Oh, hi there. Lovely to meet you.
I see you’ve found your way to my own little tale. The origin of how I came to be at Stateside Denims and how I came to be the guardian of a denim-clad harem of lovely ladies.
I was in two minds about whether or not to commit this memoir to paper. But when I found Jean Therapy, I figured, why the hell not? If Linda can do it, so can I.
I have to say, I was a little shocked when I stumbled across Linda’s delicious little story. But, that being said, she told it well. But let me tell you, her description of Nat doesn’t even begin to do that girl justice. Picture her the way Lin described her. Gorgeous, isn’t she? Well, multiply gorgeous by ten, and you’ve got Natalie.
I knew they were up to something that day Linda first came in shopping, and now I really wish I’d opened the dressing room door and slipped inside with them. Those naughty girls, they’re always at it like bunnies now.
Anyway, as you know, my name’s Roz. Short for Rosalie, thanks to a Bob Seger-loving father. I actually get a lot from him. My sassy attitude, quick temper and love of music, to name but a few things. I’m forty-two, so yes, she was right that I’m a little younger. And the shop has been a part of my life for the last seven years.
Lin wouldn’t have known when she took the job, but I’m more than just the manager of Stateside. I’m actually a part owner. I hold twenty-five per cent, while my business partner (and long-term girlfriend), Maggie, holds the other seventy-five.
She also didn’t quite quote me correctly. While I do indulge my bi side with the girls here (including the odd customer), and I do get to have a great deal of fun, I can assure you that I am very happily married. I and my hubby used to have a very active sex life. But, due to an accident around ten years ago, sadly, he just lost his mojo.
I won’t drag him into this any further; that’s really all you need to know. But we do have an agreement. Unlike Linda, I don’t have to sneak around and tell fibs. He fully allows and supports my various trysts and liaisons. He understands that a girl has…needs.
Anyway, let me get on with the real meat and potatoes of this story. What is it you’d really like to know, I wonder?
I could tell you about Kelly and Jo, the two ‘cheerleader’ types that Lin mentioned. I’m sure you’d love to know about the many, many fun times I’ve had with them. Both together and singly. Occasionally, even Maggie’s been in that sweaty mix, and that can get pretty fucking wild, let me tell you.
I could tell you about Jo’s porno-perfect body. Her pussy that’s still tighter than a mouse’s ear even at 29. Oh, and perhaps I could tease you even more by saying that her old school uniform still fits. Or I could tell you about Kelly’s expertise at wielding just about any sex toy you can imagine. (She’s particularly fond of a little Bluetooth-controlled number that I have tucked away in my knickers some days).
Those girls could flirt for a living. I swear they double their income in commission purely selling to guys.
Or, ooh, or I could tell you about the day Natalie’s cousin Mandy came looking for her and wound up spending the rest of the day with me instead. But I think, now I’m finding my groove with this writing lark, that little episode would make a pretty good follow-up short story.
No, I think you really need to know how me and Maggie met. Because without Maggie, the shop, my current life and this story and even Linda and Nat’s story wouldn’t even exist.
Maggie is forty-nine now. She’s around five feet eight and willow-slim. A proper clothes horse. She’s not a redhead and not a brunette like me, but sits somewhere in between. I actually think her long hair, when it catches the light, is her most striking feature. Add impossibly long legs, emerald green eyes and a pair of tits that would shame an old Page Three girl, and that’s my Maggie.
We’d actually known each other for a few years, due to intersecting social circles. We shared a lot of mutual friends but didn’t know each other personally all that well. Usually, it was a quick “Hi, how are you doing?” as we stood outside wherever we were, having a cigarette. (An awful habit we’ve both now kicked, I’m glad to say.) Perfectly sociable, but just not close friends. Yet.
Things changed, though, about a year before Stateside opened. One of our mutual friends, Jenny, was getting married. She didn’t want a rowdy hen do; instead, she wanted a week away with the girls on holiday. The chosen destination? The Greek island of Kos.
