...I cannot over-stress what I have so frequently said, that all the psychoneuroses, as far as my experience goes, are based on motive powers of the sexual instinct. I do not mean that the energy of the sexual instinct merely contributes to the forces supporting the morbid manifestations; I advisedly maintain that the contribution supplies the only constant and most important source of energy in the neurosis ... The sexual activities of the patient are the symptoms.
...It appears that the sexual behavior of the psychoneurotic approaches in predisposition to the pervert, and deviates by just as much from the normal ... The constitutional disposition of these patients, besides containing an immense amount of sexual repression and a predominant force of sexual instinct, also possesses an unusual tendency to perversions in the broadest sense.
...In all neurotics we find without exception in the unconscious psychic life, feelings of inversion and fixation of libido on persons of the same sex. This unconscious tendency to inversion is never wanting.
-Sigmund Freud:
The Sexual Aberrations
INTRODUCTION
Susan is a young, breasty, blonde and in bed the kind of woman any man could find pleasure with. She has a story to tell, one that will shock many people because it not only tells of her eager teen-age sexual experiences but also those that led up to her present age of twenty-two.
How to classify Susan? It might be difficult to tell. It would be easy to say that she is an oversexed female. But her own story, told in her own words, reveals far more than what I might say here.
Her story isn't one that came to me through endless interviewing. She wanted to write it her self, which she did in blunt detail. My function was simply that of editing and advising; helping her when she needed it.
While there aren't many women as honest and brazen as Susan, and while few are sexually as free-minded and free swinging, there are a lot of such women in the world. These women will do anything to have sexual intercourse and they don't care what it costs in personal pride. Their whole reason for living is having an endless series of sexual orgasms. Susan's story is interesting because it goes into the mind of a woman who is possessed with sexual desire; it reveals the depths of her psychological needs; and most of all, it shows how a female, no matter what their age might be, is able to think and breathe sex in an openly exhaustive manner.
One thinks of teen-age girls as being virgins. Susan remained a virgin only until she was able to understand the meaning of sexual expression; from then on she was a sex kitten who couldn't get enough.
Trying to understand Susan, through her own words, can give a greater understanding of other women like her; it can help us to a greater acceptance of those around us. No matter how terrible or perverse or ugly a person might seem to be, they are humans with emotions and needs, easily hurt, caring about themselves and wanting happiness just like we do.
Maybe Susan's story will allow the rest of us to forgive such women, and to forgive ourselves for our own sins by being exposed to the confessed sex life of a young girl who couldn't help herself. In other words, sex is the most important item in Susan's life. And she feasts on it like a starved person.
The only thing left is to give a few more details about her physical appearance.
She is beautiful. Her body is voluptuous, yet with a delicate, child-like-even baby-doll-sexuality. Her eyes are blue and wide, her mouth lush and full, as if blowing a kiss-pouty and dimpled at the comers. Her hair is long and flowing. She walks with a swinging hip movement that is highly natural. Her whole appearance is that of a sexual animal on the make; her every action and word suggests orgasm.
It is enough to say that, as a single man, it was impossible for me to avoid intimate relations with her; a highly rewarding experience, since there wasn't anything she wouldn't or couldn't do-on demand.
At times, when she would come over to have me check some part of her manuscript, she would demand sex. Once it was as bold and simple as this: She stepped into my office, pulled off her sweater, dropped her skirt, and stood there naked and beautiful, like a little child: "I gotta have it-now!"
That is Susan. And now to her own story.
Carson Davis Sherman Oaks, California January, 1969
CHAPTER ONE - SUSAN'S STORY
I have a lot of things I just gotta get off my mind, right off. Maybe that's because I'm hot just thinking about writing this book. It makes me think about all the lovely pricks I've embraced in my flaming pussy and sucked in my mouth.
I just shiver and shake all over inside when I think about a man's prick, and it makes me want one so badly that it's difficult to sit here at the typewriter and tell you about it all.
I guess if I were to say in one line what my whole feeling in life-and reason for living-is, it would be: I love orgasm and pricks and can't get enough of sex!
Maybe that will shock a lot of people. But it's because of this obsession that I have to tell the world; so maybe somebody will understand.
Many pricks I've had thought me cheap and dirty; they think I'm a tramp and a whore. But they don't know what it's like to want to have a loving-stick deep inside my sex hole. I can suck it and-suck it until it gets all alive.
There's nothing about a man's prick that I don't just love and love to love up and down and all around. I've worshipped on men's love-sticks for hours at a time, just feeling and touching and kissing and fondling. There isn't anything I'd rather do all day than to play with men's pricks; even if I have dug lesbian sex. Any kind is great; but a man's love-gun is simply the best. See what I mean?
I read someplace, or was told by somebody, that what couldn't be done sexually would be called un-godly. Or was it, perverse? I don't remember. But I do remember that the meaning was simple enough: if we weren't meant to do it that way, it wouldn't be possible; and if it is possible it was probably meant to be done that way, too.
I remember my mother as a shy, small woman, not very big in the bust, but with honest blue eyes and a tenderness about her mouth. She believed in God and sin and punishment; yet I think she probably enjoyed sex with dad.
For my father was a big man, and from the pictures I've seen of him when he was my age, he had been muscular and handsome, the kind of guy I could have easily gone for in a big way. Mother must have felt that way, too. Dad wasn't the kind of person to let a woman dominate him; so I guess if he wanted sex, mother would have had to submit. Maybe if the demand had been made before they were married-and I don't know if it wasn't-she would have submitted. He dominated the family.
When I was fifteen he had been highly successful as a salesman, but quit his job to become a writer. From that time on our lives changed-and he changed a lot. He became moody and drank a lot. I remember that he would get up from his typewriter-any hour of the day-go to mother, take her hand and lead the way into the bedroom. From what I've learned about sex and men, intercourse is one way to escape personal and emotional frustration.
For a while mother was pretty nice about letting him have his way. Finally, they had a series of arguments that I couldn't help overhearing and they involved sex. She was claiming that he demanded too much, that there was something wrong with him, and he should go to a doctor and find out what. He had merely claimed that either she satisfied his needs or he couldn't be responsible for the results.
I know that during their short separation when I was sixteen-going on seventeen, just a few weeks away to birthday time-father took up with several other women. He rented an office and one day I went to visit him. Not realizing what might be wrong in simply stepping into his office unannounced, I burst in to discover him with a girl just a little older than myself. He was standing, naked from the waist down with a very large erection, the girl was on her knees before him, her mouth about the end of his penis. I'd already done things like that to boys and men and knew what was going on. I immediately turned and left.
Later that day he called home and said he wanted to have me over for a conversation. I knew about what. He sounded terrible.
I remember sitting in his office, which was also an apartment for him, now that he wasn't living at home, not in the least embarrassed at what he was trying to say-amused by his own confused embarrassment. He tried to tell me about men and women and about himself and my mother. He stammered and hesitated and stumbled all over the place. Finally, I just blurted out, in order to stop his confusion, saying:
"Daddy, I don't think you have to explain. My generation isn't as innocent about such things as you might think. I'm sorry for having barged in on you at such a moment, but ... it really wasn't a shock to see something like that. After all, it is quite a common thing for a girl to do to a man, don't you think?"
I was more alarmed by his shocked, almost furious expression than anything in my life. He stood, looked as if he were about to slap my face, then sank back in the sofa, moaned, covered his face with his large hands and said something to the effect that he didn't know where he'd failed with me.
After a moment I told him things like: Sexual information was pretty easy to get and that most of the girls my age engaged in some kind of sexual activity, including intercourse. I also admitted that I didn't really see anything wrong with it. Maybe his own shame and his own feeling of guilt made it possible for us to continue the conversation, but as two adults, rather than father and daughter. I helped this simply by saying:
"What do you think the father of that girl would have thought if he had walked into the room like I did?"
He told me she was eighteen, legally old enough to engage in sex and that she had been the aggressive one.
I then pointed out that it was probably impossible for her to have done such a thing-and be as aggressive as he claimed-if she hadn't had enough experience to know what she was doing.
It was then that he asked if I'd ever done anything with a boy or man like that.
For some reason it was easy to talk to him by then. I quite frankly admitted: "I've done a lot of things with males. I think it's fun. And I don't think you have a right to get angry about that, either, Daddy, because you don't seem to be against taking a young girl. Why do you think your daughter would be much different than other girls her age?"
He couldn't argue with that. Finally he asked: "How long have you been doing such things?" He was sick and bitter and depressed, and I believe blaming himself for what I'd become, but admitting it was too late to change things. Maybe he realized it was time to give me an honest male viewpoint; some fatherly facts of life.
I told him that it had been for a long time, ever since I'd been able to experience sexual feelings. That shocked him quite a bit, but I merely pointed out that it had been impossible to keep away from sex. I admitted to a very high sexual drive and that I couldn't keep from becoming overly excited when in the presence of a man or boy who wished to become a little aggressively sexy with me.
He looked at me for some time then, looking very carefully at my body. He was looking at his daughter like a man might look at a woman.
What he told me then made that obvious. He said, in effect: "I never realized it before. You are a woman. A sexy, attractive woman. Any man would be on the make for you. Why haven't I realized that before?"
I'd had big breasts for several years by then, well formed. I had always liked looking at myself in front of the mirror and playing with my pussy, exploring it inside with my finger, and watching the pleasure flush through my face. I'd enjoyed fingering and pinching and fondling my breasts and nipples. I even liked squeezing my fanny and exploring the erotic nerves about my rear. I thrilled to caressing my side, the curves of my hips, the rounded fullness of my thighs. Every nerve of my flesh is highly sensitive and I can masturbate myself to climax in a very short time. Of course, I didn't tell Daddy that.
It was funny, though. After saying what an attractive young woman I was, he suddenly said: "You're mother is a beautiful woman, but different. The trouble with her is that she won't do what the girl was doing to me."
"You mean," I asked, "she won't blow you?"
That term shocked him, but he adjusted to it. "No," he admitted, "she thinks it's dirty ... and is afraid I'll ... well you know ... in her-"
"Go off in her mouth. Oh, that's silly!" I giggled. "Somebody told me it's simply protein. What's wrong with that? Isn't it just the same when a man does it to a woman that way?"
A blanched expression clouded my father's face and he couldn't speak for some moments. I broke the silence by telling him simply: "Daddy, I know it sounds strange talking to you like that ... but to be honest, I did see quite a lot when I walked in on you. I knew what was going on. I wasn't shocked in any way. In fact, I guess, it was sorta nice to see that my father is just as human as any other person. I know I'm only seventeen, but I don't think age means maturity; I believe it is experience. If you like it or not, the fact is that I've had a lot of experience with men and boys. I can't help it. Maybe there's something wrong with me. But I don't care."
He stared seriously at me for a long time, then said: "Don't you know how dangerous it is ... what you're doing? You could get all kinds of sickness ... you might have a baby. Oh! What have I raised?"
I laughed and told him I knew all about birth control and had always been careful. He wanted to know how, and I simply said that the first person I had real intercourse with used a rubber and told me why and told me that there were other ways to protect myself.
Immediately, he became furious. But he hid it pretty well. He wanted to know where the bastard was. I believe he would have killed the man.
It wouldn't have done any good. I simply told him that it hadn't been the first time I'd had sexual contact with males, just the first man to complete a sexual act within my body.
By then the conversation had become so boldly honest that I believe even Dad had stopped being embarrassed or angry. He asked what kind of things I'd done in the beginning.
"Necking, petting with boys my age. But they were afraid to go all the way. I wanted to so badly that I couldn't stand it, Daddy. So ... when I met this older man ... he was, I believe about twenty-three, I guess. To be honest, it was all my fault."
He wanted to know more, but I didn't want to tell him. He demanded that I say more, threatening to do all sorts of things ... I can't remember what, exactly, but just about everything a parent could possibly threaten. I finally did say this much:
"I met him at a girl friend's house. He was amused by my flirtation, but polite in trying to cool me. I finally just kept on until there wasn't any way he could stop. I guess you know better than I do that a girl can drive a man too far ... even without being cheap."
He accepted that with a slight moan and then said that he was going to take me to a doctor. I didn't refuse, because there wasn't any point in doing so. In fact, he called a doctor friend of his and asked for another one, out of town, who wouldn't know us. An appointment was made and we went immediately. It's enough to say that the doctor gave me a total examination, fingering my vagina until I was so hot I couldn't stand it. But he wasn't doing it more than any doctor might. He used some instruments and I almost had an orgasm. He announced that I wasn't a virgin and, as far as he could assume, I'd probably not been one for years ... though there was no way to really say. He also claimed there was every indication that I was highly sexed and easily stimulated. I guess the way my vulva and vigina were reacting to his examination gave him some information. My physical reaction, and blood-pressure must have told him some more. He took some blood tests and some other test and immediately checked them out. All the evidence convinced Dad that I was highly sexed.
All the way back home where he was dropping me off, my father continued to talk about men and their attitude towards sex and women who gave themselves too freely. It didn't make any difference, because every time he said a man can think a girl cheap when she sleeps with him, I said: "But the girl is getting something, too." Or I'd simply say: "I'm using the man, Dad. I'm never used!"
Once I even pointed out something that he seemed to realize and was surprised that I knew-though all women know this, really, in time; I said, "Daddy, no girl can be seduced against her will; she has to open the door.
"Only if a man rapes a girl is it against her will. I've never been raped; I don't think it would be possible. If somebody tried, they would probably be pretty surprised how things turned out, because I'd enjoy myself more than the man."
I don't want to go on much more about that. Reading it over I realize it sounds all fantastic, and that's probably because I'm not able to really explain it the right way. I can't tell all the things that led up to it, the mood and the atmosphere. All I've been able to do is tell the truth about the important things that were said. It didn't happen quite as casually. There were a lot of hot, angry words.
Father was embarrassed. I quickly told him I knew just about all he could tell me, and then some. But it all happened over a period of several hours and accompanied by a lot of pacing and a lot of silent anger from Dad.
The thing is, I wanted to point out, this caused a change between Dad and me. We accepted each other as adults from then on. He never questioned my activities and we seldom talked about sex. He returned to mother a few months later. I believe it was partly so that he could be close enough to me to be there if I ever needed his help and understanding. Possibly it was to help with any problems that might come up between Mother and me.
The funny thing is that I later learned that Mother had guessed quite a bit. I also learned that Mother hadn't been a virgin when she married Dad and had experienced her first sexual act with a man when she was in her middle teens. It had been her uncle and he had wanted her to go down on him. She'd done it and he hadn't pulled out soon enough. It had been a kind of experience that was almost forced rape of a kind. I picked the information up a bit at a time. Only in the last six months did Mother come out and have a woman to woman conversation with me.
I remember her sitting me down in the living room and saying it was time that we talked honestly to one another, since I was now a woman. I felt embarrassed, because I hadn't been that close to her in that way. But the first thing she said broke the ice:
"I know, Susan, that you've not been a virgin for a long time. I simply want to make it clear that there's no reason we can't accept each other as women, now that you're old enough. Come to me if you ever need somebody to talk to. I've waited until now to talk to you ... though, heaven knows, I've wanted to a lot earlier!
"There is a time when a daughter needs her father-and there's a time she needs her mother. Maybe from now on you'll discover it is nice to have someone you can turn to in times of need. I don't think it would surprise you to know that I wasn't a virgin when I met your father. There had been several men before him. I think there's nothing wrong with men and women learning about sex before they get married. Even then there will be problems that can't be overcome ... in a sexual way. I know that I haven't fulfilled your father's total sexual needs in our marriage; but that's his and my personal problem.
"We've managed to survive enough storms to make an honest claim that we have a fairly good marriage. I don't think your father had always been totally loyal. I believe he had several affairs. But he always came back to me. That's the important thing, Susan. Our love has been great enough to survive just about all the possible tests of love. Where I failed as a wife, your father managed to take other means to let off the steam. He's been a good husband, a good father. I don't have any complaints."
Of course, you have to realize that I'm paraphrasing her words. I can't remember exactly what she said ... that is, in the exact words, but that was what she was telling me. I guess, in order to make her feel a little better, I told Mother that I'd done things with boys for a long time and that I'd gone to a doctor and he'd said I was physically hyper-sexual. I even went so far as to say Dad had taken me to the doctor while he was separated with her and started to tell her something more about the conversation and things that had happened, leaving out the fact that I'd seen him with a young girl-but I've gotten only two words out when Mother stopped me, saying: "I don't want to hear!" I respected her on this.
But she did ask what I meant by hyper-sexual and I explained that I'd been told I was probably highly sexed and then told her what I believed she really meant by that question: "That I can't control my sexual desires-and that there isn't anything I didn't like doing with a man."
She looked a little sad, staring at her hands, which were folded on her lap. It was then that she told me something about her own first personal sexual experience-mainly in general terms-saying about the actual event:
"I didn't have ... well, intercourse ... it was something disgusting he made me do ... something I've never been able to do with your father or any man since, because of it."
And a little later, after a lot of conversation about men and sex in the most general terms, she said:
"There's certain things I simply can't do...." And later it was more to the point, though very vague, really: "I'm not very oral ... and your father likes certain oral things done ... I just can't do it."
But when I told her: "I think maybe I'm too oral, Mother! I don't think there's anything wrong with kissing a man there!" she nodded and said, "Everybody I've talked to says that there is nothing wrong with doing anything that is leasing to both parties. I simply can't do things like that ... and it isn't my fault. A woman's first sexual experience, if it comes at the wrong time and happens against her will and she isn't excited enough ... it can do terrible harm."
To add to this information about my father and mother's sex life and sexual attitudes-which, I believe, might have had a lot to do with my own attitudes and habits. I would like to say something that Dad told me once, a year or so later, after our talk before going to the doctor. He said:
"You're mother tried it once with me. I had been doing everything I could to convince her to try. I don't believe in forcing anybody to do something that they don't want to. That's the only real moral ethic I believe in. I'd tried for months-years.
"Uncle Bill is a couple of years younger than your Aunt Thelma. She was thirty-one at the time-and I guess a little desperate and afraid of losing Bill. Well, she told your mother how he'd made it clear that, he liked a woman to use her lips on him and she had forced herself to do it, finding it, to her surprise, very exciting. It all came out indirectly."
Then Dad told me how he'd happen to talk to Uncle Bill. Mother didn't like to go down on a man and Dad learned that Aunt Thelma had also been reluctant at one time. Until Dad suggested that Thelma tell Mother about it. Later, Mother and Dad talked about the whole thing. It bugged him, being a dominate man himself-in his way-that his own wife wouldn't do such a thing. Of course, Dad told me all this in general terms, and I don't remember how the conversation started or why it got so involved. Dad was a little drunk, and I was a little high-that might be the reason it all started. I'd just come home from a late date during which time I'd done just about everything with the guy, complete with a blow-job before and after-something I really enjoy doing.
Anyway, from what I was able to piece together, it seems that Dad finally talked mother into trying, after getting her a little drunk-and taking a shower with her. It was important that he was completely clean-I mean that his penis and all around was washed almost raw. Then they took up a sixty-nine position and he worked on her until she was excited. She finally attempted to kiss his penis. She apparently got that far. But when she put her lips about the end, she made a kind of sick sound and released him. I guess because she loved Dad so much she at least masturbated his penis while he continued to work on her.
It's funny talking about your parents in a sexual way. It is so hard to think of your parents involved in a sexual act; though, you know, they must have done it at least once for every child. Naturally, they had to do it a lot more than that, because nobody is so great a shot that they hit the baby-target each and every time.
But that day I'd walked into Dad's office and seen the beautiful young girl. She had nice youthful breasts and full voluptuous lips folded about his very large and thick penis, fondling it, moving her lips back and forth along the big shaft, making it appear to get shorter and longer, shorter and longer as more of it disappeared into her mouth and less and less of it was kept captive as she slipped her lips away in a long lingering pull-back. I was startled by the highly erotic knowledge that Daddy was a sexual creature.
After I'd run from the office I couldn't keep that image out of my mind. I found that the whole scene had stimulated me terribly. It wasn't because of Daddy, but because of the act. I didn't have the desire to be the girl doing it on Dad's penis, but to be a girl doing it on any man's hot hard prick. In fact, I was so hot from that quick sight that I drove to the first gas station and went into the woman's room. Closing and locking the door, I pulled up my skirt, dropped my panties and started masturbating frantically. It happened almost at once; a big wonderful, releasing come. I had to relieve myself immediately. Then I drove home.
After the conversation with Dad I was so hot and bothered by all that had happened that I just needed a man so bad I couldn't stand it. I knew several kids my age and a few college fellows. I called up a couple of boys, trying to fix up a quick date.
