Sasha Stories: Vol. 4

The next morning Sasha and I woke up late with wine and liquor hangovers.  Aunt Cindy had already gone powerwalking around the neighborhood and had cooked a spread of waffles and other breakfast favorites for our consumption. Uncle Rich sat with his black coffee reading the local paper intermittently clearing his throat and swearing under his breath. He barely looks up from his paper to see we have entered the kitchen. “You kids got your hearts set on going to the island?” he asked us in a gruff and impatient voice.  My Uncle’s gated community had access to a small island that was only open to residents of the country club village. He had gone on and on about how nice and secluded it was the night before. Even implying that Sasha could go topless there, which was an exaggeration no doubt.  In the reality of morning however, he seemed much less supportive of the idea. “I’ll have to go down to the club to get you a couple of guest passes, you know? Then they will need to take your driver’s license as collateral. A lot of red tape for a beach visit for you kids.  You know what I mean?  But I’ll do it for you if you really want…” the old grump complains in our general direction. “That’s fine…” I tell him.  “We better get on the road after breakfast anyway, we’ve got a lot of driving left to do.”  We didn’t have a lot of driving left to do.  In fact we had planned to spend all day on the private island, ideally with Sasha topless. Then possibly stay with Aunt Cindy and Uncle Rich for a second night if they allowed it. It was pretty obvious now that they only had intended to host for one night. What was left of our welcome would be completely dissolved by the time we scarfed down a few waffles. My uncle didn’t even wave us goodbye as we left the gated compound.  “Now what?” my girlfriend asks me. We didn’t have to be back in Tampa until our flight left in 2 days. We needed to come up with a plan on how to cheaply spend the next 24 hours. And that’s how we ended up spending a long day taking pictures of alligators and tropical birds at the Everglades State Park.  The park was full of tourists stomping around and sweating through their t-shirts in the Florida swamp. We equipped ourselves with a 2-liter bottle of water and finished flushing the hangover out of our systems.  By the time we left the park we were feeling good and 100% sober but ready to reduce that percentage.  Even without any liquid courage, I was able to talk Sasha into flashing some skin here and there amid the crowds of people. At one point I tried for one too many pictures of her with her boobs popped out of her halter-top. She was pretty sure some retired guy in flip-flops and a tie-dyed shirt saw her.  I was pretty sure she was right given the fact that he just lingered around almost, but not quite, out of sight.  Probably the highlight of his vacation.  Our vacation however, was in need of a place to spend the night.  Ideally, someplace on the way back up to Tampa.  So we left the swamp and drove back up the gulf coast for a couple hours.  We found this little old fashioned motel, the kind where you park right in front of the door to your room.  It was something out of the 1950’s Florida travel advertisement.  A forest of palm trees around the property, pink and coral collared stucco walls, even the hotel manager looked like he was set on a shelf in 1960 and dusted off whenever somebody checked in.  The place clearly belonged to a bygone era.  Modern multi-level hotels surrounded it and a medium-sized department store mall was located directly across the street.  The mall was complete with the typical franchise-chain restaurants you see dotting the perimeter of most every American mall.  I agreed to take Sasha out for a fancy date at…Olive Garden.  Keep in mind we were still college students at this time. We checked into the hotel and put our bags in the room. I spaced out watching part of some sports game on TV, my girlfriend immediately jumped into the shower to wash the Everglades off her body.  Next she began blow drying her hair, putting on make up, skin moisturizer, hair spray, etc. I knew I had another 45 minutes at least to shower and get ready for our date. I decided to walk down the street to buy a pint of Southern Comfort and a bottle of coke so as to get a buzz on before we entered Olive Garden.  Upon my return Sasha and I both took a few swigs.  She was nearly nude still, wearing only a small white thong. At this point she was about halfway done “getting ready” I reckoned.  I was getting so turned on my watching her put on lipstick and eye mascara and bush her long hair.  Her soft breasts and perfect pink nipples glowed under the soft motel lamps, the bare light bulbs around the bathroom mirror gave Sasha a movie scarlet type of aura. I offered to bend her over the sink but my girlfriend sharply declined.  She had worked hard on getting dolled up and didn’t want my hard-on to ruin it, plus she assured me that if I was a gentlemen on our date I would be rewarded back at our bungalow afterwards. I then retired to the shower and tried to get my erection under control.  I couldn’t wait to get back to the motel and bang her brains out.  It was difficult to think of anything else.  I ended up taking a really long shower slowly stroking it to the thought of Sasha swallowing my cock after dinner.  She had been at a level 10 on the horny scale since we entered the state of Florida.  