And so, disgustingly early one July morning, twelve women of varying ages departed Gatwick Airport. All in high spirits, all looking forward to a girls’ week. No husbands, no boyfriends, no hassles.
Maggie and I were seated together, giving us the better part of four hours to finally get to know one another.
We talked about work. I explained that I was an assistant manager in a chain store. But that my true passion was jeans and American clothing. The kind of clothes that can make you feel like a cowboy or a rock star.
If you’ve ever seen episode one of The Bear where Carmy has vintage Levi’s stashed everywhere… that’s our spare bedroom. I’ve trawled vintage stores and thrift shops up and down the UK and amassed quite the collection. Some to keep, some to resell.
I told her that I’d had my eye on an empty space in the mall for months, wanting to open my own store.
“So why don’t you?” She asked me, leaning closer.
“Well, me and the old man got quite the settlement for his accident. But it’s not enough to go all in, plus it has to supplement our income. And the banks won’t give me a business loan without a backer.”
“What do you actually do for a living, Mags?”
I had to ask, because whatever she did, it suited her. Her whole look screamed “independently wealthy”, from her simple but elegant dress down to the gladiator sandals she wore.
She wasn’t gaudy or ostentatious in any way, either. Her jewellery, although beautifully handmade, was leather and silver adorned with a few semi-precious stones.
Putting it bluntly, she looked filthy rich and hot as fuck.
“I’m an art dealer and broker,” she replied. “I move various pieces from gallery to gallery. Source some less-than-legit stuff for private collectors. And I hold a few choice pieces of my own.”
“Wow, finally someone with an interesting career,” I chuckled.
I ordered coffee as the concession cart came by, eyeing the pretty ginger air hostess in her uniform, a pair of very shapely legs adding to her allure. Maggie ordered one too, her arm brushing over my covered breasts as she leaned over to take it.
I suppressed a moan.
“I play the stock market too.” She continued. Art is my passion, but it’s far too hit and miss. So I make a little extra as an investor to squirrel away.
I had to admit, I was getting to like her. And the split in her dress that showed about fifteen miles of smooth, tanned leg wasn’t half bad to look at either.
“So, Roz, what would you call it? Your boutique? If you had the chance?”
“Either Union City Blues or something more ‘Western old frontier’, like Stateside – Denims and Outfitters.”
“Staff?” She enquired, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.
“All girls, all pretty girls. It makes female customers feel at home and brings in the guys like bees to honey.”
“Hmmmm, sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.”
And so for the next hour or so, I regaled her (or bored her stupid) with my vision. The aesthetic, the soundtrack… the lot.
And all the while she listened and made the odd comment, and without even noticing it, we were sitting shoulder to shoulder like old friends, her shin brushing up and down mine.
I had no idea at the time that I was actually giving her a pitch.
When I came back from the awful, cramped little toilet with about an hour of the flight to go, I found a plastic cup filled with ice and a little whisky bottle on my chair tray. Maggie was already sipping, despite it only being around 10.00am UK time.
“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” I asked with a grin.
“Oh, c’mon, Roz, we’re girls on holiday, on the loose. Live a little.”
I squeezed back into my seat, not altogether sure if I’d just felt her hand on my arse or not.
She leaned so close, her hair brushing my face.
“So, Roz, let’s really get to know each other,” she whispered. “A talkative little bird tells me that you’re bi. Is that true?”
Her calf brushed deliciously up my leg again.
Fuck me, who the hell had told her that? While I’ve never hidden my liking for the fairer sex, I don’t exactly broadcast it either.
I upended the little bottle into the cup and swallowed half the contents.
“Yeah, it’s true,” I whispered. “I’m partial to a little girl-on-girl fun, and totally with hubby’s approval.”
“And I also hear that you have a penchant for very dirty talk… is that right?”
Fuck me sideways, I knew who’d blabbed. Anna had told her. That gobby bitch never could keep her mouth shut. She was the only one in our friend group that I’d been to bed with. I wondered if Maggie had played with her, too.
I downed my drink, and Maggie conjured up two more little bottles.