The first wasn't home, the second offered to come over later, but I couldn't wait. I had, naturally, called boys who I'd been screwing regularly and who had the biggest pricks.
There was a college man, about twenty-three, who lived across town in an apartment. I'd been with him only once, several months before and it had been a casual, quick thing at a party he'd given. I didn't even know if he would remember me. But I remembered him because his sex tool was very long and very large and thick and it had felt so damned good inside me. I hadn't gone down on him, but some girls had said he liked it. But you can't believe girls; though, you can always believe that men liked that. I had also heard he was partly queer-meaning he liked boys, too. I had to look up his number then I called. He was home. I said: "I'm Susan ... we met at a party ... I know it sounds terrible, but are you doing anything right now?"
He sounded puzzled and I could tell he didn't know who I was. He asked what the gag was; that he didn't know any Susan. So I said: "We had a good time-together-in your bedroom."
He laughed at that and said there had been a lot of girls ... and he had been drunk. I told him I wanted a good time, and wanted it right away. I asked: "Interested?"
He said there was somebody there with him. I asked if it was a girl or a boy? He sounded irritated and said it was a man. I told him I didn't mind. He wanted to know what kind of thing I was pulling. Obviously, he didn't believe me. I could understand that. I was desperate. I didn't care. I had to have a man, so I said: "Can I come over and we can talk about it there?"
He told me to wait a minute and I heard a muffled conversation, then finally he said: "There's two of us and you might not like what we have in mind."
I told him I'd be right over.
Less than fifteen minutes I walked into his apartment. He had a bathrobe on and his friend was wearing a dirty T-shirt and a towel about his middle. This guy pranced and talked in a high feminine voice. His features were delicate and everything about him was snobbish and queer. He had fag spelled all over him.
When the door was closed I looked at the two men and then said in a contemptious voice: "I see you've been fucking a queer!"
The fag said: "You shit bitch. Get her out of here!"
I looked at him, right between the legs, where the towel was obviously hiding his nakedness and said, "You take that towel off and I'll show you how a woman can out-fag a fag!"
His eyes widened. His face went white and I don't know what he would have said or done if his host, Jack, hadn't said: "Hold on, maybe it'll be fun. If you don't want it, I do. You can watch!"
Then Jack opened his robe and removed it. He was naked, and his pecker looked like a long, large hot-dog hanging low and limp between his muscular hairy legs. He had thick hair all over his chest. I remembered how thrilling it had been to rub my titties against those hairs.
The fag looked at Jack's sausage meat and his eyes grew large with intense interest.
I then said something to the effect: "Look boys, I don't care what the two of you have going, but I have some ideas that will make it a lot more fun for both of you. I need a man's prick, in both places at once. Why don't you give me a good try!"
Jack gaped at me, then cried: "She's unbelievable. I can't believe it. What kind of girl are you?"
His fag friend snarled: "A whore! A bitch! Tramp. Slut!"
I laughed and opened my blouse, saying; "You named it, and you can get a piece of the action, fag!"
I walked right up to him and reached out, tucked my fingers under the top of the towel and jerked at it with all my strength. He backed away, shocked. My blouse dropped to the floor, as I looked at his fagging prick. Then I opened my bra and dropped it, thrusting out my breasts, taunting him with them. "You might not like mommy's titties, but I got me a pair of lips that-can do anything a man's can. Just so Jack makes good use of my other lips we can ball it good, boys!"
I unzipped my skirt, pulled it off, then peeled down my panties. Once naked, I challenged both men, saying: "I got a body that wants what you two dangel between your legs. I got a couple of mouths that can give those meat balls of yours a good time. Who wants to come and pick a pair of lips?"
The two men were standing only a couple of feet apart. I simply stepped forward, reached out with each hand and cupped their sausages and balls, fondling the sacks of their testicals with my fingers, holding their limp meat in the palms of my hands.
Jack's cock jacked-up almost immediately. The fag looked repulsed, sick, his eyes on my body as if he were looking at something so disgusting that it made him want to vomit.
I laughed, released the fag, then taking hold of Jack's hard, big erection in my hand, knelt down before him, saying, "I can worship a thing like this, love." Then my lips covered his tightly constricted, big swollen cock-crown, my tongue savoring it's tip and foreskin.
Then I moved my lips down along the shaft, firmly surrounding it's full, lovely hard shaft which was alive and throbbing. Then slowly I dragged my lips back until only the full puff of his crown was submerged within the moist warmth of my lips, with my tongue teasing the tip.
With a deep sigh of contentment, I released his manly shaft completely, turned and looked at the fag who had been watching wide-eyed. His fag-prick was big and large and hard. I'd known he would have gotten an erection from seeing me do that to Jack. It was what I'd wanted to happen.
Now I said, with as much contempt as possible in my voice: "If you're a good little boy I'll do that and more, so much more that you won't even realize it's a woman, instead of a man. Think we can have some fun, now, boy?"
He gasped a low animal sound and said: "God! You're a real bitching slut!"
I looked at Jack and asked: "What does that mean, big meat?"
He laughed and said, "He likes that idea. But what about me?"
"Well," I said, then embracing his love-stick with my lips for a quick little thrill kiss, "think you can have fun with my other lips while I give your friend what he likes best? Then ... maybe, if you two are sexually strong enough. I'll give you lip service and you can serve your friend in the same manner. Doesn't that sound like a lot of fun, boys?"
To make the whole thing short and sweet, we did both things. The fag enjoyed himself as I gave him the lip service he liked, though I must admit he enjoyed it more when his buddy took over. Jack, on the other hand, had almost as much fun as I did.
I sorta rested on Jack's thighs and hips with his meat tightly stuffed deep inside me, moving only slightly at first, making little circling actions and little up and down strokes, not active enough to interfere with my other feasting job. I held the fag's thighs with my hands, fingers digging cruelly into his ass, while I made loving worship of his dirty queer rod. There was a smell about him that advertised he hadn't taken a bath for a while-or that his sexual odor was so strange and strong that it could envelope a person a mile away.
Both men had an orgasm, but Jack's was complete and flooding and snake-like in its convulsive muscular spasms that matched mine to perfection. In the end, I'd gone crazy on the fag and crazy on Jack's lovely bulk of meat so snug and tight inside me. He had been jerking up and down like I was riding an unbroken horse. That bounced me up and down and I guess I was pretty brutal on the fag. But it was good. Great. And once over, we changed positions, me going down on Jack. Jack going to work on his fag. It was almost as good.
All I can say about that session was that I got a lot of real goodies. It was all because I needed sex so badly I couldn't control myself. Talk sex to me and I'll want to screw. I can't help myself. That's the way I am. I still can't control my sexual urges. Nothing turns me on faster than a man's prick; nothing is more exciting to fondle and caress and play with; though there are so many little ways to orgasm.
CHAPTER TWO - ORGASTIC WAYS TO PLEASURE
I had learned terribly early in life about sex. Maybe in the pages before this I might have confessed that my cherry was bombed-out in my teens; but I'd had orgasms before-though maybe that isn't the right word.
Let me tell you what I mean by a few short examples.
The earliest sexual experience I can remember was with a boy my age. I must have been about six or seven. Once we played the game of finding out what made boys and girls different. He looked at mine and I looked at his and even touched him there. Then I let him touch me. All I remember about it was that this felt good.
I remember my brother ... oh, did I mention that. My brother is a few years older than me. But I'm jumping a little, now. I must have been eleven by then. We got to talking and I said I knew what a boy looked like. He laughed and told me I could see what a real boy looked like.
We went into the bathroom and he pulled down his pants and pissed in the toilet while I watched. I felt strange and tingly all over watching his penis spill out its urine. I wanted to hold it and he let me, saying that it felt good. It felt damned good to me, so velvet. He was fourteen then and had a well developed penis. We used to do that kind of thing a lot of times after that. I enjoyed holding his penis while he urinated. It felt good feeling the golden liquid moving through his shaft. I'd squeeze his penis a little and even jerk him off. That happened by accident.
He had to go to the bathroom real badly, and he had a big hard-on. I held his penis and then, as he started to urinate, I moved my hand up and down on him. He said that felt good and I continued. His penis kept up hard and when his sexual juices spurted out like a gun discharging, I was fascinated and put my finger on the end of his penis so I could feel what it felt like. It was sticky. I had once put my fingers in front of his penis while he urinated. But this was different.
I liked ... well, I didn't know what it was I was doing, but it was jerking him off. Well, I liked doing that. So I told him so. He said he liked it, too, and that if I wanted to, he'd let me do it again. But he wanted to see me naked, too, sometime.
I jerked my brother off many times over the next months, and learned to enjoy it very much. I even enjoyed putting my hand in front of his penis and letting its juices splash against the palm of my hand. I learned to love feeling a man's penis. I learned to love a boy's sex, the feel of it. I like to hold a man's penis when it is discharging.
Another way I learned to enjoy myself in minor sexual pleasures was with a man one would call degenerate; and I guess he was. He seemed very old to me, but he couldn't have been more than forty, now that I consider it.
He didn't work. Actually, he begged for food, and did udd jobs, if necessary. He sucked up wine a lot and, I guess, you'd call him a tramp. I became friendly with him and one day met him in the country-side. He was a dirty old man ... really.
Suddenly, he asked if I knew anything about boys and I said I knew a lot about boys. Then he wanted to know if I'd seen what made boys different from girls. I said I knew they had a thing between their legs. Then he opened his fly and exposed a large penis and asked if I'd ever seen one like that.
I felt funny all over. I wasn't sexually developed in the breasts, but old enough to feel sexual pleasure. I'd played with my brother a lot, by that time; but this was different. He told me he thought I was pretty and would like to do something with me. I was so pleased when he said I could touch his penis, if I let him finger me, that I almost shook. When he put his hand up my skirt, and started fingering me between the legs, it felt terribly good. He even let me jerk his hard prick off.
We met several times after that. I got to the point where I let him take off my pants and really finger me, while I jerked his hard off. Like I said, he was a dirty old man.
But I've known a lot of dirty old men, much older than him. That came later. It's sort of fun to diddle with an old man's prick and see how excited you can make the old guy get.
I did that once while working at an office as a secretary. It was a short job. The boss was about sixty and he took a shine to me. I saw it in his eyes when he looked at me.
One day in his office, late in the afternoon, he told me that I was a very exciting young woman. If he was a little younger he'd like to date me. I told him he didn't have to be younger to be interesting to me. I also teased him with my eyes, then said: "I've known men your age, and they can be a lot of fun!"
We talked around it like that for a little while, then he admitted he would like to do more than date me. I said, "If you want a thrill, I'd love giving it to you."
He stepped around his desk and walked up to me and asked if I really meant that, his voice shaking. For an answer I simply opened his fly and said I loved to hold a man's prick. I helped myself to a generous piece of his, slowly and gently jerking it up and down until it was large and fat. He put his fingers up my skirt and slipped them around the band of my panties so he could finger my pussy.
I said he might enjoy himself more if I could get down on my knees before him. He removed his thrilling finger and I dropped to my knees and made love to his penis with my mouth, savoring every second of it, right up to and through the final spasm of his orgasm. That was all he really wanted.
To get back to my brother, every time we could get alone, we would do a lot of sexy things. We finally got to the point where we'd get naked, then he would suck my little breasts while I played with his penis. Sometimes he would finger me in my passion hole; it all felt very good and wonderful.
I got to the point where I'd do things like that to boyfriends at school. Of course, I got the reputation of ... well, they said I "fucked," but it wasn't that. I did everything short of it. I let them play with me and I'd play with their little pricks.
There's something wonderful about a man's prick. It is so long and big and meaty and alive. It's not like a dildo, which only sticks in you and is moved around until you get a good little come. A man's prick is alive. I can come all over the place just holding it, without any intercourse.
I like to go down on a man's prick before it is hard. With only my lips to make it grow, I work on it's small little limp shape until it's long, big and thick. Sometimes I'll continue until it goes off, sometimes I'll insert it into my vagina; it all depends on what I want most.
When I was fifteen, there was a boy, about my age, who I dated and played with. He loved to be sucked-off. I loved doing it to him, but he wouldn't have intercourse with me, even when I begged. He simply would finger my pussy until I got a come.
I know all this must sound terribly filthy and disgusting to some people. But I'm only trying to show how I was, how I couldn't help but love men's pricks.
But there were times when I would masturbate lying in bed, the sheets over my body, my hand rubbing and rubbing, and my finger working like a man's little thing inside me. I did things like that every night, sometimes more than once. There were times I would be naked in the bathroom, after taking a shower, and would look at myself in the mirror while rubbing a wonderful come. It was funny looking at the expression on my face ... until I couldn't look any more because I was in heaven and my eyes were shut.
I used to enjoy letting the shower spray between my legs. I could get orgasm that way, too. I'm over-sexed. I've heard of men doing things like that. But I'd do something in the bathroom, maybe before taking a shower and during the shower, and, if I felt sexy enough, afterwards. I'd caress my small breasts, then go down between my legs until I felt hot again. I'd continue until that beautiful feeling would overcome me. And later in bed, I'd do it again.
My teens were filled with such activity. Even when I was playing with a boy's big peter, or letting them dick my cunt so beautifully, I would cry-sometimes giggle and laugh-because it felt so wonderful.
In college I knew a guy who wanted to do nothing more than go down on me and let me jerk him off. He didn't want me to use my lips on him. It was frustrating; but he was just so wonderful with his lips and tongue that it helped a lot and made it worthwhile.
Another guy I dated a couple of times took me up on the hill and would let me play with his penis as much as I wanted to. He enjoyed fingering me and was pretty good. But we never had actual intercourse. I don't know what his hang-up was, maybe he wanted to remain a so-called virgin until he got married. He was going with a girl whom he finally married. She was a virgin; a real virgin, I mean-a prude, in fact. I knew her pretty well. I think he went out with me simply to be jerked off or have me go down on him. He liked that. Maybe he was a fag ... well, that wouldn't be right, really.
There are a lot of guys who are really quite normal as husbands, but they like men to blow them. They like it better when it's a woman, though. Or maybe they make themselves believe that. I don't know. But this guy certainly liked to have me French his prick, and I liked doing it.
But we are talking about things that happened just a short time ago, in a way. I was thinking more about what used to happen to me as a young girl. I enjoyed exposing myself to boys and then not letting them touch me. I went through that phase for a very short time, though. I would let them look, if they'd let me feel between their legs. Sometimes they didn't take off their pants. Sometimes I wanted to jerk them off. It was all so much fun.
I remember the first time I went down on a boy. He was a little retarded and about five years older than me. He worked as a delivery boy and dropped off some food for Mother. I was the only one home and I teased him. I had pretty breasts by then. They were small and I didn't wear a bra that afternoon, only a tight sweater, and my nipples which were large even then. They stuck out like darts against the sweater. He looked at my tits like he wanted to suck them. I was standing with my chest thrust out real sexy. I mocked him with my eyes and even went so far as to say: "What you looking at? Haven't you seen a woman's breasts before?"
It wasn't long before my sweater was off and he was sucking my nipples. He made funny sounds and I opened his pants and started playing with him. He said he wanted me to kiss his thing. He was retarded, but very strong and knew what he wanted. He actually forced me to kiss him and take him in my mouth, holding my head in place. I hesitated a little because I'd never done anything like that before. I didn't know if I'd like it and I didn't think I would like it if he didn't let me stop before he went off. Of course, he held my head in place with his big strong hands right up to the end. I had a real come when he did his trick.
Does all this sound terrible? I wonder. But I want to be honest. I want to point out how it is with a girl. They say girls don't have the same feelings a man does. But I don't believe that. At least with me it isn't that way. I've been dicked by men who felt they were taking advantage of me; yet I felt as if I was the one getting all the goodies. A boy only comes once during intercourse-unless he's real powerful and can keep up long enough to get another climax, but that's like being screwed twice without the guy leaving you. Yet a girl can come and come and come, again and again, then finally climax in such a way that she almost goes out of her mind.
I've begged boys to let me hold and fondle them. I've done some things that were terrible to admit to.
The brother of a very good friend of mine was a year younger than me ... I was seventeen then. I begged him one day to let me feel his meat. He was so girl-shy he turned red all over. I pleaded with him to let me see his wonderful thing-as I put it. He finally let me, but I had to do all the work.
I was the one who had to reach out and strip away his pants and expose his beautiful organ. I felt it and then made kissing love to its wonderful length. He stopped me. So I jerked him off, furious, trying to hurt his prick; but he only had a quick orgasm. I squeezed his limp shaft as hard as I could afterwards and he almost screamed in pain. He never spoke to me after that.
But, of course, that didn't make any difference. The most important thing is that I'd been able to play with his lovely prick.
Still, there are other ways to make it with the sex thing. I remember lying in bed with a girl friend of mine. We talked girl talk, then about boys and asked each other if we'd ever done anything to boys. You know how such conversations can go between girls. Well, maybe the reader doesn't know, if they are males.
Boy, when I think about the idea of a man reading this book, it makes me sexy all over. I think about the man reading my words and thinking what a damned great lay I must be. I'd just love to do it with everyone of ... well, I love doing it with any man, any time, any place, in any manner he might like.
But I was talking about girls. This girl-talk was like this:
"Ever done it with a boy?"
"No," she said, "but I've done other things. It feels good. I'm afraid of getting pregnant."
"What other things do you do?" I wanted to know.
"Well, I do things to my body with my hands. Haven't you ever played with yourself?"
"Sure, and more!"
She wanted to know if I'd done it with a boy and I admitted to feeling boys between the legs. She was fascinated. And I'll tell you, dear reader, that girls can talk pretty sexy. Men have this idea that we don't know all the nice juicy words, I mean, teen-age girls, we know them. We will sometimes talk real dirty; it's sorta thrilling.
So I told her how it felt to play with a man's prick and how I liked to hold it while it went off. Things like that.
Then she told me that she had done things with girls. I was very interested because I'd never done things with a girl before.
She said it was fun to have another girl finger her. She liked to finger another girl, too; or kiss her breasts. I remember her saying: "It's fun when my breasts press up against another girl's breasts. It feels so good!"
We talked like that for some time before doing anything. Of course, we did the natural things like rubbing each other, embracing, kissing, then fondling each other's breasts, kissing them, then petting between each other's legs until each of us got a goodie. I asked her if she knew that men liked to use their mouths on a woman...."between her legs!" I had to add because of the dumb expression on her face.
She was surprised and shocked by that idea. Then I told her it was fun to do the same thing to a man.
"What do you mean?" she demanded. "You ... kiss him down there?"
"I do more than that!" I admitted with great pride. I was very proud of my experience at that time. I had done so many things this girl hadn't done. So I told her about going down on a man, in real detail. How good it felt to have my lips about his hard thing, how I liked to use my tongue.
She was horrified, saying: "What if he went off?"
I laughed and shrugged, telling her that by that time a girl didn't care much, especially if the man was fingering her, or had his mouth between her legs.
We talked some about cunnilingus and then decided to try it. She didn't want to do it to me at first, but let me go down and have happytimes with her. After a while, though, she got so hot and bothered that when I swung my legs in a position above her face, she greedily started to return the goodies I was giving her.
Well, of course, she was a little shy and hesitating at the first moments. The first gently, thrilling kiss she gave me there almost gave me a come. Then she started kissing me some more and then, finally, got so excited that she used her tongue on me like I'd been doing on her.
Afterwards, she said "It was fun. Let's do it again, sometime?"
I laughed and placed a hand on her crotch and said I thought it was fun, too. When I fingered her deep, sorta casually, she gasped and said if I kept it up she wouldn't want me to stop. So I placed her hand between my legs, too, and we played with one another again. She was terribly sexy and had large breasts which I enjoyed fondling and pinching.
But I've only touched on some of the childish things we did ... I mean, I did with other kids.
Once when playing a game with a boy, who was supposed to be my "father", I was punished and he turned me over his knee and smacked my fanny. It felt good. I liked that.
There were such things as fun fighting, too. But that was when I was pretty young. I remember being held down on the ground, on my back, the grass wet, and this boy holding my shoulders with his hands and he was straddling my hips. I guess it was the first time a boy ever straddled me. I don't think he had anything sexy in mind, we were too young for that. But he certainly felt good. I liked that.
I liked being spanked, too. It felt good. I am erotic all over and when a person spanks my fanny, well, I get a good feeling.
But it isn't the same if a parent is spanking you. That's something different.
