Dolly Loves Barmitzvah Parties

I love Bar Mitzvah parties.  The 13-year-olds are having their own fun, and the parents are happy and drinking.  Since we’re talking parents of 13-year-olds instead of parents of  30-ish brides and  grooms at a wedding party, the well-dressed, slightly inebriated parents and friends tend to be somewhat younger, hotter, and more fuckable.  I get lots of “Dolly, you’re going to save a dance for me, right?” and “Dolly, who are you here with?” and “You know, Dolly, I’ve always thought my wife was so lucky to have you for a cousin” and other seemingly innocent lines.  Mostly, I make sure I look my best, don’t wear underwear, and show more leg and cleavage and skin in general than any of the other women at most of these events.  I love the idea that so many of my relatives’ husbands want to fuck me, not to mention some of my male relatives’ wives.  So do some of my friends and even a few of my own relatives   Not immediate family, though—at least not to my knowledge, though my brother is such a handsome guy.  But no!  Never!  I did screw the hell out of a couple of his college fraternity brothers, though.  It’s okay.  I had a roommate in college whom my brother and I now, years later, refer to only as “Miss Payback.”  She didn’t walk right for three days after she hooked up with him. 

Yes, I’ve hooked up at Bar Mitzvah parties.  The first time, I was on break during college, 19-years old.  I had been sexually active for a couple of years and already knew very well how much I loved pretty much all there was to be enjoyed sexually.  Of course, I don’t hook up with the 13-year-old center sof attention at Bar Mitzvahs.  They are far too young and innocent, unlike how delicious some grooms (and brides) appear at wedding receptions.  But this little story isn’t about when I’ve helped the groom let off some steam so that he could last longer with his bride on the wedding night.  Oh, did that grab your attention?  Well, until we meet in person and I can grab something else of yours for real, let me get back to my point of telling you about the first time I ever hooked up at a Bar Mitzvah.  And maybe I’ll lapse into some other naughty confessions along the way.

As I said, I was 19.  And I knew I loved sex with older men.  I’d learned that from a hook-up with the handsome husband of my bitch-of-a-senior-year-in-high-school English teacher.  (Well, that didn’t take long, already getting off track with other sex stories before the sex story I meant to tell.  Can you guess what my favorite topic for story telling is??)  Mrs. English Teacher (the bitch) was 30 and very pretty, and he was 44, handsome, tanned, and in shape.  A seller of luxury cars, he had some sexy gray in his hair and hazel eyes.  I think Mrs. English Teacher was such a bitch, in part, because she didn’t think she should be working any more.  She’d set her sights on Mr. Benz Dealer and figured she should be the trophy wife since she was wife #2, and she’d targeted him, stripped her clothes off during a test drive, and blown then fucked him before they got back to the dealership.  But he wanted her to keep working, so there she was, still teaching.  She was hot—she’d been runner-up in the state pageant to go to the Miss USA contest.  If she hadn’t been such a bitch, I’d have totally done the 3-way her husband suggested during some afterglow pillow talk at the downtown Hyatt one day when I had no school because of a teacher’s work day.  He’d seen me at the party Mrs. English Teacher hosted at their home for students and their parents.  And I’d seen him.  He didn’t even try to hide that he was flirting with me.  He sold Mercedes Benzes for God’s sake.  He was direct and didn’t take “no” for an answer.  And the idea of being with this gorgeous guy and knowing that my bitchy teacher’s husband wanted my young firm body … well, I wasn’t anywhere close to giving him “no” for an answer.  He had confidence, and confidence is sexy.  Once in a while, I still think of a Benz as an Ass car because I gave up my anal cherry to my teacher’s husband after a really exciting fast drive in an SL class.  He didn’t even have that big of a cock, honestly, but was sexy and knew how to please a girl and how to show me how to please him.  My teacher should have spent more time screwing that sexy horndog and less time insisting I write papers about boring books like Ethan Frome.  She might still be married to him.  And she might have gotten to be my first female lover as part of a 3-way. 

But back to Bar Mitzvahs as happy hunting grounds for sexual hookups.  There I was, 19, and, between my car-dealer older man and some other very satisfactory early sexual experiences, I guess I was already looking around to check out the talent at the Bar Mitzvah reception for the son of my parent’s best friends.  And there were a few sets of eyes on my young tits and my long, shapely leg.  Okay, I’ve never been shy, and, by then, I not only was sexually active, but also I had been an all-state runner in high school.  Plus, my early college track career was off to a great start, so my legs were already pretty hot.  I intended to attract attention when I wore that short dress. All of the sudden, this one man steps up, says that he hopes I didn’t mind but he saw me, asked someone my name, and thought I might be thirsty.  He handed me a drink in a glass and simply said, “I hope you’ll enjoy this.  If anyone asks, tell them it’s a virgin daiquiri.  Though just one taste and you’ll know there’s nothing virgin about what you’re tasting.”

I liked his eyes, his confidence, and the warmth of his hand as he handed me the drink.  “Mmmm, thank you, the same is true for me. You know, like you said, just one taste and you’re know there’s nothing virgin about what you’re tasting.”  And I took a sip, holding my hand over his, keeping his hand on my glass.  He was handsome and had a well-groomed beard, and I enjoyed the warmth of his hand.  That’s when I noticed I didn’t feel a wedding ring on his finger.

