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roughridingrednecks · 7 months
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King Squeeze
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justmuscle77 · 1 year
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Julian Arroyuelo, a bodybuilding martial artist is pure perfection. That's what you're supposed to look like in a tank top. Fucken Hot 🔥 🥵!
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orderlyconduct · 2 months
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beater #10
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shirtlessmoviestv · 22 days
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Jonah Hauer-King : The Flatshare
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rugtopper · 3 months
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I Hate Butterscotch
By Rugtopper
I was beyond excited.  After making every excuse imaginable to see my dentist whenever I could over the years, Dr. Goldstein finally asked me out to dinner.  Yes, I guess I could have been bold and asked him myself, but he is at least 25 years older than me.  I have had a crush on him since I was a teenager.  He is so handsome and dapper.  He also has something else that most anyone, male or female, would find off-putting.  He wears a toupee.  It's not high quality in any way.  It doesn't even match the color of his real hair. You see, I have this bizarre problem:  I have a fetish for toupees.  Every time I'm in that dentist's chair, I get so turned on just staring at Dr. Goldstein's hard, fake hairline.  His toupee is a deep chestnut brown, very thick and full, with a traditional left-sided part.  The thing that makes it stand out is the upsweep off the forehead.  There are far better hairpieces on the market that he could have purchased, but for whatever reasons he went with a less-than-perfect facsimile of human hair.  I have never said anything to him about it, although I have wanted to.  
The night finally arrived.  I had changed my mind nine times over what to wear.  I knew he was taking me to a very upscale restaurant, so I knew I needed to wear a suit.  I had debated which of the three I owned to wear, and decided to wear the dark navy; then, there was the decision about the tie.  I had many in my collection that had belonged to older male relatives who had passed on.  Twenty minutes before he arrived, I finally decided on a bright floral.  My shirt was crisp and white.  My undershirt was taut across my pecs and clearly apparent underneath.  I had decided to wear these silly silk pink boxer shorts with red and white hearts on them - just in case.  I had gone all-in with garters for my socks.  I had worn them since college.  A fraternity brother had gotten me into them.
Dr. Goldstein arrived on time looking handsome as ever in a dark charcoal suit.  Like me, his shirt was crisp and white, but thicker than mine.  Still, I could see the faint outline of the scoop of his a-shirt.  I knew he had more traditional leanings in apparel.  When I opened my front door, my voice caught in my throat.  The way the porch light seemed to magnify the artificiality of his hairpiece took my breath away.  I didn't want to go to the restaurant.  I just wanted him in my bed with his hair on my dresser.  Still, I managed to find my voice and greet him.
"Good evening, Dr. Goldstein."
"None of that 'doctor' stuff tonight, Chris.  Please call me Jake.  Now, are you ready?  That restaurant won't hold our reservation."
"Sure, of course."
I'll skip over the dinner conversation.  It was pleasant, but pedestrian.  The food was excellent.  I thought that I had been fairly successful in avoiding staring at his hair, but I guess I failed because as we got to dessert and coffee Jake put his fork down and looked directly into my eyes.
"Uh, Chris, is there something wrong with my hair?  You keep staring at it."
I immediately crossed my legs and said, "I am so sorry, Jake.  I didn't mean to stare, or embarrass you.  I never would want to do that."
"Then why do you keep staring at it?  You seem to do it all the time, especially when you're in the chair for your checkups."
"I apologize, Jake.  It's just that . . . Never mind.  I can't say."
"Of course you can, Chris.  I've known you since you were 12.  You can tell me anything."
"Okay.  Uhm . . .  I don't want to embarrass you or hurt your feelings."
"You won't, Chris.  Now, just say it."
I took a sip of my coffee.  It tasted very bitter, so I added another spoonful of sugar and took another sip.  "Okay.  Jake, I really love your hair.  I think it is so beautiful.  There, I finally said it out loud".  After I said that, I tightened my crossed legs even more to keep what little I had from popping up.
At first, Jake got this slightly shocked look on his face, then he seemed to blush.
"You didn't hurt my feelings at all Chris.  In fact, I'm quite flattered.  But, I'm also somewhat embarrassed."
"I'm so sorry, Jake.  Now I'm embarrassed for upsetting you." I took another sip of coffee.
"Chris, I'm not upset, but I am a little embarrassed.  You see, this is very difficult for a man to admit, but I actually wear a toupee."
I crossed my legs even tighter, forcing my nuts to roll up inside myself!  I tried to keep a pleasant look on my face, but I was so excited.  I was also suddenly flushed and slightly dizzy.