I've heard about girls being spanked by their father and getting an orgasm. One girl told me how her father got an erection and she felt it, afterwards. He must have been terribly perverted because he let her take his hard out and play with it. Think of doing such a thing to your own father! It's different with a brother, because neither of you know what you're doing. A mature man knows how perverse such an act is with his daughter.
Even after having seen my own father being blown by a girl almost my age, I never wanted to diddle with his thing. Sure, I wanted great wonderful big pricks-and he had a big one. But that's only normal for a woman to want something big and manly riding her insides like a beautiful knife, or being mouthed like some wonderful sucker.
But this girl told me how much she just loved doing it with her father. I remember her saying:
"There has never been anything like it. I knew he loved me and I sure loved him. It all seemed natural. He was simply giving his loving daughter more pleasure than any other father would give his daughter." Isn't that terrible?
Now, with my brother, that was so different. We didn't know it was naughty-not really. We simply did something that seemed enjoyable to both of us. I never felt guilty about that, simply because I never felt guilty about things I was innocently involved with.
Sex is such a natural thing.
When you think about how good it feels with a man inserting himself in the most heavenly place in the world for you, and you know it's for you, your body; that he is giving you joy and pleasure and is enjoying himself in doing so. It's just the most wonderful thing in the world.
And because a man's lovely prick is such a love-giving, pleasure-thrilling tool I loved worshipping it. I love it so much that I dig any kind of sexual stimulation, even when it doesn't involve intercourse. Fingering and cunnilingus and fellatio are all joys to behold. Even if somebody else is doing it to some other girl, and you stand there watching and wanting it to be happening to yourself, you find you have started petting the heavenly gates of your passion.
That happened once. One boy, me and another girl, we all decided to have some French-sex, as the boy called it. The other girl wouldn't go for intercourse and for some reason it didn't happen with me and the boy, Bill, that afternoon. Later we did get swinging privately ... me swinging on his privates!
June was small breasted, but she had large hips and a big mouth, thick lips. The boy, Bill, said she was great. I watched and thrilled as they sexed it good. We were alone in the country. We'd driven out in his car.
He stripped down his pants and exposed a wonderfully big member which hung low and beautiful. June loved to go down on a boy. I'd learned to enjoy that, too, as you well know. She sorta went wild and I guess she got a climax just loving him up with her big lips and tongue, but she stopped short of taking all he had to give.
I remember her pulling back and the boy moaning as the love passion burst from the tortured throb of his shaft. I had rolled down my panties, my skirt was already off. I simply hadn't been able to control myself. I'd rubbed and caressed him. When I saw him go off like that, I almost came. I was out of my head with torment and sick at the rotten way June had treated him at the climax. I wouldn't have turned down the offering of his sexy love-gun.
I fairly stumbled to him, almost throwing the guy off his feet. We rolled on the grass and I went crazy on his love-gun, while desperately placing his hand between my legs, squirming up against it. We had a terribly good time of it, with his fingers doing some wonderful things to my heaven and my lips feasting upon his manhood all the way to the main dish. I came several times. He tensed all over and then released his flood of passion.
But fingering and kissing isn't the main event and I've always liked the main event.
I remember being so frustrated one afternoon, alone in the house, wanting a man's thing inside my vagina that I found a hot-dog! That's terribly horrible to admit and it wasn't very nice. It was perverted! And not at all like a man, but better than tampex. Well, I mean, sometimes I can feel tingly all over because I have this thing up inside me ... even if I do have my period. That's the way I am.
I guess, after having read the above over, I have pretty much exhausted most of the things I did without a real act of intercourse. Maybe it's just that I have to tell about some of the men, the early ones that were so good to my body. The discovery of intercourse, the discovery of what a man's wonderful prick can mean to a girl, is so wonderful that I shiver thinking about it. I shiver, in any case, thinking about how wonderful it is to touch and feel and kiss and then be taken, fully, to feel all that is a man become a part of my body.
CHAPTER THREE - THE FIRST PENETRATIONS
I remember the statement so clearly that it might have been said just a moment ago. The man said: "If you want to have my cock, I'll give it to you any way you ask!"
He was my cousin-in-law and it was a terrible dirty thing to do, seducing him. I shouldn't have done it; but, then, I've done things like that all my life. If I see a guy I want, I don't care who he is; if I can have it, I'll go after it and take it.
Girlfriends be damned. I've taken every man I can get. And there's a certain joy in showing how wonderful I am with a man; and finding how wonderful he is with me. I find the joy of discovery as wonderful as the estatic climax.
My cousin was visiting-my parents. Her husband was about thirty-five and very handsome, with shock grey hair at the temples. I flirted with him right from the start. I was thirteen at the time. I wore tight fitting sweaters and short shorts so that my legs could be in full sight.
My cousin is a dark haired woman with a nice, but, honestly, hardly the figure and body I have. She is almost flat breasted and wears falsies most of the time. You know what the ads say about the bra being the nearest thing to you-well, she pads herself out. She's narrow hipped too. I had her beat all over the place; and her husband was really too easy ... I guess a playboy. .
Carl-that's his name-I guess, took a lot of free bedtime thrills from many a girl. I think he had something for young girls, though. I could never understand what kind of a thrill a man gets out of popping a girl's cherry. It seems such a useless thing. What's the point? Usually, such a girl-hell, everybody knows sometimes it's a woman-hasn't any experience and doesn't know how to make it go good. She certainly can't be the kick an experienced girl can be. I know that the more men I have had, the better I am to them. I know now how to treat a guy real good. And it's a thrill to show how good I can be to them.
That brings up another point, though. While I can't understand a man wanting a girl's cherry, I do understand why a woman would thrill to seducing another woman's man. Oh, it can be so so good that way. There's a lot of thrilling things about it. You're proving desirable to a man who is already hooked. Maybe it's because he's tired of what his wife has; maybe he just wants to see how you are. It doesn't make any difference, really. But he gives it to you instead of his wife.
In a way I think I'd kill a man who was married to me and screwed another woman. After all, a man has just so much of that good stuff to spread around and I'd feel cheated, terribly. It's like being robbed. In the bank, where it hurts the most. A man can do his thing only so many times in a row; and if he's fagged out by screwing another cunt ... that's what I'd think of them ... though I don't think of myself in that way, there isn't any more left for you.
Funny, come to think of it, how can a girl know about herself ... know what she is, yet not relate that to other women like her? I'm not just a cunt, as the boys might put it. I'm a woman who can be one of the best damned lays a man has the pleasure to enjoy. Yet, any woman who would rob any husband of mine of his goodies, so that he couldn't give it all to me ... I'd go out of my mind. Of course, there is a way of getting even.
One woman told me how she handled that kind of a situation. She discovered her husband in bed with another woman. She simply stood there and watched until they were finished. You see, they were really going at it, she said, and hadn't even noticed she was there until it was all over. Her husband almost died on the spot. She simply said, very nicely:
"Fine, you've had your fun, now I'll arrange a party of my own and you can watch!"
It so happened that she was very dominate and he was easily ruled by her whim. He loved her enough to put up with a lot of things; I could see that. I knew them both, and in fact had screwed with him, myself, though his wife doesn't know that! In any case, she picked up three men at a bar, brought them home and made her husband watch while she did everything she could think of with the three men, one at a time and all at once, keeping it up all evening and late into the morning hours.
She told me, admitted, I mean, that it was almost too much to take, but she'd been determined to teach her husband a really good lesson. Funny thing, right after she told me her story about that-well, a couple of days later, that is-I got in a private conversation with her husband and suggested we make the scene together, right then and there. He pushed me away, backed off. I stripped my breasts bare and started to expose what most men like to possess most, when he forcefully stopped me, saying it was no good, simply because nothing would make him cheat on his wife again. I knew the story but forced it out of him.
He said things like this: It had been terrible watching his wife going down on other men, seeing the expression on her face as one man dicked her, while she feasted on another and jerked off the third. She had even taken one in the rear while blowing another.
Maybe that would be the best way to stop a cheating husband, if you don't end up causing a divorce. Men have this idea, still, that it's okay for them to cheat, but God save the Queen if his wife does the same thing. That idea went out the window long before the Pill. Since the Pill came, the only thing that is hurt is a man's ego. But what about the woman's ego?
Ask me that? I ask it myself! I know, it sounds funny, in a way. Because I'm very guilty of taking what I can get-to hell with anybody.
After all, if a man wants to honor you with his love-tool and his wine of passion, I'm not about to turn it down. I'll take what I can get.
What makes me mad, sometimes, is that the man thinks he's taking advantage of me, getting the best part of the deal. It just isn't so!
But I have gotten a little sidetracked in telling about Carl.
Every chance I got when Mary, my cousin, wasn't looking or around to see, I flirted, thrusting out my breasts, sitting in poses that would attract Carl's eyes. And he couldn't keep from looking. In fact, he couldn't look enough. He would almost eat me up with his dark, probing eyes. I could almost read the thoughts in his mind. He was almost licking his lips to get a piece of my ass.
That's a terrible way of putting it, unless you are entering into anal intercourse. And it really doesn't make sense. On the other hand, if men said: "Boy, I'd like to give her a piece of me!" or something like that, it would make sense. Or a girl might say: "Gosh, I'd like to get a piece of that guy!"
Of course, it isn't a piece, in any case. A girl gets part of a man's body ... or, rather, what his body makes. And, oh, it's so good! She also gets to borrow, I like to think of it in that way, a big piece of a man's body; sorta gets to possess it.
They say a man possesses a woman. But that's all backwards. He attacks. He penetrates. He joins her. He is held captive to her sexy heaven. The woman possesses his love-stick and then is given the wonderful gift of his love-wine that actually blends with her body.
I heard somewhere that something of what a man's lovely gun gives a girl is absorbed into her flesh, actually becomes a real part of her-forever! Her cells blending with his. So she is the one who takes, is given, and who possesses. She really is the one who gets a piece of the action.
But Carl.
Oh, it was so good flirting with him. I was thirteen and knew enough about what a man had between his legs to want the full course. I was ready for loving; real, deep, penetrating loving and I couldn't think of a better man than Carl. Maybe it was because I didn't like my cousin; she had always been a little bit of a snob towards me; being older and all that didn't excuse it. She acted as if I were a kid. Well, I was a kid, in years, I guess; but I was also a woman in ideas-and had probably already gathered more sexual knowledge, first hand, through experience than many girls her age and older. There are so many women who hold out-wait until they are married; and even then they won't do some of the things I'd done up to that time.
How many women have never gone down on a man? I feel sorry for them!
Well, by thirteen I'd done some really wild things; especially for a girl my age. I'd done just about everything but get knifed by a man's lovestick. I needed to find out what that was like.
I guess I decided to make a pass at Carl the moment I saw him. They were married two years, and lived out of town. That's why I hadn't seen him before. I'd missed their wedding because I was sick at the time.
So, I meet Carl and say this is the man I want to have; he has to be the first!
Of course, I had no real way of knowing he would go with me. But a girl dreams; she gets some crazy thoughts.
I remember thinking, when he walked into our living room Boy, what a man! He'd simjdy be great!
I hated my cousin for having such a great looking guy for a husband. I didn't really know too much about how easy it is to seduce most men-married or not! They are easy, believe me!
But I did have this crazy notion that it would be fun to have him. He looked large between the legs. Well, he was big all over and he wore tight slacks. When I saw him in a small, low cut bathing suit, I just knew he had a real big one! Unless he was padding it with stuffing, like so many teen-age girls do with their bras so they look as developed as girls like me!
Some of the conversations I had with Carl, before it actually happened, might be interesting to recall. Of course, I can't remember the exact wording, but I can pretty much record the "meat" of the sessions.
We were alone, in the living room. I had on a tight sweater, pulled in tightly about my breasts and tucked it in deep into my shorts, which revealed my thighs almost up to my hot heaven. In fact, if those yellow shorts had been any smaller it would have been impossible to appear in public in them. You know, pubic hair and all that can't show. But I was pretty close to revealing even that in those shorts! I don't know why Mother and Dad let me wear them. Maybe they simply didn't think I knew what was going on and figured it was best to not complicate matters by instructing me at that age. And, then, come to think of it, they were beginning to have the trouble that split them for that short time I mentioned. Maybe they had problems of their own and didn't have time to consider what I did. That doesn't matter.
In any case, the shorts were tight. And you know what that does to a woman, if they are tight enough in the right place. The seams of such shorts are really quite naughty! They say fags design women's clothes. I don't think a fag had anything to do about making seams lined right up with the cut of a woman's love-lips. And, you men out there, don't think a girl isn't aware of it! You see a girl with tight slacks or shorts-or anything for that matter-that has a seam in the right place, that is revealing the lips of her love target, and you can be sure she's aware of what you're seeing and probably wants to make you hot and bothered all over.
And I knew plenty about what a man wanted most in a woman; his love-stick! I knew how the seam cut into my love-lips and I'd even carefully arrange them to make sure they were shown off to the best advantage.
So, here we are talking in the living room.
First it was general, family stuff, which made it possible for me to say things like:
"Gee, Carl, what a lucky woman Mary is, having you as a husband!" And I flirted with my eyes and lips and I made it sound like I had some kind of crush on him. But there wasn't anything emotional about it; not in that "crush" way. My emotions were all centered along the seam of my shorts.
I sat on the sofa in that way a woman can, sloppy-like, but sexy. My back was curved partly on the sofa back, and partly on the cushions, so that my fanny and hips were thrust out on the edge of the sofa, my thighs parted just slightly. My head rested on the edge of the sofa back. My elbows supported my body and my shoulders were kind of pulled back, on purpose, of course, so that my bustline was a thrusting twin peak, the bra very pointed so that the ends looked like sharp nipple points.
Carl couldn't keep his eyes off me!
I kept saying things like the above, making it obvious that I thought he was just great; the best there was, kind of.
He tried to smile in an amused, "adult" way. You know how adults can be with kids. But he was all too aware of me as a sexual female. He'd have had to be blind or a damned bastard fag not to notice.
Hell, I was in a position so that if there hadn't been anything on my body, a man could thrust in deeply into my heavenly depths without me doing anything other than opening my legs a little wider. But, of course, I would do more than that! Believe me! I'd wrap my legs around a man's body, hard as possible, crushing him with my soft hot thighs; embracing him so he couldn't get away, couldn't tear from my own responsive and active hips.
There's nothing more terrible than to have a man in you, doing all those wonderful things he can with his love-shaft, then by accident slip out. I get desperate, frightened that he won't get back in; that the whole thing will fizzle out. And that has happened, too!
But, anyway, I was in screwing position number ... who knows? He couldn't have missed the point. Much more, he turned out to be the kind of guy who delighted in getting the point ... of himself in a woman.
When I said: "I bet Mary's the happiest woman in the world-bet you make her really happy!" Carl sorta grinned, gave me a doubletake, as if not sure how I meant that statement. Naturally, he couldn't guess. I knew what I was saying; that what I'd meant was that in the sex department he was making her slap-happy!
Well, he said: "I hope she's happy."
Then I asked: "Guess she makes you happy too, right?"
Of course, I meant sexually, but he had no way of knowing that for sure; if at all.
He made the right kind of sound; meaning, he said the correct thing, though I don't know what. In any case, it sounded like he was happy with her.
I said, "I guess I'm just too big a girl to attract a man like you as a husband ... some guys don't dig big girls."
He looked at me, all over, my breasts most of all, because I couldn't have meant anything more than that. I was already twice as big there as his wife.
He grinned again and said: "It's not wrong for a girl to be well developed."
I perked up, as if surprised, and asked him: "You think I have a nice figure?"
"Of course you do," he assured me, "and I think you know it!"
It was my turn to give out with a knowing smile and I did the best I knew how. "The boys think I'm great!"
I said it like a woman would say: The boys think I'm a great lay!
The expression on Carl's face was funny, because he was fighting hard to keep from showing any awareness of any "innocent" double meaning to my statements. After all, I was just a kid.
How was I supposed to know I'd said something boldly suggestive?
Then he said: "You certainly must be popular. I imagine you'll have quite a fight on your hands when you get a little older."
I laughed and asked what he meant by a fight. It was the first real opening to get down to sex-talk; even if of a general nature, at first.
I remember he said, and I think I'm almost quoting to the word: "Boys will want to do more than look. And a girl who is attractive has to learn how to keep their hands off."
I asked him: "If you mean sexy ... I guess you can't blame the boys. I think it's flattering when I'm looked at that way. It's almost like being touched, physically, if you know what I mean."
He nodded, then said a little more boldly, "But you'll have a fight on your hands, believe me!"
So I got just as bold and said, sorta like I was kidding, but maybe meaning it: "Who wants to fight?"
I know he said this, exactly: "You better be careful who you say things like that to."
I grinned and told him: "I am very careful about that!"
I don't know what broke up the conversation. I think Mom and Mary came in from their shopping spree and that ended our talk.
The next day, though, when Mom and Mary were in the kitchen fixing dinner and Dad in his room writing, once again, I got alone with Carl. But to be truthful, I really don't know if it was my fault or his. He seemed just as anxious; and we both met in the backyard; on the patio. It was almost as if each of us were following the other. In any case, I was wearing the same kind of outfit, except for the top, which was a boy's shirt, open at the top so that the swell and dip of my breasts were revealed just enough to show I didn't pad myself, because it wasn't necessary.
Carl's first remark was something to the effect: "Susan, I'm worried about you."
I asked why, sitting opposite him, almost in the same slouching position as the day before. But this time he couldn't help getting a full front view. We were sitting on patio chairs, just about four feet away from each other. By stretching my legs out I could have touched his-maybe even pressed my foot against his manhood. I've done that, too, naked, of course, teasing a man's lovely hard peter with my toes; some guys like that a lot ... and you have so much fun with his sex-bags under that big stick.
But, anyway, Carl was worried about me and I wanted to know why and he said: "Well, to be frank, Susan, you are far too ... well, for a girl your age, you are highly developed and ... bluntly, you should be careful, because something terrible might happen. I don't think you know what it does to some men to see a girl as attractive as you are, dressed in that manner. Look at the way you sit! And those shorts are just a little on the tight side, don't you think?"
I licked my lips with the point on my tongue, considering him carefully before answering, then I said: "What makes you think they're too tight?"
I managed an innocent, baby-doll voice that would have knocked almost any man off his rocket and into my panties, under the right circumstances. Yet, I had also done it in such a way that he might think I wasn't being quite so bold.
A girl that age, if she knows what she is doing, can do some wild things. Adults ... well, it goes completely over their heads, because they can't believe you know what you know!
He said that my shorts gave a man the wrong ideas.
I asked what that might be.
He couldn't keep his eyes off my body and wasn't able to meet my gaze when he said: "Certain men might get the wrong idea, if you were older. Just believe me. You'll find out what I mean when you get a little older."
I laughed and said: "I know what you mean, Carl. You mean, don't you, that my shorts are so tight that a man can imagine all sorts of things."
He gaped at me as if I'd slapped his face.
So I simply said: "Some girls mature fast for their age. I think girls like me learn a lot adults don't realize. I honestly do know that I dress in a way that gives men and boys ideas. What's really wrong with that? Let them have the ideas; it's thrilling to know that I'm attractive to the male sex."
Saying it that way must have jarred Carl, but it made the point exactly the way I wanted it to; he began wondering just how much I did know and just how much experience I might have had-if any.
He simply said: "It's dangerous, believe me."
I mocked him with a wink and said: "I think it is exciting to live dangerously. Nobody is going to do anything to me I don't want them to."
He shook his head, met my gaze and told me very seriously. "There are a lot of things men can do that you wouldn't like. Don't be smart! Just be glad you aren't my daughter!"
I was delighted by that last remark, because I could then say: "I certainly am glad! This wouldn't be so much fun ... otherwise, would it?"
I don't know what he might have said, but again we were interrupted and I didn't get a chance to talk to him until two days later. But every chance I had I tried sexy things with my face and lips and tongue and eyes and body every time he looked my way when nobody else was noticing.
When we passed in the hallway one evening, I managed to brush my breasts against his arm. I'm sure he felt a quick flash of excitement. My nipples went up like fire. I disappeared into my bedroom and stripped naked and masturbated myself silly, thinking about having it with Carl.
The next conversation was the magic one, believe me. I guess he could just take so much; ignore so much. And, then, things moved very rapidly, partly because of the circumstances and partly because I decided it was ripe to make my move a little more bluntly.
Even at that age I knew how to handle myself as a woman; and how to handle a man. But then, some historically famous women weren't any older than me when they started on their male conquests.