“Yep, that’s true. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve spent the whole flight wanting to unbutton those sexy cutoffs and slip my hand in them. I want to know if your pussy is as hot as the rest of you. I just hope I get the chance while we’re away. I’ve wanted to fuck you into a wet mess for ages, Roz.”
I choked on my drink in pure surprise, as well as feeling my pussy wake from her slumber with an excited start.
After I caught my breath, I slid my hand up her thigh and breathed in her ear. “I’m… err, fuck, sure we could… sneak off for a bit. Just let me suck your fingers clean after. I fucking love the taste of my own cunt on someone else.”
She purred in approval and discreetly rolled her tongue around in my ear.
This little break away from home was really starting to get interesting.
When the plane touched down, we began the agonising process of deplaning. That slow crawl the length of the plane, inch by inch, one toe length at a time, all the while being jostled by our fellow travellers.
As the obnoxious dickhead behind me shoved me into Maggie’s back, I kicked things up a notch. Without warning, I grabbed her sexy backside in both hands, caressed her and then finished strong with a good squeeze.
‘Ohhhh,” I whispered into her ear, feigning disappointment. “You’ve got knickers on under there.”
She tipped her head back and chuckled, “Patience, babes, you’ll have them off me soon enough. Trust me.”
That first blast of Greek heat hit as soon as we stepped off the plane, as we trooped into the arrivals terminal. Customs and baggage claim completed, we twelve British girls abroad headed out to find our transfer coach.
Ninety minutes later, we arrived at our home for the next week. The Golden Beach Resort and Spa. It couldn’t have been more perfect. The pool was massive, with plenty of sunbeds and a few poolside bars. Just what we needed.
With rooms assigned, I was a little bummed that Maggie and I wouldn’t be sharing, but the bride-to-be wasn’t giving us any time to settle in or argue the rooming situation. We still had a bit of afternoon left to grab drinks by the pool before heading out for dinner.
After travelling and a first busy day, I have to say I was almost relieved to be sharing a room with one of the more reserved girls. I slept like a baby that night after a meal of lamb kleftiko, too much wine and a large nightcap.
xoxoxoxoxo
The following day was a pool day. And Maggie and I instantly gravitated to one another. Selecting a pair of loungers under a huge bamboo parasol, a way away from the rest of our party.
She was wearing a sexy as hell plain black bikini with a floral sarong wrapped around her waist. I couldn’t help but gawp at her body. Her, quite frankly, amazing tits, her enticing tummy and those long, long legs. She reclined languidly. All that was missing was the slave with a giant fan to complete the look.
We talked nonstop. Work, family, what we like and don’t like. All the stuff that friends talk about. All the while I could feel the tension and anticipation building between us. Seductive smiles, soft teasing touches, and lip bites. Just about every possible way of telling each other, without actually speaking, that we were going to demolish each other in bed. And sooner, rather than later.
We’d shared a light lunch and were back in our spot, soaking up the sun. It was approaching the hottest part of the day when Maggie sat up. Her legs dropping either side of the lounger.
She reached for my hand, stroking her fingers over my palm. “I’m going for a siesta,” she announced, emphasising the word. “And I think you need to come and join me.”
The rest of the girls had gone into town for the afternoon, so we both knew that our rooms were totally unoccupied for a good few hours. Finally, it was game on.
We grabbed our bags and both quickly rinsed off under the poolside shower, and I willingly let her lead me by the hand into the cool, air-conditioned shade of the hotel lobby. My nipples instantly stiffening thanks to the cool air and my wet bikini. Fuck, she looked hot. Her wet hair clinging to her shoulders, her skin glistening from the shower. I reached out and cupped her practically bare bum cheek. I was rewarded with a low purr of approval.
The lift doors slid closed, and without warning, Maggie had me against the wall. She pressed her lips to mine, pushing her tongue into my mouth. Entwining hers with mine as she pushed her knee against my barely covered mons.
I could only moan in pure fucking bliss as we made out and I cupped and squeezed one of her tits as our bodies moved together.
