Ode To Vicky
Ode to “Vicky”
From “Tony”
Dear Vicky,
As you know, you were my crush since high school. With your exciting (and sometimes scary) borderline personality, you never had attention drawing attention to yourself, and I was only too happy to give it. After all, you fit all my criteria for a perfect woman. You were busty. You were a sexy smoker of cigarettes. You dressed provocatively. You always had long hair, whether your natural honey blonde, or black, or burgundy, or your current platinum-blonde (which you once said only whores wore that color.) You were funny and intelligent. You were flirty.
Some memories.
I first met you at one of our group’s guys apartments. You were sitting on the floor, and for some reason you had a whip with you, and you were posing with it, of course seductively. (Oh to have had a cell phone with camera in those days!) That may have been one of the many times you dashed out of the apartment to force whoever brought you there, and usually the other guys as well, to chase you and bring you back to the apartment. Harmless drama compared to years to come.
I drove you home from high school several times, and we’d stop at a convenience store for a fountain soda. You would usually dispense some of every brand into the same cup, and proclaim the concoction an “All-American Suicide”. I never got the meaning of that name, other than it was a bit over the top and dramatic, but hey.
A few times we would go for a drive after we’d had dinner at home, usually when you wanted to talk, usually about whatever boyfriend you had at the time. Yes, I was a very good friend and confidante, and I foolishly thought it would get me closer to being a suitor, but that was before the phrase “friend zone” even existed. Still, it was nice being alone with you and having you confide in me. I do know it meant a lot to you to have me as a sounding board. Not to change topics, but at least one of those nights was in Winter, and so cold, so when you smoked while we talked, even though you rolled down your window a tiny bit, the car still pretty much filled up with your exhaled smoke, and my gosh, I was in heaven! Sporting a throbbing boner from breathing some of your smoke in with every breath! I could have done that forever.
Then there was the time, just past high school, when you’d turned 18, which was the drinking age back then. You asked me to take you to my house, since my parents were out of town. My folks kept their liquor out on a baker’s rack in the kitchen. You started in on the sweet liqueurs, then wanted me to make you some mixed drinks, which I did. Seeing you in your tight blouse (showing off you nipples that day) and your tight pink Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, and some 3” heels, sitting there, young and sexy, smoking and drinking, and getting progressively more disinhibited… wow, did I ever think something was going to happen! While cleaning up some empty glassed, I turned around from the sink and you were there, hugging me tightly, your glorious breasts squished against my chest. You were nuzzling my neck, when I felt you bite a pinch of skin and roll it between your teeth for a few seconds. You let go, turned your face to mine, smiling, and said, “I gave you a hickey. Your college friends will ask who gave it to you.” I almost leaned forward to kiss you, but you seemed unsteady. I asked if you wanted to lie down, and you said yes. I took you to my parents’ king-sized bed, and suggested you sleep off some of the booze. You told me to come lie down with you, but my Boy Scout, OCD brain would not let me take advantage of someone who was drunk, so I said you’d rest better without me. A couple of hours later, your Mom called and asked if you were here at my house. I said yes, we’d just got to talking and the time had slipped away from us, and that I’d get you home right away. I woke you up, you felt some better, and I drove you home, dropping you off so I didn’t have to field any question from your Mom. But I got a hickey, and I was proud of it.