I talked Carl into taking me for a drive. He said he was interested in seeing the town. Mary wanted to visit with Mom and Daddy was at his publisher's office. I talked Carl into letting me go with him. He played it cool, I'll say that. Only after Mom and Mary backed up the idea did he submit. And believe me, that was the day for total submitting.
Once in the car, I simply said: "You really wanted to take me with you, didn't you, Carl?"
He gave me a deathly serious, tight-mouthed look and then said: "What do you think?"
So I told him: "I don't think you really want to see the town, do you?"
I guess the directness of my statement unnerved Carl, because he cursed, saying: "Damned, what kind of man do you think I am?"
I told him that I didn't have any way of knowing from personal experience.
That choked him! He drove the car down the street as if running after or away from a fire. He didn't say anything for a long time, not until we were several miles away from home, and his wife-as if she were able to hear even at a distance of miles what we were about to say to each other.
His first comment was in a controlled and careful tone of voice. It went something like this:
"Susan, you've made it pretty obvious that you know more about life than a girl your age should. My concern is simply: Why have you gone out of your way to let me know?"
He was talking like an adult to a child. I snapped through that very quickly by saying: "Don't give me that kind of stuff. You know damned well, but you're chicken to find out!"
His head whipped around to face me and there was a mixture of anger and shock and something else-which I guess, from my later experience with men, was passion, hot and almost uncontrollable. Boy was it fun!
I tingled all over; because now we either got down to doing the real thing or it would fizzle. Hell, I'd been having orgasms every night while mentally picturing his face and body. They say boys are the only ones who can imagine a climax with a girl-who-isn't-there. Well, maybe I'm different.
"You're jail-bait!" he snapped as if cursing with the most vile four letter words.
I mocked that with a laugh and said: "Then you really do want me!"
Almost under his breath he said: "Damn, you little sexy bitch!"
Very calmly I asked: "Does that mean you want me?"
He pulled the car over to the side of the street and killed the engine, turned and faced me, his face a contortion of fury.
"You've teased and taunted me. You've done everything a mature woman could do ... and all a mature man would find impossible to ignore. What do you take me for? I'm a married man. You're my wife's cousin. You're not only underage, you're just a damned stupid, sexy kid that doesn't know what it's all about. You've driven me half out of my mind. And you know it."
My, "Of course," so sweetly and smilingly stated jarred him more than if I'd said: "I want you to fuck me!"
He sighed, then said: "This is crazy and impossible! You're just a kid and I want you, all right. I want you so damned much that I can hardly control myself from taking you. So, now you know. What more do you want? You've proven your point. And I should turn you over my knee and spank the hell out of you."
I told him, in as sexy a way as possible, "Maybe you should ... at least you'd be touching me."
When he didn't say anything to that, I leaned forward, gently placed the palm of my hand on the side of his cheek and said as winningly as possible: "Carl, you wouldn't believe how much I do know about men. And I really do want you so very much!"
He jerked my hand away from his face and for a moment I thought he was about to slap me. Then, suddenly, I was yanked into his ai-ms and he covered my lips with his. I parted mine immediately to announce what I wanted and he thrust in deep, almost choking my throat with his tongue. His hands went against my breasts, hot and desperate and feeling so thrilling that I couldn't control myself. I raced my fingers down between his legs and discovered a huge erected shaft struggling against his pants-and did I explore all over!
When the kiss was finished, I kept my hand resting on his wonderful sexual member.
He looked down and gasped in sudden realization of what I was doing.
"You little ... bitchy sex-child!" And he moaned in pure anguish and pleasure.
I said, feeling it was the right moment to show him just how much I knew and how little he had to worry about doing something against my will: "I've touched men's cocks before-and done more than that, Carl. You're built so big and large ... I want to feel it naked in my hand ... and so much more. I want to know your lovely hard manhood as only a woman can."
That's when he moaned and said: "If you want to have my cock, I'll give it to you any way you want, damn it. I'll screw the hell out of that body of yours!"
"Where?"
He started the car as I released his lovely hard shaft, and then swinging out into traffic, he told me: "You leave that to me!"
We drove out of town, he found a side road out in the country. I helped by telling him how to get to a private place I knew. He cursed, but took the directions.
I was so hot by the time we reached the brush surrounded gully that it felt as if my pants were burning. I shook inside and my breasts hurt, my face was flushed. My hands trembled when we got out of the car.
The place was lovely, because there were a lot of bushes for hiding a naked couple, and a lot of soft green grass. The sun was bright and beautiful. Birds sang in the distance as we found the small area best suited for our purposes.
We hadn't touched once since the decision had been made. Now Carl turned to me and said: "Get one thing straight, you aren't the first girl I've had . .-. and not the last. I can't help myself. If you hadn't been who you were this would have happened long before. So don't get smart-assed!"
I slowly pulled my sweater over my head, then smiling up at him, while he feasted on my bra-covered breasts, which brimmed fully over and around the tightly strapped white cloth.
"I don't care how many girls you've had or will have. I just want you to be good ... real good. I want you like I've never wanted anything in my life!"
Carl didn't know I was a virgin until he penetrated me, so everything he said was directed towards a teen-age nymph who he thought had already been bombed out in her cherry.
He started to unbutton his shirt while saying: "I'll teach you some tricks no man has taught you ... and you'll never forget me, I'll promise you that!"
I undid my bra and my breasts burst free, not dropping even a fraction of an inch. They were young and full and big, their nipples are nice and cherry pink-and were they tight and hard!
He stopped undressing to gaze at my breasts. He looked as if he wanted to eat my tits right off my body.
His voice was husky and sexy when he said: "You have wonderful breasts!"
I laughed happily and started removing my skirt, telling him: "I have wonderful things all over that are so excited, Carl. You don't know how long I've wanted this. The moment I saw you, I just knew something like this must happen. I dreamed of it every night. You're such a beautiful man!"
By the time I was stripped down to my panties, he was opening his slacks and I began to tremble, waiting to see his shaft that would make me a full woman. But I wanted to touch it first, hold it, caress and fondle every inch of his sexual organ. I wanted to kiss and envelope it within the depths of my mouth.
But most of all, I trembled all over with wanting to know what it would feel like when it entered the depths of my body. What would it be like to embrace a man's erected shaft within the walls of my vagina? Now I would find out. Now I would know what it was all about.
He peeled away his pants and, before he could step out of them, I lost total control of my actions and wasn't able to wait longer. I could see the stiff long shape of his thick shaft against his jock, struggling to be free and I had to free it.
I stepped right up to him, slipped my fingers under the elastic of his jocks and, trembling anxiously, pulled the cloth down from around his beautifully erected penis. And I moaned at the sight. I moaned deep in my throat and felt it all along my spine and within the warmth of my sexual chambers. I felt that moan all over, like a flood of pleasure making me so weak that I fell to my knees almost in a dead faint before him. I don't even remember embracing his lovely fleshy crown with my lips. I just became aware of its tip against my moving tongue.
He gasped in surprise and made sounds that excited me so deeply that I almost came. He was by then lacing his fingers in my hair, caressing the back of my head with loving tenderness and passionate excitement all at once.
It spurred me on to such wildness that I attempted to envelope the total fullness of him, to fill myself ... all my insides at once ... with the completeness of his love-shaft. What my tongue did, I really don't know. But it never was more active even in verbal conversation.
Suddenly, Carl gently but firmly, pulled my head away from him. Then we somehow were stretching out on the ground, the grass cool against the naked flesh of my back.
Carl hovered over me, feasting on my body and breasts with his eyes. Then he put his hands on each of my breasts, pulling them close together and lowered his head, covering one nipple with moist lips, flicking his tongue round and round, up and down, back and forth across its point. Then he moved to the other breast and worshipped it. He moaned and said how beautiful my breasts were, how lovely they tasted and how excited it made him.
I wanted to hold his prick, but couldn't. I felt desperately helpless, unable to do anything but submit to his love-making. Finally, I found something to do with my hands. I lifted my hips and peeled my panties down. He sensed the movement and his right hand reached down and helped me.
Then he was leaving my breasts, lips racing down over my stomach, tongue tracing a path along my sides, then my thighs and legs, and he almost tongue-kissed my panties down over my ankles and then off.
Then he worshipped my legs, moving upwards toward my thighs and, suddenly, I became electrified when he planted a voluptuous tonguekiss between my already erotically tortured lips of love. He gasped like an animal and went wild, almost devouring what I wanted his wonderful shaft to enter in total.
I was writhing and clawing at the grass, sobbing and gasping in deep, tortured breaths. I remember almost screaming, "Oh, no ... no more!"
I opened my thighs wider and he lifted up like a mountain over me, his arms became pillars on each side of my head, his hard shaft found a resting place along the lips of my extended vagina.
Oh, how exciting it is to have a man move his shaft against you, driving you crazy. I can thrill myself to orgasm on top of a man who has already spent himself out, feeling his sexual flesh against mine and just moving up and down against it.
And Carl had good control. I mean, the control was so good, so wonderful that it was torture. I was screaming all over for him to enter me, to penetrate my flesh; but he tortured me with his long thick shaft; with the crown, caressing my moist sexual lips like some huge, soft finger-but so wonderfully different.
Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer and I reached between us, down to his shaft, grabbed it with my fingers and raised my hips so that the opening to my burning heaven caught upon the hot crown of his penis. Then I thrust up as hard and fast as I could, not knowing how much pain might be involved. Maybe I'd broken my cherry before, by fingering, or maybe I wasn't the kind of woman that has much of one ... I don't know. Maybe I was just too far out of my head with passion and lusting that I didn't experience anything but a climax upon his first penetration. He was big and thick and long, oh, so long, and I felt as if he had stabbed me almost through the stomach.
When he lifted part way out, I moaned and gasped and thrilled like I'd never known it was possible to thrill. He entered again and the sensations were just so much that I cried out and sucked in an anguished breath, as if my life depended upon it. My mouth was open and suddenly Carl leaned over and thrust his tongue into me. I sucked it so hard that I hurt him terrible.
Then he was moving so fast up and down, in and out of my sexual cavity that I experienced several comes. They came closer and closer together, building to a final real climax, like I'd never experienced before, when he made the last, final penetration that fountained the wines of his flesh within the confines of my body.
He groaned when he withdrew. Then Carl was lying on his back beside me and I lay there half-conscious for a long time.
Finally, I rolled over close to him and felt between his legs, abruptly wanting to worship this man who had given me heavenly pleasure for the first time. Unable to control myself, I tongued his stomach and then found his love-tool. His hands clamped about my head, tenderly, but with a sense of excitement that let me know he wanted me to do what I wanted to do so much myself.
I've done such things to men many times since, of course. I've performed fellatio on men and boys, but not after intercourse.
It was simply delicious. There is something about doing that kind of thing to a man. And Carl enjoyed it. He loved it very much. Later I learned that Mary wouldn't do things like that to him; so you can understand how much he dug my love-making. I hadn't known how to move right during intercourse, but it hadn't bothered either of us. But I did know exactly what to do with a man's penis when it came to Frenching it and loving it and enveloping it as if the thing were some kind of food that would melt caress by caress, kiss by kiss.
But it wasn't fellatio that counted most that day. It was that penetration, the first I ever experienced and the first husband I ever seduced. It was later that I told him he was my first man.
Carl nodded a little seriously and said: "I knew when I entered ... not until then, Susan. I never would have-"
But I stopped his words with my hand on his lips, saying: "I wanted you to be first. If it hadn't been you today, it might have been somebody else, some kid who didn't know how, or some man who didn't care. You loved me as a man should love a woman; you made it so good. I wanted it this way."
Of course, we kissed and he fondled me and we made love again, in several fashions. I told him I liked a sixty-nine position and he was a willing partner in that wonderful event. Like I said, Mary didn't do things like that to him. I think maybe that's the reason he cheated on her; he wanted his love-shaft worked over by a woman's lips and tongue; worshiped orally.
I guess I'll never get over that first time, feeling a man's hard penetrating my flesh. I don't think I'm over-sexed, though some men have acted as if they think I'm the best thing on legs, in a skirt. There have been many who couldn't come near giving me enough orgasm, but there have been plenty who were so good at it that one penetration could give all the joy in the world to me, physically, and I'd find myself too overwhelmed and thankful to keep from servicing their lovely manhood, feasting both physically and visually upon their throbbing shafts, thrilling to the sight and touch and taste of what has given me so much pleasure.
Carl taught me how it was to be a woman that afternoon; but it wasn't the last time he possessed me. I don't think he could have kept away from me if Mary had held a gun at his head. Mary just wasn't willing to do the things I'd do to him!
That afternoon was finished after I'd given him for the second time what he called: "The greatest honor a woman can give a man, after intercourse." He seemed to think I was just fantastic. Maybe I was. But, quite honestly, while I know I'm good to a man, and aware of what turns a lover on, willing to enter into any kind of sexual activity with an open-minded excitement, it would be foolish to think I'm the best female sex machine alive-at least to every man. I've learned too much about sex and men to think that! Some people have strange bags, and no matter how great you might be in bed to one man, you m'ght turn another off, completely.
I admit to having failures. But no woman likes to even think about such things.
Carl was more than a success in my record book. I don't really remember when we got together next-meaning, of course, how many hours were involved. It was at least a day, maybe two. It seemed forever, believe me. But nobody suspected what had or could go on between the two of us, and Carl managed to get me alone in the house one afternoon and we had a gay-old time.
The first time he wanted me to use my lips on him, all the way, but it was the kind of thing where he was sexing me with his fingers, so I got a lot of goodies, too. He got excited pretty fast after getting his first come. We took on a sixty-nine position and continued until both of us were really steaming to bang our bodies the conventional way. I couldn't wait. When he penetrated ... well, it was even better than the first times and it lasted a very long time because he had released his more basic, first frustrations through my performance of fellatio and our sixty-nine position and was able to keep up for quite a long while. I thought I would go out of my mind, really, simply out of my ever-loving mind. It was that good!
The last sexual contact I had with Carl was shortly before they were leaving town to return home. He said to me: "Susan, just once, because there'll never be another chance." And he exposed his lovely penis and I knew what he wanted; my lips upon his stick of passion. There was no chance to have intercourse this time, but it was a pleasure to do service to the man who had made me a woman and taught me the joys of possessing a man's love-tool where it can do the most good.
Ever since then I've never been able to understand how any woman couldn't like sex; couldn't like a man's penis tricking up her love-lips. Prostitutes call it a "trick" or call the man a "mark". I call a man's penetration more of a tricking up of my moist sex-lips; because I'm sure I get as much if not a hell of a lot more, from what he does to me that he does from what I do to him.
Insofar as Carl is concerned, I screwed the hell out of him a couple of years later, when I went to visit them in San Francisco, where they were living then. Of course, Mary never knew. It was easy, by then. I saw him last time just a year ago. He was bitter and his ego was shattered and having another session with me, in a motel room, turned out to be a life-saver, so he admitted to me.
It turned out that Mary had had an affair with another man. He had caught her in their bedroom one afternoon, when coming home early, on her knees before a mutual friend of theirs, her mouth feasting upon the man's penis.
I remember him saying, after having me do that to him: "It made me sick. She'd never done anything like that to me. Then to see her doing it to another man. It didn't matter that she claimed later that she'd wanted to do it to me for some time but was afraid of choking me." They were in the process of arranging a separation. Because of their son they lived together at that time. Their divorce is final, now; and I could have him any time I want, but I'm really not interested.
I'll love Carl for the rest of my life for that first few penetrations that made me a woman. I'll remember each following session-each with my sexual knowledge more matured-with great pleasure, but now that he's divorced, somehow, it doesn't seem the same.
I guess, so it has been suggested to me by the man helping me with this book, that maybe it was the thrill of taking the man away from my cousin Mary that made it so impossible to resist. Nonetheless it is certainly funny how people are and how things happen.
If his wife had been willing to perform her wifely duty, their marriage would have been successful, and he'd probably never cheated; nor would I have experienced him as my first real lover. They might still be married, too.
A woman who loves her husband should be willing to do anything to keep him. Any husband that strays into the arms of somebody like me is really not totally to blame-and I surely don't blame myself! If the wife keeps her husband happy in the bedroom, he won't seek other beds to gain the sexual delights necessary to make his sex-life full and rewarding. Of course, if there's something wrong with the man, himself, if he has some perversion for getting female flesh, to see what's new-that's something else. He's really hung-up. But for a girl like me, all the more fun, because then you have something to really enjoy and play sexual games with.
Like I said, I like what a man has between his legs and there are a lot of ways to enjoy it. I'm the all-time fun girl who will make the most of what is offered.
But Carl wasn't the last man or boy I possessed as a teen-ager. There were others; and, I guess, some are worth telling about.
CHAPTER FOUR - AND THEN THERE WERE MORE THRILLS TO COME
I can't really say what is best: a young kid who doesn't know the score, a mature man who knows all the tricks, or an older man who has to have a lot of work done to get him started. I mean, by that last bit-where a girl has to really turn-on strong, even dominate the session, in order to get his little worn-out tool up and big, thrilled and throbbing with hot blood.
But those are kicks; the kind of thrills that aren't necessarily the best in the world, but fun, because it is good to see how excited you can make any man. When you have some guy almost falling all over you to excite him, and you have to do some really exciting work on him, it's fun to see how far you can drive his tool to new performances of sexual ability.
I guess the first man I had in that way was probably the third or forth male I possessed within the confines of my hot orifice.
After Carl there was a driving need to have another penis working itself in and out of my vagina. They say when a girl has her first man it's the opening of a new world of experience to her that is sometimes uncontrolled.
I knew a woman who was married, her husband was in the service. She'd been a virgin before marrying him, and wouldn't do anything more than neck-everything above the neck, at that!-until they were married. Her wedding night was very unhappy; very bad, because when he popped her cherry it was all pain. At first they had a terrible sex-life; and only on weekends when he could get leave. She got to the point where she almost hated to go to bed with him.
Then suddenly something happened, she told me, that flipped her sexual being into full-blasting fire and she never could understand what that was. I guess it was an awakening of her natural desires that were frightened off by the first painful sexual experience, when she'd expected so much, on her wedding night. What was sad about the whole thing is that she really awakened as a woman only a few weekends before he was sent to Japan. She was faithful for three months, then, as she put it:
"I couldn't stand it any longer. Frank's brother came over one evening to help me move from the larger apartment to a smaller one. We talked and had some drinks and I said it was impossible to understand how Frank would be able to remain faithful. Frank had admitted that he probably wouldn't.
"Things happened after that and I was unable to control myself when it became obvious that we'd do it."
Well, she told it something like that. She just went crazy with her husband's brother. Later she learned that her husband didn't care and oddly enough it all worked out just fine.
Funny how people are, really. Her husband had asked his brother to see to it that she was kept happy; though, apparently, he didn't mean in a sexual way. But he seemed to think it was just fine, especially since she was keeping it in the family. She admitted that it was difficult when her husband returned to adjust to him; but she learned in the process that there is a difference between love-sex and pure sex-sex.
Which brings about my point, I guess, in mentioning her story: I can't see what the difference is. Maybe there's something emotionally wrong with me, or maybe I've simply not met a man that I could really fall for in that way. Of course, I'm still young enough to not have met Mister Right, so to speak. I sometimes think I never will.
Yet, there have been crushes. Like with Carl. And, I guess, like with the second penis I possessed in the total way a woman was meant to.
The boy's name was Tom and he was fifteen. He was not so great looking, but not so bad looking, either. Funny thing, that's just about all I remember about his looks-there have been so many since then! But I remember he had blonde hair and that he had a redder penis than Carl's. He was awkward at first, but he learned fast. I'd been turned-on full by Carl and when he was gone I simply had to have another big thrill throbbing between my sex-lips.
Tom lived down the street, we knew each other pretty well. He liked to look at me; but, then most of the boys liked to look at me. I never did anything sexually with him until after Carl left town with his stupid wife.
Then one afternoon, maybe a few weeks later, I met Tom on the street after school and we walked together, talking and I couldn't help notice the way he couldn't keep his eyes off me.
I really don't remember the conversation that led up to sex. I only remember some of my most striking thoughts. I kept talking and thinking, here's somebody who has something between his legs that I want and it couldn't be all that hard to interest him in putting it between my legs and up the channel of my love-lips.
If I'd done it to a man, much older than me, and if that man had had every reason to keep from doing it to me-what could a young kid like Tom do to resist?
I kept thinking thoughts like that, getting flushed all over. I didn't feel shy in any way. I do remember saying something like: "Ever do it to a girl?" I don't know what wTe had been talking about, but I think it was about girls and boys. I remember him saying something like:
"You look so much older for your age." I don't think it was right before I asked him if he'd had a girl before. No, come to think of it, I believe he had said it several minutes before. Funny, if you try to think back, you can remem her details that at first don't seem to still be in your memory.