"It looks great," I lied to him.  Actually, it looked great for someone with my issues, but it looked bad for someone who is trying to convince the world that his hair is real.
"I had to start wearing one when I was in college.  A lot of men are embarrassed about losing their hair, especially at a young age.  Are you okay, Chris?  You don't look well." What I tried to say was, 'I feel fine if a bit warm'.  What came out was some sort of incoherent gibberish.  After that, I think I passed out, but I really don't remember.
The next thing I do recall was the acrid smell of burning hair, and a coolness on my knees.  I slowly opened my eyes.  I was sitting in a huge barber's chair with a clear cape covering me, yet I could see my undergarments!  What was going on?  I looked up and saw my reflection in a huge mirror.  There was a husky man standing behind me.  He had the most exquisite black pompadour, clearly a full wig.  He was holding a tiny pen with a cord attached.  He kept touching the top of my head with it.  Each time he did, I felt a slight tinge and smelled burning hair - my hair.  There was only stubble on the top, but the rest of my hair on the back and sides had been trimmed very short.  I tried to talk, but was unable to utter a word.  In front of the mirror was a shallow ledge.  There were two styrofoam wig heads with a very dark ginger toupee on each.  At first I tried to think who I'd like to see wearing them.  As my mind cleared more and more, I realized that those toupees were for me.  As this reality became clear, I saw Jake via the mirror walking toward me.  
"Oh, good.  I'm glad you are finally waking up, Chris.  You know, I love the cute boxer shorts you wore just for me.  Still, it's a waste of all that silk to cover that little dicklet of yours.  I bet you sit down to pee.  Still, it's good to know you have some traditional leanings in your choice of apparel."
"What's going on, Jake?" It sounded somewhat slurred.  I must have still been hung over from whatever was in that bitter coffee.
The husky barber continued to denude my scalp while Jake spoke.
"Chris, you are very intelligent.  I think you have figured it out.  I am flattered by your schoolboy crush.  I even found the story you wrote about me.  Now, don't look so startled.  I recognized myself in the story immediately, even if you did change my name.  You see, Chris, you were very chatty a few months ago during that extraction surgery.  Afterwards, with Antonio's professional skills, I decided to help you become the mature man you have longed to be.  I think you need to know what it's like to have everyone stare at your hair all the time."
As Jake finished talking, he took a step back.  Antonio took one of the toupees off the styrofoam head and applied four pieces of tape to the underside.  Two of the pieces of tape were curved.  They were placed at the front and back of the hairpiece.  On the sides were placed two straight strips.  Antonio quickly placed the toupee on my head.  The perimeter was rather stiff.  The tape immediately stuck to my scalp.  When Antonio had my new hair on my head, I felt the curved tape in back adhere just above my occipital bone. I knew then that I was forever going to be a Norwood Six male patterned bald man in a rug. I could feel the light mesh foundation of the center of the toupee against my smooth, sensitive bald head.  The toupee was thick and full with a fixed left-sided part.  The texture was smoother than my own hair.  The contrast between my flat brown hair and what had been taped to my head was stark to say the least.  Antonio began trimming my new, fake hair with scissors. He used a small handheld steamer in the front. Suddenly I could tell he was giving me the same up-sweep that Jake's toupee had. I realized that apart from the color, I had the same model toupee as Jake did. The laser wand Antonio had earlier used had killed the hair on the top of my head. It has also destroyed the hair at my temples. Without that, it was even more glaringly obvious what I had on my head. My little dicklet decided to do a happy dance. I was enjoying my new look without a thought about the day-to-day life experiences I would certainly encounter.
I was mesmerized, humiliated, vulnerable, and thrilled all the same time.  I was also a little upset.
"It's butterscotch," I blurted out.  "I hate butterscotch."
"I know Chris.  You told me after that surgery as the nitrogen oxide was wearing off.  You told many, many things.  You told me about your crush you have had for me, and you told me one other thing."
As Antonio finished styling my new hair, Jake walked up behind me, leaned down beside my ear, and whispered, "you have a great toupee, Chris, but it's still just a cheap toupee."
The End
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fl-usa-dude · 9 months
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rustymeralco · 1 year
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"And then you put your arm around her like this..."
"Okay..."
"And then slowly lean in and just..."
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roughridingrednecks · 1 month
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Chase
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wifebe-ters · 2 months
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Brianne Carpenter
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It's rare to not see arm wrestling happening at Grianmharian barrack mess hall tables.
