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New York City is my favorite city in the world. Fortunately, my wife, Margo agrees. We make several treks to the city each year, except for a couple of years following 2008.
One trip, in December, 2017, is memorable. It was a gift that keeps on giving.
We always tried to be in New York for the tree lighting at Rockefeller Center each year. We plan our trip to arrive the weekend before the ceremony, expecting it to occur on the first Wednesday in December. In 2017, we miscalculated. The ceremony that year was on November 29th and we arrived on the Saturday following the event. Disappointed, we adapted and went to see the tree in the evening of our arrival. The tree is usually lit between six pm and midnight, hours that are quite dark in the avenues and streets of New York.
The tree is an amazing draw for residents and tourists alike so the crowds are enormous. Unless you’ve actually been there, you can’t understand how close people are crowded together as they follow the route established by the city to minimize the inconvenience and maximize the number of people who get to see the tree. As a point of reference, the crowds seen on TV in Times Square on New Year’s Eve pale by comparison.
Margo and I checked into the Sheraton at Times Square, had showers, a quick drink and headed for Rockefeller Center. With guidance from some helpful policemen, we found the end of the line and began the long journey around the block before passing by the tree. Soon we were in the middle of an upbeat mob of people shuffling slowly toward the tree, a trip that was sure to take the better part of several hours.
We were frequently in body contact with those in front of us, alongside us and behind us. The woman in front of me was restrained in reacting to the intermittent contact of my hips against her backside as those behind me pushed me forward. I was bumping against her buttocks more frequently as we turned the corner from Fifth Avenue into 50th street. I assumed she found it annoying when she reached behind her and used her palm to block my next bump. I don’t know what she intended to encounter with her hand behind her but when I was pushed from behind again, her hand perfectly palmed my man parts.
I have no idea if she was surprised but I certainly was. I attempted to shift my body slightly left when the next bump from behind me came. My effort had an unexpected but not entirely unpleasant outcome. My left shift exactly matched the corresponding shift of the unknown woman’s hand. For the second time, she was palming my package.
I stopped trying to avoid her hand. After the fourth perfectly accurate palming, I added a slight forward shift of my hips, pushing tighter against her palm. The next time I pushed, she squeezed. For the next twenty minutes or so, as we shuffled our way down 50th street toward the tree, her hand never left my crotch and my reaction was predictable and uncontrollable.
About half way down the block, I nudged Margo alongside me and indicated she should watch what was happening. She shuffled, wide eyed, alongside me for the next several cycles. She leaned over and whispered, “You’re kidding.”
“Never,” I whispered back.
“Looks like you’re encouraging her,” Margo continued.
“I couldn’t help myself,” I responded in my defense.
“I assume you’re enjoying the attention.”
“You’d recognize my reaction.”
Margo watched for a short time and the next time I surged into the woman’s hand, she moved closer to me and bumped forward into the stranger’s right cheek.
The woman reacted exactly as Margo expected. She put her other hand behind her to intercept Margo’s next move. Margo carefully assessed the tight space and, on the next surge forward, she perfectly aligned the space in the center of her skirt with the proffered hand.
For the next thirty feet, the woman’s hands never left mine or Margo’s genital areas. Margo nudged me and mouthed, “Watch this.” Over the next several minutes, Margo used her hands to move the front of her dress up slightly with each shuffle. Eventually, the stranger’s hand was curled between Margo’s legs resting on her nylon panties. My reaction was starting to feel painful. My condition was obvious and the woman in front of us made it worse as she started to rub aggressively vertically against my erection. I took a look and Margo was receiving a similar aggressive hand movement.
Unfortunately, as we neared the tree, police controlling the crowd, began to separate the line into separate directions. We lost contact with the strange woman in front of us when she went right as we were directed left.
We lingered near the tree for ten or more minutes and began to wind our way back toward the hotel. We stopped for a light dinner and drinks at one of the hundreds of pubs in the area. Over dinner, the topic of the woman and her strange actions dominated the conversation. Neither of us could explain her fascination with our bodies and neither of us could positively identify her except bahis firmaları that she had shoulder length blonde hair. Margo asserted that it was naturally blonde. I had no basis for an opinion so I took her word for it.
