Irealized later that she was flirting a bit but being generally slow onthe uptake in any social situation I missed the clues. Anyway Marshawasn't what...I dreamed of when I thought about women. My dream girl waspetite and wicked looking. Marsha could have posed on the front of a magazine call American FarmGirl. She was about five foot seven and while not fat in the least, shewas large with that corn fed healthy look that seems to go better on atractor than a dance floor. With her heels she was as. Sweet Connie came out about ten minutes later in one of her Sunday dresses, complete with her hair brushed and shiny patent leather shoes. She moved her small rocker around to face the front door and sat in the chair moving back and forth with a determined look on her face.As a single father parent, you learn early not to interrupt little girls when they are on a mission or when something's up. I had no clue as to what was happening but I knew I was going to keep a close watch.It was now only. My pussy was pulsing in time with the music and my dance partner was definitely into the action as he squeezed my tits and steadily thrust his hardening cock against the folds of my ass. We kept being bumped as people went past us to get to the bartender so I leaned back and spoke right into his ear asking if he wanted to move back towards one of the darker corners of the bar. His pearly white grin and solid nod of the head made my pussy even wetter knowing I would hopefully very soon be. This was most unusual for me, because I was always shy around girls, especially pretty ones. I guess I figured I had nothing to lose, being away from home and all. She stepped away from her friends, and smiled as I approached. She said hi to me, and I said hi back. Then I amazed myself by laying a line on her: “Where have you been all my life?” Wow, how utterly unoriginal. But she didn’t hesitate for even a second. She batted her eyes at me, and replied: “Waiting for you.” And we were together.
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