“Would you like a taste?  Of my drink, of course …..”  His eyes were locked on mine. He smiled. “I’ll let you enjoy that drink by yourself, though I’m hoping you’ll give me a taste later.”  Cute!  I thought it was so hot that he was talking like that to me.  I was 19—he was definitely over 30!  I felt the heat and moisture where my fit slender legs met.  I totally wanted to feel this guy’s grown-up, confident cock in my mouth, to show him that I could suck him like his girlfriends had never imagined.  And I didn’t even know his name.  But he knew my name.  What’s a girl to do?  “So, what’s your name, you know, since I let myself get seduced only by cute men I’ve been properly introduced to?”

Another smile.  His orthodontist had done nice work.  “I’m Neil.”  “Hello, Neil, I’m Dolly,” I told him.  He smiled again.  God I wanted those lips on mine.  ALL of my lips.  My parents were somewhere at the same party.  Not that that was going to stop me.  I wanted to fuck this guy.  He was cute, flirty, and confident, and I wondered how his beard would feel when I kissed him and when he went down on me.  Neil looked around and softly told me, “The elevators are just past the restrooms outside this ballroom.  Room 204.  I’ll take the stairs, so please give me a few-minute lead.”

Oh, this is so hot!  I went back to the bar, got a sparkling water to rinse my mouth since I didn’t have a toothbrush, and took it to the ladies’ room for a rinse and spit.  I’d already learned from my early sexual encounters that I didn’t need to rinse and spit when a man came in my mouth.  I loved how sexy it was to taste and receive a man’s seed in my mouth.  This was my last spit of the day.  I decided I would give Neil a little surprise when I kissed him, so I stepped into a stall, worked a finger into my young and horny dripping pussy, and rubbed my fresh sweet sex juice on my lips.  Mmmmm, I have always loved my own taste and scent.  Wouldn’t Neil enjoy that when I kissed him in his hotel room!

The door to Room 204 was cracked.  When I knocked, it opened from behind, and there was Neil, his tie and jacket off.  He’d taken off his yarmulke, the traditional head covering that observant Jewish men wear and that lots of men wear at Bar Mitzvahs, even if they aren’t so religious, just out of respect for the occasion.  He took me in his arms.  I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, kissed him, and felt him sucking my pussy’s flavor off my lips.  “Did you spread some sweetness on there for me?” he broke the kiss and asked.  “Uh-huh,” I replied and resumed kissing. As I started un-doing his tie, Neil reached under my little dress and slid his fingers upward.  I felt his cock grow harder and more excited when his fingers discovered I was wearing only a string thong.

The thong, along with my dress, was soon tossed onto a chair along with the rest of Neil’s clothes.  I felt his cock, warm, hard, already dripping, with my hands, and we moved to the bed.  He took his time nuzzling my neck, then licking and sucking my nipples, as he rubbed my pussy, slipping one and then two fingers inside me.  His mature hand knew where to touch.  I was trembling on him as I came, softly gasping, “Oh God, oh God, oh God ….”  Neil smiled.  When my orgasm finished, I curled my body against him, and Neil’s mouth kept going south from my young breasts to where his fingers had just worked their magic.  Another religious experience … “Oh God, yes, right there, uuuughhh, God yes ....” and more moaning along those lines.  He sucked my clit, licked the full wet length of my opening.  Damn!  I came on his face, digging my fingers his hair, and I humped his face, thrusting, gyrating, and pulsing my slutty young pussy onto his skillful mouth.  Luckily, I had developed the habit of carrying condoms in my handbag, because I was so hot for him that I’m pretty sure I’d have let him do me without protection.  Well, I was on the pill, but you know, that’s not safe sex, and we’d had that lecture in school.  He came pretty quickly from pumping me missionary style after some delicious kissing.  Tasting my own pussy from a lover’s mouth after he fucked me was becoming a habit already, even in those days.  I sucked him back to hardness while he teased me by smearing my pussy’s lubricating liquid over my young butt hole and then penetrating me with his finger back there.  I had one more condom, so I handed it to him and asked him if he’d like to put that on and lay back to let me ride his nice cock.  I rode him in a hunched-over position, his mouth on my nipples, my hips riding and pistoning up and down on his covered cock.  He spanked me, which was exciting and surprising, and he talked dirty, telling me to fuck his cock good with my sweet young pussy.  He came after we’d swapped around so that he was behind me, fucking me doggy style and smacking me some more.  I’d never done any spanking games before that, though I’ve done it a lot in the years since then.  I have Neil to thank for that!

I jumped in the shower, rinsed up from my shoulders down, and, though my dress was short, thankfully it covered all the red spank marks.  He helped me dress, and I realized I’d been in his room for nearly an hour.  I look back now and realize it was trysts like this that gave me really great sexual experience for when I have hour-long Dolly dates now.  Great practice to keep the perfect pace for a great date, make my gent’s fantasy or two come true, and have a helluva great sexual workout with the fun guys I get to meet.  It was perfect. 

When I sat down next to my parents just as the salads were being served, all they said was “Oh, there you are.”  A minute later, I noticed Neil walking back into the ballroom, and I saw my mother notice him too.  I was horrified when she reacted to seeing him and smiled and waved him over (she knew him!  Holy shit!).  Who did I just fuck?  As he approached the table, my father stood and shook his hand (who IS this guy?).  Neil leaned over, gave a polite but familiar peck on the cheek of my parent’s friend, the mother of the Bar Mitzvah boy, and gave me a wink that only I could see.  Mom’s friend turned to me, and said, “Dolly, have you met Rabbi Weinberg?  He’s our new Associate Rabbi.  We all love him!”

Oy vey!



Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure.

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