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You may remember that, when I last wrote about this incident, some guy had squeezed lime juice onto my chest after sucking a few crumbs of puss pastry off my boobs.  I was extremely upset, mainly because I had very little money and the blouse was one of my favorites.  Had it been ruined, I would have tracked him down and demanded he buy me a new one.  Angry beyond words, I stormed off to a bathroom to clean up.  After taking off my blouse, I stared in the mirror, saw my naked breasts, remembered the guy’s mouth on them and instantly became very, very horny.  I just had to touch myself because I was ready to burst!

So, picture this – I was in the bathroom with my blouse off, my eyes closed, one of y hands clutching the vanity top and the other, after sliding over my breasts, making its way down my stomach toward my throbbing clit.  Just as my hand reached the waist band of my skirt, an older blond woman walked in.  She was, I guessed, around forty, about five-ten (in her heels almost six feet tall) and gorgeous.  Her blue eyes matched perfectly her navy blue wrap around dress which, considering the slit up the side of the dress, showed off her incredibly tanned legs.  Because of the casual way she had tied the sash around her waist, the top part of her dress hung loose over her breasts, plunging in the front to reveal a dark blue bra and a lot of cleavage.

She took one look at me, smiled and said, “Y’all need some help, sugar?”

I almost fainted.  I was mortified!  She had to know what I was about to do with my hand, so to avoid having to talk about how horny I had been, I decided to focus any conversation we were about to have on my boobs.  Standing up and reaching for the facecloth, I mumbled something like, “I spilled something sticky down my blouse and…”

The woman smiled and said, “You really should lock the door when you’re in the commode, darling.”  She retrieved the facecloth before I could get it, turned for a second to lock the door, and then turned toward me again.  “Let me help you, honey,” she said.  “This way we’ll be sure to get all of whatever it is that spilled on you.”

“I,” I stammered, “I can take care…”

“Nonsense,” she said.  “I don’t mind.”  She put the facecloth under the faucet and turned on the hot water.  While the water warmed up, she asked, “Now, why don’t you tell me what has you all hot and bothered?”

I was so embarrassed.  Again, I mumbled something like, “There was this guy, and we were…um…kissing and he…um…spilled some lime juice…”

God, how she laughed.  “Oh, my,” she said.  “I’ve been there.  I’ll bet he was gonna lick it off, wasn’t he?”

I blushed so hard I felt my face tingling.  “Yes,” was all I could say.

“Nothing like it, honey,” she said.  “I mean they have to lick real hard ‘cause it’s really sticky, know what I mean?”

I watched her approach me, gulped and nodded.

“Well,” the woman said, “let’s clean you up.”  She paused for a second and, smiling, added, “I’ll be real careful, don’t you worry.”

Suddenly, the smell of her perfume mixed with the odor of alcohol and cigarettes filled my nostrils.  I found the aromatic mix wafting off her body to be strangely intoxicating and relaxing so I closed my eyes and just gave into her.

I have to say, she was very gentle when she cleaned off the lime juice.  She patted my chest with the nice, warm face towel-she didn’t rub me.  But as she patted me, she talked in a whisper to me, saying things like, “You sure have nice tits, hon.  I love the way your waist falls into your hips.  Mmmm. And the way your back falls into your cute little butt.” And so on.

I was totally fascinated with this woman.  She was so cool and sophisticated and, the more she talked, the better the facecloth felt on me.  After stepping back to examine me, she took a bath towel from the towel rack and started to pat me dry.  When she dried my boobs, she surrounded them with the towel and held them between her hands for a while before moving on.  After she determined I was completely dry, she asked, “Do you have a bra?”

“Uh uh,” I said.

“Good for you,” she said.  “Accentuate the positive, right? You know, I don’t know why I wear one.  Let me…”  In a very matter-of-fact way, she undid the sash around her waist, wiggled out of her dress, undid her bra and, standing only in some tiny blue lace panties said, “What do you think?  Do I need a bra?”

Trust me, she didn’t.  Her boobs, big as they were, stood almost straight out from her chest.

She laughed at my silent stare.  Then she shrugged and, leaning over to whisper in my ear again, said, “They’re fake, of course.  But I’m a big girl and need big tits.”  She checked reflection in the mirror and, apparently satisfied, stuffed her bra in her purse and shimmied into her dress again.  “Jesus, girl,” she said.  “My boobs are barely covered.  The boys are gonna love this look.”

She stared at her reflection for a few seconds more and then, looking up at the ceiling as though she was deep in thought, she said, “Now why did I come in here in the first place?  Oh, I remember.”  She reached into her purse and took out an orange plastic tube, turned it upside down, tapped it on her palm, held it up to her nose and inhaled.  Then she did the same thing again on the other side of her nose.  “Oh, God,” she moaned.  “This is great stuff.  Want some, sugar?”

I just shook my head from side to side-I knew enough about drugs to figure out what she had done.

“Suit yourself,” she said.  “Listen. A few of us are going to move this party to my place.  We have a stretch limo out front if you want to ride along.”  She seemed to drift off into space for a second and then, laughing, she said, “Actually, that’s where the party will start.  So, wanna come along?”

I can’t remember what I was thinking at that point-I was probably in a daze.  I do remember saying, “No thank you.”

She thought that was so funny.  “You’re so polite,” she said.  Then she leaned over and kissed me-I mean a mouth open type of kiss.  I was too stunned to do anything.

“I’m pretty sure, based on the little bit I know about you, that you’d fit right in,” she whispered.  “Here.  Let me give you my card.”

She reached into her purse, pulled out a gold business card holder and handed me a card.  It had her first name and phone number on it-that’s all!  No last name and no address.  Her name was Monica. 

“Call me, baby,” she said, “when you’re ready.  I gotta go now.”

Then she just sashayed, her butt jiggling under the thin fabric of her dress, out the bathroom door.

My hormones were in overdrive.  I had to find my GF.  I stumbled out of the bathroom and headed toward the ballroom but, on the way, I ran into Mr. Puff Pastry.