Sarah was one tenant that I had living in my basement apartment. She was with us for three years. June was another, she lived with us after Sarah and is currently living below us. I have had tenants come and go and they always loved that they got to use our washing machine and dryer. The only restriction on their use was that it be on Mondays. Why Mondays? No particular reason, the day was simply picked so that there would be no conflicts.
Sarah worked part time at the town library and was going to school full time for a masters degree, but believe it or not she didn’t wear glasses, go figure! She told me a few times what she was studying but I couldn’t tell you. When we talked I was always distracted by her skin deep beauty, her youthful body and tight shorts that climbed up her crevasse’ on “Beach Days”.
I had a wife and no offspring back in these days. Because of a severe depression I decided not to have children. The thought of my genetics passing down suicidal thoughts to another human was something I didn’t want to risk. My wife has two children. They are my step-sons. I am an older man, I was born in nine-teen sixty two. Evolution has seen to it that I firstly survive with the sole purpose of procreating. It is my primary objective in life to deposit my sperm in as many different woman as I can. That’s it, that is all I have to do. Stay alive and deliver sperm to various vaginas. I don’t care if they are virgins or seasoned birthers, I just need new every time, we are just looking for genetic diversity here.
Evolution gave me this huge brain with a complex cerebral cortex, the highly evolved sensitive and thinking center. Boy, does it ever cause trouble with my primary objective in life. It is at odds with my hypothalamus. Let me tell you about my prehistoric good old hypothalamus and my tenants.
Sarah, the sober and studious part time librarian of whom probably has more cerebral cortex than hypothalamus would not always finish her laundry on Mondays and that meant her laundry basket would sit for a week. My hypothalamus made note of this. My cerebral cortex recorded the position and location of the soiled under things. The soft silky lined panties with a moisture absorbing cotton gusset. It would note on which particular pair of panties the gusset was facing out, which pair had rolled from hasty removal and which pairs were draped about the basket’s rim. This was the only time the cerebral cortex cooperated with the hypothalamus. The holy grail of these would be a still warm and moist pair. Moist! Warm! Wow!
Cere as I have nicknamed my cerebral cortex knew that after I disturbed and defiled them they had to be returned to their exact historical location, lest I be labeled a pervert, arrested and then thrown in jail. Hypo loved the idea of getting caught, it made him expel sperm and seminal fluid with greater ejaculative force. Being an old man and a dirty one at that I only recently thought of using my phone to take a picture of Sarah’s garden layout instead of relying on unreliable Cere for the locations and state of inside-outness.
The gusset is the “juice catcher”. It’s also called a panel. Sewn into location like an oil pan on a garage floor. It is the on the front line. It is in all day intimate contact with the vulva. Rubbing, climbing and sticking. Pussy juice in it’s own right doesn’t actually have an odor. That clear magical fluid from the realm of tribology with wonderful thixotropic properties—it gets it delightful odor from fermenting with the bodies other fluids.
The first time I ever held up a pair of wholesome Sarah’s soileds I got an erection like that of a schoolboy. Painfully hard. I immediately felt sinful, filthy and extremely aroused. I threw all caution aside and dropped my drawers and masturbated right there. Pants down stroking my erection in the dim light of the laundry room. Evil and sinister like before her basket of forbidden fruit. One pair held to my nose, another rubbed the soiled gusset along the bottom ridge of my penis. I “unloaded onto the cotton” as we connoisseurs say. I cleaned it with tissue and put everything back in historical order as per the recollection of my cerebral cortex. Ladies, you never know what a man is thinking. You have no idea. I returned an hour later for a second session, I was hooked. I’ll be back later to finish the story. I have to go food shopping.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/bfd52w/a_tale_of_two_tenants
Oh,,my. A very engaging read, indeed!