He had also said, just a little before I asked him the blunt question, something to the effect that: "With your looks you could get any boy to date you, no matter what age." I guess he was leading up to a date, maybe, I don't know. I never found out because I asked if he'd ever had a girl before.
He said something about having dated some and I said that it was fun to make-out. He said he thought so, too. I said that sometimes I wanted to make-out with a boy so much it was hard to control myself. He said I was too young to know what it was all about. I got mad and said: "You're too young to know the difference!"
We stared at each other for a while. I stood so that my breasts were almost touching his chest (thrust out) hands on my hips, and challenged him by saying I bet I knew more about making out than he did. If he wanted to find out, I was more than willing to prove it.
I wish I could remember more about what happened after that, but I can't, really. I can't remember his reaction because everything blurred between that point to the moment when I had my hands between his legs, and we were in his folks' home-they both worked, thank God! and he had the most shocked expression on his face. I all but laughed. If it hadn't been for the fact that his penis was up hard and felt so exciting, I might have laughed.
I don't remember even kissing him, at any time-I mean, in the way kids kiss each other. You know what I mean; what they call "making out", meaning necking, not much more, most of the time, either.
I don't remember much of what happened between touching his hard prick, stretched tight under his pants, and having it exposed in the palm of my hand. By that time I think he had gotten the message that things were going to be far better than he'd expected. And was it fun being so aggressive and devilish with him; he just didn't know what to do with me, except follow!
Well, to be truthful, it wasn't anything like I'd hoped for. He was good and all that. I enjoyed the whole thing, from loving-up his gun to feeling it jerking inside my burning hole that needed it so damned much that I was furious when he went off too soon and couldn't keep it in. But we did it a little later, having a ball, before I went down on him, full blast, until he was big enough to get in me deep. I straddled his hips and pumped away on his man-thing. This time he stayed up until I got all my goodies.
We got together many times after that, but it never was much of a sensation. I finally got to the point where I'd simply use his stick when there wasn't anything better around in the offering. It was cruel, I guess, but he got his fun with an all-around fun-girl who was learning more and more tricks.
One was from a man. Well, he was more than a mere man.
I just have to point out something at this time. There are so many people running around so hung-up or hung-low, depending on their sex, because they were taught sex was wrong or dirty. Now, I have my own kind of hangpups, sure. But what I'm getting at here is that if you're going to have your fun, have it and don't make a big deal about the whole thing. Know what I mean?
Now you take girls who just freeze-up when a guy says any word that sounds like bed! Yet they might be the biggest damned whored-up sex seekers in the world. They gotta have a reason. They have to say things to themselves like, "Well, it wasn't planned that way ... we just lost control!" They won't go into a guy's bedroom be cause that's putting it on the line and they have this kind of idea about sex, and admitting it is not exactly what they want!
Hell, I know a girl ... one? Maybe there are more ... but there's this one that takes the Pill, to be safe, because she simply adores screwing; but if a guy makes a pass at her she's a fighting cat, blocking all his passes until he "simply overwhelms" her. She even admitted to me that it was fun to play with a man's "prick"-a word she wouldn't use with a man, heaven forbid!
She liked kissing her lover's "big exciting hard" and "blowing away double-time on it", yet everyone she does this to, she told me, she'll look up into his eyes, like an innocent child, as if shocked by her own passions, saying: "I've never done anything like this before!" And the suckers fall for the line.
Lies, all lies. Oh, well, I guess I've used some in my time, too. Sometimes you have to play the game in order to get the goodies.
So, like I was saying, games, and people being hung-up, using excuses, finding cop-outs for their natural acts of sex-and this man, old enough to be my father!
Maybe it's because I was so young and willing and just bursting all over with hot-pants, and he was older-way older-and should have been experienced enough in life to take what comes naturally to a man and woman, without having a sick cop-out. Plus, he didn't want to use a rubber!
Sure, I was a kid. Sure. So I'm not supposed to know about rubbers? Hell, I couldn't wait to get me some other kind of safety device. Carl had told me some about such things. Though I didn't mention it in telling about him. But I'd known about them before, from girls, who learn things, one way or another, somewhere along the line, maybe from an older sister. Doesn't matter.
Well, a girl doesn't want to get some bastard I mean, developing inside her body! Of course, now I use the Pill. There's nothing like raw flesh inside you and the feel of all those goodies when the orgastic gun goes off. Like a girl told me, she dug male-honey. More about her a bit later!
Let's not go into details about how and why it happened with, what'll I call the guy? Peter? Sounds like a perfect name. Maybe it was his name, I don't know. He had a big one-I mean a lovely, big, well-formed peter.
And here he is, naked as sin, the image of lust saying how he really was going to enjoy banging my flesh, because he liked young "cunt" the most. I remember him looking at me, as if he couldn't get enough look-sees and saying:
"You got the most beautiful tits I've seen, the loveliest pussy a man has had the pleasure to be offered."
Then his hands were all over me at once and I was handling some lovely sized meat between his legs. We Frenched and did a lot of sexy touches and caresses and I ended up between his legs, about to give him something special with my lips and he pulled my head away, groaning.
He carried me to the bed, lay me down and was about to really stick me, naked-style and I yelled: "Get protection!" And my legs crossedtight!
What scared me was that it was right between my periods and I knew it was damned dangerous to play sex without protection at that time of the month! I'd managed to get some vaginal jellies and foams and even one of those things to stuff up inside, solid-like, but didn't have any with me that day.
I had to physically fight him off, saying: "No rubber, no sex, that way!"
Well, we had a real argument, but I put him straight. He kept saying that it was no fun to use any kind of birth control. And I said it was no fun to sex it up and end up with a bastard.
He went into his bathroom and I saw him pull a drawer open and it was obvious as sin that he had a good supply of rubbers. I got up from the bed and joined him, saying: "Let me do it!"
I took the rubber and slowly rolled it over his lovely big erection. It even hardened stiffer under my fingers. We screwed right there on the bathroom floor.
Oh, was he good at it, too. He lasted and lasted and lasted and with every big, voluptuous penetration of his thick meaty rubberized shaft I got higher and higher. I had three comes I could count before he started convulsively twitching inside me after a grunting-hard thrust that gave me his total love-stick, but not his goodies!
A few moments after that, he got up, removed the rubber, dropped it in the toilet and went and lay on his back on the bed.
I was all torn up inside, wanting some more good old fashion loving. My mouth was tingling all over, my lips burning and trembling. I'm very oral; so damned oral. My mouth watered, for the feel of his naked flesh responding passionately in full erected orgastic convulsions to my orally sophisticated loving.
I just had to go down on him!
And before you could say screw, I found myself smothered where a man's real feast is located.
I just love to talk sex with men or women. Which brings me to what I wanted to tell about this girl-the first I loved up in a lesbian way. Not about what happened so much as the way she talked. Because we had a lot of fun talking sex, while we were sexing each other up at the same time. Actually, I didn't think much about it being lesbian love, only that it was better than doing it to myself, and fun to do it to another girl, and it's kicks all the way to have your breasts against a woman's breasts-just like it's kicks to rub your tits against a man's hairy chest.
I remember it was about this time that I was talking to this girl for the first time about sex. I think it was when I stayed at her home. We were good friends. Her dad really had a hard-on for me, I think. But nothing happened. I teased and enjoyed the side-long glances. Still I don't think he would have done anything to me.
But, talking about this girl. It turned out she had done it with a boy or two; she was a year older than me, but that didn't make any difference between us. We were highly matured in much the same way and we did things to one another that girls aren't supposed to do. But when it comes to sex, I really don't care all that much where I get my kicks. Naturally, I dig a man best of all, but what are you going to do when a gun isn't around to service your holster?
The thing is that this girl had an interesting way of talking. I mean, some of the things she said I liked. We talked sex, like I said. We both knew we'd stopped being virgins. So one night we talked real blunt. And I guess I pointed out earlier that women can get right down to the meat of the thing, between themselves, especially.
Men would be surprised to listen in on "girl talk"-! don't think they'd learn anything new, but they'd be simply shocked to discover we know all the lovely dirty names and we use them liberally! You have to be careful with men because they think you aren't supposed to know such things. And that makes me mad. But more of that later, maybe.
I'm going to go into the details of our conversation. After all, my mind isn't like some kind of tape-machine that records and plays back conversations exactly how they happened.
I don't even remember much about how the girl looked, other than long blonde hair and tiny little breasts that were fun to suck on and a nice little "snatch", as she called it. I had some fun with that, I'll tell you!
Well, the thing is, she used all the common words that until only a short time ago weren't publishable. You can guess most of them. One of the most common words was "fuck"; she liked saying it. But it's the other types of things that I want to relate here.
When fingering her or kissing what most men and lesbians enjoy kissing most, she would giggle, near climax, or rather while building up to a good thrill, say: "The snatch is yet to came!" It was funny and broke me up so much that I stopped.
I've remembered that one.
We were talking about sex and men, like I said, and she was telling me things like: "Boy, poking is fun. And there's nothing more lovely than a man's honey!"
Not being quite sure what she meant by "honey," though having some pretty good ideas about what she meant, I asked: "What's that?"
"The juice!" she explained as if I was a square.
So I had to save face and said: "I thought maybe you meant his prick!"
She laughed at me, shivering all over as if what I'd said had excited her.
"No!" she told me in a whisper. "And anyway, I call that thing his poker! And every time anybody talks about poker-you know, the card game-I can hardly keep from laughing." I wanted to know why she called it a poker and why it was so funny. And she explained: "For one, he's poking her with his poke-her! And when he's poked-her long enough with his poker, she gets all that lovely passion honey."
So you can see how much fun she was. We would talk like that four hours and do things to each other, too. But there were other lesbian things that happened that were more fun and exciting. And since she's brought the subject up-I mean, remembering about her-I think it would be great fun to tell about some of the different names people give for the greatest of all human sports.
And that's a subject in itself, deserving a totally complete section all its own.
CHAPTER FIVE -SOME NAMES FOR THE SEX GAME
Everybody has heard the expression, said in heat-anger, rather than passion-"screw you!" But I heard a different form of it, said in hot, excited, lusting passion, and I think it's great Simply a great way of saying something real sexy.
"Screw blue!" A young man, well, eighteen, just my age at the time, while really giving me the bang-bangs-an expression I learned from another person!-suddenly started saying: "Oh, you cute bitching screw-blue." He was really getting excited and was huffing and puffing and really turning me inside out with his lovely meat; he had style and skill and could move it around in me in such wonderful ways! And I wasn't at all inactive, either! You can bet your best thrill on that! And as things got better and hotter, and sorta reaching out of control, he cried: "You're screwing blue! I'm screw-blue over you!"
There's been a lot of guys that really were able to screw to almost blue in the face before and since then; and he was doing a pretty good joy-job of it to me right then!
I'd met him in high-school and we'd dated some in our senior year and this was the first time we'd smacked it to each other. It was, thinking back, I believe our third date and I was simply out of my mind by then to have a piece of his action. He was good, in every way, with an amazing hairy chest for his age, which I just loved moving my nipples against. It's thrilling to a girl. Those curly hairs tickling and teasing and sexing her up with excitement!
Oh that third date, I remember, after a movie that was so terrible that neither of us could stand sitting through it, we sat in his car, where he'd parked out about a block away from the theater on a dark side-street, lined with big trees. Well, it was only about nine-thirty and neither of us was ready to call it a night!
I sat there in the car wanting to tell him, "Let's make the scene, all the way!" but not quite sure how to do it. Not that I hadn't had enough experience. But, like I said before, even I will play the childish game, if it seems necessary. And for some reason I have quite honestly forgotten, it seemed necessary. Maybe I liked the guy better than I thought; I don't know.
After getting the "screw-blue" full-works from him, honey and all, I was bombed-out, head-over-heels mad about what he had between his legs and wanting more of all his sweet male-honey! And I don't mean, just that night, either. I didn't want to let loose of such a good thing! I get that way about men and boys and anything that can sex-up my hot centers in the style he demonstrated.
I mean! he was good! A real screw-blue bang banger! Like that first girl I played sex-games with would have said: He had a great poker and knew how to really poke-her just fantastic.
But, sitting in the car, wanting to say, let's do it, and not knowing if it would blow any future chances of finding out what he had between his legs that was different from other guys, I was really in a kind of cold sweat. Like I said, he was great in every way; looks and manner. A real gentleman. His family was rich; he had a sports car-shiny and new! He had muscles all over and his most important one was real big and real hard and strong and powerful. I liked touching his naked flesh, the hard steel rippling of his muscles. But ... I didn't know how that was until later.
So we sat there and he offered me a cigarette. I seldom smoked, but my sexual juices were on fire! I took the cigarette, then. On impulse, I twirlled it in my mouth, in and out, like a girl might do with a man's real smoker! Another word I heard someplace along the way But I did it sorta casually, as if it were an absent-minded act. He caught the action, but I don't think he was sure it was meant to suggest ever-loving fellatio.
But, as he lighted his cigarette, after servicing mine with the expensive lighter his folks had given him on his birthday-so he told me-I said: "There's something about smoking. I like the feel of a cigarette between my lips! I guess I'm very sensitive there."
He looked at me and grinned saying: "One would never know it from the good-night kisses!"
We'd only kissed at my folks doorstep; and not real passion-kisses.
I laughed, brightly, I guess, and told him, as if it were some deep-dark secret: "I'm afraid to kiss you the real way!"
He quite casually and directly asked: "Why?"
"It would be too much!" I admitted, blowing smoke at the car front window.
When he didn't say anything to that, I turned and faced him, and announced quite seriously and as if very frank: "I'm very oral, if you know what I mean. And you are terribly handsome and ... you make a girl get all kinds of foolish and crazy ideas that are frightening, honest!"
Like I'd hoped, he asked what kind of ideas and I shrugged, as if not about to answer, then after waiting a real short instant, said, as if unable to control myself-which was pretty much the case, come to think of it-leaning close to him: "Wicked, ungirlish ideas. Is that terrible? Is there something wrong with me for feeling that way about you?"
He suddenly pulled me into his arms and we were kissing, very un-child-like. His mouth was hot and moist and open over mine and I stabbed my tongue into it, withdrew and thrilled as he Frenched me deep. I really sucked on his tongue and when we pulled away, he was breathing hard and looked more shaken than I felt. He said: "God, Susy, you almost tore it out!"
"Complaining?" I teased him.
He shook his head from side to side. Then started to reach for me again. I put my hands against his chest, as if resisting, and said: "No, one more like that and I'll be ready to...."
And we were doing one more like that, which was much more lingering and lasted a long time. When we parted I said: "I don't want to go home. But don't do that again or I will lose control and do some terrible things!"
He told me he'd better take me home. I announced in very firm terms that if he did it would be the last time he ever picked me up for a date or took me homef rom one.
Turning, he demanded: "Then what the hell do you want to do?"
I threw the question back at him and he asked if I was kidding. I assured him I wasn't, so he bluntly said: "I want to do what you said I better not do-because you'd do some naughty things if I did!"
So I asked him: "That would be terrible, wouldn't it?" I guess my voice was saying the opto sound that way at that moment.
He finally put it on the line with: "It would be terrible not to have you-if that's what you really want!"
I slipped my arms around his neck and said he was supposed to kiss me again and I'd tell him my answer afterwards.
It was even better than the first two tongue kisses. His hands were all over my body at once, like he had twenty of them! When we broke that kiss I really blew my cool, saying: "You take me someplace good and I'll get real oral-and I don't mean talking!"
He took the hint and drove me to his home. They had guest houses out back and we went to one of those. How thrilled I was. A bed. The only way to snatch a come!
We ran to the bed, me following, undressing ourselves every step of the way through living room to bedroom. I had only my bra on. He was fumbling out of his pants when we arrived in a darkened room with a large bed. He asked if I wanted darkness or lights and I pulled a switch on him by saying: "Give me some light so I can see all of you!"
They say most women want it in the dark; most men want it in the light. I've wanted it both ways; it all depends on the man and the circumstances. This man I wanted to see; the rest ... well, I couldn't wait to see what he had between his legs flooded with plenty of light so I wouldn't miss the whole effect.
When he turned the lights on I was naked and he was down to shorts. I placed my hands on my hips and said: "Oh, don't tell me you're shy!"
Grinning, with great pride on his face, he opened the curtains and exposed what any man would be more than proud to possess.
His prick was big, though at that moment dangling down between his legs, long, but not hardened to an erection, thick and fleshy, and what was under that was ... Oh, how I love it when a man has big ones; all the more to have fun with! I guess I'm like the way men are about a woman and her breasts; at least, some men. They want them big; the bigger the better. Though one guy told me that what you couldn't get between your lips was added padding. Yet, even he admitted not having anything against big breasts. In fact that guy said: "I want everything against your breasts!" And he managed to get the meat of himself against my breasts, too.
But, anyway, back to the cottage and muscles and his wildly great manly special muscle.
He was a cocky son-of-a-bitch. In more than one way, come to think of it. But I mean, he was a show-off and his attitude was cocky.
When his jocks dropped to the floor, after he'd thrown them against the wall, he stood there before me, giving a front view of his big manhood and asked: "What do you think of it?"
I laughed, because I simply couldn't help it; but in a delighted, happy way. I believe my answer was: "I'm gonna have me a big time with you!"
Then I moved close and he let me stand there before him, enjoying myself. In bluntly stated words, I showed him by action just what I thought of his beautiful object of manly pride.
My fingers had a crazy time with him. He wasn't limp for more than a few moments under my careful exploration. I felt him up and down, the full length of his shaft, with its big, really big, meaty crown, down to the breasts-of-prick-another term somebody told me. The way a man likes to make fun and games with a woman's breasts, I like to touch and fondle and do everything and anything imaginable to a man's term!
When he was really long and stiff, swollen to bursting, I began saying things like: "Oh, you have such a beautiful, velvet, hot and hard muscle." I finally got around to going completely out of my cool and saying: "I'm oral, big muscle! I'm so oral that I want to smoke you all the way down to the filter!"
He laughed with delight and told me to smoke away. I said we had to do it right, or not at all, on the bed.
The fastest gun in the West couldn't have drawn and fired as quickly as we dove for the bed. I started to position myself the conventional way for doing up a man's smoker. But he shook his head and, with strong hands, pulled my fanny around so I had to straddle his face with his legs. The last thing he said before we went on a mutual smoking spree was: "I'll light you and you smoke me!"
I don't know when I've had a more smoking and lit-up sixty ;nine hot-toddy like then. And I've done it plenty of times, you can believe that And at this time I'd had one hell of a lot of experience which I'll relate in bits and pieces as this continues.
You know how it can be, sometimes. Using the idea of smoking cigarettes to illustrate it sometimes it's one cigarette; sometimes it's a whole pack; this was a whole burning carton-box, packages and all!
He sure knew what he was doing! In more than one way! The matches he used to light me up were burning hot and strikingly overwhelming. The cigarette between my lips wasn't like any of the 100's we have, either! More like a one billion, super delux length-because it simply wouldn't burn out! Can you believe me when I say quite honestly that I don't have any idea how long it took to smoke him down to the filter-tip and then not even stop until that was completely devoured? I mean, like, it couldn't have been minutes, unless you're counting by tens-and you better not stop at one or two tens, either! At first he was striking matches very carefully and approaching me with them with gentle care, perfect aim and expert doses of fiery heat. And I certainly dug smoking his cigarette! None of those deep, voluptuous drags, only short, tiny puffs-like sometimes you'll simply have the cigarette between your lips, without puffing at all, and you might even tongue the filter a bit. I've done that many times, thinking about how his private cigarette felt-or some other man's. Actually, his was more like a cigar; but I don't like women who smoke cigars. I think it's ugly.
But, believe me, as one cigarette after another was lighted and thrust between my love-tormented, sensitive lips, and his matches kept striking and lighting, we slowly were getting more and more greedy to smoke a full pack; and when the pack ran out we grabbed for the second, then the third; when it got down to four packs, with no sight of his muscles running out of smoke-control, we both were far more voluptuous in lighting and smoking. Devouring the carton, itself. Well, that was the end!
We were like beasts fighting for possession of the last bits of cardboard, im wanting to striking a match to them and me wanting to not simply smoke, but devour him completely. Of course, long before that time I'd been smoking like they say the English do, deep, sucking, lung-filling drags that consume half the cigarette in one drag! And he wasn't using any matches any more. It would be more correct to say that halfway through he started using a blowtorch, as if wanting to not only light me, but burn me from inside-out to ashes!
