J Long: Neighborhood wives

Starting from the top, Rachel had stringy hair, the kind of hair that the more kinder souls called Afroish and modern, when in actuality it looked like she had stuck her finger into an electric socket and fried her hair in to a kinky case of the frizzies.

Beneath the frizzy hair was a long forehead that seemed to be interrupted by heavy dark eyes made heavier and darker by too much make-up. People were naturally drawn to Rachel's eyes because they were trying desperately to look past her long, thin nose that had suffered, at a very early age, cartilage damage when her nostrils were introduced to the wrong end of a hockey slick.

To her credit, she had average lips.

Lips that were not heavy and full, nor thin and narrow. Just a simple set of fuckerable lips that looked decently kissable.

Actually, the best way to sum up Rachel Lindsay's striking looks was that she had a whore's face on a Miss America body.

Now Rachel Lindsay was parading her Miss America body in front of the dresser mirror trying to undo God's facial handiwork by applying more make-up and mascara to her face. Next came a couple of dabs of Ambush perfume beneath her elephantine ears, and a couple of dabs on the pulsing vein that vampires eat up on. Now she was ready for her date.

She sashayed to the closet, brought out the old tire pump.

Let's see, tonight she had a date with – hmmm, oh yeah, tonight she had a date with George.

She went to the bedroom to fetch George, tire pump in hand.

She rummaged around in her closet and brought out a shoe box labeled GEORGIE.

She flipped off the lid.

Georgie's plastic face greeted her with a droopy wrinkly smile. She grabbed him by the ear and unfolded his balloon-like body. She spread him out flat on her bed and smiled.

"Hi, George."

Now for the best part.

George was on his plastic back, pans of his dummy body still full of air from the last time they had dated.

She grabbed his plastic prick – well, it was really a combination of human-like prick and air nozzle.

Oooaooooh, she couldn't wait to blow him up.

His plastic prick nozzle was only two inches long now which is about average size for most of the inflatable dummies that she ordered from a mail-order firm in Skokie, Illinois, that sent her catalogs weekly with the latest in dildoes, douche guns, semen perfume, plastic pricks and plastic life-size men with cocks bigger than those of real-life men.

She put the rubbery prick into her mouth and started blowing.

And blowing. And blowing. Christ! She really loved blowing cocks! Her cunt was running over with pussy juice. Her black panties felt more like a sponge in her crotch than an expensive piece of filmy, gauzy cotton.

She huffed and she puffed and she blew the man up.

Georgie's cock grew and grew in proportion to the rest of his inflatable body. God, what supreme effort it took; what lungs it took to blow up an inflatable man that could take up to 300 pounds of air per square inch. Hell, his cock alone had to take at least twenty pounds of hot gusty air per square inch – only the cock inches weren't square, they were round and firm and becoming warm with each wheezing breath.

Georgie's crinkly face was starting to shape up – he looked kind of cute with his painted on smile and Little Orphan Annie eyes.

Rachel stopped blowing Georgie's cock, capping her thumb over the end of his prick so that none of those precious air bubbles could escape from the huge cockhead.

Rachel always stopped when Georgie was half-full of air. Her lungs just couldn't give her enough wind power to bring Georgie completely erect. Her titties rose and fell, and she wished that she could get out of her black lacy bra with the super duper half-cups that had her nipples flopping over wiry cups.

Moving very quickly and with much experience, she managed to get the nozzle of the tire pump placed over the end of George's cock. Then she started pumping like mad.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Now her lungs didn't ache; her arms did. But Georgie was erecting. Oh, Christ, was he coming to life – whatta handjob!

His cock went from eight inches to a foot to a foot and a half.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Georgie's head was starting to bob.

His prick was now two feet long.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

One more whoosh.

Ah! Done now.

Rachel looked at Georgie. George looked at Rachel. It was love at first sight.

Here was a man who dared to look her straight in the eye and see what lust and passion lay beneath them. Here was a nun whom she could kiss with her average lips and who wouldn't scoff at her ski-lift nose, or her droopy ears, or her static electricity hair.

Rachel kissed Georgie, threw her tits at his plastic chest with the painted hair. She grabbed his balloony knee and gave her cunt a ride, feeling the plastic come into electric-like contact with her hot pussy.

Oh, God! What a hot date she was going to have tonight!

She sat Georgie up in bed, put a pillow on both sides of him so he couldn't topple over from the slight breeze that came from her bedroom window.

She stood near the foot of the bed, looking at her date seductively, brihging her arms in tight and bulging out her titties at him.

"What do you think, Georgie? Do you like what you see? Hmmmm?"

Long fingernails fiddled with the tops of the dress until one seductive shoulder was exposed.

"Would you like to see more, Georgie? Hmmm? Would you like to see the best parts of me? Like my titties and my belly button and my… oh, shame on you, Georgie. Shame on you for having such thoughts."

Another shoulder was exposed, and the dress fell like crepe bunting. Only the tops of her titties prevented the slinky material from falling to the floor.

Georgie was nonplussed.

Cleavage was beginning to show, more beautiful, bountiful tits were becoming exposed to Georgie's poker chip eyes.

"Do you like my titties, Georgie?" Rachel asked, her dark and heavy eyes batting at him. Rachel would have tried winking at Georgie but she knew that with the couple of ounces of eyeliner and eye shadow that she had on one eye there was always the chance her eyelids might get stuck together.

The cocktail dress slithered to the floor, sliding with a whispery sound to the linty carpet.

"Don't be shocked, Georgie. I always wear frilly things when I go out with men I really like."

Georgie smiled.

"I hope you don't mind if I take off my bra – oh, I know how you men like to take off a woman's bra and panties, but this one cost me $4.95, and we don't want to tear it, do we?"

Rachel spun around and faced the mirror, looked at George's reflection and smiled wantonly at him. She reached behind her and unsnapped the bra. It fluttered to the floor. Pretending bashfulness, Rachel covered as much of her titties as she could with her hands – which wasn't very much because she had small hands and big tits.

"Oh, please don't stare at my tits like that, George. You make me feel embarrassed when you look at them like that."

George refused to look away.

"Oh, all right. I suppose you've seen quite, a few titties in your day. So you might as well see all of mine."

Rachel turned around slowly. Well, she turned around fast enough that her titties were still moving with the centrifugal force of her about-turn. Her titties settled back into position as she confronted wide-eyed Georgie.

"Are they all right, Georgie?"

Rachel hefted her titties up, and there was a lot of tittie to heft. Although her hands were at the bar of her tits, the mass of her tit-meat sagged over her hefting hands. The only parts that didn't droop were her nipples – they were rock-hard, ready to be kissed and sucked.

Rachel's tits were kissed and sucked – no, not by lonesome George but by her gathering up her titties and force-feeding them into her mouth. Yeah, she had dynamite tits all right – any girl has a big, explosive chest when she can suck them herself. Twiggy she wasn't.