As we reached our floor, I pulled out my keycard; my room was closest, and we practically ran down the hall. I felt like a teenager. That feeling of Mum and Dad being gone and knowing that you’re about to do something so deliciously naughty.
We stumbled into my room, gasping, groping, pawing at each other. I kicked off my wet flip-flops as Maggie pushed me to the wall. I hadn’t even noticed her untying the sides of my bikini, and it fell away as my leg kicked out.
“Mmmm fuck, I was right,” she growled in my ear. “Just as hot as the rest of you.”
I mewled…no, I whimpered, in a combination of lust and need as this beautiful woman deftly, expertly caressed my pussy. Our tongues knotted, unravelled and re-tied themselves. I could’ve kissed her forever and screw the consequences. Fuck, she was hot, and I was hot for her.
She smelt of Ambre Solaire; she tasted of the two Mythos beers she’d downed like a sailor at lunch. And to ice the cake, she teased, caressed and tortured my aching, now sopping wet little clam like no girl ever had before.
I eased the top of her bikini down, dipping my head to claim a beautiful, pencil eraser-sized nipple in my lips as I pushed my shoulders back to the door and slung my left leg up over her hip.
I felt her fingers slide into me, instantly finding my sponge, her palm roughly massaging my clit.
“Fuck me, Mags. Take it. Take my little pussy and fuck me, please.”
“Mmmm, such a horny dirty girl; I knew I’d love getting it on with you. Your cunt is fucking dripping. Did I cause that, did I?”
“You fucking know you did, you sexy fucking tease,” I moaned, my breath ragged.
She pulled her fingers out with a satisfying ‘schlurrrp’ and boldly slipped them in my mouth.
Good to my word, I eagerly sucked my juices off of her glistening fingers. And with a feline grace, she slunk to her knees.
She gave my thigh an affectionate squeeze as I draped my left leg over her shoulder. Pulling her toward my sodden, needy pussy.
“Fuck ye, ye, Yessss,” I hissed as she captured my clit in her lips, coaxing her out, as she mercilessly drove her fingers back into me.
God, it was the best finger fuck I’d ever experienced. I teetered on one foot. Bobbing, desperately fucking her mouth and fingers, as I mewled, moaned… and eventually let out a banshee wail as she brought me to a crashing tidal wave of a climax.
I could feel a hot sweat break out all over me, and that wonderful, warm orgasmic flush spread from my tits to my hips. She was good, and I wanted more. Much, much more.
I gazed at her hungrily, discarding my bikini top, and finally getting naked.
It didn’t even occur to me that we were about to screw on my roommate’s bed. That was an inconsequential formality. God, she looked so sexy, climbing onto the foot of the bed on all fours, dropping her bikini top casually to the floor.
“C’mon then, here, girl,” she beckoned. Grinning over her shoulder and playfully slapping her own arse. “Here, kitty, kitty; it’s my turn. Come and fuck me, you gorgeous slut. Come and show me why Anna thinks you’re a world-class shag. Her exact words.”
“Oh, so we’re playing this game, are we?” I thought to myself. I climbed onto the bed, stroking her thighs and arse as I leant forward to kiss her.
Her bikini bottom was delightfully skimpy, and before she had a chance to react, I grasped a hold of the thin gusset and tugged out and upward. The flimsy material bunched, and I dragged it through her lust-swollen lips, sawing it across her clit.
“Oh fufufufuuuckohgodohgod, fuuhhucking Bitch, she whimpered”.
I spanked her thigh. “C’mon, arse up, sexy,” I commanded her.
“Good girl,” I praised her as she obligingly lifted her hips and splayed her thighs.
My puss gave an excited twitch as I watched a thick, gooey string of ‘pure woman’ drip from between her thighs to the sheets below. Fuck, she was a hot one.
She squirmed, swaying her bum as I dragged her bikini bottom over the engorged, heated flesh of her pussy. Her sexy little pucker clearly in view. I leaned forward and dribbled on her tight little rosebud before sliding my tongue in. French kissing her most intimate hole.
“Fuuuuck Rozzzzmfuuuckk,” she mumbled.
“Am I going to have to keep you quiet?