Even though we had been keeping it pretty low key, it was still college spring break afterall.             So after much self-inflicted blueballing I turned off the shower and released the cloud of mist from the motel bathroom to the motel bedroom.  Upon entering the room in my mist explosion, I find myself alone.  Sasha is gone but left a small note saying to meet her across the street at Olive Garden.  She had a reservation there under ‘Smith’.  Which was an alias, and an unnecessary one at that.  Sasha was always a big time practical joker and liked to play little games like this.  So I got dressed and finished the swig of Southern Comfort that was left in the bottle. Then I headed across the 4-lane boulevard at the entrance to the mall.  John Smith had arrived at Olive Garden.             Surprisingly, the restaurant was full.  I had trouble locating my fellow spring breaker (and slightly tipsy on SoCo) girlfriend.  She was sitting at the bar with a giant plastic beeper-siren in one hand, in the other a glass of white wine. Sasha was in her white 4” high heels and coral pink summer dress.  White shoes, white thong, little pink dress, and that’s all she had on.  Her cleavage was in full effect.  Despite having her bikini on several times while we were in the sunshine state, Sasha’s skin remained a milky white.  The pale white was a stark contrast to her pink dress that it seemed to accentuate her cleavage even more than normal.  Or maybe that was just my SoCo warped recollection.  Either way, the tops of her areolas were peaking out of her dress.  It was less obvious to the innocent bystander because the pink of her dress was a near match to the shade of her partially exposed nipple.  But to a trained eye like myself and the two creepy guys standing next to Sasha at the bar, the camouflage of pink on pink was useless.              I walked up behind her at the bar and asked if I could buy her a drink before the creepy guys could move in on her sitting there, at the Olive Garden bar, alone.  She says, “No I’m waiting for my boyfriend” in a tone that is meant to sound serious.  I held her gaze for a moment before I gave her a half nod and sat several chairs down the bar, on the other side of the creepy guys.  As it turns out the creeps at the bar are a couple of Greek-American car dealers in their late 50’s.  I find this out almost immediately upon sitting down because they loudly whisper “good effort kid… blondie over there is a prime piece of ass”.  They introduce themselves and buy me a glass of red wine.  It was probably like the second time I ever had red wine and I was not into it.  After about ten minutes of listening to the pair of Greek fuzzballs talk about selling BMWs and inhaling swisher smoke, I hear Sasha’s buzzer go off.  She smiles at me and waves goodbye from behind the flapping heads of my new bar buddies.  In a matter of a few minutes I manage to disengage myself from the car dealers and dart over to the table where my date sits sipping on a fresh glass of wine.              She is smiling and her face is flushed when I find my seat.  To my delight my girlfriend is stroking herself under the tablecloth, just discretely enough not to be noticed by waiters passing by or other patrons.  I pretend to drop my napkin to get a peek at the button-mashing she is doing under our table.  She spreads her knees as wide as she can to give me a full preview.  I can barely make out the white thong, tugged to the side of her wet pussy lips.  I need to come back up for air.             The rest of the dinner turns into a bit of a blur.  I do know we had a waitress who was a Florida native in her forties with an extra 30-40 lbs. of cushion around her hips and tits.  She thought we were an adorable couple who needed to make some babies.  She kept mentioning that, to the point where I was pretty sure she was going to clear the table for me to bend Sasha’s bare ass right over it.  By the end of dinner we had our waitress take a few “couples pictures” of us.  All with my pretty blonde girlfriend sitting on my lap.  I did not know until afterwards that Sasha had intentionally popped a boob out that was extremely visible in the photos.  Clearly our waitress was enjoying the show, as were the surrounding patrons no doubt.  Or else they were offended by our antics. A reaction Sasha and I sometimes got over the next few years whenever a boob or a butt cheek was exposed to a prudish bystander in public.              As we stumbled out of the restaurant I notice the two Greek guys sitting at the bar.  They are staring at me in sheer amazement, not comprehending how I managed to land “some guy’s girlfriend” who turned me down earlier that night.  I wave to them on my way by.  Sasha notices and waves too, then turns around and grabs my crotch and presses her sex-charged body to mine.  The old dudes about stroke out.              We returned to the motel to engage in some love making which I have not recollection of due to intoxication.  The next morning I reviewed the digital camera to find some photo evidence of these acts of drunk fornicating.  There are also pictures of Sasha’s boob at Olive Garden, both boobs in front of a corvette in the Olive Garden parking lot, and her bare ass standing in the middle of the intersection between our motel and the mall.  Great photos, I had no idea we were such a good photography team.  But I would come to in time.