Skip to main content

Wherehouse Tamara

Tamara
She was barely over five feet tall. A big head of long curly shoulder length hair. She would, as we all could, wear blue jeans to work, My favorite pair had stars on each bun of her tiny behind. They wiggled and winked and twinkled at me every morning as she passed through the warehouse from parking lot to front office. That’s  where she worked.

I would make sure I was positioned where I could watch her well formed tiny tits bounce in their often braless state beneath sheer fabric in the summer. I enjoyed the round enhanced garment heftiness in her winter attire as well. But the real treat was her tiny round  be-starred behind. The way her long dark curly hair bounced in rhythm around her shoulders in her jaunty trek through the warehouse made mornings better than the somewhat nasty morning brew that came out of the coffee machine. But spending the rest of the day flinging boxes and filling out shipping forms was filled with visions of me ravishing that doll sized young woman in almost every corner and almost every office in the place.

Tiny Tami had tan lines. I knew that from a company lunch in the conference room where she leaned over to grasp a tasty fried tidbit. I could see down her blouse where the tan stopped and the perfect milky white breast began. It was like a beacon in it’s braless state. Not farmer tan lines. Full tilt nineteen seventies baked on the beach bikini tan lines. Such  fair skin revealed on top only made me want to trace where the imagined bikini bottom tan would end. The land where the bikini stopped and the bliss began. Tamara did not notice where my eyes had violated. The other women in the room did. At nineteen I blushed at being caught peeking. That would not last long. Still discovering where those lines in the tan were drawn would be my quest while working at the warehouse. I was living the American Scheme.

Some of the older, predatory, and libidinous women in the shop were making plans of their own. They saw were my eyes had gone. They knew what that look meant. They knew how to channel that youthful energy to it’s telos. By the time I got to tanned tiny Tammy my bag of tricks would be stuffed and seeping with a dripping sensual repertoire. But for starters I would work, go to school,  and on weekends my long time amour Rene would reap the energetic but inartful thrusting to the tiny Tamara  tune in my little reptile reproduction drive driven being.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Random Access Lynn: 3. Liquid Pantie Remover

Don, Eddie the G, and Phil finally arrived and took their place on the bar stools next to us. The single guys did the barroom scan to see if there was any game afoot just as I had earlier. They pinged a rowdy contingent of CART racing women also lubing themselves for a wonderful Road America experience. The three wise men sauntered over to these healthy looking Wisconsin women and turned on their city slicker charm. I joined in, because after all I was soloing on this trip as well, since Eileen had backed out. We left Jim and Lynn to their relationship bliss. Don was designated wingman because he had recently gotten engaged to Dorette, a woman who worked with us back in advertising hell. The evening's drinking progressed nicely, much better than mine or Phil's luck did with the racing bunnies. Eddie the G on the other hand sauntered out with a tall sturdy blonde ostensibly for a breath of fresh air never to be seen again until the next morning. When the campground sa

Tails of Slammies: Dave and Marie

I confess, I was in serious decompression mode from the events of the last year or two. I had lost everything but myself. But try as I could I couldn't shake me. Not only was I operating on a serious chill-axin deficit, I was in the throes of beloved withdrawal with no recourse but to keep my dear one in my thoughts, prayers, and dreams. Neither one of us had the space to share in our lives as we had once enjoyed. As had happened at certain points in my life, even though I now lived crosstown, I returned to the scene of, while not crimes, questionable choices and activities at best. That would be an understatement. Many inexplicably joyous moments. So much uncalled for and unnecessary hurt both inflicted and received within the corridor like walls of this once dive bar. Now reborn and expanded into twenty first century sports venue drinking and watching splendor.  Perhaps a bit disappointed with Reginald tending to the bar today without a JoJo in sight I was undeterred. But Reg

Pass Around Joy - 4 Moke-A-Joint

The Nanny Ride The ride home with the Nanny was indeed frosty. Not only since I had driven there with the windows rolled down to air out the spacious double couch design of the Bonneville, hoping that the scent of other women and male splooge would be whisked away on the wind. Now with the heater on the atmosphere within was still frosty. “So that guy must be used to giving their Nannie’s a ride home.” I said sheepishly. “No. I am their first nanny.” she said coldly, adding “They had an Au Pair before me.” “An oh pair of what?” I asked trying to weasel my way through with humor. Au Pair. A. U.  P. A. I. R. silly.” The Nanny giggled after a brief attempt not to be thawed. “Some foriegn chick that lived in and cared for the kids.” she concluded. “Cozy.” Was all that I could say as I imagined a foreign floozy in the family home. “Maybe too cozy.” The Nanny added cryptically. Not cryptically enough as the tableau of the wife looking anxious