre down the rabbit hole here with me, then you already know, and it goes without saying, just how tangential I get when I spit my sixteen bars (who am I kidding- I couldn’t rhyme as well as a 4 y.o. …trust me). I do this for a reason. This story is *real*, as in *all* of it actually happened, *and* I don’t really think everything here is suited for everyone. As a chick who understands falling easily under the influence of some interesting ‘things’ (even mildly), I feel responsible to you folks; even accountable perhaps. If you are sub seventeen, this might not be something you need to read; or maybe it is. All I’m saying is that we are influenced a lot by society and what surrounds us. You will find I veer off a bit, and it’s probably (sub-consciously) intended (for the most part).
This is the fourth part of this ‘thing’. This isn’t conclusive however, but in writing we require some core components. One of these is an ending. I’m going to work backwards just a bit here so you all capture things the way they are, today. This will also serve to spare you from reading the rest of this garbage (should you choose), and allow you to move onto something more interesting (I am available for suggestions btw). Jenny and I have stayed fairly close since Part 1, but she is not and has not been privy to this as far as I can tell. We have spoken a few times, we text back and forth a lot, and she has come (cum?) to my office for lunch twice (where I ate her pussy like Cookie Monster at a cookie convention…No No.. keep your panties on, didn’t happen, srysly). We get along well, enjoy somewhat similar body types, and she laughs at my jokes (usually). She also snagged me walking into my office building to bring me my wallet at like 7 AM the other day covering her mouth, keeling over, and finding it apparently and utterly hilarious to see me in heels, hose, skirt-suit, shades, and wearing makeup. I heard that bitch before I even saw her. Keep in mind this is the city, not just *any* city, at like 7:30 AM, and I hear her squawking like some injured-ass hyena.
“What bitch?”. She is finding something amusing, and I’m just cranky and coffee-less, and close to being late for work. “Uh President Jessica”, she composed herself to spout this. “I, uh, didn’t really know you were one of these uppity hoes-“, I cut her off and simultaneously adjusted my left heel. “Counselor Jessica, and It’s a job and it pays the bills. Wallet. Please. I’m late”. Jenny dug into her bag, produced my wallet and handed it to me. I’m (frustrated), kneeling down to adjust the buckle and likely looking perturbed. “You DO know I went through all your shit right?”, she says over me. “Shocking. Did you pay off the Amex for me too?”, as I resumed to a stand, shoving the wallet into my bag whilst searching out my regular glasses to swap for the sunglasses on my face. “No, but I found the condom, the cutest little story all folded up, the Lexus roadside assistance card, and mad receipts. Also VS is pretty lame so glad you kept that receipt, I know which gyno you go to, you’re middle name is cute. There are some alarm codes too, some dude’s pic-prolly-your-hubby, four silver dollars, snippets of some pink hair which is fuckin’ creepy, Costco member apparently, more credit cards, some cash which I took, and an appointment card for some bitch who does waxing. OK. Gotta run. Toodles”, and she strolls off.
I was really late. I needed the wallet as it contained the magnetic key card to get into the elevator and into my office, else I would have just met Jenny another time for the exchange. Hmph. At least she didn’t go through the zippered change compartment I guess since she didn’t mention any of the VCH jewelry I keep in there (16g barbell, and two curved barbells – pricey btw), or maybe she didn’t notice. Or.. Maybe she did but didn’t say anything. Either way I’m late and the story is not over, so honey check it out you got me mesmerized; with that black hair and those fat-ass thighs; street poetry is my every day, so yo I gotta stop when you trot my way………. She really did take the cash tho. All $27. Let’s get back to it…
When we last met I was recovering on Jenny’s couch for quite a while. It was some otherwise uneventful Saturday evening and after all was said and done, Jenny took a shower. I had fallen asleep, you know, like what *always* happens in porn, right? My body probably recognized some odd sounds and I think I woke up hearing the shower turn off. It was an odd and unusual feeling for me – strange place, left nipple rock-hard under the body-suit, dress pulled up above my waist, one knee bent and the other kind of hanging off the couch. The unsnapped bottom of the body-suit (fuck this I’m abbreviating that word going forward – too much to type and I don’t like that word) offering nothing to be left to the imagination, and my vag just kind of hanging out there in the breeze. It felt weird and I felt vulnerable. I pulled my hair back into a bun and adjusted my glasses, immediately noticing that ‘Jenny smell’ on my fingers. It’s an indescribably *wonderful* smell, immediately reminiscent of flowers and sex. I inhale deeply and feel the tingles again.
