The Real Housewives of McKinney.

I was asked a while back to write about the housewives of McKinney, Texas, an upscale bedroom community north of Dallas. I declined to write about the ladies, my close friends, out of fear that I might be discovered. I was assured that if I didn’t give their true names, no one would know. Still. I was hesitant to write anything because, you know, ladies talk.

Then one of our group members decided she would start chronicling our discussions, so to beat her to the punch, I decided I’d write down our stories, often retold with great excitement every Monday when we meet at a local Starbucks.

There are five of us, Jane, Roxanne, Emily, Joanne and me, who shall remain nameless, for now. We all met on-line in a social media group and over a period of several months, we had many great discussions, so someone suggested we meet up in person. When we got together, it was as though we were all, already, good friends, having chatted and posting notes to one another in a social media chat, for several months. We knew the names of each other’s husbands, and their quirks, and the names of our kids and the schools they attended.

****

Finding out that Roxanne was the closet whore in our group, was completely unexpected, since she was the quietest and most fashionable of all the ladies in our group. And getting to know Jane’s husband by pure accident, in a very intimate way, was almost more than little ole me could handle. I almost felt guilty about it and was all I could do to not tease Jane about her husband’s sexual prowess and abilities in the bedroom.

There is an old saying, kind of like the Vegas saying, that says in part, “that what happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.” The cravat to that is “only brag about what you can prove.” I had nothing to prove, because I was happy with all of my sexual exploits and I had fulfilled of my sexual fantasies.

So, after a while, someone in the group challenged me, knowing that I like to blog, to write about our little group, but I was hesitant to do so. Like I said, I had to beat someone else to the punch.

I’ve enjoyed writing these stories and I hope you have enjoyed reading them. Our group has remained small and close nit. I suspect some of us suspect other group members of engaging in some hanky-panky amongst ourselves, but it is a subject non one was to discuss in a group setting.

So last week, as we were all sitting around sipping latte’s, when Jane spotted a very young woman sitting alone, two tables over from us at Starbucks. She had her computer tablet open and she was typing away, while sipping on her latte. Jane gave a quick nod of her head in the direction of the young lady, to draw my attention to her. She was cute and she appeared to be in her middle to late twenties, a good five or ten years younger than any of us.

“Oh, what I’d give to be young and cute again,” I remarked.

“On, but you’re fine the way you are,” Roxanne replied, “With age comes a bit of maturity that adds a certain level of sexiness to all of us.”

I had to agree.

We continued to char for another thirty minutes and as we chatted, I couldn’t help but admire the accompaniment two tables away from me. I was simply awestruck, and I am not a lesbian or even bi-sexual.

Our group broke up and I decided to stay behind, hoping and wishing, and trying to find the right words to introduce myself to the lovely younger woman. Finally, I decided to simply go for it, so I slipped over towards where she was seated, still typing on her tablet and I simply asked if she wanted some accompaniment.

She glanced up from behind her tablet and to my surprise, she replied, “Sure.”

I quickly introduced myself and she did the same. Her name was Reba, “like the country music star,” she said, “only a little less red-headed and sassy.”

I chuckled, because I like Reba McIntyre.

“Reba is a name that appears to suit you well,” I said.

Our conversation was rather light, as we talked about our personal lives. Reba told me she was an aspiring writer and I asked her what she wrote about.

“Juts stuff,” she said rather sheepishly. I disclosed that I was an inspiring writer as well.

“What do you write about?” she asked.

I chuckled and said, “Stuff.”

“Fiction or non-fiction?” Reba pressed.

“Well,” I replied, “Its non-fiction, but I should probably classify it as fiction, since no one would probably believe the stuff I write.”

Reba smiled.

“Its erotica stuff,” I said.

“Fifty Shades of Gray stuff?” Reba probed.

“That and worse,” I replied.

“They’re called Lush Stories,” I said.

“Oh MY GOD!” Reba replied. “Don’t tell me you write for that web site.”

Sheepishly, I admitted that I did.

“What’s your pen name?” Reba pressed.

Crazy thoughts flooded my mind. What are the chances of meeting someone randomly and finding out you had a common interest?

“I write under a pseudo-name,” I said. “I can’t afford to have anyone figure out who I really am.”

Reba shook her head up and down to indicate she understood.

“Would you let me read some of your work?” Reba pressed.

“Sure,” I replied. “But I have to warn you, my stories are pretty graphic and a bit crude and some are not well written, although the mods do a fairly good job of fixing things.”

“Yeah, I know,” Reba replied. “They have some great mods.”

“So, what are your favorite subjects?” I asked.

“Voyeurism, threesomes and public sex,” Reba replied.

“So, do you write about your fantasies or real-life experiences?” I pressed.

“Both,” Reba replied.