Oh, hell, nobody could possibly believe what I've tried so hard to explain. Maybe we consumed the whole carton in minutes; but I don't remember it that way at all. I just remember that I was smoking both ends of the cigarette at once, or trying to. I know he had wonderful powers of control. I am convinced we must have lasted as long as it is possible for anybody to last. I've heard some men are able to train themselves to last inside a woman-in the right place-for over half an hour.
We'd started slow and easy, delighting in a lingering, teasing kind of game upon one another. We ended up, after going through all the tortures it is physically possible to stand, like two mad animals out to totally devour one anotheror rather, me smoke down to the end, including the filter-tip and him attempting to burn me inside out with his blowtorch!
Afterwards, he was surprised how I'd continued without stop right through to the end until the whole carton-to keep to that kind of language (which wasn't used between the two of us, though!)-had been consumed in voluptuous, starving fashion-like somebody who hadn't eaten for a week of Mondays, after being lost in the desert.
We smoked real cigarettes, then talked and he said how great I was and how he'd been wanting me for some time. I admitted to having wanted him, too, but having been afraid he might be shocked by my saying so.
He asked if I was in any hurry to go, and I answered by giving his love-sacks a few finger tickles. And, saying: "I'm not! I haven't started, yet, have you?"
He crushed out his cigarette, took mine from between my lips and pulled me into his muscular arms. I thrilled to the feel of his hairy chest and my nipples rose against the dark curls of those matted hairs. He'd pulled me over on top of him.
I could feel his hard stomach and chest muscles. His arms were like rippling steel.
And, boy, we kissed and kissed. This lover man was turned on to naked contact.
I raised my hips, parted my thighs just enough so that his erect shaft could be squeezed between them. Then I moved in little sexy ways so that my thighs were squeezing and pulling and tugging on his love-meat that got harder and harder, tighter and tighter between the heat of my flesh.
I moved so that his shaft could press and rest against my hottest spot-meaning its base, with the length and tip running up between my thighs, the puffed-up crown against my rear; and we continued Frenching each other, deeper and deeper while I used his big muscle to give me all kinds of thrills and goodies.
I came just feeling it like that between my legs and up against what was now swollen to hurting. He did a few tricks of his own-well, I mean, I felt that delicious first moisture that comes from a man's tip when its burning hot and still under control.
Well, in the long run, we rolled over and he did his big main number with that special "screw blue" expression of his accenting some of the greatest comes. The climax was out of this world. Well, I said, I was screwed blue that evening, and I meant it.
The snatch is yet to come was probably the first of many clever remarks I've heard. Or, of course, I certainly have nothing against "poking is fun"-because it sure is!
Better, yet, though, is one I liked, maybe because it was surrounded by a rather delicious male bomber. He had some kind of thing about saying: "You got the cutest little tingler!" And he really tingled my tingler! I don't know why he called it that and never found out. It was a man about thirty and he was tingling a sixteen year old girl's tingler. And pretty tingling about it. He called his big muscle a repeater. Which wasn't so original, except it was just that. He could really repeat without leaving a girl's tingler once. He would enter and fire, cock and refire his repeater a couple of wonderful times without once having to stop to reload. In fact, to my way of thinking, he had the most fantastically pleasing way of getting reloaded. He simply asked me to do the reloading, orally. Now, this is one girl that will jump at the chance to reload any guy's gun, even if its a single shot and needs the powder pounded in and the ball added. The longer it takes the better the joy. With a repeater like his, he was able to make it pretty difficult to reload, because he kept unloading almost as fast.
Well, to be honest, I say it that way simply because to be quite frank he didn't stop me from continuing to reload even when he was ready to do target practice.
But, enough of him. That's really all I remember, other than it was a lot of fun that afternoon-or was it night? I don't remember. Just remember the phase and that he really had a repeater and enjoyed shooting it off; and called a girl's target a tingler.
A girl roommate in college, told me one that was pretty good.
"A woman is a heart-shaped, fur-lined trap, made to capture only one kind of wiggling animal: a man's spear-pointed, hollow-nosed activator!"
Somebody else said they had a session with a man who would say, just before entering her, "Nose dive!" Then, when he was about to go off, he would moan between clenched teeth: "Bombs away!" She laughingly announced-it was really something to be warned in advance because: "When the bombs landed and exploded, my whole insides went off with them!"
So many people still use such silly words like, "That" and "there" and "doing that" or "it!" I guess, for them, that's exciting enough. I've had men tell me that they get really excited when a woman uses hot sexy words during the build-up and even while involved in the actual sexual act of intercourse. I guess I can't blame them; it's sometimes exciting to have a man say a few filthy lines at the right time.
One old guy liked me to. "gulp on his dinger" as he put it. It was rather exciting, too. I'd been walking home one afternoon from school and this man offered me a ride. He must have been older than my father-but not quite old enough to be a grandfather to a girl my age, unless he'd had a kid when he was very young. And since, like I pointed out, I had developed a female shape early, he seemed to have a hard time keeping his eyes off me. So I simply asked: "Am I sexy to a man your age?"
He was pretty surprised and could hardly control the car. Then his eyes gave me a real side long glance, as if not believing what I'd said, almost frightened to believe I might be meaning what it implied.
I felt sexy. It was hot. I was hot. I'd been sitting in class-the last one for the day-next to a boy that excited me. He wore tight jeans. I sure the-hell like to see a guy in something tight, because you can get a real good look at what he has hidden between his legs. The dart of heaven! So, hell, I didn't care where I got my kicks. And the man driving me seemed like the kind of bastard who would like a young thing to diddle his girlie toy.
Suddenly, he pulled over to the side of the road, bringing the car to a full stop, engine still running. Like my blood was pumping through my body thinking about how it might be to discover what his was like! y
"What at you getting at?" he demanded, giving my body a real working over with his eyes.
"You wouldn't be the first!" was all I told him.
He got the message and drove out of town. You have to understand I lived in a small town and there was a lot of country-side surrounding it. A lonely road was easy to find.
We parked. He opened his fly, lifted his hips, shoved down tight jocks to expose a real big one I shift closer, staring eagerly down, fascinated and shivering all over inside.
Without any build up, he said: "Wanna gulp on my dinger?"
Did I?
I gulped like crazy. He wouldn't poke me with it, but he fingered my "nice little cutie" as he called it, so that I got some real comes.
Details? I could make them up. But I don't remember much about that event other than what I've already mentioned. It was the dinger thing and calling what I had between my legs that men want to enter with their "dingers," a "cutie." Maybe he was afraid to use such a vulgar word as cunt.
But there was a younger man, about middle twenties, working at a gas station that gave me real juiced-up excitement when I would buy gas for my second-hand car; the one Daddy bought me on my sixteenth birthday. He flirted, I flirted and finally one evening late, I dropped off, after having seen a movie with a girl friend, to get gas. She was with me then, and the guy asked what I was doing and I said, "Just fooling around." He suggested a little fun-including both of us girls, but-call her Judy, because it sounds like Prudy, which she was-Judy wasn't for any such thing. He was off work in thirty minutes and I agreed to meet him.
As I drove Judy home, she kept saying things like: "Gee, you shouldn't do things like that. You don't know what he might try."
I laughed at all her statements and told her that I could take care of myself. No guy was about to get anywhere with me or do anything I didn't approve. She didn't ask how far that meant, but I wouldn't have told her anyway. She was a prude and ended up getting married to a guy and divorcing him because she didn't like sex with her husband. I think she was either nonsexual or a lesbian. She continues to live with female roommates, so you can figure that one out yourself!
Talking about her marriage, I screwed her husband before they were married, and he was terrible! So, maybe it was his fault. But the gas man. Gus is just as good a name as whatever he might have had. I got back to the station and he hopped into my car, letting me drive. As I pulled out into traffic I asked, cool as you like, "Where to, lover!" Just like that; so that he might get the idea that it wasn't necessary to play coy little games with me.
"My place, okay with you?" More than okay with me.
He lived in a small court, with one bedroom and small living and kitchen space. Once inside, he made a quick, eager grab for me, as if I might run away. So, just to make him realize real fast that I didn't plan on running, I reached between his legs and felt me a big hard and lovely balls.
As we came out of the bear hug filled with plenty of French lessons-neither of us being the teacher!-he gasped: "Hell, what a cunt!" I giggled and announced he hadn't seen nothin' yet!
"Are your tit-tocks real?" he grinned, starting to pull off his shirt.
I blinked, then laughed, as I got the meaning, because his eyes were fairly eating away at my breasts. So I pulled off my sweater and undid my bra. When he got a good look at my breasts he fairly eye-bulged all over them. As I started to remove my skirt, I said: "How about a look-see at that thing between your legs?"
He was now grinning foolishly, as if he realized he'd picked himself up a big hot piece of tail. "Wanna see my hungry ram's-horn?"
"If it rams my horny body good!" He laughed and stepped out of his pants. I could see under his shorts a nice large erection and I gulped at the sight. Now I could hardly wait for a real good feel of that beautiful looking thing.
"Horny cunt, son-of-a-bitch, I'll give you a good ramming, a real good ramming, honeycunt!" That's the way he talked to me, and it was one of the first times-in fact, I believe the very first time-any man talked just like that to me. It was crazy-exciting.
When he stepped out of his shorts, he looked down at his big fat male weapon and said: "Look what you've done to my ram's-horn!"
I was naked now, too, and shaking something terrible inside. I told him I was about to do a real trick on his horn, and I hoped it would be one of plenty.
And he had a horn of plenty, as it turned out, at least, that night.
How I wanted to fondle and kiss and hold and feel his horn, but it didn't work out that way. In fact, he didn't lie a woman to go down on him, and said that homosexuals did it that way and he'd have nothing to do with anything like that. He was usually hung-up, in more than one way!
Before I knew it, his horn was ramming my honey-pot, filling it so tight and full and jerking so beautifully hot and wild that I just went crazy all over and my own body actions kept him up and up time and again, until he'd managed three orgasms without withdrawing. Like I said, he had a horn of plenty and really knew how to ram it-to-a-girl.
We rested and talked and he offered me a beer. I turned it down. I wanted to go down on him, but, like I said, he wouldn't have anything to do with that. But he let me play with him while we talked. I kept my fingers real active between his legs, fondling and squeezing everything I could find. Finally, he was up like a shaft of steel and we rammed again. But this time he wanted to do something a little different, and asked if I was interested in "trunk-style". Not knowing what he meant, he said: "In your trunk!" A little imagination is all a girl needs to figure out what he meant. So I told him, "As long as it races my engine!"
And it sure did. He got some cream and-greased the parts, mine and his, while I was bent over, feet on the floor, hands on the sofa, fanny high and wiggling with eagerness for this new thrill.
He was very careful. Holding himself at the base of his horn, he placed its tip right at the entrance to my trunk. He then worked his way in until I felt the soft flesh of his crown totally submerged, firmly in place within the grip of my trunk-door. Then, gripping my hips, he slowly pressed forward. I gasp out in sudden pleasure as I felt him drive deeper and deeper until he'd gone as far as possible. From then on, he drove me from the rear, racing my motor like a crazed drunk driving down a speeding highway on the wrong-side of the road. He doubled the pleasure by reaching his hands around under me and stimulating what was up front. I guess he might have called that the stearing wheel, and he used it with the expertise of a racing driver. When we hit crazy needle curves, it was on two wheels, no slowing down. On the home stretch I just couldn't stop the comes from coming, orgastic spasms shaking through my whole body. Every time he moved his horn I found myself blasting air in and out of my lungs in loud moans and groans and crys of pleasure. I'd never experienced it quite that good-never have since! Not that way, with one man! He was good, oh, so good.
Afterwards, I left. I never saw him again. Later I thought: What he'd done at the last was really what homosexuals do to one another. I couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't really hung up a little in that direction, too.
I guess there were other sayings and other words. Popping. Piking. Pounding. Picking. Driving. Gutting. Snapping it in a snatch Thrusting home! Chick-a-licking (for cunnilingus-the guy explained that it should really be said the other way around, but he liked the double-play on words, meaning that what he used sounded like a children's story). Blow me to the sunny-side-up (for normal man on top position), dark side up (for the other way). One man called his penis a turtle, because it could disappear into its shell and then it could spring out from its shell, He liked a woman who enjoyed tutle soup. And you can guess what that meant His name for a woman was "duck soup", because duck sounded like another four letter word started with an F, rather than a D. He didn't like using the dirty words, and made up ones for himself to use. Silly, really, but he was a real great soup to have dinner with.
The interesting thing to me is how people have their own little, private, pet words of sex and sexual parts. Maybe that's because they are enbarrassed by he whole thing and find its easier to make-up something that isn't quite using the "it" type of terms, but also isn't using the more basic, blunt four letter ones, either.
The obvious ones I've come across so many times are: peter, stick, gun, rod, hot stick, knife of lust or passion for a man; sex hole, hot spot, cave of passion or lust, for a woman. They aren't so original.
Nonetheless, I thought it was interesting remembering some of the names of the game, and there are, I guess, as many as their are people with a little imagination.
And talking about imagination, some men can have some fantastic ideas about how to go about sexing it up with a woman. Something, I guess, that should be covered in a section all by itself. I don't think it will be possible to ignore a few scenes with women, some I've had and some I've been told about. Women can be just as crazy when it comes to something different and odd. Hung-up sex, I call it!
CHAPTER SIX - HERE COMES HUNG-UP SEX AND THINGS
The term "hung up", to me, at least, can mean so many things. But I have such an imagination when it comes to sex. I don't mean in the kind of ideas and actions and scenes I guess will be told here, but in seeing double meanings in the more innocent of words. But when somebody says: "I'm hung up," and it's a man saying it, I get an immediate mental picture of his big bloated male weapon hung-up big and tight and ready for action; though, in a way, it should make me think of a man's prick hung "down", because you hang things down, not up.
Nevertheless, there are so many hung-up people. I've seen a lot of them in my short life. And I admit it; I'm young for having had so much experience. But, as pointed out, I've started young and while most girls my age are experienced with at least one man-in many cases that's it-very few can lay claim to as many lays as I've anxiously driven myself into, simply because I couldn't turn off the need and hunger of my eager and young body.
I feel sorry for those who are so hung-up that they try to remain virgins until they get married; and that hang-up comes from both sexes. I've tried seducing a man who wanted to hold-out until he was married. I got him so hot and bothered that finally he let me have the pleasure of his cock, but not where it was supposed to go So, to him, he remained a virgin since I wasn't using anything more than my speaking-lips. Guess he figured it was better than going away and jerking himself off. At first he consented to letting me jerk him off, maybe because he either didn't know a girl could go down on a man or because he believed I wouldn't like it. But I really didn't give the jerk a jerking chance. I just went to it, before he had a chance to object. After that ... well, what guy can really call himself normal and be able to turn down a good thing like that? And without trying to pat myself on the back, I do realize I'm terribly good at the oral thing with a man.
I've had enough experience to know I'm good at all sexual acts with a man. I've seen all kinds and can read their expressions after they've had a piece of my kind of action. Then there are the stories I hear from other girls who think they are something great; and what they claim men said and did after having possessed what men want most from a woman. Usually a girl will talk-it-up big; even then, taking them at their word, I can pretty much figure out where I stand against them.
Well, take this dark-haired girl I met in college. We got to talking one afternoon-and this was after we'd become pretty good friends (to the point of having been to a double-date sex-party together, though in different rooms)-and she started telling me about her early experiences, along with some details about how great she was in bed and how great her lovers thought she was. To listen to her talk, she was the biggest, bitching, screwing broad in the whole damned world. She spoke something like this:
"Well, love, I don't know what you do, but when I'm with a man he really thinks I'm great because I can't have enough fun playing with his ding-gong! I'll rub and fondle, tuck it between my thighs, twist and squirm, even, once in a while, suck on it-the guys dig that something terrible!"
I could hardly keep from smiling. She told me about the guy she was going out with, a man I'll call Derk. Well, just listening to her turned me pink all over-hot to trot! She had big boobs and said it was fun putting a man's prick between them, pressing her breasts around his hard shaft. "It feels so cool-well, hot!" Then she said how she liked rubbing her nipples against this guy's prick and how he liked that, too. "Then, sister," she announced, "when I mouthed his big thing, he thought that was something great!"
I, naturally, asked how much she mouthed him in that manner. She shrugged: "Just enough to make him a happy man!" Which could mean anything. Well, I dig that kind of stuff; all of it.
She told me how great he thought she was again and again, then said how big his weapon was, and how she dug being poked by it, because he could hang on for so long.
That was all I needed. So, quite frankly, I simply made it a point to call Derk up; sorta playing it cool and clever. I mean: right to the point, in a subtle way.
The conversation, as I remember it, went something like this:
After the hellos, I said: "I guess you must think it's strange that I'm calling, but to be truthful I don't believe in the double standard. A guy can always call girls: but girls aren't supposed to call men they find interesting." Then I added, quickly, when he didn't make an immediate comment: "Don't you think I'm right?" What could the guy say?
"I'm flattered," was the only thing he really could say to what I'd told him.
"Well, the thing is," I said, real fast, in a low. Sorta excited voice, "we do know each other socially, kind of, and I just wondered if it would be terribly horrid of me to ask you over for dinner?"
The implication of that couldn't have been missed, especially because his voice brightened quite a bit. Hell, how many guys get a call like this? I was hot to find out just how great he thought I was, and discover how much my girl friend had lied. It's really a kick to prove you're better than any other woman. Not that there aren't guys that don't dig my kind of loving But, I'm only interested in making a score with a man who is worthy of giving-out a rating. Well, I mean, under these circumstances. I'll take any loving dick that wants to give me a good thrill.
But, in this case, I simply wanted to see what he was really like; and find out if I proved better than his current girl friend. I'd know, after just one session with him!
Well, in short, he accepted a date, for that very night!
Guess he'd noticed me, some, too; especially, considering some of the things he said later.
I dressed in a low-cut gown, no bra under it-no panties, either. I was out to kill; sexually. I wanted to screw him blue in the face. It was kind of a challenge. Like making it with a husband!
Well, he was eager as hell The moment this guy stepped into the apartment, seeing me out to kill, he couldn't keep his eyes off my bust-line or figure. He looked as if he wanted to eat me up.
Well, Derk was a tall, dark-haired guy; not exactly handsome, but certainly big and strong looking. I guess with some girls he could be pretty dominating; but I think he was a little afraid of me; because it was my party, and I was coming on strong.
I managed to dip down in front of him, so he could see there couldn't be anything between the dress and my breasts. His eyes grew pretty large, and I looked directly between his legs, trying to imagine how big his love-stick was.
We drank. We talked some. He asked what we were having for dinner.
I turned and said, quite boldly: "Food or otherwise?"
He laughed, delighted, taking in my breasts. He wanted them to eat and I wanted what he had in his pants for a full meal.
I was already hot and burning all over, just thinking about his large hands pawing my breasts, his hard meat entering my hot steaming pussy.
So, I said: "If it's otherwise, why should we fool each other about it?"
He got the message and announced in a very husky voice: "You really turn it on, don't you?"
"I'm turned-on by you, Derk," I openly admitted. Hell, I'd invited him over for a sex-party and didn't see any reason to lie about it.
So, he pulled me into his arms. We Frenched, he pawed my breasts, then slipped one hand down under the neck-line so I could thrill to his naked touch. I wasn't just being held in his arms like some submissive little bitch, either. My hands were already between his legs, squeezing his prick until it became a hard rigid shaft. I opened his fly and exposed his large, thick hard.
Oh, but he was big.
I moaned in delight, said: "Dear, Derk, I'm going to eat dinner, right now!"
He looked into my eyes like I'd slapped his face. "You're kidding?"
"A sex-meal!" I pointed out, slipping from his arms and dropping to the floor between his legs. "You big ape!"
He looked amazed by my bold action.
The soft heat of his crown when I put it between my lips made me carzy all over. I licked with my tongue and he made an animal sound that was delicious to hear.
He was so big and thick and I thrilled every time I got a big mouthful of his shaft. I just kept it up, not stopping, not wanting to.
Well, any girl knows what happens then, and some of them are too hung-up to go all the way and then some. I just kept up until he was high and dry once more.
Then, standing, I unzipped the back of my dress, let it fall to the floor about my feet, standing before him, anked.
"Want a piece of the real action!" I moaned, climbing down on top of him where he sat on the sofa. I straddled his legs, holding the large shaft of his swelling prick against my hottest hole and said: "I'm pussy hot for your big fat dick!"