Another time, you were between boyfriends. Several of our guys had rented a house, and it was pretty close to the a****l House fraternity, in spirit. There was always booze available, and usually some folks doing something behind closed doors. We’d just wound up a long round of gaming, and it was about 2:30 AM. As I often did, instead of driving home, I just stretched out on one of the many couches in the living room and planned to sleep there for the night. I was nearly asleep when the front door opened, and one of the roommates, Ross, came in, with you in tow. It was obviously both of you had been drinking, and you weren’t being particularly quiet. You mentioned how we were all pussies to be asleep so early, and did Ross want to wake us up to party? He said no, come with me, and we’ll party by ourselves tonight. You two went into his bedroom, and by chance, the couch I was on was right against one of the bedroom walls. He said to you, “C’mere, baby”, and I heard some loud, smacking, sloppy kissing going on. He must have put one of your hands on his crotch, because I head you gasp and say, “Get those pants down, boy!” He must have, because I heard your oral ministrations to him, with him moaning, and saying, “Yeah, that’s right, suck it good!” I then heard the slosh of Ross’ waterbed, and you say loudly, “Come fuck me with that big cock of yours!” Well the sloshing and the moaning continued for quite awhile, with both of you obviously enjoying it. I don’t know how it ended, because I had to go to the bathroom to masturbate, because you’d gotten me so excited. I imagined licking your clit as he fucked you. Then if he pulled out cum on you, no matter where, I would gladly lick it all up. If he needed fluffing to give you another round of sweet fucking, I would have glad to suck his big monster of a cock, just like you had done.
Then there was the time several us were at a park, running around, playing Tag (of all things). Everyone else was tired, but I was “It” and chasing you. I finally caught up, grabbed your waist from behind, pulled you to me, and immediately grabbed both of your breasts, saying, “Tag, you’re it!” I let go immediately, not wanting to be a total lech (just a partial one), and you turned around, mouth open and eyes wide, but did not say anything. I merely surprised you, not offended you. It was the first and only time I actually touched your breasts, and I remember them to this day, over 30 years later. They felt magnificent!
I remember all the times you’d call me late at night when bored, when your then-husband was away, since he traveled on business so much. I was always thrilled to talk to you, and my enthusiasm seemed to lift your spirits. You’d always ask me what was going on, and I’d always say, “Oh the usual, working my life away.” If I’d had a date recently, I would mention that, but such wasn’t the case very often. I’d tell you that you had more of an interesting life than me, so what was up with you? And you did usually have interesting things to relate, whether it was raising your k**s, or raising Mastiff dogs, or caring for rescue horses when you lived past the suburbs on a small farm. I’d always hear you lighting your cigarettes, not usually hearing you inhale, but definitely hearing your long exhales, which was a fantastic turn-on. Once when you called, I was actually cross-dressed (in my best imitation of you, of course), and I had the cordless phone in the bathroom. My single candle was going, and as I talked to you, I also lit up and inhaled and exhaled. I don’t know if you heard it or not, but if you did, you didn’t mention it. How I wish the phone likes carried air as well as sound, so we could be exhaling into each other’s faces! Needless to say, after we hung up that call, I had one of the strongest orgasms of my life! May not have been phone sex to you, but it sure was for me!
Once I married, and my ex snooped on my phone and saw the innocent photos (all clothed) you would sometimes text me, she hit the roof and called you and blessed you out. As soon as I got divorced, I tried to re-establish contact with you, but none of the email addresses or the one phone number worked. It seems I may have lost you as a friend for the rest of my days.
