Brains_N_Boobs
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Sixties & Seventies
- Thread starter Super-Surprise
- Start date
Rockymtnman
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Don’t know whether to eat it or scrub pots with it.Look at those hairy pussys
zoso682001
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Eat it !
Brains_N_Boobs
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Brains_N_Boobs
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Brains_N_Boobs
Literotica Guru
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Brains_N_Boobs
Literotica Guru
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Brains_N_Boobs
Literotica Guru
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Brains_N_Boobs
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Brains_N_Boobs
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Brains_N_Boobs
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Brains_N_Boobs
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Brains_N_Boobs
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Reminds me of a outfit my girlfriend had in the late 70s, She never wore a bra with it allowing her tits to swing freely. Thanks for the memories !
zoso682001
Really Experienced
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I'd forgotten about those until you reminded me . My wife wore the same stuff the same way....never any underwear , and kept me hard all the time !
Brains_N_Boobs
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Brains_N_Boobs
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Brains_N_Boobs
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Brains_N_Boobs
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ryan8558
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WOW!!! that would be about $10000 of today's dollars
Brains_N_Boobs
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Brains_N_Boobs
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John Doe
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I know people always say this about previous styles, generations, eras, etc., but...how could anyone have possibly thought carpet like that was attractive?!
Brains_N_Boobs
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https://bringatrailer.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/1962_chrysler_crown_imperial_161991751598b953cfa2ecf76IMG_20210420_120712294-scaled-e1623417021624.jpg?fit=620%2C412https://bringatrailer.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/1962_chrysler_crown_imperial_16234195866dc34bIMG_20210420_113729422_HDR.jpg?w=620&resize=620%2C413
One of these pulled into town back in late September of ’62 – same dark cherry color – with every Buck Rogers inspired bell and whistle this one has, maybe a couple more.
Even though space-aged Imperials had been a common sight on the burgeoning highways ribboning across America for five years, not that many ever made it to Fort Stockton. It was an occurrence, indeed when one showed up.
Jacob Jansky pulled into the parking lot of the Cattle Barron Hotel and left the Imperial running with his executive assistant, Miss Kemper firmly positioned in the passenger seat. He checked in, said he’d be staying a week, and insisted on two rooms. Adjoining. Miss Kempler was a woman with obvious gifts and talents, although dictation and filing were not the first two that came to mind.
Jansky, with Miss Kempler in tow, wasted no time in meeting with the town’s movers and shakers, starting with Mayor Goodman. “I’m with Paralax Defense Contractors. We’ve recently contracted with the government to build a buried cluster of medium range ballistic missile silos in the remote southwestern US. The project will mean jobs for the community and a windfall for the local government, especially those at the top.
It was then when Mayor Goodman glanced over at Miss Kempler who seemed to have unbuttoned the top button or two of her blouse. He swore she winked at him, but it may have been something in her eye. It was a windy day, after all.
The next day the Imperial picked up the mayor beside the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store and headed north of town scouting sites. The mayor sat behind Jansky in the backseat, gazing into the front of the cabin and all the wonders it contained. The angles and curves. The finest of details. And that was only Miss Kemper.
Ahead of her, the dashboard was unlike anything the mayor had ever seen. It made the instrument panel of his ’56 Ford seem like a model T. He looked at the pods of buttons jetting outward from either side of the massive squared-off steering wheel and imagined that pushing the right combination would eventually launch the contents of those silos while the bottom mounted binnacle headlights would rotate to track their progress through the sky. By the time the big burgundy boat pulled up to the gates of the old Miller place, the mayor was beginning to fancy himself the local Barron overseeing an important mission of the Imperial army.
Next day the mayor was working on other council members on tax abatements and eminent domain issues while Miss Kempler was finding new and exotic ways to thank him for his efforts. Her gratitude seemed to know no bounds.
Jansky and Kempler extended their stay another week. Mayor Goodman couldn’t keep his mind on zoning and permits. Instead he pondered propulsion rates and the possibility of having a red phone installed on his desk in city hall that would be a direct line to the White House. And Miss Kempler.
