Yvonne's Birthday Request

Gareth and Yvonne have been neighbors for 11 years. As Yvonne's 14th birthday approaches, she declines a large party for an intimate night of fucking Gareth!

Part One

My name is Gareth Moore. In 1970 my family moved into a brand-new housing development in the southern part of the Canadian province of Ontario. I was seven years old at the time. I was an only child. We Moores arrived at our new house on exactly the same day as our next-door neighbors, the Carruthers family, arrived at theirs. I think it was kismet. They were a one-child family, too. They had a three-year-old girl named Yvonne. I was told that Yvonne was named after movie star Yvonne DeCarlo, which I thought was great. In contrast, I was named after my paternal grandfather who was not famous at all.

Almost immediately, I became a brother figure to little Yvonne. Not shy in the least, she would often wander over to my house to see what I was up to that particular day. She was never a nuisance. If I was doing something, I’d tried to find a way to include her in the activity. For example, if I were building a model airplane, I allowed Yvonne to separate the pieces by size for me and occasionally glue some parts together. If I happened to be watching TV, she’d plop herself down beside me and watch along with me.

When I was nine and Yvonne was five, her parents suddenly had an acrimonious divorce. Her father moved out and seldom ever saw his daughter again. The end result for me was that Yvonne’s visits to my house increased exponentially. My parents were very sympathetic in allowing Yvonne unlimited access to our home if her mom was busy working at one of the three jobs she held simultaneously. Not surprisingly, many of my classmates wrongly assumed that Yvonne was my sister rather than just a neighbor.

Over time, Yvonne developed an affection for me that was understandable given the circumstances. When she turned six, I was the only boy invited to her birthday party. (That remained the case until she was 11.) We always exchanged Valentine’s Day presents. That custom started when Yvonne was seven. She unexpectedly showed up at my door with a homemade card she had made that day in art class at school along with a big chocolate heart. “The teacher said we should make a card for some person we love,” she explained. “I love you, Gareth, so this card is yours. I bought the chocolate heart for you with my allowance money.”

Since Yvonne’s kind gift came totally out of the blue, I hadn’t prepared any reciprocal gift for this adorable little girl. I was always a quick thinker, however, even as a child. I quickly formulated a plan to save the day. I immediately walked with Yvonne to the convenience store two blocks away and told her to pick out any of the packaged Valentine’s Day goodies that were available to be purchased there.

She ended up being undecided between two varieties of large chocolate bars. Yvonne asked for my opinion regarding which one she ought to select. I said she could have both. Then I asked her which Valentine's Day card she wanted from me. She picked out one that was especially mushy. As soon as I had paid for the items, I told her I had one more special, surprise gift for her. Before Yvonne had a chance to react, I lifted her off her feet and kissed both her cheeks, her forehead, and then her lips. "That is what I think of you, Yvonne Carruthers!" I told her. You are a super nice girl--and I love you, too."

All in all, for an 11-year-old boy, I figured I had salvaged what could have been a bad situation quite well. Yvonne seemed very pleased with my impromptu Valentine’s Day presents. She had her arms wrapped around me tightly, and wasn't in any hurry to let go of me. The female store clerk thought the situation was cute and added a package of cinnamon hearts to Yvonne's chocolate bars at no extra charge. We slowly walked back to my house, hand-in-hand, and watched TV together until her mother got home from work. Yvonne promptly showed her mother the chocolate bars, candy hearts, and card she had received. When her mom asked which part of her gift she had liked the best, without hesitation she replied, "The kisses from Gareth, of course. They were very nice. I liked them a lot...I really liked them a lot, Mom!"

“Would you like another one, Yvonne?” I asked her with a smile.

“Oh, yes! Yes, please, Gareth!” was her immediate reply. Yvonne repositioned herself so she was now sitting on my lap instead of beside me. Seconds later she proceeded to give me quite a romantic kiss for a seven-year-old girl.

“Let’s go home now, Yvonne, so I can throw a bucket of cold water on you,” her mother stated. “I knew this day would come, Gareth. Yvonne has loved you since Day One.”

I grinned and said nothing. I just waved at Yvonne when she glanced backwards at me when she headed out the door. I had thoroughly enjoyed Valentine’s Day 1974. I was just realizing how much little Yvonne Carruthers meant to me, too.