But I carry the sexy memories of you proudly. When I dress, it is most usually in imitation of you, with either a platinum-blonde or jet-black showgirl wig. (At one point I had matching beehive wigs to bobby-pin on top of the showgirl wigs, but they gout discarded in one of my purges and I haven’t replaced them yet. But it was s upper-Elvira look, except my beehives stood taller than hers!) I fill my Glamorise 56J bras with wadded up bath towels to make a huge set of tits, maybe not soft as flesh, but definitely massive. I am still learning to walk in heels. The 2.5” semi-flats are easy. The 4” ones are a challenge, but a challenge that I like. The 5” ones are for someday. I have a large set of long red nails, and stick-on tabs, but have not done that yet, but I will. I am in panties every day now (and usually a nightgown), except when I have to leave my apartment. So I dress up, suck a few dildos to get me in the mood, then go onto my patio to eiter smoke or vape. MAX120s used to be my favorites, but they haven’t been made in many years, so I have to settle for VS120s, which I know you have smoked on occasion. Even so, my vape lets let me blow much bigger clouds. One is set up with just pure VG, no nic, and that lovely clear thick liquid really chucks some major clouds. I love it. The other one is when I really do want that nic buzz, even if the clouds are a bit smaller. I have been using 12, but they don’t seem to give the hit that a 120 does, so I am moving up to 18, to see if that does it for me. As I watch the smoke or vapor plume out of my lips, all the way across the patio, or onto and into my hair if I have arrayed it on the big shelf my huge tits make, so I can see it wafting up from my sexy hair and even breathe it back in, I feel like a naughty sexy smoking Vicky. Sometime I will even say things like, “Do you like watching me vape, Tony?” or “You seem so interested, I’d like you to try. Of course I’d have to dress you up first.” Or “Say it, Tony, take a big hit and say ‘I’m a sexy smoking sissy cocksucker’, because you are, and you will be, for me.” I dream of you wearing a huge strap-on dong, and you doing to me everything I want to do to you. You have me giving you a smoky blowjob. You fucking my huge tits. You fucking my mouth, my face, and with practice, my throat itself. You fucking my sexy hair, or me masturbating you with my hair. I suppose it would need to be a squirting dong, because I relish the thought of me exciting you so much that you cum all over me (perhaps heated buttermilk?). Covering my made-up face (you helped me with the makeup), covering my sexy hair (I’ll need lots more wigs), and covering my colossal tits. Then right away I’d take you inside, lay you on the bed, and lick and tongue you to as many orgasms as you can have in a session, at least two, and trying for three. Finally, still dressed, I’d get to come, too, in one or more of the lovely ways already mentioned: being stroked or sucked, titfucking, hairfucking.
Ah, fantasies! Sad that they are all that’s left to me, but at least they are strong and pleasing. My busty, lusty, smoking, sexy, silly, dramatic Goddess. I wish you the best, and will come again for you tonight.
Love,
“Tony”
P.S. How could I forget this line. Many times when Vicky was about to smoke, she would say, "I'm going to infest my chest!", while patting one or both of her wonderful huge breasts. So naturally I say the same thing and do the same thing when I am about to start a smoky session!
From “Tony”
Dear Vicky,
As you know, you were my crush since high school. With your exciting (and sometimes scary) borderline personality, you never had attention drawing attention to yourself, and I was only too happy to give it. After all, you fit all my criteria for a perfect woman. You were busty. You were a sexy smoker of cigarettes. You dressed provocatively. You always had long hair, whether your natural honey blonde, or black, or burgundy, or your current platinum-blonde (which you once said only whores wore that color.) You were funny and intelligent. You were flirty.
Some memories.
I first met you at one of our group’s guys apartments. You were sitting on the floor, and for some reason you had a whip with you, and you were posing with it, of course seductively. (Oh to have had a cell phone with camera in those days!) That may have been one of the many times you dashed out of the apartment to force whoever brought you there, and usually the other guys as well, to chase you and bring you back to the apartment. Harmless drama compared to years to come.
I drove you home from high school several times, and we’d stop at a convenience store for a fountain soda. You would usually dispense some of every brand into the same cup, and proclaim the concoction an “All-American Suicide”. I never got the meaning of that name, other than it was a bit over the top and dramatic, but hey.
A few times we would go for a drive after we’d had dinner at home, usually when you wanted to talk, usually about whatever boyfriend you had at the time. Yes, I was a very good friend and confidante, and I foolishly thought it would get me closer to being a suitor, but that was before the phrase “friend zone” even existed. Still, it was nice being alone with you and having you confide in me. I do know it meant a lot to you to have me as a sounding board. Not to change topics, but at least one of those nights was in Winter, and so cold, so when you smoked while we talked, even though you rolled down your window a tiny bit, the car still pretty much filled up with your exhaled smoke, and my gosh, I was in heaven! Sporting a throbbing boner from breathing some of your smoke in with every breath! I could have done that forever.