Back in our room, we laughed as I pushed up behind Margo and pressed into her hand when she put it behind her. I squeezed up close, reached around her, pulled up her skirt and palmed her mound. We remained rubbing each other, reproducing as best we could the actions of the unknown blonde. Suitably aroused, we stripped off our clothing and I fucked Margo bent over the side of the bed before we climbed on for a more intimate physical engagement.
It wasn’t always like this. Margo and I loved New York and we managed at least two trips a year before 2008. After school we married and settled into employment as a means to fund our lifestyle. I had a degree in graphic arts and found decent employment in a medium large advertising agency. Margo leveraged her degree in marketing into a mid level position with a national brewer.
The downturn in 2008 disrupted our plans. Within months, we were both unemployed. Margo responded by offering marketing services for local businesses and managed a small income to aid in our survival. I created a web presence and offered my ability as a graphic artist to anyone who was interested. Together we managed to pay the bills but extras, like NYC visits, were unaffordable.
One evening in the summer of 2010, I was curled up in an easy chair in our dimly lit living room — we kept the lights down to save money on electricity — with my sketchpad in my lap. I was musing on paper with a pencil, unconsciously sketching whatever came to mind. After a while, I looked to see what I had drawn.
I was mildly shocked to discover I had sketched a detailed view of a woman’s genitalia. It wasn’t a simple sketch. More like a detailed drawing, almost photographic. The owner was obviously aroused. Her perfectly symmetrical major labia were swollen and slightly apart revealing a smaller pair of labia surrounding a shaded opening without much detail. Her clitoris was erect, protruding from beneath its hood and the entire area was awash with drops of glistening moisture. I immediately recognized the pussy I had drawn.
Margo took that moment to enter the room and ask what I was doing. When I responded with “Nothing,” her natural curiosity was triggered and she took the sketchpad from my lap. She had to turn on a light to see the drawing.
“Justin,” she said, “This is good. I’m not as familiar as you with close up views of a woman’s pussy, but I think this is a drawing of me.”
“I think so too,” I answered.
“What made you draw this?” Margo asked.
“I don’t know. I was just doodling.”
“I’m honored,” Margo said as she pulled off her tights and panties and encouraged me to do the same before straddling me in the easy chair.
Afterward, we rested in the easy chair with Margo in my lap. “Hand me that drawing,” said Margo.
“Justin,” she said after looking at the drawing again. “This gives me an idea.”
“Ok, I’m listening,” I said.
“I think you’ve created a product idea.”
“Really? I don’t see it.”
“I’m thinking a sex toy.”
“A sex toy?”
“Yeah. You know how the world is filled with sex toys? Almost all of them for women. We have our choice of shapes, sizes, hard, soft, passive and vibrating. What do the men have?”
“Not as much as the women. Some hand held plastic tubes, full sized inflatables, expensive life-like dolls and our right hands.”
“I think there’s a market for realistic female genitalia for men.”
“They already have stuff like that.”
“Yes, but how realistic are they? They’re latex or plastic and I’ll bet they’re cold and little better than your right hand.”
“So, you think we could successfully create and market realistic female genitalia for use by men.”
“I do. They would have to be varied in design, with and without hair, and body temperature when used.”
“And they’d have to be easy to clean,” I suggested.
We spent the next six months designing, building and testing prototypes. Margo worked with a materials engineer she knew from school working on the proper mix of plastics, gels, silicones and cloth to create the exact feel of a woman’s internals. I have no idea how they researched, tested and perfected the final product but I personally compared their creation to Margo herself and, when warmed slightly, I couldn’t tell the difference blindfolded. The substance became the subject of our first patent.
I had a contact that led me to a low voltage electrical engineer. He considered Margo’s material and worked on a battery operated warming system to approximate aroused female body temperature. He also worked out a way to add a clamping function that simulated the feel of a woman’s orgasm. The entire mechanism was powered by triple A batteries and controlled by delicate, but definitive, kaçak iddaa movements of a tiny button hidden below the molded clitoris. Those were patents two and three.