Part Two

Not long after that memorable Valentine’s Day, I began assisting Yvonne with her homework whenever she sought help from me. It became a regular Monday-to-Friday, after-school ritual for us. I always offered to help Yvonne before I tackled my homework assignments. Typical of Yvonne, she liked to see what my homework was, even though I was four grades ahead of her in school. It proved to be beneficial to her education. I showed her how to work with fractions, exposed her to world geography, and warned her of the perils of sentence fragments long before any of her classmates knew anything at all about those topics. Yvonne’s teacher, Mrs. Normand, was at first annoyed than amused when the eight-year-old chastised her for using an incomplete sentence to answer a classmate’s query about something.

“Who taught you about sentence fragments, Yvonne?” the woman asked.

“Gareth Moore, a boy from the seventh grade, was the one who taught me,” she proudly announced. “We study together just about every day. He’s a wonderful neighbor of mine. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to marry him someday!” Her classmates’ giggling only bolstered Yvonne’s resolve. “Just wait and see!” she declared. “It will happen. I just know it.”

Over the next six years, as her mother’s workload intensified with various job promotions, Yvonne became a fixture at my house. Hardly a weekday would go by where she wasn’t there doing her schoolwork alongside me or just socializing. Most of those encounters featured at least some hugging, maybe a quick kiss, but not much more than that. I was doing my best to be a gentleman towards this delightful neighbor girl, but it became more difficult with each passing month. By the time she was 11, Yvonne was starting to blossom—and doing so quite nicely, I must admit. I figured she had to be somewhat distracting to the boys in her classroom who were verging on puberty. I remember one day, just after Yvonne had turned 12, she became very amorous with me only moments after entering my home. I was 16 then, and I definitely appreciated the attention she was giving me. After a few long kisses, I put the brakes on, though. “I might be a damned fool for doing this, Yvonne,” I told her, “but we need to stop now before this gets out of hand.”

Yvonne looked at me with a disappointing stare. “But I want to do more,” she informed me, which was patently obvious.

“So do I, my love, but I’m four years older than you are—16 to 12. In a few years that won’t matter, but right now that could get me into serious trouble, Yvonne.” Yvonne sighed, but she accepted the reality of what I had just said to her. I gave her one last kiss—then we each began to tackle our respective school assignments, as usual.

Two days before Yvonne’s 14th birthday in 1981, her mother, after returning from her job, made a point of coming into my family’s house to retrieve Yvonne. Most often Yvonne just left on her own when she saw her mother’s car pull into the driveway which was situated next door to ours. When we were alone for a just a moment and neither of my parents were within earshot, she handed me a note. It asked me to drop by her house that night ASAP to discuss something urgent regarding her daughter. This was a first, so my curiosity was piqued. Once I finished my dinner, I told my parents that I was going to visit Yvonne to see how she was doing with a history assignment that had been puzzling her.

They bought the fib without questioning it. My father made a related joke, however. He said, “Gareth are you also going there to ensure Yvonne doesn’t have a boyfriend who’s infringing on your territory?”

That jab stunned me. When I didn’t give a verbal response, Dad continued. “You and Yvonne have been close friends since the first day we moved into this neighborhood. That was 11 years ago. I hope you realize how special that is. Gareth, she’s definitely the girl you ought to marry, if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you, Dad, but you are 100 percent correct,” I told him. “To me, Yvonne is something of a cross between a little sister whom I’ve doted on for years and a girlfriend. It’s a damn shame we’re not closer in age. But the day is coming when that won’t matter.” It was the first time I had ever had a meaningful conversation with my parents about such a topic.

Dad glanced at Mom and said with a grin, “See, we were both right, Tammy. Son, we knew you felt that way, too.”

Mom nodded and said, “Mrs. Carruthers has the same opinion, Gareth. She thinks very highly of you. She holds the same opinion: You and Yvonne ought to marry someday.”

I just laughed and commented, “Well, then I’m off to see how my bride-to-be’s eighth-grade history homework is going.” As I headed out the door to the Carruthers’ house, I was unaware that the day when the four-year age gap between Yvonne and me would no longer be relevant was fast approaching.

Part Three

Mrs. Carruthers saw me coming and opened the front door before I had time to knock on it. “Thanks for coming, Gareth,” she told me in a very kind voice. “There are some snacks on the kitchen table. Have a seat there and help yourself.”