Then there was the time, just past high school, when you’d turned 18, which was the drinking age back then. You asked me to take you to my house, since my parents were out of town. My folks kept their liquor out on a baker’s rack in the kitchen. You started in on the sweet liqueurs, then wanted me to make you some mixed drinks, which I did. Seeing you in your tight blouse (showing off you nipples that day) and your tight pink Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, and some 3” heels, sitting there, young and sexy, smoking and drinking, and getting progressively more disinhibited… wow, did I ever think something was going to happen! While cleaning up some empty glassed, I turned around from the sink and you were there, hugging me tightly, your glorious breasts squished against my chest. You were nuzzling my neck, when I felt you bite a pinch of skin and roll it between your teeth for a few seconds. You let go, turned your face to mine, smiling, and said, “I gave you a hickey. Your college friends will ask who gave it to you.” I almost leaned forward to kiss you, but you seemed unsteady. I asked if you wanted to lie down, and you said yes. I took you to my parents’ king-sized bed, and suggested you sleep off some of the booze. You told me to come lie down with you, but my Boy Scout, OCD brain would not let me take advantage of someone who was drunk, so I said you’d rest better without me. A couple of hours later, your Mom called and asked if you were here at my house. I said yes, we’d just got to talking and the time had slipped away from us, and that I’d get you home right away. I woke you up, you felt some better, and I drove you home, dropping you off so I didn’t have to field any question from your Mom. But I got a hickey, and I was proud of it.
Another time, you were between boyfriends. Several of our guys had rented a house, and it was pretty close to the a****l House fraternity, in spirit. There was always booze available, and usually some folks doing something behind closed doors. We’d just wound up a long round of gaming, and it was about 2:30 AM. As I often did, instead of driving home, I just stretched out on one of the many couches in the living room and planned to sleep there for the night. I was nearly asleep when the front door opened, and one of the roommates, Ross, came in, with you in tow. It was obviously both of you had been drinking, and you weren’t being particularly quiet. You mentioned how we were all pussies to be asleep so early, and did Ross want to wake us up to party? He said no, come with me, and we’ll party by ourselves tonight. You two went into his bedroom, and by chance, the couch I was on was right against one of the bedroom walls. He said to you, “C’mere, baby”, and I heard some loud, smacking, sloppy kissing going on. He must have put one of your hands on his crotch, because I head you gasp and say, “Get those pants down, boy!” He must have, because I heard your oral ministrations to him, with him moaning, and saying, “Yeah, that’s right, suck it good!” I then heard the slosh of Ross’ waterbed, and you say loudly, “Come fuck me with that big cock of yours!” Well the sloshing and the moaning continued for quite awhile, with both of you obviously enjoying it. I don’t know how it ended, because I had to go to the bathroom to masturbate, because you’d gotten me so excited. I imagined licking your clit as he fucked you. Then if he pulled out cum on you, no matter where, I would gladly lick it all up. If he needed fluffing to give you another round of sweet fucking, I would have glad to suck his big monster of a cock, just like you had done.
Then there was the time several us were at a park, running around, playing Tag (of all things). Everyone else was tired, but I was “It” and chasing you. I finally caught up, grabbed your waist from behind, pulled you to me, and immediately grabbed both of your breasts, saying, “Tag, you’re it!” I let go immediately, not wanting to be a total lech (just a partial one), and you turned around, mouth open and eyes wide, but did not say anything. I merely surprised you, not offended you. It was the first and only time I actually touched your breasts, and I remember them to this day, over 30 years later. They felt magnificent!
I remember all the times you’d call me late at night when bored, when your then-husband was away, since he traveled on business so much. I was always thrilled to talk to you, and my enthusiasm seemed to lift your spirits. You’d always ask me what was going on, and I’d always say, “Oh the usual, working my life away.” If I’d had a date recently, I would mention that, but such wasn’t the case very often. I’d tell you that you had more of an interesting life than me, so what was up with you? And you did usually have interesting things to relate, whether it was raising your k**s, or raising Mastiff dogs, or caring for rescue horses when you lived past the suburbs on a small farm. I’d always hear you lighting your cigarettes, not usually hearing you inhale, but definitely hearing your long exhales, which was a fantastic turn-on. Once when you called, I was actually cross-dressed (in my best imitation of you, of course), and I had the cordless phone in the bathroom. My single candle was going, and as I talked to you, I also lit up and inhaled and exhaled. I don’t know if you heard it or not, but if you did, you didn’t mention it. How I wish the phone likes carried air as well as sound, so we could be exhaling into each other’s faces! Needless to say, after we hung up that call, I had one of the strongest orgasms of my life! May not have been phone sex to you, but it sure was for me!
