I [f]ucked the father of the bride [m/f]

Went to a wedding a few weeks ago and made teenage-me's dream come true. It's a bit long, but a fun ride ;)

We hugged in the receiving line after the ceremony.

“Wendy! It’s been ages! We’re so glad you could come!”

Mr. Reynolds was the dad we all had a crush on in high school. He was tall, fit and handsome; perpetually dressed in a suit and tie – unless it was a weekend. He was sweet, smart, and funny. And he always let us drink at their house. His hair had gone gray since I’d last seen him.

“I couldn’t miss Julia’s biggest day ever!” I answered.

He looked me up and down. I really haven’t changed much since I was 16, but I was more of a woman now in a few key ways. He smiled.

“Let’s catch up at the reception.”

Mrs. Reynolds was also happy to see me but less… enthusiastic. Her and her ex-husband had been divorced for about two years now. We hugged and I left the church, immediately heading back to my hotel to get ready for the reception.

Rebounding With Some Tattooed Fuck [F]

So I just broke up with the dude that I’ve been seeing and I dealt with it the way I always deal with a breakup: fuck around with strange men.

i decided to do it the old fashioned way because fuck tinder. I put on a tight dress and platform heels and went to a bar. It was Tuesday. I had work the next morning. It was 6 o’clock at night. What the fuck was I doing?

Clearly most guys thought I was some sort of escort but after an hour or two they started to warm up to me. And I started to warm up too. I was getting a steady stream of free drinks and giving a steady stream of I’m-not-interesteds. Finally a larger, older man came in. Gray hair, thick beard. Tattoos. He sat down at the end of the bar and watched while half a dozen men got shot down. Then he moved to the barstool next to mine, bearing shots:

“so, your boyfriend dumped you?” he said.

“you dirty eavesdropper!” I slapped him playfully.

“fuck him.”

College tailgates are fun! [F/M]

In college, my girl friends and I had a tailgating ritual for warm-weather football games: we’d curl our hair, put on our best sundresses and cowboy boots, then walk tailgate-to-tailgate to see who’d let us drink for free.

One night game, we sauntered past a group of townies. It was a nice mix of guys and girls, with ages all over the place. They lured us in with fireball shots and drunk jenga.

After about an hour, we were plastered. One of the younger guys, Trevor, had me on his lap. He was pure country goodness: big, cocky, with huge, rough hands that were all over my body. We were making out hard.

“You taste like cinnamon,” he growled.

“Well you taste like cheap beer.” I giggled. “I wonder what the rest of you tastes like…”

He smacked my ass and gripped it hard. “Want to find out?”

I laughed again. “I’m not gonna blow you right here, baby.” We were in the center of the tailgate, right next to a group playing flip cup.