Mrs. Carruthers poured me a mug of hot tea without my asking for it. I had just picked up a ginger snap from the plate of cookies when Yvonne’s mother said, “On Saturday, just two days from now, my daughter will turn 14. That’s hard to believe, isn’t it, Gareth?”

I remarked, “Yeah, I suppose it is—especially for you, being her mother.”

“It must be similar for you, too, Gareth,” she insisted. “You’ve known Yvonne since she was three years old. You were her first friend in the neighborhood. You’re still her greatest friend. You must know that.”

“Well, I like Yvonne a lot,” I confessed.

“You just like Yvonne, Gareth? Come on! I don’t believe you!” Mrs. Carruthers persisted. “Deep down, I know that you love her. In fact, I don’t think I have to dig too deeply.”

I took a deep breath and became totally truthful. “Alright, I admit it: I love your daughter and I always have. Just before I came here, my parents and I were having a similar conversation. They both think I should marry Yvonne. Apparently, you think so, too.”

“This is completely correct!” Mrs. Carruthers enthusiastically said.

I just chuckled and said, “Since everyone seems to agree this is the case, perhaps Yvonne and I should select a date and a caterer for the occasion.” Then it occurred to me that I did not know Yvonne’s opinion on this very important and personal matter. Therefore, I felt compelled to add, “I’ve never heard Yvonne directly say she wanted to marry me, though.”

“Gareth, Yvonne would marry you tomorrow, if that were legally possible,” Mrs. Carruthers declared. “Yes, she loves you that much.”

A strange emotion I had never felt before suddenly cascaded over me. It was a combination of shock, pleasure, gratitude and love. I composed myself and said, “Maybe she could come out of wherever she is hiding so I can propose to her.” I was at least semi-serious.

“Yvonne’s not hiding anywhere, Gareth,” her mother replied. “I just asked her to go downstairs for a few minutes so we could chat privately about something regarding her upcoming 14th birthday. But I’ll summon her now.” She did.

Yvonne ascended the stairs and smiled warmly at me. I always thought I’d be extremely nervous when the time came for me to propose marriage to a young lady, but for some reason I was completely calm. I took two short strides towards her, embraced her and said, “I love you, Yvonne Carruthers. Will you marry me in five years?”

Within two seconds I got my reply. “If this is a serious proposal,” Yvonne said, “the answer is yes!” We then engaged in a long, passionate kiss.

To the best of my recollection, this was the first time any of our parents had ever seen us do that since Valentine's Day of 1974. Mrs. Carruthers confirmed this by saying, “I get the strong impression that you two have done this before. Am I right?”

I took the liberty of answering. “Yes, but we’ve never advanced our relationship beyond kissing. That’s the honest truth, Mrs. Carruthers. I swear it is.”

“Oh, that I know for a fact, Gareth. Believe me. That’s what this little meeting tonight was supposed to be about. We just got sidetracked by this talk of marriage.”

Now, I was confused. I noted, “Okay, now that Yvonne and I are engaged to be married, why did you really ask me to come to this meeting?”

Yvonne and her mother looked at one another, each expecting the other person to speak. Eventually Mrs. Carruthers took the initiative and began, “Yvonne will turn 14 on Saturday. It’s an important birthday for her.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” I said.

“Gareth, are you also aware the age of sexual consent in Canada is 14?” That was indeed the case in 1981.

“I think I knew that…” I began to say a split second before I realized where this conversation was heading. I stopped to allow Mrs. Carruthers to continue.

“About a month ago I asked Yvonne if she wanted to have a few of her closest friends from school for a combination birthday party and sleepover. Yvonne was quite blunt with her reply. She said, ‘Mom, the only person I want to have for a sleepover on my 14th birthday is Gareth Moore. I want to fuck the daylights out of him!’”

It was a good thing my mouth was not filled with hot tea at the time. I would have spat it out with surprise! I looked at Yvonne to make sure I had heard her mother correctly. She nodded and we embraced again.

“I have a very libertine attitude about sexual activity, Gareth,” Mrs. Carruthers explained. In just two days, my daughter will be of legal age to consent to sexual intercourse. I’m not going to stop her if that’s what she really wants to do—especially if you are the one she wants to take to bed. I double checked with Yvonne just yesterday to find out if she still wanted to have a one-guest birthday party with you as the special guest. She confirmed it. Would you be in favor of this, Gareth?”