By mid-October the Imperial was no longer parked in front of the Cattle Barron Hotel. Jansky had checked out, paying cash and leaving no forwarding address. Mayor Goodman called the number on the business card for Paralax Defense Contractors and the phone was answered by a dry cleaners in Miami.
The mayor went over to the Lucky Lady Lounge and ordered a Black Russian without really even thinking. Then another. And another. The bartender turned up the black and white portable Motorola TV behind the bar when JFK suddenly appeared. He was speaking from behind his desk. Something about missiles in Cuba.
It was a tense two weeks that followed. The Piggly Wiggly sold out of canned goods, medical supplies, and beer. But even decades later, Mayor Goodman had a soft spot for ’62 Imperials. And blond executive assistants.
One of these pulled into town back in late September of ’62 – same dark cherry color – with every Buck Rogers inspired bell and whistle this one has, maybe a couple more.
Even though space-aged Imperials had been a common sight on the burgeoning highways ribboning across America for five years, not that many ever made it to Fort Stockton. It was an occurrence, indeed when one showed up.
Jacob Jansky pulled into the parking lot of the Cattle Barron Hotel and left the Imperial running with his executive assistant, Miss Kemper firmly positioned in the passenger seat. He checked in, said he’d be staying a week, and insisted on two rooms. Adjoining. Miss Kempler was a woman with obvious gifts and talents, although dictation and filing were not the first two that came to mind.
Jansky, with Miss Kempler in tow, wasted no time in meeting with the town’s movers and shakers, starting with Mayor Goodman. “I’m with Paralax Defense Contractors. We’ve recently contracted with the government to build a buried cluster of medium range ballistic missile silos in the remote southwestern US. The project will mean jobs for the community and a windfall for the local government, especially those at the top.
It was then when Mayor Goodman glanced over at Miss Kempler who seemed to have unbuttoned the top button or two of her blouse. He swore she winked at him, but it may have been something in her eye. It was a windy day, after all.
The next day the Imperial picked up the mayor beside the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store and headed north of town scouting sites. The mayor sat behind Jansky in the backseat, gazing into the front of the cabin and all the wonders it contained. The angles and curves. The finest of details. And that was only Miss Kemper.
Ahead of her, the dashboard was unlike anything the mayor had ever seen. It made the instrument panel of his ’56 Ford seem like a model T. He looked at the pods of buttons jetting outward from either side of the massive squared-off steering wheel and imagined that pushing the right combination would eventually launch the contents of those silos while the bottom mounted binnacle headlights would rotate to track their progress through the sky. By the time the big burgundy boat pulled up to the gates of the old Miller place, the mayor was beginning to fancy himself the local Barron overseeing an important mission of the Imperial army.
Next day the mayor was working on other council members on tax abatements and eminent domain issues while Miss Kempler was finding new and exotic ways to thank him for his efforts. Her gratitude seemed to know no bounds.
Jansky and Kempler extended their stay another week. Mayor Goodman couldn’t keep his mind on zoning and permits. Instead he pondered propulsion rates and the possibility of having a red phone installed on his desk in city hall that would be a direct line to the White House. And Miss Kempler.
By mid-October the Imperial was no longer parked in front of the Cattle Barron Hotel. Jansky had checked out, paying cash and leaving no forwarding address. Mayor Goodman called the number on the business card for Paralax Defense Contractors and the phone was answered by a dry cleaners in Miami.
The mayor went over to the Lucky Lady Lounge and ordered a Black Russian without really even thinking. Then another. And another. The bartender turned up the black and white portable Motorola TV behind the bar when JFK suddenly appeared. He was speaking from behind his desk. Something about missiles in Cuba.
It was a tense two weeks that followed. The Piggly Wiggly sold out of canned goods, medical supplies, and beer. But even decades later, Mayor Goodman had a soft spot for ’62 Imperials. And blond executive assistants.
