Charlie and Mindy Bk. 03 Ch. 01

"She didn't say anything about him," Mindy replied. "Maybe he went to his folks' place for the break. Come to think about it, I don't think she's ever mentioned him. Maybe they've broken up since that time we saw them in the park."

"Could be," I said. People were pairing up rapidly all over the campus, and then un-pairing almost as rapidly.

Then I continued, "I think everything's ready now. Let's bag things separately, and then we can throw them all in the bowl together and toss the salad when we're ready to serve it."

"Good idea," she agreed. "But I think I'll mix the dressing now so that the spices will have more time to dissolve."

"Is the pie ready to go?" I asked, after I'd put the salad vegetables into their own plastic bags.

"It's in the refrigerator. The one on the upper shelf is prettier, so that's the one I want to take. It's already covered with plastic wrap, so it's ready to go."

I moved up close behind her, bent my knees so that my cock lined up with the cleft between her buttocks, and rubbed up against her.

"Are you 'ready to go'?" I asked, in my most suggestive tone.

She snorted, but then she wiggled her butt back against me before turning around, throwing her arms over my shoulders, and raising her lips toward me. I knew an invitation when I got one. I put my own arms around her, bent down, and kissed her thoroughly.

When we broke the kiss, she pushed me back a bit and looked up at me, delivering one of her patented smoking looks.

"I'm always 'ready to go'," she said. "But what's wrong with this picture?"

She gave me an evil grin and fondled my soft cock through my Levis.

"Oh! Yeah!" I said. "Down for maintenance." I grinned back at her. "And whose fault is that?"

"Are you suggesting that I broke it? That you had nothing to do with it? I think you were part of the conspiracy."

"Caught! I confess to conspiracy to commit cock-softening." I kissed her again.

She broke out of my grip, still smiling. "But let's get over to Steph's. Somehow, I think there'll be another conspiracy after we get home tonight."

I got the pie out and set it on the counter. Then I found one of those big paper shopping bags with handles. After I loaded the pinot grigio into the bag along with a half-pint of chilled heavy cream, there was still plenty of room. So I piled the salad vegetables in as well. And, I found, if I spread them around, they pushed the sides of the bag out so that the pie would sit, level, on top of them, leaving enough headroom that I could still carry the bag by its handles.

That left only the salad bowl, the cranberry sauce, and the salad spoon and fork. The spoon and fork fit, vertically, into the bag with no trouble. Mindy allowed that she would carry the bowl and the sauce if I would carry the bag. That, I agreed, was a deal. And, it being just a few minutes before two, we turned down the thermostat, got on our coats—I'd kept the leather bomber jacket, which was still eminently wearable in spite of the damage The Doberman had done to the collar—and set out for Steph's house.

It was only a five-minute walk. Mindy was still limping a bit, but it wasn't even far enough to cause her serious discomfort. Our destination was a single-story, two-bedroom house—and like most of the houses in the neighborhood near the campus, it was well past its prime.

We arrived just a couple of minutes after two and knocked on the front door. Steph opened it and welcomed us. The scent of roasting turkey enticed us; it intensified as we entered the house.

Stephanie Young was about five feet, five inches tall with medium-length, jet black hair. Her skin was a shade or two darker than that of most Caucasians—almost swarthy—so she had a Mediterranean look.

To my taste, she was a little too sturdy and a little too top-heavy—but I could still appreciate her magnificent rack. Solid as she was, her waist narrowed very nicely before swelling again to lovely curved hips and a roundly turned ass—which I also appreciated.

And she was one of those women who, without seeming to engage in any overt acts, radiates her sexuality. I don't think I could have been alone with her for more than thirty seconds without popping a boner.

If I hadn't already chosen a woman, I'd definitely have been interested. And if Mindy—my chosen woman—hadn't been right there beside me, I might even have drooled a bit. Especially when I noticed Steph's smiling dark brown eyes. There could be no doubt that she was all woman.

Once we were inside and had shed our heavy coats, Steph hugged Mindy. Then she turned to me, reached up, and gave me the same treatment. As I returned her hug, her ample boobs pressed against me. They were much firmer than I'd expected…or, I remember wondering, is that what encasing tits in a bra does to them? My experience with breasts was limited to Mindy's perfect little ones—which needed no bra and were wrapped in one only when a formal occasion required it.

I decided that I could probably learn to put up with a top-heavy woman if I really had to…

Mindy, always good at divining the direction of my thoughts, had seen how my eyes had traveled over Steph's body—as well as how I had lingered just a fraction of a second longer than necessary as I returned the hug—and that earned me a knowing smile and a discreet prod with an elbow.

As Steph led us into the kitchen, she yelled back into the house "They're here, Steve!"

A male voice came from the back of the house: "I'll be there in a minute."

I thought I'd heard that voice somewhere before—but I couldn't place it.

A minute or two later, I had my head in the refrigerator, looking for places to put the cream and the wine bottles, when Steve walked into the kitchen. Mindy, who was right next to me, getting things out of the sack and handing them to me, emitted a slight gasp as she saw him come in.

"Steve," Steph asked, "can you help me baste the turkey?"

"Sure," the male voice said. It came from my right, several feet beyond the refrigerator door that blocked my view of the room. That voice sounded even more familiar now, but I still couldn't place it. And with my head down and the refrigerator door between us, I couldn't see him. By then I'd found places for the cream and three of the wine bottles. "Just let me say 'Howdy' to our guests, first," the voice went on.

Mindy leaned over so that the refrigerator door hid her from our hosts, too. And she whispered—urgently—in my ear. "Cool it, Dude!"

And then, pointing into the refrigerator, she said, just a little bit too loudly, "I think you can get it in right there." Then she straightened up and walked around behind me to greet him.

Puzzled, I realized that I'd been the only person who could see that she'd pointed at a spot where I couldn't have fit a teaspoon. And I figured out that the pointing and speaking had been a cover for the whispered message—the message that therefore had to mean that something was happening on that I was to pretend wasn't.

I quickly found a niche where the fourth bottle of wine would fit. After I had stuffed it there, I straightened up and closed the refrigerator door.

I turned back toward the center of the room and saw Mindy exchanging a hug with Steve. It wasn't until she released him and he turned to me, offering his right hand, that I got a good view of him.

I knew Steve, and so did Mindy.

Some very interesting things were suddenly apparent.

We knew Steve…

…as Buck!

(To be Continued)

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—CarlusMagnus