“Oh, yes! Most definitely!” I assured both of them. “How are we going to work out the logistics around this? My parents are very conservative about sexual activity and general morality. I’m certain they won’t knowingly permit me to have sex with Yvonne or anyone else until I’m a married man.”

“That just means we’ll have to conspire not to tell them,” Mrs. Carruthers said quite calmly. “Here’s what I suggest we do: On Saturday let’s go to the local convention center. One of my three jobs is working for the Chamber of Commerce. As an employee, I get huge discounts on unreserved hotel rooms. They’re practically free. I’ll make the reservation. We’ll pretend we are a family of three, check in sometime around 4 p.m., and then we can have a nice meal at the restaurant there. After we eat, you two can go to the room for four or five hours and do what comes naturally while I kill the time by doing some shopping or going to a movie at the nearby mall. All you have to do Gareth, is tell your folks that you are going to have a birthday dinner with Yvonne at the convention center—which is true. Then you can lie and say you’ll be attending a movie afterward.”

I also agreed to this sneaky idea, too, as did Yvonne. We embraced again. I nearly let my hands go wandering to a place on Yvonne’s anatomy where they had never ventured before, but Mrs. Carruthers stopped me. “Gareth, behave yourself,” she admonished me. “The girl in your arms is presently 13 years and 363 days old. Groping her would be a big no-no. For heaven’s sake, wait a couple of days and you can have all the fun you like, okay?”

I readily agreed to that restriction, too. I certainly was an agreeable fellow that night. I could hardly wait for Saturday to arrive. I was so focused on something 48 hours away, I completely forgot to tell my parents that I was now engaged to be married to the girl next door in five years.

Part Four

When Saturday did arrive, I was restless, pensive, and generally quite edgy. I killed time by doing chores around the house that I had long postponed. My parents were pleased to see me doing something so productive for the family on a Saturday. “Whatever has gotten into you, Gareth,” my mother said to me, “I hope it returns often.” I was tempted to say, “It’s not what’s gotten into me, it’s what I’ll be getting into later today!” I managed to merely smile and say nothing.

I made a stop at a florist before heading to the Carruthers’ home. I bought Yvonne a bouquet of roses in honor of her milestone day. Yvonne was thrilled with them. She hadn’t expected a present of any type from me—"apart from what you’ll give me later today at the convention center,” she kidded. I laughed at her sense of humor and embraced her. This time I did subtly fondle Yvonne’s appealing 14-year-old breasts.

“Mom, Gareth is groping my body—and I like it!” Yvonne announced.

I recoiled for a moment and said, “Jeez, Yvonne. If you say that any louder, the neighbors across the street might hear you—never mind my parents!”

“We’re inside the house, Gareth,” Yvonne replied. “The walls here are fairly thick. No one can possibly hear the naughty things I might say to you—except for my mother. It’s now my 14th birthday. As of about 15 hours ago, Mom can’t stop me from giving you a great fuck and talking about it in advance.”

“And I have no intention of stopping it from happening,” Mrs. Carruthers clarified. “Now let’s go to the convention center, check in, and then head to the restaurant there for a great meal. I’ve made our arrangements for everything."

There was no trouble with Mrs. Carruthers' room reservation. The price was indeed ridiculously cheap because of her association with the local Chamber of Commerce. She didn't divulge what the bottom-line cost of the room was, except that she had gotten it "for peanuts." Since we checked in as the Carruthers family, we were told the room had just two beds. The hotel clerk politely asked if we needed a third one, completely expecting a positive response. When Mrs. Carruthers said no, she got an odd look from the man. "All three of us won't be here overnight," she explained.

The convention center's restaurant was excellent as per its reputation. I had a prime rib dinner as did Yvonne. Mrs. Carruthers preferred to dine on a large Caesar salad. We all shared a small, vanilla birthday cake that Yvonne's mom had specially ordered for the occasion. Yvonne and I rushed through our respective meals in order to begin our carnal fun as soon as possible. "Take your time, you two," she advised us. "I have the room booked all night. I know Gareth should be home by 10 p.m. as to not arouse any suspicion about today's activities, but you’ll still have ample time to spend together." Yvonne and I chose not to listen. About a minute after the last cake morsel was consumed, we were headed up the elevator to room #417. Yvonne held my hand in one of hers. A room key she grasped in the other one.