“Make me!” she challenged.
Challenge accepted.
“On your fucking back, Missy.” I flipped her and dragged off her bikini bottoms.
Her pussy was a sight to behold. Beautifully lippy with the most prominent clit I’d ever seen. Little man in the boat? This little guy looked like he was about to abandon ship.
I gazed at us for a moment. Relishing the pornographic view in the huge wall-mounted mirror at the end of the bed.
I squealed in pleasure, taking her clit in my lips as I swung my leg over her head. Before I knew it, she’d happily buried her face in me again, lifting her beautiful, lithe legs and wrapping them over my hips. Pulling me to her. Holding me in place.
I rocked on her mouth like a happy kid on one of those supermarket rides as I licked, lapped and sucked on her pussy. Well aware of the noise we were making and pretty sure the whole hotel could hear us.
I could feel her building up to a big finish, so I leant back, pressing my cunt firmly to her lips. Taking my hand, I drove two fingers into her ‘spiderman style’ and lifted her backside clear of the bed as I worried at her G-spot.
I played the ‘Adriana Chechik’ card to win our sexual duel (thank god for Pornhub’s instructional videos), swiping frantically at her clit with my free hand. I could feel her pussy tighten and recoil. Here we go. Like old Ahab, I should’ve yelled, “Thar she blows.”
“Nononogodddfuckfuckfuckk YEEEEAAAHSS,” she screamed as I happily orgasmed on her face again. What she did next will stay etched in my mind forever, though. She squirted. Like a fucking whale surfacing to breathe and expel. Myth? No. No fucking way. It’s all true. She exploded. Some of it splattering the full-length mirror three feet from the end of the bed. The rest of it soaking me….and my roommate’s sheets.
To misquote Julius Caesar, “I came, she squirted, I fucking conquered.”
World-class shag status intact, we weren’t aware that most of the girls had returned to our floor. And a small audience had gathered outside the door, attracted by our libidinous ruckus.
As I rolled off of a delightfully spent and utterly beautiful-looking Maggie, we were given a cheer and a round of applause from outside. worthy of a cup-winning goal at Wembley Stadium.
Needless to say, after our sexy siesta, rooms were rearranged, and Maggie and I spent the rest of our week in the Dodecanese practically joined at the hip.
We said tearful goodbyes at the long-stay car park in Gatwick when we arrived back in Blighty, promising that this wasn’t just a ‘fun in the sun’ holiday fling.
And as you know already, it wasn’t. Far from it. We’ve been inseparable ever since.
xoxoxoxoxo
It was about six or seven months later. I was walking through the mall on my way to work when I noticed a sign on My Shop.
It had been vacant all this time, and all of a sudden, there was an ‘Under Offer’ sign hanging from its frontage. I was heartbroken. Not that I could ever afford it, but a girl can dream. Can’t she?
Later that morning, Maggie came in to see if she could take me to lunch. Nothing unusual there. I eagerly said yes, desperate to be cheered up.
As we left the shop, she stopped me.
“Hang on, sweet cheeks; you’ll need this,” she said, fastening a blindfold over my eyes.
“What the fuck, Mags?”
“Trust me, Love, trust me.”
She led me god knows where, till she stopped for a second. I heard keys jangle, and I was gently manhandled through a doorway.
“My gift to you… partner,” she whispered, untying the blindfold. “Taa-daaa, how does a seventy-five to twenty-five per cent split sound? Welcome to Stateside Denims and Outfitters.”
We were standing in the little shop I’d so desperately yearned for.
She popped a cute straw cowboy hat on my head, kissed me and said, “Please say yes. You deserve your own shop, Roz.”
I won’t bore you with all the legalese and hassles with contractors and suppliers. But, four months later, we opened the doors to our first customers.
Mags and I are a solid thing to this day, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Oh, and if you ever find yourself browsing in our little shop, just say “Jean Therapy” to me or any of the girls, and we’ll give you the star treatment and our thirty per cent discount.
See you soon, I hope. And if you want to hear more, don’t be shy. You all just holler out now.