He said something to the effect that I was fantastic! A guy like this-most, in fact, that I know-dig a girl when she talks real wild and dirty!
I lifted my hips, then directed the point of his shaft against the entrance of my hot burning cunt, then plunged down, hard, taking in the full length of him. Then I was rolling and thrusting my hips, his body actually pinned under my writhing sexual actions. He hardly moved, but his lovely male stick was poking and twisting and tickling my most sensitive nerves, especially when I lifted up so that only the end of his shaft was in me. I moved my hips in circles and made little downward motions that caused his point to poke and rub and tease the most sensitive part of my sexual parts, just below the entrance.
When I saw, from the expression on his face, that he wouldn't last too much longer, I turned on the heat, letting his shaft be totally enveloped within the confines of my moist cunt. I then lifted up, then down, again and again until he spurted out a wild orgasm that caused me to climax for probably the fifth time since we'd entered into sexual union. I'd come almost at the first delightful penetration and experience some beauties when teasing myself on the tip of his cock.
He moaned and I lifted away from him.
We sat next to each other, smoking, talking. And he was saying things like how great I was; how fantastic. I promised him there was a lot more of that kind of goodie if he had the charges in his gun.
Well, to make a long story short, I pumped him dry that night, with hands, mouth and pussy. Two days later he called, wanting to come over for another session, but I politely otd him I was tied up. He called a couple of times again, but I put him off and he got the message.
I'd proven what I wanted; that I was better than the girl he went out with. He'd said just this, too, that night. Just before he was leaving he told me: "You've done things to me no girl in the world has done!"
I merely grinned, because I'd hardly scratched the surface. We hadn't done anything like anal banging. There's nothing quite like that rear-door entrance. Most guys don't dig it at all. They think it's too homosexual. Well, that kind of guy is really hung-up; and some of the ones that dig this kind of thing are hung-up, too. I did it that way with a queer; another kind of challenge. But it best with a real man.
And talking about real men with odd hang-ups, there was this guy I worked for when I was about eighteen, between high-school and college.
Call him Ralph. He was in his middle forties, but, from the moment I was hired as a clerk in the dime store, he couldn't keep his eyes off me. He and his wife owned the store, but his wife was a heavy middle-aged woman and you really couldn't blame him for not being too interested in screwing it with this woman. She had a rounded stomach; and for that matter, so did Ralph.
Everyday I would come to work, Ralph would go out of his way to get me into conversations, like, telling me some of the things I should do, always keeping his eyes flowing over my body like he wanted to eat it up or something. Sometimes he would even, "accidentally", brush my arm or breast.
One day when he was really looking hard, and I was wearing a tight sweater, I simply said: "What you looking at?"
He grinned, because the expression on my face, I'm sure, was hardly cool. Not in the cold sense, anyway. I'd been thinking about Ralph, wondering what his prick might be like. At night I'd rub my pussy again and again, just thinking what a perverse kind of kick it might be to let him bang me. Something new and different.
As you must surely know, by now, I was hot almost any time I thought of a man. My pussy lips would get all sensitive, and I'd have to rub away the anguish.
So, that day I felt like flirting. And so as he was looking, grinning at my question, I had my breasts thrust out, my shoulders pulled back. My nipples were hard against the tight bra, and the look he was giving me suddenly fired some real heat.
I sort of licked my lips, suggestively, before he could answer my question.
Then he said: "I'm looking at a very beautiful young woman."
Like an innocent kid, mockingly, I said: "Gee, you think I'm like that?"
"Like what?" he countered.
"Beautiful?"
His eyes stripped my body raw.
"Yes, you are quite beautiful," he said in a low, husky voice.
"That's nice," I retorted. "The boys my age think I'm something really wild. But ... it's different when a mature man can think the same thing ... kind of."
"What do you mean, kind of?" he inquired.
"Well, you really don't know me like the boys do." The statement was calculated to open the flood-gates of his mind-kind of make it bluntly suggestive.
"How well do the boys know you?"
"How well can two people know each other?" I shrugged, grinning. "I think boys are great ... but ... I don't know about men, too much. I feel sort of cheated, if you know what I mean?"
That did it to him. Boy what a sucker for a girl's lies. He said, out of the side of his mouth: "If you mean what I think you do, I'd be more than willing to do something about it for you."
Delighted, I whispered back: "You don't mean you'd ... well, want to get together with me?"
He could hardly believe his ear, I'm sure. So I said: "I think it would be just great!"
Well, to make it all short and to the point, he jumped at the chance. After work he told me to go out to his car, get in the backseat, hide myself, and he would come there and drive away, leaving his wife to take care of the monthly records.
I didn't have to wait long, because he came, got into the car, started the engine, and asked, without turning: "Are you really there?"
I giggled and said: "What do you think?"
Well he drove me for some time before saying I could get up in the front seat with him.
The minute I had crawled over the seat, he said: "I didn't believe you really meant it."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Well, one never knows about girls."
"You mean, you never know which one will be cock-hungry?"
That one shocked him. He looked at me, then placed his right hand between my legs, his middle finger wiggling.
The touch sparked my sexual juices, I'll tell you.
He grinned: "You're young and sexy!"
"You can bet your sweet cock I'm sexy and I wish you'd find a place, fast, for I can have me a great meal on you!"
"Hell, what's the younger generation coming to?" he inquired, pulling the car down a side-road. We werein the country outside of town. "We never talked like that when I was a kid! Not the girls, at least."
I laughed, placed my hand on his, pressing the finger deep against the fires burning so raw. "What's you're old lady like that you need young pussy?"
I got a kick out of talking that way of him. And this is the thing I mean about him and hang-ups. He dug it the most.
"I like the way you talk!" he exclaimed, wiggling his finger, then withdrawing his hand. "Most poeple don't like using all the fun-words."
"Like cock and cunt and pussy and prick?" I offered, almost laughing in delight. It was fun for me, too.
"Like my cock is very hard, right now for your pussy!" he announced, grinning.
So I reached between his legs and felt. And it was very large and hard. I slipped the zipper down and then worked my fingers under his shorts so I could feel the soft hardness of his velvet prick.
"You are real hard. I'm real hot for that!"
He made an animal sound, then pulled the car to the side of the road, killed the engine, turned and faced me.
I had worked his hard prick out and was jerking up and down on it, very slowly, but in a very meaningful way.
I squeezed the soft crown, thrilling to the puffy flesh surrounding the tip of his hard cock.
He just looked down at what my hand was doing and said: "You sure make that feel good!"
The thing is that he wanted to be jerked off. He just sat there, saying how great my fingers felt and that he liked it when a woman did things like that to him. It was sort of fun holding his hard shaft in my hand, jerking up and down on it, but I wanted to have the damned thing in my body. Before it could go off I stopped, looked at him and asked: "Don't you want to screw me with it, now?"
His hips jerked up and down so that his shaft was sort of slipping between my fingers. "Come on," he moaned, "Don't stop now!"
I didn't move, thinking this wasn't going to be so much fun for me.
"Come on!" he cried angrily. "I'll sex you, later!"
So I jerked away until his shaft was convulsing in a orgasm.
The sight of him going off created such a surge of desire in me that I found myself lowing my lips toward his sex-gun.
But he thrust a hand on my shoulder, saying in a low rasping voice: "No!"
I looked at him, fully aroused and angry. "What you going to do for me?"
He laughed, then slipped a hand under my skirt, saying: "I'll finger you a big one. You love me with your hands!"
That's the way it was with this guy. I tried to get him to screw me, but he refused. Though he went down on me, some time later, having pulled my skirt up and lowered my panties so that he could use his mouth and tongue. He wasn't really so bad at it, but it miffed me somewhat. I really wanted a cock to stuff up my pussy. But he wouldn't do it that way. Still, I got some comes, though I was angry as he drove me back home.
He said: "It would be cheating on my wife, cocking you!"
He wanted to talk dirty all the way home, but I remained silent and mad.
The next day he wanted some more sex, but I turned him down cold. A week later he saw to it that I was fired. I threatened to tell his wife if he fired me, but he just bluntly said: "Go right ahead! It won't do you any good and she won't mind. She might even want to get a little sexy with you, too."
That one knocked me over. I asked why he had played such a "secret" game with me that day in the car and he laughed, saying it was more fun that way. Talk about nuts! But there are all kinds.
And talking about men and women who are married, but like to have a little fun with a third party, let me tell you about the teacher I had in college the first year. He was pretty good-looking, about thirty-one and, to make it short and to the point, just let me say that flirtations were f both ways and one day he asked if I'd be interested in having a date with him.
I said: "Why not? I've always liked married men!"
So he drove me over to his house. I thought his wife would be gone, but it didn't work out that way, not at all! You could have knocked me over cold.
The thing is that we'd been playing word games after class for weeks, so that when he'd suggested a date there was no question about the fact that we would screw. Though, when we'd gotten in his car, he'd played it cool enough, by saying: "I hope you are after the same kind of thing I am!"
I'd swiftly assured him that he had better be ready for something really hot.
Well, we'd talked a little about sex and I'd admitted to liking it and he'd said: "I like some pretty wild things! And the moment I saw you in class I knew you were the kind of girl who wanted sex in a wild way!"
Then he'd added: "It's not hard to find out which girls like to ball it! I have my little grapevine here at school!"
I'd told him I liked just about anything that had to do with sex. But at that moment I didn't expect what actually happened.
We went into his house, and there stood his wife, in a house robe. She looked sharply at me and a bright grin came across her face. "You are lovely!"
I gaped, startled.
Her husband said: "Think she'll do?"
She nodded, then told me: "Fred says he's heard you are a real swinging girl. Ever done a threesome?"
Then suddenly I got the message. I turned to Fred and asked: "That grapevine.-you sure have a good one!"
He laughed and said that one of the girl's at the dorm, where I was living, had told him about me.
"Jean?" I inquired, knowing it could only be one girl, since we'd talked a lot about sex and even done a sixty-nine together. In fact she'd told me that this teacher was real groovy. Now I realized she had been feeling me out for him. I felt like I'd been cheated, yet at the same time I couldn't hlep but like the idea, in a way.
In any case, his wife went into the bedroom; and a little later to return decked-out in a black leather bra and panties, black velvet gloves and high eeled shoes. Her black hair was swept back, very harsh looking, her eyebrows were marked the same color, arched like a cat's. In her hands was what at first looked more like a doubled-up whip than anything else, but on closer examination it turned out to be a dildo.
"Seen one of these?" she inquired, thrusting it toward me like a knife, the point touching my sweater, right between my breasts.
Her husband was getting undressed and I looked at the woman, her brimming breasts pressed hard and tightly bound by the handmade leather bra. She explained a little later that she had made it herself, along with the pants.
"I've seen a dildo before," I admitted, though none stained black, like this one was.
"I'll use it on you if you want-or do you want Fred to use his cock first?"
I turned, looked at her husband, who was pulling his pants down, then stepping out of them.
A tingle of excitement shot through me. The sight of his prick, already hard and large made me almost dizzy with lust.
Like I've said time and time again, I just can't control the fires in my body when seeing a man naked like that.
Without a word I started pulling off my sweater, then my bra.
The woman, call her Terry-about thirty, maybe younger, beautifully built, but terribly wicked looking-eyed my breasts with hunger, licking her lips with the point of her tongue.
As I got out of my skirt and panties, the man and woman stood in front of me, watching.
Then Fred asked: "How do you want it, first?"
"You lead the way," I suggested, looking directly between his legs.
His wife said: "She wants a hot cock, first!"
We went into their bedroom and I got on my back, lying on the bed, Fred between my thighs, one hand cupping one of my breasts while he worked his wonderful prick up and down along my sex-lips. It was hard and long and the touch of his naked flesh created a quick response, especially since I was already hot for sex.
I saw his wife unzip her leather panties, at the side, then part her thighs. She inserted the dildo deep into her vagina, watching us all the time, a gloating, lusting expression on her face.
"Beat her meat with that stick of yours, Fred!" she moaned in delight, taking hold of the dildo and moving it in and out of her sex-hole, her eyes never leaving us once.
He was driving me out of my mind with his prick, rubbing along my sex-lips faster and fast er until I thought I'd scream. Suddenly, his wife yelled: "Bang it in!"
Immediately he lifted and shoved himself into me; like a love-hot robot at his master's command.
Between the sudden pleasure of feeling his hard shaft enter my pussy, which was moist and hot, gripping against the climatic come and seeing out of the comer of my eyes his wife jerking the dildo faster and faster in and out of her vagina, I half screamed, coiling up, clawing at the man.
He climaxed immediately, then lifted away.
I was crazed, still needing more sex.
His wife immediately replaced him, her lips covering my vagina, devouring me to another come with that lingering, stroking tongue of hers.
Then her face lifted so that she could insert the dildo into me, deep and delicious. I came again several times.
Then a climax bombed me out so wildly that I almost lost consciousness.
As awareness returned, almost immediately, the woman pulled out the dildo. I saw her husband take hold of her, sit on the bed, throw her bodily across his lap. He had the dildo in his right hand and then he started hitting her fanny again and again until she was screaming in pain and pleasure.
He kept saying with a filthy little beast she was, how she had to be punished for having done all those dirty things to me. Then, finally, when she begged him to stop, he shoved her down onto the floor, between his legs. Then I saw he had a real big hard-on and he demanded that she blow him.
Afterwards, they laughed and kidded each other while I watched, amazed at their attitudes. But I've learned that people like to play-act like that. To these kind of people it is all part of the sexual game.
We did a threesome a little later with me enjoying the pleasure of his large shaft between my lips and the dildo attacking my vagina. While I was feasting on his love-rod, he was pawing and squeezing his wife's breasts. When I'd climaxed several times, his prick not once shooting off, his wife left me, lay down at my side, and he entered into sexual intercourse with her while I watched.
Later, when I was alone, I felt a terrible depression, because the two of them had been a kind of sick sex; not that I don't like orgies, be cause I dig them quite a bit, under the right kind of circumstances. But they had been married, and there wasn't any kick for me in seducing a married man under these circumstances, and the way they sexed each other had been perverse.
Still, I've been involved with a lot of such setups; and they can be a lot of fun. Maybe I should tell you about some of them, and something of my attitude and that of others, concerning mass orgies.
CHAPTER SEVEN - AND HERE COMES THE ORGIES
There is a certain attitude in the country today about sex and orgy-sex, especially. Most people still believe that sex should be saved for a personal inter-relationship between two people who care for one another. As the reader has probably come to realize, I don't believe in that attitude. It isn't that I don't have a moral code of my own, because I do.
Like I pointed out about the teacher and his wife: that was a form of sick sex that I don't really dig-after the orgasms are over. But during the action, it's something totally different; I can't help responding.
That's the thing about a woman like me. She can't help herself. Still she does have certain attitudes bout sex-even if they are different from other people's.
Like one girl, call her Laura, said to me: "Sex is a personal thing; and a person's sex-life should be private. But that means, a private thing between yourself and your conscience. I'm young and one of these days I'll be getting married and I want to have lived before then. I think too many marriages are doomed right from the beginning because neither partner know about sex and they feel there are things they might have done-but didn't-and so they start out on the wrong foot. I want to groove while I'm young and single. These parties we got to are wild, sure, but they're a ball-and I want many a ball until I have to settle down!"
To me that seems a logical set of moralities. I guess if I ever met the right guy, who could really turn me on and keep me satisfied-and sometimes I simply don't see how that would be possible-I guess I wouldn't marry him unless I could be loyal to the guy.
But I'd much rather be married to three or four men. Live in a combine! That would be for kicks. Having my own private harem of male lovers to dick me any time I wanted it, all together in a gang-bang or separately.
At least, at this time of my life I think it's the only way I'd be satisfied with being tied down to a "form" of marriage. Though this obviously won't happen. Though I have shacked-up with two men at a time for as long as a week, it was a ball. Maybe more on that a little later in this section.
Still, the thing I'm trying to say is that at least for a woman like me the normal kind of morality just won't work. Maybe in time my sexual energies will tame down. Though they haven't since I was a teen-ager. If anything, they've gotten more heated and hungry.
I've talked to some medical students, whom I've balled it with, and they say I seem to have a highly sensitive sexual organ-but it doesn't mean that one man couldn't satisfy me.
Maybe the kind of married life I might fall into is with a man who likes switching partners. I don't know. It might be an answer; and I've seen several married couples survive that way!
There is this couple who come on strong in that way, but they aren't like the school teacher and his wife. They give parties, and they aren't the kind where people just sit around holding hands, either!
Neal, the husband, is tall, a little on the slender, almost the over-sensitive intellectual type with horn-rimmed glasses. He is in his middle twenties and works for an insurance company. Alice, his wife, is still going to collage, so that's how I got to know them.
There's a certain thing about the groovy-set. They just come together naturally and get to know everybody; one introduces you to another.
Tom, a guy I started dating mid-way through my first college term, a great stud-artist with a very meaty cock and balls, introduced me to-call them the Jones'.
It was at the college football game and Alice had come alone, except she was flirting (meaning open pawing and touching; with a student about my age-probably a couple of years younger than she is. They were sitting a short distance from us and Tom said: "Now there's a groovy one! Have you met Alice? She's the redhead down there, jumping up and down!"
I looked, a little annoyed by his reference to another girl, and he apparently sensed this reaction, for he said, quickly enough: "She's married, her husband is at work right now, but that doesn't stop her-or him.
I asked what he meant.
"Well, they have some really wild parties. Neal used to go to school here and they dated, had wild parties at his pad. It was a surprise when they suddenly got married. Everybody was pretty put-out for just about one hour! Then it got around that they weren't going to stop giving the parties. They're quite an odd couple."
He asked if I wanted to meet her. But I really wasn't all that interested, simply because seeing the football game, watching the guys banging against one another, thinking about their sweaty, that. I read that in Roman times women would get all hot just watching the bloody games and I can understand that. If I got to a boxing match I get comes just seeing the two men beat each other's heads in. It's just orgastically thrilling. I keep watching them between the legs, and think about their ding-dongs banging around-and keep wondering how great it would be to have them poking me.
Well, anyway, I'd been screwing blue with Tom and wanted a real meal on him, right after the game.
So I said: "I thought we had something special planned for later," after he had suggested I meet Alice and maybe string along with her and the guy she was with.
"You meet Alice and you'll discover she's something special! The kind of special all-around fun person you like-like you. All wild-cat and she has some groovy ideas about sex and things."
Well, in any case, he introduced me to Alice a little later on and the conversation went something like the following, as best as I can remember it.
"Hello, darling," Alice said, giving my body the once-over; not in a catty way, but in a calculating manner. I learned later that it was her habit to size-up a woman right-off; and that she has an ability that is unbelievable!
Tom said: "We were wondering what's planned for after the game."
"Fun and games," said the guy who had been introduced to me as Walt-the one whom Alice had been pawing for some time.
"Yes," Alice grinned, "right where it'll be most fun!" Then looking at me she continued: "If I know Tom, you're the kind of girl who might enjoy a good party." Then to Tom: "Why not bring her over to the house, afterwards?"
Well, her house was a little ways from the college, a sprawling place with quite a few extra rooms. The garage had been converted into a playroom with stereo and sofa-beds. The living room and dining room were almost one huge double room with a bar. There was a den and three bedrooms all decked-out for sex-parties. Alice took me around the house, then into her master bedroom, closed the door turned and looked at me in a probing way.
"How do you like Tom?"
I shrugged, said he was great fun.
"I mean, in the rack! Grooving!"
Catching her blunt play, I simply said: "He's a lot of fun!"
"So is my date, Walt. He's a real cock-artist."
From that moment on we were great friends.
I found myself asking Alice, long before we left the bedroom-where, upon her suggestion we removed our bras and panties: "How come you screw around with other men ... being married?"
"Neal likes it that way-so do I. We would never have gotten married otherwise. We both believe in sexual freedom and with the Pill and things we can get away with the kind of life we dig best."
When we returned to the living room the two men had fixed drinks.
First there was music and then the drinking and some talk, mostly social.
Then it was Walt who said: "When does the fun begin?"
Alice laughed, stood, and said, "Let's all gang together for a snake dance?"
That turned out to be a fairly simple idea. Al pressed firmly against her fanny, his hands under her arms, and around to her breasts. I was Then Walt was behind me, and I felt sure he was almost naked under the slacks-which turned out to be true.
Well the music was slow at that point, but it got fast enough after a while. The whole idea of the dance was to make sexual plays against one another. I was quickly ware of Walt's hard shaft pressing against my fanny, then his hands slipped under my sweater so that he could caress my breasts. I was getting terribly hot by then. Tom's butt was against my front; Walt's shaft, against my fanny.
