Sveta's coming to stay with me for the weekend.
If you can't sense the anticipation wafting from that sentence, then you need to check your sensors. Yes, I know, she'll only be here for two nights, has to go back on Sunday fairly early and will only arrive on Friday fairly late. Yes, I know she's got to spend most of her time studying and doing work. And I will try my damnedest not to distract her from that, because it's far more important that she get good grades than that I get off.
She's not telling her parents at all. I told her it was her choice. One of these days, she'll open up to me about her family. On the other hand, I'm certainly one to talk about that kind of thing, aren't I? Whatever, I don't care.
I told my parents that she's coming, that they don't need to do anything, but if they could arrange to be scarce, I'd appreciate it. Not that I mind having them around, it's just... you know. God, I'm like a fucking teenager again.
It actually reminds me of the legion of lovers I've had over to the house. Not anywhere near as many since I graduated high school, but in the time since I was popped through the end of Senior year, my house wasn't party-central because my parents were definitely not down with that, but my house was the best place for people to go for illicit rendezvous (which may be the correct plural but still looks wrong).
Sheri brought over a few, but she was always going elsewhere with people, usually old enough that they had an elsewhere to go to. Me, I fished in my own pond, mostly. Not that I didn't have any older lovers, but I had quite a few from my school and from my age group. And since my parents were a-okay with me having sex as long as I was safe (well, safer than I would have been doing it in a back alley, I guess, although I wasn't that safe) I didn't even have to sneak people in. I would just invite a guy (or the occasional gal, although my bisexuality has really blossomed since I've gotten older, I guess because teenagers, by-and-large, aren't as open to that sort of thing, particularly in Catholic school) over, we'd go in the basement door, and we could fuck right there.
I do remember once I was bringing a guy home and I went through the door and saw Mike and Sheri fucking, so I had to really quickly turn around, shut the door, and make up some story. That would have been awkward in multiple ways. But I took him to the back door, told him to wait while I "checked to see if my parents were home" and then "sneaked him in" while my mom stayed out of the way. Fortunately, there was no one upstairs, and so he and I got to fuck on my bed, a novel experience for my teen years. It was worth the hassle, as I recall; he came like a fire hose and had a five minute recovery period.
And one time I was in the basement with a guy from the neighborhood when Sheri came in and asked if she could join. Seems she'd already had him before I got around to him, and he was, of course, perfectly fine with the idea of being tag-teamed by two sisters. We kept our interactions to a minimum, so he only thought we were just huge sluts, not kissing-sisters. After he left though, Sheri and I went to town cleaning out the cum from each other's pussies.
Wow, this went afield, didn't it? Whatever. I'm just really psyched to see Sveta. I am, of course, looking forward to making love with her, but it's more than that. I've missed holding her, feeling her next to me. I could be satisfied with just that... well, no I couldn't because I'm horny as hell, but I could be mostly satisfied to just see her and hold her.
Something's got to give with this relationship. I"m kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop. But that's my natural doom instinct.
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