Last week, my young Filipina colleague Mira and I had met at a coffee shop, slated to pay our lovely blind masseuse Hanh a visit afterwards. But then we had gotten carried away upstairs on the secluded balcony, and I had jerked off on her awesome teal-blue tights, thigh, and lap, under her orange miniskirt. This whole tantalizing hour had left us pretty exhausted, and since Hanh surprisingly had one of her regular customers anyway, we had actually scraped the visit to her bower. Exciting as our jerk-fest was, Mira insisted that we meet at the same coffee shop again this week, before we would, this time, definitely swing by at Hanh’s for a sensual massage.
The others in our orgy cycle were busy, anyway: My former student Vu was running around with my 19-year-old niece Giang, who by now was officially his girlfriend. I didn’t know if they’d still be interested in orgies at all, or if they were celebrating their sensuality all by themselves nowadays. The other young guy, Hoang, was a gifted handyman and thus had gotten a lucrative job remodeling the local train station. My dear, beloved Anna and Thanh were back in Saigon, where they were attending college. Last but not least, Nguyet and Thuy, who worked together at a real estate office in the suburbs were busy finalizing the fiscal year, although Nguyet had signaled that, the following week, she would want to be part of the bash. In other words, Mira and I had to find ways to amuse ourselves, just the two of us. And perhaps Hanh, if no regular of hers showed up unannounced again that was.
But there was one dazzling, piquant item of news: Mrs. Yen, our gorgeous, mature lady friend–the mother of my slightly handicapped former student Linh–had given her nephew a massage two weeks back, during which an endearing éclat occurred: the young lad had hurt his leg playing sports, but then his noble, splendidly ripened aunt’s dexterous hands had aroused him so much that he had–well, yeah–ejaculated. Mrs. Yen was pushing 50 and by far the most elegant and sophisticated lady of her generation in all of central Vietnam and also an experienced masseuse. In other words, any man worth his salt would be set afire by her sheer presence. She had taken her nephew’s ejaculation with humor, I presumed, but then she also seemed a bit embarrassed, as she wrote Nguyet and me a long message, asking us to take the young man under our wings.
I had read her longish note using Google Translate but then had to ask Nguyet to fill me in with some details. Ideally, Yen’s nephew, who was in his first year in college, would join our small orgy circle, Yen had suggested, and… you know… get a chance to pursue his curiosity and exercise his loins a bit. Yen even had sent us the link to his Facebook profile, so that we could take a look at him before we agreed. In a second, albeit shorter message, Yen added that he was still a virgin and ‘a bit clumsy in sensual matters.’ I found this whole little episode touching but, sure, I understood that Yen, as his aunt, couldn’t just jerk him off twice a week. Or could she? I didn’t tell Mira the whole tale beforehand but would just bring it up at the café, as it would be ideal as fore-play.
However, when I picked up Mira two corners away from our private English center where she was living, I was deeply disappointed: Apart from her hair, which still showed an array of signs of all of her botched attempts to dye it silver or orange over the last three years, my young colleague was sporting an ugly blue hoodie, a grey denim miniskirt that clearly was too large for her, and–God forbid!–black leggings, which were rather loose, flapping a bit around her gorgeous legs. They actually looked a bit like tight jogging pants. Good Lord! How many times had I envisioned Mira in blue-teal stockings and her orange miniskirt over the last few days! And now that! What was she thinking?! I thought we could repeat our tantalizing, titillating game from the previous week, where I had splashed my cum all along her precious right thigh. And now she presented herself in this vapid, bland outfit, which would make it incredibly difficult to get randy up on that balcony at the café.
Perhaps, she was afraid she’d be too cold, as admittedly it was a tad nippy today. Should I turn around, though, just drive her back to the school, and ask her to change?! No, that would be uncouth, and perhaps she had conceived a plan with exactly that nondescript outfit. Or, perhaps those jogging pants were a kind of tights?! I was tempted to inquire while we were driving but decided to find out in a more charming and rousing way later, up there on that balcony. So, we just chatted a bit about mundane school-related nonsense.
When we arrived at the café, at least Mira went straight up the rickety spiral staircase to the balcony, where we had amused ourselves so nefariously the previous week. The weather was ok, but just about 73 degrees and slightly windy, which may not sound cold, but we were both used to more than 90 degrees for the better part of the year. But seeing her go up those stairs with a vengeance convinced me that she was determined to repeat last week’s clandestine jerk-fest. Somehow.
The cute little waitress brought us our drinks but seemed a tad upset that we were sitting so far away. I kinda regretted that we knew already what was about to happen, but there was no way around it. After the excitement the previous week and Mira’s insistence that we had to do that again, at least, she had put a few layers of fabric between my cock and the object of desire; yeah, perhaps that was her way of making everything more interesting. I was again tempted to ask her to lift her skirt, so that I could see if she wasn’t wearing tights, perhaps, but I just lit a cigarette instead and took a sip of my coffee. She typed a quick message on her phone, but then put it away in her backpack and began to play with the strings of her hoodie.
“I’d been longing to see your teal-blue stockings and the pumpkin skirt again,” I complained instantly, kinda tongue-in-cheek.
“C’mon, Ben, today is too cold for that…” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Well, then we need to do something that’ll warm us up…” I countered somewhat clumsily.
Apropos clumsiness: As Mira didn’t seem keen on saying anything, I went straight into the story with Mrs. Yen’s nephew. Since Mira didn’t know Yen, though, I reached back to the days when Linh had been my student, leaving out the part, however, when we had sex for the first time in Da Nang, although that was a moving–in the truest sense of the word–Sunday morning. Then, I went on to what had transpired at Yen’s house here in town about a year ago, before I praised my mature friend some more and then ended at Hanh and how the whole pussy-massage concept had come to life. I had given Mira a voucher for such an exciting treatment for her birthday in April, which had been a great success.
“Oh, ha! I didn’t know that had been your idea! But now it all makes sense… cool… I’m sure that’s unique here in our town…” she added.