Happy Birthday, Darling
Millie Dynamite
Happy Birthday, Darling
A Sam and Kim Adventure with a More-Some
Millie Dynamite
© Copyright 2023/22/18 by Millie Dynamite
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
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Happy Birthday, Darling
Our little town had many names. First, she was called the Queen City of the Plains, then the Queen City of the West. More recently, she’s worn the Wall Street of the West or Broncoville monikers.
But most people have always called her The Mile-High City.
Yes, Sam and I are from Denver, Colorado. My husband, Sam, has always been a womanizer, a ladies’ man. He loves them young, our age, and he loves older women as well. He’s an auteur in the art of picking up women or girls. In fact, he is charismatic, handsome, and a constant flirt, with charm and looks that draw women to him.
Even with me present, he makes passes, dances with women, perhaps more, and I love him for it. His sexual appetites know no bounds. As for me, I’m always up for a good threesome or a more-some.
To be totally truthful, no one woman could ever satisfy his sexual appetites.
I can’t tell you how many women hit on him right in front of me, ignoring me altogether. Many times, he’d trot off with them and fuck the living shit out of the horny slut. Often, he’d fuck me later the same night, telling me all about it while we fucked our brains out.
I often join in the titillation, the foreplay, and sexual adventure with them.
It was 1978; he was only 23, I turned 19, and we were married, in love, and shared many other lovers. In fact, it was my birthday, and he treated me to a strip club, known for women who liked women, for a special night. And to be honest, it was the most incredible birthday. Well, until my next birthday, the one after that, so on, and so forth.
I wore tight cut-offs and a plaid blouse tied under my breast, like Mary Ann on Gilligan’s Island. My husband said I could’ve played Mary Ann if they wanted a Raquel Welch lookalike. I took it as a compliment.
We watched the girls dance about for an hour. Too many sexy bodies swayed and undulated, too many dancer’s on too many elevated dance floors, to concentrate on a single choice. The waitress was one of those plump girls who wasn’t hot enough to be a dancer, with a nasally uninteresting voice, fattish hands, and giant fat girl tits. We ruled her out from the get-go.
Once we spotted two dancers who stayed close to one another, Sam zoned in on one of them right off the bat.
“Do you like that one?”
“Which?” I asked.
He pointed the girl out with a discrete gesture.
“The black girl?”
“No, the redhead next to her,” Sam said.
“Oh, yeah, ya think they are natural?”
“Not sure. They sag a bit, so maybe they’re natural.”
“Bigger than mine, don’t you agree?”
“Not as nice,” Sam said. It may be obligatory for him to tell me that. However, he always tells me I’m the sexiest woman alive. And you know something? He always makes me believe he means it.
However, the black girl beside her was far more what I had an itch for that night.
“I like the skinny, little-titted black better,” I said.
“Oh, a young one. Eighteen, maybe 19. Yeah, I like her as well. How about getting a VIP room with both of them?”
“Yes, we can. I’ll have to talk with both girls and ensure they are open to more than dancing.”
“Baby, it’s 7:45, and new girls are coming in. Maybe we can take them to our hotel room if they get off work at eight. What you think?”
“I’ll go find out right now.” Sam kissed me, stood, and strutted over to the two women.