The next requirements were completed by a neighbor who worked for a cosmetic company as their “nose,” the guy responsible for final fragrance compounds used in the company’s products. He was able to create a collection of lubricating gels with the aroma and taste of aroused women. I never inquired into the research he required to achieve the accuracy of both the smell and zest. The stuff was also water-soluble so the after effects were easily cleaned. The result was an additional half-dozen patents.
Interestingly, none of the men we asked for help was interested in financial compensation. All they wanted was sample products. One suggested he’d like to sample both the product and the model. Margo gave him a quick kiss and a terse, “You’re cute,” and the request evaporated.
Finally, we needed a number of pussy models. We didn’t want to rely on just an artist’s idea of the ideal pussy, no matter how skilled or experienced they were. We wanted to reproduce actual female pudenda. Margo was kind enough to provide the first impression that we could convert into a mold for the product. It took several attempts before we had the right consistency for an exact match. It had to be fluid enough to exactly fill every crevice and fold, dry quickly, not adhere too much and strong enough to not tear or lose definition when removed. I was mildly amused each time Margo squatted and pressed her naked lips into the cold modeling compound we were testing that day. I helped clean her up after each attempt. The composition of the final compound was the last patent.
Margo contacted the head of the sorority she joined in school to inquire about the possibility of providing pussy models. The enthusiasm of the late teen and early twenties girls was overwhelming and soon we had more volunteers than necessary even after we specified that they were required to be aroused when we took the impressions. We turned no one away on the theory that a good inventory would be necessary if we were successful. Besides, I personally monitored every impression session and helped them achieve the necessary condition for the best result if asked. Several of the girls asked about tit impressions. It pained me to explain our products didn’t include tits and impressions weren’t necessary, however, I was happy to provide feedback on the impression their tits made on me.
Margo also asked if the girls would be open to providing pubic hair for our products. She felt that using actual female pubic hair on the products would increase interest and eventually sales. The response was extremely positive and the effort quickly expanded beyond the membership of the sorority. I visited the campus to show the donors the proper method to remove their pubic hair in a single mat so we could make the best use of it. Soon we were receiving envelopes of pussy hair in many colors. We also learned that many of the coeds on campus were regrowing their pubic hair so they could donate in the future.
Once we had the process completed, we approached a local engineer with a small vacuum molding business with our idea and convinced him to manufacture the products. He covered the windows of the manufacturing floor, Margo got to work on a marketing campaign and I created a web site to display the offerings and take orders.
Things started slowly. We had established a world-class price for a world-class product. However, information spreads quickly in the market for sex toys and we celebrated our first hundred thousand dollars in sales within six months. Within a year, sales were moving so well that we started a sales franchising initiative not unlike the home sales organizations for cosmetics and household products.
We had thirty representatives in the next six months, most of them women. The local manufacturer expanded his factory and we looked to other institutions of higher education for expanded sources of pubic hair. By the end of 2014, we had hired a CEO, CFO and COO to run the business while we just collected our share of the profits.
We also began conversations with several manufacturers of full sized, life-like dolls for the use of our technology in their products. We rejected one offer for an exclusive contract and signed three others. Our “living pussy” products were soon to be part of a number of “better than real life” dolls with artificial intelligence capabilities that responded to their owner’s every whim and never said “no,” “not tonight,” or “I’m too tired.”
We resumed visiting New York City the following year.
So, here we were, the first weekend of December 2017, lying next to each other in bed in room 3121 of the Sheraton, breathing hard after an exceptionally frisky sexual encounter.
“That was incredible,” opined Margo.
“I think the anonymous blonde in front of us in line contributed,” I said.
“You think?” kaçak bahis Margo asked.
“I do. It was unfortunate that the crowd spread out and we lost her.”
“Actually, I think it was perfect timing,” said Margo.
“How so?” I asked.
