Some sort of explosion, industrial chemicals I thought wildly. The blast didn't have quite the concentrated punch of military explosives. I had plunge... more than ten meters below street level to land on a bed of filthy debris, mixtures of stone and old iron and destroyed wooden shelves. Papers and books were scattered everywhere. I guessed I had been walking over an ancient city archive when the explosion occurred.There was no power, but the area began to be dimly lit with the red glow of a. Faded towel in hand, I snuck from my bedroom to the downstairs bathroom, the one used infrequently by the other members of my household. I turned the water on and looked in the mirror as I waited for it to heat up, studying my body with newfound appreciation. There were parts of me that I had always sort of ignored, figuring that the girls I associated with paid most of their attention to my face, hair, clothing and musculature.The smoothness of my toned chest gave way to a distinct, rounded. Both treated us as equals even though twice the age of them we must have seemed a little stuffy. No it was Dave's wife that worried me. She'd sat in shorts and t shirt that evening chatting, white plimsolls tapping as she crossed and uncrossed her legs. She was early twenties, waif slim with dirty blonde hair that she tied back tight in a ponytail. She had a freckled face with upturned nose, her lips not full but wide and sensuous. Her legs were long and trimmed with fine curvy hips, small. The panties, as I put it, were for something for them to remove as she'd already be half naked under the bed sheets. We knew what we were there for, a hot night of Monica getting her brains fucked out of her and the lingerie just made it all the more sexy. Her colors were, red, black, pink and as I use to put it, virgin white. She would ask me what color to wear for her bull for that night or, day, I sometimes had her alternate, black stockings suspenders with white panties, white with black or.