She told me something very relevant when we were ascending the floors to our destination: She had taken "adequate precautions" to prevent becoming pregnant. This pleased me greatly. I produced several condoms from my pocket and announced, "Hey, I won't be needing these, then!" Yvonne noticed the quantity of rubbers. "You brought five?" she asked quizzically.

"Yeah, just five, Yvonne. Since this is a new experience for you, I was going to take it easy on you, tonight," I retorted. "But that's irrelevant now." I was unsure if she knew I was joking. However, if Yvonne wanted to believe I was capable of five ejaculations in one sexual romp without any problem at all, I wasn't going to crush her illusion. She’d have to find out for herself that number was completely unrealistic.

Room #417 was spacious enough to hold two queen-size beds. We stared at each other for a moment before I told my bedmate, "Choose one of them, my love. You want to know something, Yvonne? I've loved you since you were three years old…and I've wanted to go to bed with you since you were 11 and began to possess certain physical charms. I'm really, really going to enjoy this."

Yvonne laughed and said, "Now Gareth, please remember, this is my birthday! I'm supposed to do what I want to do." She smiled cutely and reminded me, "Of course what I want to do today is fuck you thoroughly."

"Yeah, Yvonne, I recall your 'I want to fuck his lights out' comment. I think we each have the same general idea. So…why are we standing here yakking when we could be fucking?" I didn't wait for an answer to what was a rhetorical question. I picked up my 14-year-old lover, kissed her sweetly, and set her gently down in the center of the bed situated furthest from the door.

My penis was already completely stiff just from the content of the pre-sex discussions I had had with Yvonne, so I was raring to go. Yvonne was very nicely dressed in a pale-yellow blouse and a black skirt. She was wearing nylons, which I don’t think I had ever seen her do before. I had intended to quickly undress her, but she was such a beautiful girl lying on the bed, I didn’t want to risk ruining any of her clothing. I suggested we each disrobe ourselves. I stood to do that while Yvonne managed to complete the task while sitting on the bed. I made of point of watching her remove her pristine, white brassiere and panties. The latter had a red border and a motif of tiny hearts. Yvonne Carruthers was undeniably a gorgeous girl lying in the buff waiting for me to join her. I hadn’t kidded Yvonne: I was going to thoroughly enjoy this sexual encounter! I dropped my underwear, exposing an average-sized penis for an 18-year-old, but it was as hard as a steel rod.

“God, you are beautiful!” I told Yvonne as I sidled close to her. We spent the first two minutes engaged in a series of long and short kisses. Then I turned Yvonne onto her side so I could continue embracing her and fondling her breasts which were truly lovely for her age. I was eight inches taller than my bedmate, which suited me just fine. I continued to kiss the back of Yvonne’s neck and left cheek all the while enjoying the treasures of her torso. When her nipples became rock-hard, I turned her onto her back so I could fondle and suck on them. Yvonne gently cooed, “This is fun, Gareth. Why haven’t we been doing this for years?”

I interrupted my licking and sucking for a moment to offer a reply. “Maybe because I’d have a criminal record,” I suggested. “As of today, you’re legal as a game of checkers, though.”

I could have stayed transfixed to Yvonne’s breasts for hours, but I knew there were other parts of her anatomy the deserved my attention, too. I moved my kisses steadily downward. When they drifted below her navel, I said, “Happy birthday, my love!” and began to orally stimulate her hairy vagina. Yvonne really liked it. And I liked that she liked it! I lifted her to the top of the bed to give me more room to perform cunnilingus. I gave her long licks and stimulated various key parts with my fingers. It had the desired effect. Yvonne had a fairly sizable orgasm—which turned me on even more—if that was possible. I happily lapped up as much of her discharge as I could.

“Good girl, Yvonne!” I congratulated her. “That was a terrific orgasm. Now that you’re so wet, I absolutely have to fuck that wonderful pussy of yours. Prepare to accept my hard dick, sweetheart.”