Get up Jessica. Oh. Yeah. Right. Fuck, what time is it? Jeesh I’m so hungry. I want pizza. Did I leave the car keys for the doorman? Shit. Where’s my phone? The watch! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I went to the store to pick up the watch (confused you are? My intent on shopping at that store earlier, well it was actually a means to have gotten an opportunity to pick up my Dad’s vintage watch which was being repaired by the tiny troll watch-maker in said store. I was getting this done so I could surprise him on his birthday. Little troll works very limited hours apparently, like 4, a week) and I completely overlooked this. I stood up for a minute, adjusted myself, snapped up those three little buttons while vowing to never ever wear this silly under-thing again… ever…. Nope. The bathroom door swings open, enter Jenny wrapped in a towel. Two towels actually.
“Leaving already?”, she said. Jenny pulls off the towel on her head and is proceeding to talk to me while brushing her hair. “I know. Your boyfriend or husband or whatever is looking for you. Come give me a kiss before you go”, Jenny continues matter-of-fact like even before I respond. “Ha, yeah sorry to say dude but no significant other to speak of J-Rock. That was a great nap though. Can I have another?”, was my reply. One of the most interesting facets I’ve observed between Jenny and I is undeniably the natural flirty sarcasm we shared. It was just so natural with just about zero hesitation. I sat back down gathering my things, and Jenny comes in from behind the couch, leans over and we very naturally twist tongues for a solid ten minutes (she was totally 6th grade feeling me up at the same time which was adorable). It was kind of late, maybe 1 AM-ish and way past my bed time. Jenny offers me a sleepover, but I got the feeling she was being hesitant. This made it easy to decline, so we exchanged contact info and agreed on a couple of things: 1. Monday’s suck, 2. we both have some shit we need to get done on Sunday, therefore 3. We should ‘debrief’ (hehe no pun intended, kind of) on Tuesday or Wednesday. Quick kiss goodbye and I grab a cab home swooning the entire way (ahem, minus the fact that the soon-to-be-engulfed-in-flames ‘bodysuit’ is riding equally up my ass and between my legs) home. Since I already know what you pervs are going to ask- Yes, I did tip the driver. I also masturbated myself to sleep that night (dur).
(contd.)
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/972t63/this_just_in_part_iv_no_catchy_title_ff
Full disclosure, I did a lot of thinking and soul-searching over the next few days. And whether you like it or not, I’m going to share (so guys – put your dicks away for a sec, ladies…um.. applaud me or something). I wasn’t really sure how I felt about my experience with Jenny. I’d recently ended a very very long ‘relationship’ with my SO turned fiancée. I’d never ‘been with a girl’, and still wasn’t sure if what just went down even qualified under that banner. I also wasn’t really looking for *anything* besides an opportunity to rediscover Jessica, really get my career aligned and quite frankly, enjoy being alone. Beyond this, I **just** met this girl- I mean sure as day we clicked, she’s hella sparky, cute, smart, sexy, smells wonderful, and kind of blew my mind in a random way. On the flip side- I like a nice hard cock attached to a usually insecure man who thinks I’m his Mom. *Sigh*. So here is where I *think* I can really start to understand why guys\girls like girls (females) – Getting touched and fondled by a woman….unf, it’s nothing like a dude. She’s gentle but aggressive, soft but firm, just, well, just right. More than this, she *knows* (almost instinctively) how to handle your orgasm. I may be speaking out of turn, basing this on discussions with other girlfriends (platonic) and my own experience but using myself as an example – I get super sensitive when I cum. An orgasm can be extended (sometimes into additional orgasms), or if ‘driven’ improperly, halted. Personally, with Jenny it’s been the former – she knows what face to make, what and where to apply pressure to more (or less), and how to follow through to make me *shutter*. Before you guys all jump on top of me here, note that I am basing this opinion on *several* interactions with Jenny. I’m also assuming you are all yawning and waiting for me to get even to interaction number deux (that’s two in French). What do you want to know? Huh? What was I wearing? What? Yes, of course my pussy is constantly wet. What? Commando something something….no… no I don’t normally do that. Yes constantly, uh huh. Yes I actually keep a bucket fashioned between my legs. 36D, we already discussed that, next. Enough, enough, enough. Let’s keep it moving here. Strong like a bomb, quick like a comet; can I get whateva from Mrs. Moohamed (RIP – Phife Dawg).