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orderlyconduct · 25 days
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beater #14
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shirtlessmoviestv · 2 months
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Troy Garity : Soldier's Girl (2003)
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rugtopper · 2 months
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Wedding Night Surprises
By Rugtopper
I have always been traditional or old fashioned by nature.  For as long as I could remember growing up at the orphanage, all of us under Father Carmine's care and instruction were taught good principles, good ethics, and good deportment.  For the few of us who were never adopted, some would rebel and veer from the path laid out by Father Carmine.  I stayed the course.  Once we reached our teen years, all the boys were expected to wear dress pants, shirts and ties, and shoes polished to high gloss every day.  As such, we were required to also don certain undergarments.  Some of the boys hated the mundane medallion or diamond patterned boxer shorts.  The sleeveless undershirts, or tank tops, were somewhat popular among most.  They were back in fashion again after an absence.  The one thing that a lot of the young men hated were the sock garters.  Father Carmine said that a proper gentleman never pulled up his socks in public.  I didn't mind any of it.  In fact, I really liked it.  It made me feel like a grown up man instead of a teenage boy.  Personally, I think he just liked seeing all of us dressed like that every morning as we got ready for school.  
At one point Father Carmine thought I would follow him and take Holy Orders, but I didn't want to follow that strict path. 
By law, at age 18, the state required me to leave the orphanage.  For whatever reason, I was never adopted.  Father Carmine helped me find a small room to rent a few blocks from the orphanage.  I was allowed to continue to help out in the office at the orphanage.  In truth, I was the de facto bookkeeper for the orphanage and the parish.  I started night school to get a proper degree in accounting.  That's when I met Julie.
Julie Hatfield was extraordinarily gorgeous, and yet painfully shy.  Slowly, over the course of that first term of school I got to know her.  I was shy to some extent, but I had also learned to be open enough as a kid in the likelihood I might get adopted.  In short, we were both looking for someone to love.  Less than a year later, we were dating on a regular basis.  Despite our blatant differences in background, we found we had some things in common.  She was rather old fashioned, as well.  Unlike most young women, she wore skirts or dresses.  I don't think I ever saw her in pants.  She always had her hair beautifully styled.  On our first real dinner date, I swear she wore an elegant little black dress, a string of simple pearls, with her hair in a French twist.  I was so mesmerized I couldn't even say her name.
After two months of dating, I thought we were getting serious.  I had casually brought up marriage.  We had already talked about so many things.  There were minor disagreements over silly issues, but on many principles we were of one mind in our views of things.  This was beyond an issue of politics or religion, but rather an approach to many esthetics of life that most everyone of our generation hated or thoroughly dismissed.
One night when we were dining at our favorite restaurant, she said something that startled me.  As we were eating our little dinner salads, she asked me if I was losing my hair.  I had never been asked that before, much less seriously given it any thought.
"I don't think so," I told her.  "Why do you ask?"
"It looks like you are receding a bit in the front.  Plus, you are thinning in the back."
I was more interested in why she brought it up than in if it might be true or not.  Over the next week she mentioned it a few more times.  Finally, I confronted her about it.  That's when we had our first real 'adult' conversation.  We shared our interests.  Nowadays, people call them kinks.  Back then, you didn't talk about those things.  Still it was enlightening, and even vulgarly titillating, to say the least.
I asked her why my hair was suddenly such an issue for her.  She told me that she really hated bald men, and that she didn't want me to go bald.  I told her that I didn't think there was a chance of that.  That's when she brought up my empty history.
"You're an orphan, Bryan Murphy.  You don't know who your parents are.  You don't know if your maternal grandfather was totally bald or anything.  I couldn't live with a bald man.  I just couldn't.  I know it sounds silly."
"But, Julie, I'm not losing my hair at all.  Yes, it's receding a bit like you said, but it's nothing drastic."
"I just couldn't stand it.  That's all."
"What would you want me to do, get a hairpiece?"
She got this odd look on her face.
"Would you?  For me?" She asked, almost childlike.
"What?" I retorted.
"Would you get a hairpiece?  I mean, you are slowly losing your hair as it is.  If you got a hairpiece now, no one would know."
"Julie, if I get a hairpiece, I would be bald underneath it.  Wouldn't that bother you?  I mean, eventually we are going to get married.  We have decided to wait until our wedding night to make love.  Won't it upset you when I take it off that first time?"
"That's different, Bryan."
"How is that different, Julie?  You just said how much you hate bald men.  Would you hate me?"
"No, Bryan.  I love you.  It's just that . . ."