Yvonne blissfully uttered, “Okay, Gareth! Do it please!” She slid down the bed slightly and spread her legs. I moved atop Yvonne and slowly shoved my manhood into her sexy crevice as far as it would go. It was a marvelously tight fit! It felt so right being inside this adorable neighbor girl who had been part of my life for 11 years. I slowly drew my penis back and forth inside of Yvonne so she could get used to the joyful sensation of being fucked by someone who loved her. I only lasted about three minutes before my inevitable ejaculation came. The only warning I gave Yvonne, was the briefest one possible: “Here it comes!” I was overcome with pleasure as I squirted rope after rope of semen inside her, filling her 14-year-old vagina with my warm seed. I continued to thrust well after my ejaculation stopped only because Yvonne insisted. “Please, oh please, keep fucking me, Gareth!” she muttered. “It feels fantastic.”

I totally concurred with that thought! I wish I could have retained that feeling forever. I was still gently copulating with Yvonne when I told her, “I think we do this sex thing very well together. Since we’re going to get married someday, I look forward to 60 or 70 years of fucking you, my dear. Your pussy was made for me to screw.”

Yvonne laughed but agreed. I gave her a quick kiss and withdrew my rod from her vagina. Shortly thereafter, a large amount of cum dripped onto the bed.

“What a waste of perfectly good semen!” I complained in jest. “After we marry, I want to average a new baby every 18 months until you are 35. How does that sound to you, Yvonne?”

“Tiring and very expensive—but the fucking part sounds great.” Yvonne took a breath and said, "I’m going to take a shower to clean myself up from that first fuck. Then I’ll come back to bed and I’ll ride you!”

That plan lasted for all of five minutes. I couldn’t resist joining Yvonne in the shower. “There’s a beautiful 14-year-old girl in this shower who needs to be screwed by me this very second!” I shouted at her over the din of the cascading water. I walked into Room #417’s spacious shower. I lovingly scrubbed Yvonne with liquid soap and then stuck my refreshed dick back inside her. I had to lift her off the floor for that to be possible. It was a fun way to screw, but it was definitely awkward.

“Why don’t I just give you a blowjob, Gareth? Lord knows I’ve been wanting to do that for about three years when I first was learning about sexual acts.”

How could I say no to that offer? Yvonne got on her knees and gave me a terrific oral treat. Remarkably, my dick was nearly as hard as it had been before my first ejaculation. (It is wonderful to be an 18-year-old male!) When Yvonne began to tickle my testicles as she licked my shaft, I lost control. I ejaculated two strings of jism onto her face and hair. I thought Yvonne might become angry at the lack of a warning—and the fact that I had come on her face without asking her permission. I need not have worried. Yvonne took it as a compliment and thought receiving a face full of my semen was nothing short of lovely. “I like this almost as much as I like pussy fucking!” she told me. What a terrific girl Yvonne Carruthers was! She was a keeper, for sure.

Now we both showered, using our hands to cleanse each other with huge sponges and strawberry-scented soap. When we got out of the shower, I was semi-hard again. I let Yvonne know it by grabbing her waist from behind and roughly shoving my dick back into her vagina.

“Jeez, Gareth! You are insatiable!” she told me. “Maybe you just might come five times! I thought you were joking about that when you had the condoms in your hand.”

“I was joking,” I informed my fiancée. “But you are such a turn-on that it just might happen!”

As it turned out, three orgasms were my physical limit for one night’s copulating. The last one was a product of Yvonne riding me. This was great fun! I especially enjoyed the sight of her better-than-average boobs bouncing in rhythm with her enthusiastic screwing.

This time I was able to control myself long enough to roll Yvonne onto her back. I pulled out and fired a decent-sized load of my love juice across her terrific tits. Within ten minutes, we were both sound asleep, thoroughly exhausted from our first night of fucking. it was just slightly past 6:30 p.m. It had been a tremendous experience. We both briefly woke up at about 8 p.m. kissed a few times, and then Yvonne fell asleep in my arms. I woke up at about 9:30 p.m., and took another quick shower. I had almost fully dressed when I heard Mrs. Carruthers knock softly on the door.

I opened it up and allowed her in. She was carrying a few shopping bags, so she had spent a few dollars at the mall. She saw her beautiful, nude daughter reposing on a bed with a contented expression on her face. Yvonne was lying in a fetal position. If Mrs. Carruthers had studied Yvonne long enough, she would have found dried remnants of semen on her chest and all around her. I had the urge to point that out to my lovely bedmate’s mom, but I thought that would have been slightly on the tacky side.

I pointed to the sleeping sexpot on the bed and said, “I’d say it looks like I fucked Yvonne’s lights out instead of the other way around! This was, without a doubt, the best birthday party I’ve ever attended!”