**GAME DAY?**
Sunday came and went and was fairly uneventful. Jenny and I texted back and forth a little, and I sensed that *she* sensed I was feeling sort of awkward. I did my laundry, ate some sushi, left a message for the watch troll, paid some bills, and decided to post all of the above to my (alt) account on Reddit. I’m pretty sure I completed Part I that afternoon and evening. Part II was done and up later that week, and Part III sometime after that. Feel free to keep me honest here as I may be ever so slightly mistaken. Now go back and re-read 1 and 2 and think about this: At the time that was written, I had just had that first ‘experience’ with Jenny. That was detailed just as it had occurred, and now here I am sitting and about to relay our next date like I have a time machine! Writing really is a wonderful thing. But I digress.
Monday started super early for me when the alarm went off at 5 AM. I *try* to rise early on Mondays, Wednesdays, and more recently (since I’m a loser with a limited if not non-existent social life) Fridays. On these days I’ll get up, throw on a sports bra, T shirt, leggings, and ‘faux jog’ four blocks to the gym. I’ll work out while contemplating my existence (rows, light db’s, weighted squats, blah blah blah). Fourty-five minutes later, a sweaty mess, I’ll faux jog back to my building. Alejandro was at the door, holding it open, and solidifying that ‘yes’ it is Monday (Alejandro, not Alex btw only works like a couple days here or something). “Goooood morning Jessica”, he spouts. “What are you so happy about this morning Alejandro?”, I retort. We fist-bump and walk side by side back to the front desk where he returns to sitting in his half-broken office chair. Alejandro is a couple years my senior, cute, dimples, with a bit of a receding hair line. He’s not just ready for the comb-over, but it’s likely in his future. My boobs are sweaty and icky feeling, and I want some damn coffee like right now, but I’ll entertain him for a minute.
“Yo… I got the fire mixtape kid!”, he says emphasizing fire as a good thing. “Oh yeah? Fire?”. “word?”. “Why don’t you burn me a CD and I’ll toss it out the window”, is how I replied, of course with a big sarcastic smile. As if anyone burns CD’s anymore; shit if I even have *any* device which *plays* CD’s (maybe my car, maybe). Alejandro and I have this weird kind of kinship. He knows I love hip-hop, first basing that discovery on hearing me walking into the building with one ear-bud in my ear many, many times. We started talking a year or so ago when his Dad retired and he was grandfathered into the job (something union-related but beyond me really). Alejandro has been an aspiring DJ forever, and once he and I got to talking we immediately clicked. Nothing sexual (he *might* play for the *other team* – not confirmed) at all, but we share a love of music. He is a fucking **horrible** DJ and I won’t bother going into detail on this; instead I’ll say it’s good he has a day job. I think he appreciates my honesty thus why we get along so very well. I have a stack of CD’s on my dining room table; they make excellent coasters. I’ve sent him links to **my** favorite ‘mixtapes’ as well, and when time permits we discuss. Alejandro raced me to the elevator, pushed the UP button, and I entered alone, pointing at him and winking. As the doors closed I yell, “Where the fuck are those empanadas you keep promising me BY THE WAY…”, is what I say as the elevator blasts off (his moms empanadas are actually fire, jeesh want now, and I can confidently say I’d suck him off, twice, for regular deliveries of these). Why is this important to you folks? It isn’t. It’s almost completely ancillary, but will shed some light on why I decided to pursue law, really have some sick fetish for hip-hop that’s +/- older than I am, and why I have some of the ‘hang-ups’ you folks may have identified. I warned you earlier – Jessica = tangential.
(Cue the blurry dream-like shot indicative of looking back through one’s memories)(Mine dur)
(contd)