"Well.  It's just what?  You say you love me but hate bald men, yet you want me to be bald.  I don't understand."
"Neither do I, to tell the truth."
"Okay.  Now, I'm confused."
"I really can't explain it.  With all the little quirks we have shared, I left one out.  I have this really odd bent for men who wear rugs."
I laughed.  She got upset.
"I'm sorry.  Don't be mad, Julie.  I'm sorry.  So, let me get this straight, a man in a cheap toupee makes you hot?"
"Yes."
"I guess it makes him hot, too." I sarcastically said.  She just gave me this certain smirk I had grown accustomed to over the months I had known her.
"I'm sorry, Julie."
"Just forget it.  You said you wanted to know."
"Would you really want me to do that?  Would it make you happy?"
"Yes.  Would you really do it for me?  I mean, would you put yourself through that?"
"I have never known of someone doing something like that for someone else.  I mean, yes, people have done other things for someone they love, but this is really unusual.  I don't even know a barber who could help me."
Suddenly she had this look on her face.
"You know someone, don't you?" I asked her.  "You have been planning this haven't you?"
"No, not really, but I have a third cousin who owns a little old fashioned barbershop about forty miles from here.  I think if I talked to him, he would do it without any questions."
"Do you know how much those things cost, especially over the years?  I will be 20 in a month.  My job doesn't pay much and then there is school tuition, I couldn't afford the added expense."
"Let me talk to Ronnie.  I'll tell him your situation and what I want.  He's a nice guy and a highly respected barber.  Do you know that he is the mayor's barber?"
Mayor Llewellyn was the nicest man you would ever want to meet with a blatantly obvious pewter toupee perched on his head.
I swallowed and said, "if that's what you want, sure."
Little did I know just how traditional and old-fashioned I was about to be.
Ronnie Blevins was a bit of a throwback.  When I got to his shop, he was sitting in this huge red leather and chrome barber's chair reading a magazine.  He was wearing a white barber's smock over his husky frame.  He looked like so many of those guys who had once played football, but had just let things go since graduation. The top of his head was this flat cocoa brown, wavy hairpiece in an early 1980s brushed back style.  The sides and back were not the same shade of brown and quite sparser with some gray in it.
"You must be Bryan.  I'm Ronnie.  Julie has told me all about you," Ronnie said as he got up and shook my hair.  "Have a seat," he gestured.
"So, you've spoken with Julie?  You know why I'm here."
"It's okay, Bryan.  Julie and I are third cousins, but she and I are very close.  She is like one of my sisters.  I have three."
"Must be nice.  I guess Julie told you that I'm an orphan."
"Yes, but I know it hasn't stopped you in any way.  Julie has told me how you graduated in the top ten percent of your class in high school, and how you're working your way through college at night.  Now, let's get down to business.  I can tell you have some receding in front and thinning in the crown." Ronnie said this as he took a comb out of his smock and started combing through my hair.
"I really don't think I need a hairpiece, Ronnie.  I think Julie is overreacting."
"I didn't think I did either, Bryan.  Still after every Friday night game, I'd find more and more hair in the drain.  Finally I couldn't handle it.  When I messed up my knee during the last game of the season I knew college ball, and any other kind of sports, was no longer a part of my future.  I went to barber school, and came to work for my dad here.  A year later he had a stroke and died."
"I'm sorry to hear that.  At least you had that time with him."
"Julie has given me some instructions.  Do you trust her?  Do you trust me?"
"Well . . . I love her.  That's what's important.  If this is what she wants, I can't say no.  In all the time we have known each other, she has never asked anything of me."
"Okay then.  Let's get started."
Ronnie grabbed some clippers and slowly began to remove the hair on the top of my head.  As he did it, I could suddenly see just how much of my scalp was starting to show.  Maybe I was losing my hair and was just in denial.
Ronnie made several passes from the front of my head to the top of my occipital bone.  Pass after pass, I looked more and more like a forty year old man, as opposed to a twenty year old man.
When Ronnie put down those clippers, the hair on the top of my head was so short and sparse that I couldn't even see them in the mirror across from me.
Ronnie picked up a small orange tube and put some pale opalescence cream on my scalp.  It was very thick and quite cold. He began to spread it over the newly shaved area.  As he massaged the cream into my scalp, it began to get warmer and warmer.  When he finished, he washed his hands and rolled a small heat lamp over to the barber's chair.  The lamp was even warmer than the cream, but it never seemed to burn.  The longer that heat lamp was on, the cream changed from the opalescence shade to totally clear.  Once the cream was completely clear, it suddenly began to shine and almost glow.  When that happened, Ronnie turned off the lamp.  He had me move to a sink in the corner where he rinsed off the loose hair and the cream.