“If she had continued to rub my pussy much longer I would have removed my panties.”
“Really. I was close. I might have even unzipped your pants for her. Remembering what she was doing to me frightens me a little.”
“I’ve never done anything like that before. I never expected I’d ever do anything like that but I was ready to let her fuck me right there, on the street. That frightens me and it should frighten you as well,” Margo explained.
“I’m not frightened. Actually, I’m aroused. Just the thought of you and her sexually turns me on.”
“You’d get excited watching us?” asked Margo.
“Not just excited. Insanely horny. I’d probably try to fuck both of you.”
“I need to process that. I had no idea you’d be okay with additional sexual partners.”
“Neither did I until I saw how you reacted to her stroking your pussy. You were enjoying yourself and that turned me on. I’m actually disappointed we never got her contact information.”
Margo moved her hand down her body and proved my point. That led to another furious fuck. It was nearing ten pm when we came up for air.
“Do you think you can manage to get it together enough to take me downstairs for a nightcap?” Margo asked.
“Good idea. I could use a drink,” I responded.
We cleaned up and got dressed. I noticed Margo did not bother to put on panties. When I commented, she said, “I want you think about what’s not under my dress while we have a drink and then I want to come back up here and fuck like the blonde is watching.”
“You’ve got a deal,” I said. I removed my trousers, stripped off my boxer shorts and put my pants back on while Margo watched. She smiled broadly as she took my hand and led me to the door.
In the lounge, we found a quiet table on the side of the room and a conservatively dressed waitress brought us drinks. We were there for about twenty minutes and on our second drinks when a thirty-something woman approached the table. She stood silently across the table from us. “Can we help you?” asked Margo.
“Do you remember me?” the woman asked.
I took a closer look. She was about five foot six or seven inches tall, with well-developed breasts, a slim waist and nicely rounded hips. Her shoulder length blonde hair moved slightly as she breathed. When neither of us answered, she added, “Does this help?” and turned around putting her hands behind her.
“You!” Margo and I gasped simultaneously.
“How did you find us?” spit out Margo. I could feel her excitement rising beside me and her pulse rising through her hand on my thigh.
“May I sit?” asked the blonde.
“Please,” I answered.
She sat across from us. “I’ll answer your question but, first, I want to share why I looked for you. The entire time we were shuffling up 50th street and I was doing what I was doing, I was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. I’d never done anything like that in my life and yet I couldn’t stop myself. The entire time my body was reacting in unpredictable, yet extremely exciting ways. I felt powerful, assured, every nerve in my body was on alert and my panties were wet. All new experiences for me.
“When we were separated at the tree, I had to find and follow you. I can’t explain it but I had to. I almost caused a riot finding you and getting behind you. I’ve been following you ever since without the nerve to approach you. When you went into the elevator, I kicked myself for not following you. I thought I had lost you forever. I didn’t know your plans. I didn’t know if waiting for you was going to work. I didn’t know if I saw you again if I’d have the nerve to talk to you. I didn’t know anything except I wanted to know you better and I’d blown it.
“I’ve been in this lounge feeling sorry for myself, shedding tears knowing I’d never understand what I did or why I did it. When I saw you come into the lounge, my heart sang and yet it took me this long to find the courage to talk to you.”
“That’s quite a story,” commented Margo.
“It isn’t just a story. It’s a confession. Something’s been driving me toward you and …”
Margo held up her hand to stop her from saying more. “I have a confession as well,” she said. “You’re not alone. I share your experience. My panties were wet too. You probably know that already. What you don’t know is that I was seconds away from removing my panties for you.”
Margo looked at me while the blonde was processing her statement. “Do you have something to say?”
“I’m Justin. The lady with the confession sitting next to me is Margo. What should we call you?”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m Joy.”
“How appropriate,” I said.
We ordered another round of drinks for all three of us. The conversation with Joy was pleasant and full of promise. Forty minutes later, we left the lounge, still talking. Joy walked with us toward the elevators and entered with us when the car arrived. It seems we had reached an unspoken agreement in the lounge.
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