Once I married, and my ex snooped on my phone and saw the innocent photos (all clothed) you would sometimes text me, she hit the roof and called you and blessed you out. As soon as I got divorced, I tried to re-establish contact with you, but none of the email addresses or the one phone number worked. It seems I may have lost you as a friend for the rest of my days.
But I carry the sexy memories of you proudly. When I dress, it is most usually in imitation of you, with either a platinum-blonde or jet-black showgirl wig. (At one point I had matching beehive wigs to bobby-pin on top of the showgirl wigs, but they gout discarded in one of my purges and I haven’t replaced them yet. But it was s upper-Elvira look, except my beehives stood taller than hers!) I fill my Glamorise 56J bras with wadded up bath towels to make a huge set of tits, maybe not soft as flesh, but definitely massive. I am still learning to walk in heels. The 2.5” semi-flats are easy. The 4” ones are a challenge, but a challenge that I like. The 5” ones are for someday. I have a large set of long red nails, and stick-on tabs, but have not done that yet, but I will. I am in panties every day now (and usually a nightgown), except when I have to leave my apartment. So I dress up, suck a few dildos to get me in the mood, then go onto my patio to eiter smoke or vape. MAX120s used to be my favorites, but they haven’t been made in many years, so I have to settle for VS120s, which I know you have smoked on occasion. Even so, my vape lets let me blow much bigger clouds. One is set up with just pure VG, no nic, and that lovely clear thick liquid really chucks some major clouds. I love it. The other one is when I really do want that nic buzz, even if the clouds are a bit smaller. I have been using 12, but they don’t seem to give the hit that a 120 does, so I am moving up to 18, to see if that does it for me. As I watch the smoke or vapor plume out of my lips, all the way across the patio, or onto and into my hair if I have arrayed it on the big shelf my huge tits make, so I can see it wafting up from my sexy hair and even breathe it back in, I feel like a naughty sexy smoking Vicky. Sometime I will even say things like, “Do you like watching me vape, Tony?” or “You seem so interested, I’d like you to try. Of course I’d have to dress you up first.” Or “Say it, Tony, take a big hit and say ‘I’m a sexy smoking sissy cocksucker’, because you are, and you will be, for me.” I dream of you wearing a huge strap-on dong, and you doing to me everything I want to do to you. You have me giving you a smoky blowjob. You fucking my huge tits. You fucking my mouth, my face, and with practice, my throat itself. You fucking my sexy hair, or me masturbating you with my hair. I suppose it would need to be a squirting dong, because I relish the thought of me exciting you so much that you cum all over me (perhaps heated buttermilk?). Covering my made-up face (you helped me with the makeup), covering my sexy hair (I’ll need lots more wigs), and covering my colossal tits. Then right away I’d take you inside, lay you on the bed, and lick and tongue you to as many orgasms as you can have in a session, at least two, and trying for three. Finally, still dressed, I’d get to come, too, in one or more of the lovely ways already mentioned: being stroked or sucked, titfucking, hairfucking.
Ah, fantasies! Sad that they are all that’s left to me, but at least they are strong and pleasing. My busty, lusty, smoking, sexy, silly, dramatic Goddess. I wish you the best, and will come again for you tonight.
Love,
“Tony”
P.S. How could I forget this line. Many times when Vicky was about to smoke, she would say, "I'm going to infest my chest!", while patting one or both of her wonderful huge breasts. So naturally I say the same thing and do the same thing when I am about to start a smoky session!
2 ปี ที่ผ่านมาแล้ว
....truly sorry for your loss.