As we sat and chatted, I could sense that we were quickly building a bond. Reba shifted in her seat and asked if we could go someplace more private to chat.

“Sure,” I replied.

“I live close by,” Reba said. “We can go to my apartment.”

So, we piled into Reba’s Mustang and headed to her apartment. There was something special about Reba that tripped my trigger. She reminded me of my younger self, impetuous, daring and outgoing. She was also very beautiful with her flaming auburn red hair and light complexion.

I’m not into other women, but if I were to be that way, Reba would have been a quick choice.

As we settled into her cozy apartment, I felt like I was at home. Her decorations were simple and modest, and they reflected her appetite for the unusual and the dramatic. A fully naked woman, reclining on a couch, and painted in oils on canvas, was framed and hung over her overstuffed Queen Anne-styled couch.

“That’s nice,” I noted as we both took up seats on the couch, each of us with laptops in our laps.

“Read me one of your stories,” Reba requested.’ So I clicked on one of my most recent of series about McKinney Housewives and started reading her the story. After getting to the fourth story and the story line, Reba shifted in her seat and asked me if I wanted a glass of wine.

“Wine is good,” I replied.

My eyes locked on to Reba’s very cute ass as she shuffled off to the kitchen. She had very shapely legs and a great figure.

Reba poured us each a glass of a red wine and she pulled open a box of Ritz Crackers.

“Sorry,” she said, “I’m out of cheese.”

The set up reminded me of my college dorm room days when I used to sit around with dorm mates and get drunk on wine while binging on Ritz Crackers.

I finished off my last chapter of my McKinney Housewives story line and told her that all I needed was a finale chapter.

“You’re a good writer,” Reba commented.

“I don’t know about that,” I replied. “It’s just a hobby.”

Reba asked me if the stories were true.

“Yes,” I replied, “but I’ve changed the names to protect the guilty.”

Reba brushed back her long red hair and looked forlornly at me in silence.

“Can I be in your final story?” Reba asked.

“Sure,” I replied. “What shall the story line be about?”

“You can talk about how you seduced me at Starbucks and then we ended up pleasuring each other for hours on end at my place,” Reba replied.

“Sure,” I replied. “That sounds like a good story line.”

Reba nervously twirled a lone finger in her hair.

“So,” I asked cautiously, “Have you ever been with another woman?”

“No,” Reba replied. “I am bi-curious, but I haven’t ever ventured into the world of same-sex, sex.”

“So,” I asked, “What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know,” Reba replied. “I guess I’m afraid of how I might react.”

“Sex is sex,” I replied. “Don’t confuse sex with love. Sex is , unbridled, and best experienced from the love of life itself with no preconceptions or expectations.”

Damn. Where did that come from?

I placed my hand on to Reba’s leg as we chatted. She reciprocated, placing her hand on top of mine. The bonding was complete.

I leaned forward and pushed my lips on to hers, still holding on to her hand in mine. She giggled when I pulled back to gage her reaction.

“Don’t worry,” I replied. “That’s a normal first reaction.”

On my second kiss, I pushed my tongue into her mouth and almost immediately, she reciprocated, testing the boundary of what might be acceptable. For me, anything was acceptable so long as we both enjoyed what was transpiring.

I slipped my hand up under her shirt and to her bra-covered breast. Reba responded by stripping out of her t-shirt and out of bra, exposing her luscious 36 c-cup breasts in the processes. I planted light kisses on her nipples, as I took one at a time in my hand. They were extremely responsive to my kisses, as was she.

I could tell my kisses, coupled with the red wine we shared, was having a great affect on the two of us.

I slipped out of my button-down shirt and stripped out of my bra.

“Oh wow!” Reba declared as she took in my 38 d cups. “Your husband must love you!”

“He’s seen them so many times, that the “wow-factor” has disappeared,” I declared. I took Reba’s hand and placed it on to my left breast. She gently massaged my breast, running her slender fingers over my nipples.

I slipped my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her into a deeply passionate and deep throated kiss. There was no going back at this point.

Reba’s touches were erotically different She was fresh and artful in her approach to pleasing me. I was pleasantly surprised as how quickly she seem to adapt at making sure I felt comfortable, and she quickly found my g-spot, sending chills up and down my spine.

Reba was equally responsive to my own advances and my assault on her most private of places. She welcomed my advances with an aggressiveness that surprised me. Neither of us said a lot, except through our touches and kisses.

Both of us found special ways to bring the other into moments of pure bliss and joy, as the passions built and washed over us like waves crashing on to a beach. Reba was erotically sensual in every aspect. We spent hours pleasing each other beyond belief.

So, this is how my McKinney Housewives story line ends, for now: serendipitous meetup, some great sex, and a story line that continues, just without further written explanations. The rest is up to the imagination.