“We’re bring her home, aren’t we?”I looked over at the girl. Her eyes were going back and forth. I was thinking all this through. What a fucke...d up mess! Juli came out with the drinks. I was still thinking. I looked at the girl and watched her as I thought. Mom and Juli were quietly chatting about the BBQ plans we had for the next night and should we reconsider. Mom didn’t want to, maybe especially now.“Damn it, Helen! Lean back! Stretch your legs out. Relax! Damn, if you are going to fit in. I helped Angie into our apartment and began undressing her. Her panties were damp. I could smell her sex in them. She must have got off or at least excited at the lounge. She was awake now and said, "Fuck me Brent! I want to make love right now. Come on Baby, I need it."I undressed and we had sex. As she lay there I fucked her hard. I thought about Sheila and even pretended I was fucking her. I came so hard. Angie kept telling me how good it felt and that she never felt me come so hard. She. You say fuck it why not? Off you go to their room for drinks and the interesting social embarrassments of meeting new people.A few bad jokes and several drinks later there is a knock at the door, it's the fashionable late friend who is a blonde bombshell in an itty bitty skirt. You gravitate towards the new comer, getting her a few drinks and getting to know her better all while that special little mental censer that points out the fun ones to dominate is going nuts over her.So now your both. Like all F.B.I. agents, Sam's style of dress was conservative and immaculate.She always wore a dark tailored jacket, usually expensive white blouses, andeither a matching skirt or slacks. Sam wore panties, pantyhose, and a camisoletop to work every day regardless of her choice of skirt or slacks and she worefootwear that was comfortable at a sprint or during her normal fourteen-hour-workday.Amazingly, Sam didn't own a single set of sexy underwear, alluring eveningwear,or glamorous outfits for.