Truth is Better than Fiction - Sex Stories

Truth is Better than Fiction

“Robert! We need to talk!” I recognized Riley’s number in my cell phone. Riley was an acquaintance, the sister of my wife’s best friend. Riley was in her late thirties and divorced, with two teenage girls - one a bit on the wild side and the other living with Riley. Riley and I were Facebook friends and practically neighbors as well. She lived in the same neighborhood, but a few streets over from me. I had always had a secret crush on Riley, but managed to keep things in check by avoiding her, except through an occasional response on social media and the serendipitous greetings around town. So when she called me and said we needed to talk, I was a bit surprised. “About what?” I inquired. “Just come by my apartment and I’ll tell you,” Riley responded. “Now or later?” I inquired. “Sooner than later is better,” Riley responded. I scratched my head and stared at the work on my computer screen. “What the heck?” I thought to myself…"Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Since I didn’t know Riley’s apartment number, I told her she had to give me a hint. “Seven Zero Four,” she responded. I was a bit nervous as I knocked on the apartment door. The door opened and Riley peered around from behind it. Riley stood about five foot four and was weight proportional, but top heavy. Normally, I like smaller breasted women, but Riley’s vivaciousness complemented her physique. With dishwater dirty blonde hair, she always had that “I’ll rock your world,” attitude. She was a self-made woman, ...

... determined and had a California-like free-style spirit. I stepped into the small apartment, which was well decorated. Another friend of Riley’s sat on the couch. She smiled as I entered. Riley closed the apartment door and then stood with her hands on her hips, looking at me. “Do I get a hug?” she asked. I opened my arms and held them out. We embraced like the old friends we seemed to be. Riley had a some hip-hugging, way-too-tight blue jeans and a sports bra that barely contained “momma and papa”, as she liked to call her 40ddd breasts. Turning towards the couch, she remarked, “This is Jessie. She is my fish-partner.” I had no idea what a “fish-partner” was, but later learned that Riley and Jessie had a joint business venture in which they taught young kids how to swim, which explained not only the terminology, but the deep dark tans that both Riley and Jessie sported. Jessie smiled from her seated position on the couch. If there was a doppelganger for Riley, Jessie would have been it. Equally stunning and outwardly beautiful, Jessie seemed a bit reserved, or so I thought. “Sit down,” Riley instructed. I started to take a seat in a chair by the dining room table, when Riley redirected me to the couch. I sat down about an arms distance from Jessie. “Scoot over,” Riley instructed, as she grabbed her iPad from the dining room table and attempted to sit next to me. I moved over closer towards Jessie, as Riley plopped down on the couch beside me. Riley stretched her legs out and rested ...