big tools threesome
We wait for about half an hour as the stage is reset for
Jethro Tull. The tension of anticipation is like a physical
thing filling the arena; I feel as if I could float on it.
Then the house lights dim, and the tension boils away in the
roar of the crowd.
The arena is black as pitch, and the crowd has settled into
its final configuration, when the first notes of the piano intro
to “Locomotive Breath” push their way through the crowd noise. A
few of us recognize the song from the first few notes and cry out
in joy and appreciation. Others don’t realize what they are
listening to until the first whining guitar riffs have faded into
reverberating feedback.
Then the stage is ablaze with light as the lead guitar is
banging out the opening bar of the song proper. Ian Anderson is
dancing around the stage, twirling his silver flute as if it were
a baton. The drums and bass are hammering out the beat as the
rhythm guitar is doing that rhythm thing.

First Huge Dick
I’ve never heard the band before. Probably a
local hired to warm up the crowd for Tull. They’re good at it -
warming the crowd up, that is – but I don’t think they’ll make it
on their own.
The crowd is getting into it. The energy that bands live on
- in their symbiotic way – starts flowing. People are pumping
their fists into the air – the air which is rapidly getting
thicker with the smell of hashish as the pipes are passed around.
The folks are getting fired up!
Surveying the people around me, my eyes come to a screeching
halt on a small cluster of ladies who are definitely
getting into the rhythm of the thing. They’re dancing and
screaming and bouncing around as if it were the last night of
their lives.
One of the gals – a sweet lady with waist-length,
chestnut tresses in a yellow, knit mini-dress – is also surveying
the crowd. Our eyes meet. Hers are the gray of early-morning
fog on the Rhine. I smile. She returns a knowing half-smile
that sends a shiver up my spine, before turning back to the band
on stage.
The warm-up band finishes its sixth set with a flourish and
runs off stage. The spots die and are replaced by the house
lights as the curtains are closed for the intermission. The
canned music begins to play.
Once again, the crowd shifts as parts head for the restrooms
to unburden themselves of the beer, wine, and soda consumed
before (and during) the warm-up act. More beverages are bought,
along with albums, posters, T-shirts, and popcorn. Only the most
brazen are firing up their bowls with the house lights up.
I look around for the clump of women I noted earlier,
but they have faded into the mob. Probably in line for the
restroom, think I, as I turn back to the stage.
The roadies can be heard moving equipment around on the
stage. An occasional glimpse of a roadie with a guitar or an amp
can be seen through the small gap in the curtain.

her big cock threesome
I’m in the standing-room-only crowd on the floor at the
Jethro Tull concert in Frankfurt, West Germany, April 27, 1982.
The crowd is constantly shifting; a single organism trying to
make itself comfortable on the concrete floor of the arena. The
air is thick with the smells of beer, wine, and smoke (cigars,
cigarettes, pipe tobacco, and hash). Voices of the hawkers can
be made out above the noise of the crowd advertising (in German
and English) their wine, beer, posters, and T-shirts. Canned
music is piped in over speakers in the rafters.
The roadies are playing games with the crowd while doing the
sound system checks. Frisbees and funny little glowing things
fly at random through the air.
I’m standing at the center of the stage, about 30 feet back
into the crowd. After the concert my ears will be ringing for
three days. I can live with that…
The lights begin to dim and the crowd settles down as the
drummer for the warm-up band sets the beat on his high-hat. The
curtains open, the spots blaze to life, and the crowd goes nuts
as the warm-up band hits the stage with a hard-driving rhythm and
screaming guitars.

huge cock threesome
A brief snooze and we were at it again. I was the last to waken and felt a
cool washcloth on my outer lips. The roughness of the cloth on my
sensitive clit and lips made me shudder. I didn’t open my eyes as I felt
the washcloth working its way into me pushed on by eager fingers.
It was soon replaced by two tongues. The feeling was exsquisite as they
both luxuriously licked me. There was not urgency as they brought me first
close to the edge and then teasingly let me slide back down again. By the
time they let me cum, I was begging them to lick me harder. I gripped both
of there heads bobbing up and down and held them to my cunt until I came.
My husband’s beard was bristly and I rubbed his chin against by hole while
the woman sucked and bit at my clit.
As we surfaced from yet another round, we noticed that light was begining
to creep into the room. “I’ve got to go,” the woman said. Her words
reminded me that the children would be up soon and that my role as mommy
was never far away. She ducked back to the kitchen and dressed. We had a
quick kiss at the back door.
After she left, I heard my husband singing in the shower. He was going to
have a great day.
As I bent to pick up silver and put it away, I could feel the warm
sticyness between my legs. I smiled at the memory of her and us…and
realized I didn’t even know her name. But I had the sense that she would
be back sometime. I hoped so.