When I sat back down in the huge barber's chair, Ronnie removed the hand towel that was my head.  I made a slight gasp.  I was so incredibly bald.  I had this small ring of hair around the sides and back of my head.
Ronnie left me staring at my pasty scalp.  He came back a moment later with an old leather wig stand with a hairpiece pinned to it.  It was a much lighter shade of brown than the hair that had been on the top of my head.
"Let's get to work helping you to look like the young man that Julie wants to marry," Ronnie said as he took the hairpiece off  the stand.  He put tape around the perimeter.  I watched how he only used four pieces of tape.  Each was specifically designed for certain places.  Two pieces were shaped like parentheses  for the front and back.  The other two were straighter for the sides.  He put the toupee on my bald head.  I felt the tape adhere at all four places.  More importantly, I saw the sudden transformation of my overall appearance.  Ronnie began combining the piece on the back and sides.  With scissors, he trimmed the longer tendrils.  There was a left-sided part already established.  It was very stark.  He gently combed the front of the toupee. It looked like it was swept up off my forehead.  It was the same style the mayor had, as well as several other prominent men around town.  I was torn between embarrassment and delight.  I was too busy marveling at what was on my head to fully grasp the artificiality of it.  Finally, I looked at Ronnie via the mirror and asked him, "how much does this cost?"
"Usually I charge $50, but this first one is like a wedding gift.  I know that money is tight for you.  A lot of men are like you.  They don't want to be bald, but they can't afford the very expensive human hairpieces that are on the market."
"But I'm not really bald.  You just made me temporarily bald for the toupee to please Julie.  Didn't you?"
"Well, yes, Bryan.  But, that cream I used is a high acting formula depilatory.  With the heat lamp, it kills the hair follicle for up to six weeks.  After I used it for six months,  my hair never grew back.   Neither will yours."
"You mean I'm . . . bald?"
"Technically, yes, but you have a great toupee, Bryan.  This is what Julie picked out for you."
I drove back home, a completely new man. A week later, Julie and I had planned to go to a fundraiser for the mayor's upcoming campaign.  I wore a retro 1950s tuxedo that was midnight blue.  Julie wore an emerald cocktail dress that matched her eyes perfectly.
The entire evening, I was so self-conscious.  I thought everyone in the room was staring at my new hair.  In truth they were.  It didn't help that I seemed to be acutely aware of the microscopic space between my bald scalp and the quite noticeable toupee taped to it.  Strangely, it wasn't uncomfortable or itchy.  I just felt like I was the center of attention.  I had realized before I left Ronnie's shop that the hairpiece was rather thick and full.  When Julie and I were introduced to the mayor and his wife, his eyes immediately drifted upwards to my upswept, hard hairline, and he smiled.  Later on after he had finished greeting his guests, he made his way to our table.  He asked if he could have a private word with me in the lobby of the hotel where the fundraiser was being held.
"Young man, I hear you managed to survive 18 years under Father Carmine's tutelage  at the orphanage."
I was rather taken back.  I hadn't expected that opening gambit.
"Yes, sir, Mr.  Mayor.  I guess no one was willing to take me on, sir."
"How old are you, son?"
"I'll be 20 in a few weeks, sir."
He moved a little closer to me and dropped his voice.  "It looks like Ronnie did an excellent job on your hair, son.  His Dad helped me out with my problem when I was about your age.  Trust me, I know how tough it can be."
"Thank you, sir," was about all I could say.
"Be proud of it.  There's nothing to be self-conscious about or embarrassed by.  It is far better than the hidden reality.  Am I right?"
A soft "yes sir" was all I could muster.
"Father Carmine tells me you have been his bookkeeper since you were a teen.  I could use someone like you in my office.  A raise in salary certainly would help you and Julie get started in life.  Come by my office on Thursday.  We'll talk.  I'll go talk to Father Carmine a little later and see if I can steal you away from him."
With that, the mayor walked back into the banquet hall as Julie was walking out.
"What did he want, Bryan?" Julie asked as she got closer to me.
"He wanted to offer me a job!"
She looked up at my rug and asked, "did he mention your hairpiece?"
"He just told me that he thought your cousin Ronnie did an excellent job."
"See?  I knew it might help you in more ways than you thought.  With this new job, maybe we can get married."
"Really?  Are you sure?"
"Of course.  I don't want a big wedding.  You don't have any family.  I only have Ronnie and his three sisters.  We could get married tomorrow afternoon at the courthouse if we wanted."
"Wait?  I thought you wanted a very traditional church wedding.  Don't most women want that?"
"Well, I'd love it, but I can't afford it; we can't afford it.  I'd love for Ronnie to walk me down the aisle, and his youngest sister be my flower girl, and his other sisters be my bridesmaids.  I'd want to see you standing there at the altar beside Father Carmine looking so handsome and mature with your . . .  Never mind."
I whispered, "you mean my new hair?"
"Yes, Bryan."
"Do you really like it?  I feel a bit awkward.  Still after Ronnie's and the mayor's little pep talks, I do feel a lot more comfortable.  Wait here just a moment.  I have an idea."
I left Julie standing perplexed in the hotel lobby.  I went back to the banquet hall and found Father Carmine.  He just finished talking with the mayor.
"So, Bryan, the mayor says he wants to hire you away from me to work with his campaign.  Is that what you would like?"
"Possibly, Father, but that's not what I wanted to ask you.  Julie and I want to get married properly in church with you officiating.  The trouble is, we can't afford it."
"Bryan, why don't you let me give you the wedding as a gift?  I've known you since you were nine days old.  You are the closest thing I'll ever have to a son.  Let it be my wedding present."
I guess the look of surprise on my face was a bit over the top.  I felt the toupee tape slightly lift in the front.  If Father Carmine noticed, he didn't say anything.  Of course, he hadn't said anything to me all night about my hair.  Maybe he hadn't noticed.  I hope he has not.  Alas, his eyes drifted upwards and then back down.  He only smiled and walked away.
I went back to Julie and told her the good news.  She cried and kissed me, and then she felt the back of my head at the occipital bone where my toupee was taped.  She only lightly touched it, but didn't pull it.
"You look so handsome and mature," she whispered.  "Thank you for doing that for me."
No wedding had ever come together so quickly in our community.  Everyone at the parish helped out.  Two of the nuns worked all week transforming Ronnie's mother's wedding gown to fit Julie.
We were married the next Saturday at St. Michael's.
The honeymoon was two nights at an Inn three blocks from Ronnie's barbershop.  That was a gift from Ronnie's older sisters.
After I carried Julie across the threshold, I walked back to the hall and got our two suitcases.  I closed the door and we looked at each other.
"So, I guess this is the magic moment," I said.
We had that little talk a few months ago," she began.  "Are we ready?"
I nodded in the affirmative.
We both began to undress.
We had changed from our wedding clothes into more traditional attire.  She was wearing a pale blue dress with a square neck.  I was wearing a dark navy suit.
I took off my coat for her.  My crisp white shirt was tightly tucked into my trousers.  You could clearly see my undershirt through the dress shirt.  I loosened and removed my tie.
She reached up and unclasped the top of her dress.  She turned around and indicated for me to unzip it.  She let it fall to the floor.  She was wearing an ivory slip.  She reached up and slid the straps off her shoulders letting the slip fall on top of her dress.  She stepped out of it and turned to face me.  She was standing there in her bra.  Clearly, it contained more than just what nature had given her.  She had told me that.  It wasn't vulgar and pointy like Jayne Mansfield, but it did evoke a certain Jane Russell flair.  Her open bottom girdle with garters and stockings sent shivers up my spine and a tingle in my trousers.  She stepped forward and unbuttoned my shirt revealing the straps and scoop of my classic ribbed undershirt.  She then undid my belt.  I knew what was about to happen.  She unbuttoned my pants and unzipped my fly.  My trousers fell to my ankles.  I was wearing the white boxer shorts with pink roses and red hearts that she had sent to me that morning.  I stood there with my matching navy socks and double-grip pink garters.  I started to reach up to remove my toupee.  She stopped me.  She sat on the edge of the bed and unfastened her garters.  She slowly removed her stockings.  Then she got up, turned around for me to unhook her bra.  Her breasts were almost non-existent, but I never said anything.  I was too aroused to speak.  I was also nervous.  I must have been perspiring.  I leaned in to kiss her.  I could tell my toupee tape was slightly loose.  I leaned up and put my hands up to remove it as I had done on my own every night since I had gotten it.  She sensuously slid off her girdle.  She helped me as I took off my toupee.  She gasped as we connected and completed our union.  We felt old and young, ugly and beautiful, exposed and yet complete.
The End.
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fl-usa-dude · 9 months
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