Finally, at the end of the first recording, Alice announced it wau time to change and to take off our "tops".
That meant, simply enough: girls off with their sweaters and boys off with their shirts.
Now Alice went to the back of the line, telling me that, since I was second, I could explore with my hands as much as I wanted to
"Get the idea, darling?" she cried in heated delight.
I got it, but good!
This time the dance was with a beat, and our hips were rotating and bumping against one another. I reached down between Tom's legs and started fondling, to discover there wasn't anything between his pants and prick. By the end of that number I was going crazy.
At that point, Tom went around to the back of the line and all of us stripped naked. This time it was just too much. And Walt was fingering my pussy until I was hot to screw, especially since I had managed to get his prick between my thighs. By the end of that number, things went wild.
I turned in Walt's arms and he immediately cooperated, slipping his hips back and forth. I thrilled to the movement of his hard cock rubbing back and forth against my stomach and vagina. We were tongue-kissing, deep!
Alice cried: "Hey, that's not fair!"
I just ignored the girl.
Then Tom said: "We might as well join them!"
I saw, out of the comer of my eye, Tom grab Alice. He pulled her around so that her fanny was against mine. The four of us continued necking in a standing position; and the pressure of Walt's body in front and Alice's soft, molded fan ny behind, squirming against mine was too much.
Then when I didn't think it was possible to stand much more, Walt released me, and I hardly being embraced by Alice, our breasts against one another, while Walt was pressed up against my fanny, his hard prick moving up and down and back and forth. Alice's lips were wide open over mine, her tongue thrust deep into my mouth.
It was such a heady, surprising experience that I was crazed. It was thrilling to feel Alice's naked body, her rubbing hips that mixed with the pleasure of Walt and what he was doing to me from behind. I felt his pointed prick slip between my thighs and I squeezed them about his shaft, writhing and jerking on it.
Then somehow I wasn't in Alice's arms any more, but in Walt's and we were on the floor. He was between my thighs and I suddenly went crazy, reaching between us and clutching to his shaft, at the base, so that I could fondle and feel his balls, while at the same time shifting the point of his hard long cock so it was right on my slammed home-and I climaxed.
He did me up real pink and when it was over I was feeling just wonderful. Each lingering penetration was simply delicious.
The four of us sat on the sofa and finished off our drinks.
Alice wanted to know how I liked the snake dance and I couldn't help saying it was wild, shocked with ... pleasure."
"I didn't know for sure if you'd dig that kind of thing, but thought maybe you would! Anything for kicks!"
I laughed. "It was wild. That dance, it certainly gives a body a chance to do sexy things!"
She smiled knowingly and announced: "You haven't seen anything, darling. We're having a party next Saturday, why don't you come over? It is stag, in a way-but I'm sure you'll want Tom to bring you over. Who takes you back, is up to you-and the way you play the sex-game, I'm sure you'll have a hard time picking from all the men who will want to escort you home!"
Tom broke in then, saying: "Hell, I'll take her home! She's a top dish!"
"Don't be greedy!"
"Hell, the guys will get plenty of chance to have their action with her!" he exclaimed.
I giggled and said: "Why don't we just let things work out?"
Well, they worked out, all right.
I'd been promised by Alice that the party was to be something great, and that they did a lot of crazy, wild things like the "snake-dance"-even more groovy. Saturday night was just that.
Tom had picked me up and then we went to the Jones' home. It was eight and the party, surprisingly, was already starting to swing.
You know how it is with parties. Usually, they don't swing much. People wait until about nine before letting it get really started. Even then it's drinks and conversation, a little light flirting, like some girl or man dancing as if they were having sexual intercourse to the music, but fully dressed. Sometimes a little necking and petting, but nothing really groovy. At best, some couple will end up in the bedroom, screwing fast and drunkenly.
That's what the "nice, good" kids do. Plus a little pot and LSD But that's too way-out meaning the mind expanding stuff. I don't dig that in the least. I knew a guy like that. He got me to his apartment and all he wanted to do is sit on the floor in his birthday suit, looking at my naked body, while grooving out-of-his-mind. There wasn't any kick from that for me! I tried to get him hot and heavy, but he was too "farout on his trip" to respond, and I did every trick my hands and lips could do on his drooping piece of meat.
The thing is, there are so many types of copout in the world. There's so many sexual guilts; and people are afraid to simply admit they enjoy screwing themself blue in the face. They find ways around their guilt-and when it comes to using pot and things like that, its' no fun for an all-around screw-girl like me.
And one thing I'll say about the Jones' parties: the people might have had their personal hang-ups about sex, but they weren't showing it!
For the first thing, everybody went into one of the bedrooms, undressed and joined the party, naked.
When I walked into the house, I saw all the naked dicks hanging and swinging aruond, some making little sexual pawing actions with the naked girls, well, I was flushed with excitement.
Alice told me to go to the master-bedroom and make myself comfortable.
She had hangers for clothing. I undressed anxiously. There were a few others in the room, both men and women and I enjoyed myself watching not only Tom get undressed but the other men, too, thinking about all that meat I could feast on-or at least have my pick of for a sex-meal.
I didn't wait for Tom, but left the room, followed by a tall blonde-haired buy about twenty or so. He said: "You're a new one, real groovy body and tits!"
I looked between his legs and said: You've got a lovely sex-banana there!"
He laughed, his hand taking a free feel of my fanny, squeezing.
"Better not do that or we won't get very far!"
"Want to bang a hot ball, honey?" he offered, glancing into one of the bedrooms.
"Not right now. I want a drink and look around," I told him. Actually, I'd have liked to have a sex-job with the guy, but wanted some drinks first and to see how the party progressed.
He shrugged: "Maybe later, okay?"
"It might be fun," I countered as we entered the living room.
There was a couple against the left wall, the man with his hard cock between the girl's thighs; it was hard to tell if he was screwing or not, but their lips were fused in a tongue kiss. Nobody was paying any attention to them.
Another couple were stiting, drinking, talking on a sofa, three other people-two men and one woman-standing in front of them. The couple had their hands on each other's sex parts, and the man was large and hard. Nobody seemed to really notice.
It was really groovy-time!
I went over to the bar. A tall redheaded man was mixing drinks. A girl with huge breasts, who looked Latin, with wide hips and a little too beefy thighs, was sitting on a stool in front of the home bar.
He looked at me, grinned, and said: "What'll it be, sexy?"
I grinned back, and said: "A strong one!"
"You going to booze-out?" he inquired, disapproval in his voice.
"What's wrong with that?" I inquired, sitting on the barstool next to the dark-haired, hefty girl.
She turned, looked at me, shifted so her thigh was against mine; the flesh warm. It felt good!
The man said, while pouring a strong shot of whiskey over ice in a glass: "That's the trouble with the other generations. They drink themselves silly. I can't stand people who over-drink. Social drinking, yes. But when a girl gets herself drunk, she can't enjoy a good fucking! And when a man is drunk, he can't screw good-he just isn't in shape to be long-lasting!"
His eyes were probing mine as he poured mixer into my drink.
"I just arrived. And agree with you. But-"
"You need a big drink to really get swinging?" he accused, handing over the glass. "I don't need a drink, just a man!" The woman asked: "You don't go the whole scene?"
"Meaning?" I inquired, strongly aware of her fleshy thigh against mine.
"She means," the man pointed out, "digging both the girl and boy-blowsville!"
I laughed, took a strong swallow of my drink, then said: "It's a good drink. And, as for sex, I like anything that can fix me up pink!"
The woman reached down and put her hand on my vagina. "Things like this?" she inquired, flicking her finger along the lips of my sex mouth.
Something about her boldness both excited and irritated me. So I said: "There's little I haven't done, if that's what you mean!" My voice was a little cold.
I'm trying to reconstruct, as best I can, from less than perfect memory, the conversation. I have, I believe, given a true picture-at least showing the basic inter-play. It was my first impression of a Jones' party and I couldn't help being amazed by the open sexual boldness. In fact, I said: "I didn't think everybody would come on so strong!"
The woman withdrew her hand, after giving my thigh a firm squeeze.
The man said: "We don't believe in playing it like innocent children. Anybody here is in for sex thrills and part of it is a total inter-play of actions and words. I certainly hope, with that body of yours, that you don't get shocked by action and blunt conversation!"
To make him see the light about me, I simply said: "If you'd come around here so I can see your prick, I'll show you what kind of action I dig!"
He was grinning all the way around the bar. When I glanced between his legs, I discovered he had a real big hard-on. He stood right next to me, positioned so that his thighs and hips were within reach. I placed a hand around his hard-on and squeezed, then jerked up and down on that big prick.
"Say, Marie," he announced to the other woman, "she does play it up strong!"
The feel of his hard cock in my hand was stimulation deluxe! How I wanted to ram my pussy against it!
I gulped on the drink, then asked: "What kind of action takes place?"
"Anything and any time you want it!" he told me.
"You mean, right here and now, if that's what we wanted?" I inquired, heated by the feel of his fleshy dick in my hand. I lowered my grip so hat is alls were within my grasp and squeezed, then jerked slightly up and down. With my other hand, I boldly reached out, put the palm against the end of his crown and rubbed it in circular motions.
The expression on his face was pure ecstasy. His eyes half-closed, I could see he was right on the edge of a come, so I released him, saying: "That might be fun for you-but it's nothing for me, unless you're doing something just as groovy with my hot-spots!"
"Let's get going then!" he suggested.
I was beginning to stand, when Alice entered the room to announce: "We have some films in the playroom, and anybody who wants to see, come on in!"
The man said: "How about it?"
"Who wants to watch films?" I inquired.
"We do!" Marie announced. "Frank," she nodded toward the man I'd been playing with, "is great to have around when films are being shown!"
"What kind of films?" I inquired, standing, in order to follow them, since they were already beginning to start in the direction of the playroom.
"Stag!" Frank announced, placing an arm about me, the other around Marie. "Hot screwfilms!"
I slipped an arm around him, placing my hand between his thighs.
We walked into the playroom, side by side, like three long-time buddies.
The place was dark. A screen was set up at one end. Quite a few people were already sitting on toss-pillows on the floor.
We found a place where it was possible to sit side by side.
When the playroom door was closed, darkness surrounded us, but not for long, because the projector at that point came to life. A flickering light bathed the room.
The screen before us brightened to show a close-up of a man's thighs and legs, with a woman's face between them, her lips about the padded crown of his erected cock, mouthing it. Then she ran her tongue along the length of his shaft, and finally up again, flicking across the tip. The expression on her face: pure joy! When her lips covered the crown, and slid downwards, to take more of his hard-on into her mouth, I felt a tingling excitement.
This was the first time I'd ever seen movies like this, and it was wildly exciting to view such filmed action. I'd never considered the idea of getting a charge out of watching people sex it-up!
She moved her lips up and down along the man's shaft. But the scene cut before he'd gotten an orgasm. Possibly, it was only that such a thing wouldn't have showed up and he'd actually come.
The next scene, after a few seconds of black film, was of a man climbing down onto a bed, upon which lay a big breasted woman. He cupped her breasts with both hands and started to violently lick her nipples. It was a little funny, and animal-like; no real style.
Somebody laughed lightly. A woman said: "He's sure lickin' away!"
"I'd like licking on those tits!" a man exclaimed.
"They're big!" another remarked. Frank, next to me, said: "I'd rather lip and lick yours!"
His hand had reached around my back, under my right arm, so that his fingers could press into my breasts. "You, too, Marie!"
I looked away from the film long enough to see that he was pawing Marie, too. And she was jerking on his erection, just slightly.
So, I got the message and reached down below his shaft, so I could finger his testicles.
"Hey, you two girls are wild!" he moaned softly.
I returned my eyes to the screen, aware that his hand had now pressed against my nipple, and his fingers were flicking it back and forth. It was exciting.
The screen showed a close up of the man between the woman's widely spread thighs and I thrilled at seeing his hard penis slowly insert itself into her vagina. They screwed slowly, each of his strokes exciting to watch. I was so hot, just looking at his hard prick going in deep, then pulling out, that I didn't need the nipple-teasing to get even more stimulated.
I squeezed Frank's balls in rhythm with the man's penetrations.
Marie said: "I'm hot!"
Frank whispered back, "Let's face each other a little more!"
He released my breast, I turned to see that Marie was twisting around so that she was at a forty-five degree angle to Frank, though still able to turn her head in order to watch the film.
When Frank placed his hand between her legs, palm up, I got the message, fast!
A glance around the room showed that other people were involved in one kind of sexy play or another, some kissing, some just petting. One man was positioned behind a slender girl, his legs on either side of her, so that she was able to place her fanny against his prick. He was fondling her breasts with one hand, while obviously doing the same to her pussy with the other, all the time still watching the film, which had changed to show to two lesbians going down on each other.
I shifted position and Frank put his other hand between my parted thighs. He ran an index finger along my sex-lips and it was wildly wonderful. I almost came at the first contact; because I was that hot!
Marie was more interested in watching the lesbians tha using her hands on Frank, at that moment. I reached between his legs with both hands and started caressing, fondling, squeezing, both his shaft and balls, flicking my thumb or fingers across the tip of his penis. I only glanced now and then at the film.
His finger kept easing long my ex-lips, then as I started palming the crown of his prick, rubbing in circles, he dipped a finger into my highly stimulated vagina and started wiggling, exploring the most sensitive portions near the surface. I came! He was already moist at the tip of his penis.
Marie suddenly returned her attention to Frank, because he was pumping her in the same manner with his other hand.
She leaned forward, slipping her arms about Frank's neck, her large, wide lips covering over his.
I turned, looked at the film. It was showing a man and woman in a sixty-nine position, cutting back and forth for close-ups or pulling back to give a full-view of the total action.
At that point I felt hands slip under my arms and then press each of my breasts.
I didn't even bother to consider who was giving me this new gushing thrill! It was wonderful!
The hands pawed, squeezed and then fingers accented the pleasure by flicking at my erected nipples.
I felt thighs press around my hips, then the pressure of a large, hard prick against my fanny and the base of my spine. The combination of watching the film, playing with Frank's shaft, having my breasts fondled and the awareness of the hard-on against my back was almost too much! Frank was doing great things with his fingers, from dipping into my moist vagina to running his caress back and forth against the sensitive, extended lips of my sex-mouth.
I experienced another come and was getting to the point where I just couldn't stand the foreplay any longer. I needed something really large and big attackig me.
So I released Frank, who got the hint and withdrew his hand, to slip it around Marie. I turned around to see a rather slender man, with a serious, intellectual face. He'd been the one thrilling my breasts. Later I learned this was my host: Neil Jones.
There wasn't any need for words.
I locked my legs over his, took the largeness of that big hard, pressed it against my lips of passion and started rubbing up and down so that it stimulated me to even a higher degree of need. My arms then slipped about his neck and we Frenched each other voluptuously. When my tongue went into his mouth, he sucked hard on it. I almost came at the experience.
When he thrust his into my mouth, I returned the violent sucking kiss, filling my mouth with his tongue. Then, automatically, hardly aware of doing it, I lifted up so that the tip of his shaft could discover the entrance to my burning hole of passion. I lowered slowly until I rest ed on his hips, that hot love-rod deeply embraced by my flaming hot pussy.
I wanted to have lingering strokes, but couldn't control myself. With my arms braced against his shoulders, as we continued to tongu ekiss, I lifted and lowered myself faster and faster on his shaft. I experienced another thrilling flush of pleasure, then another. He lid great control. Though under the ramming of my hips he could hardly continue very tong before fountaining deep within me.
When his orgasm came, I climaxed with every muscle in my body, moaning, clutching at him, straining every delicious ounce of pleasure from his convulsing sexual-shaft.
Then I lifted away. The long kiss broke and we disengaged ourselves, quite casually returning all our attention to the films.
I noticed in one quick glance that Marie was performing fellatio on Frank, while he sat, watching the film, his face contorted in orgastic pleasure at what she was so expertly doing. I was torn between watching them and the film, but decided on the film, since it would soon be over.
In any case, that is a sampling of what went on at Alice's kind of orgy-scene.
The films continued, showing pretty much what most people can do to one another, with some was repetition. One was actually funny because it showed a man coming into a room like his tail was on fire, a woman lying naked on a bed, rubbing herself, breasts and crotch as he hurriedly got dressed, climbed down on top of her, made licking actions on her nipples, then between her legs, then entered into intercourse, all taking about five minutes to complete; it was an old granny film. Everybody laughed more than got actually stimulated over the scene, making wise-cracks-some of which were pretty dirty.
Later, after the films, everybody went into the rest of the house, some coupling up; some disappearing into bedrooms, some not even bothering about privacy.
I ended up with a samll, but lively guy who just came to my shoulders, though he had a lively little cock that danced real good inside me.
One couple put on a live show for the rest of us in the living room, doing first a sixty-nine, until they were just about ready to pop, then changing positions so they could enter into sexual intercourse. It was interesting, but I've never been one to window shop. I'm buying or I won't torment myself by looking at the things I couldn't have! It just made me hot for a session of my own.
It is enough to say, I guess, that I came with three or four guys that evening. Tom actually ended up taking me to his bachelor pad where we showered together, doing little sexy tricks, like bathing each other, rubbing against one another, necking and petting. Later we had drinks, talked about the party, Tom asking how I liked the gang, and my saying how great it was. We went to bed together, though strangely enough didn't have sexual intercourse right away. I remember being awakened by his lips on mine.
We really banged it up some in the middle of the night. Tom is good, though not the best, though I had a pretty hot working over.
I went to quite a few of the Jones' parties and usually there was something pretty wild going on. One time they did a daisy-chain, where it was boy-girl-boy-girl, everybody doing something different. We'd change around every once in a while so that we'd all get a chance at different action. I was gone down on, fingered, dicked, both back and front, before the evening was over, over.
One wild time was with Neil and another girl. Both of us girls went at him. We took turns at fellatio or intercourse. He was going down on one of us while the other was having a sex-party on his prick. When he finally had enough the girl suggested a sixty-nine between the two of us. It was wild! She was good. Her tongue was great, and I tried to do my best on her. Afterwards, she told me I'd been the greatest! But, I mentioned about the two guys I shacked up with one week. Let me tell you something about that.
I'd dated a guy named Ed. We'd balled it the first night out. It was fairly conventional; but he dug me the most. We got to talking about sex and he was saying I was sexy enough for two guys like him.
I said something to the effect: "I could take all that two guys had to offer!"
Well, when a week's vacation time came, he suggested we go up to a mountain resort where his brother lived-a bachelor.
"Won't he mind?" I inquired, "or does he have some girl of his own?"
Ed simply said: "It can be arranged any way you want it! But you said you'd be able to take all two guys could give you and then some."
Well, I jumped at the idea.
The esort was a beautiful place, covered with white snow, with buildings looking like something you might see in a book on Europe. It was like being in another world, though we seldom left his brother's house, which was a two bedroom, blonde wood-paneled place with high beamed ceiling.
He had a fireplace and a good heater, because we were undressed most of the time. It was fun running around the place totally naked with two men in birthday suits, too.
Ed's brother, Dave, had a ibg sex-tool, and a supple of balls that I enjoyed fondling and squeezing. I was sitting next to him in the breakfast-nook when he began telling me about a girl he'd met in college. She was an exchange student from Africa-black and very beautiful. Dave said:
"In my apartment, we had drinks and cigarettes one night. She examined my collection of records, and asked if she could play some jazz, since she liked it very much. She picked one with a hard beat, bongos, sax, bass, piano, and drums. We sat on the sofa, talking, smoking. The lights had been dimmed, at her suggestion, since she liked to listen to music in semi-darkness. We sat fairly close to one another. When she would reach for her drink or drop an ash into the ashtray, her arm or shoulder would sometimes brush mine; it was a sensual caress. It was beginning to work on me, plus the drinks. But I hesitated, not really knowing what her ideas might be like.
"Well, we talked a little about cultural things and she was saying that from where she came I forgot what tribe or country. Strange, isn't it?-she pointed out that their social customs weren't like ours. I asked in what way, and she told me that they didn't have the problems we in asked what the difference was, and she told me something like the following:
"'Sex is a very real part of life. Then there are the whites who like having it with a black girl.' I asked if she'd known any white men like that and she shrugged, saying: 'It happened once or twice, but not in a dirty way. I don't like sleeping with a man I can't respect-and if he doesn't respect me, I'm not interested.
'In England I had an affair with a white college student. He was very good!'
"I then asked if there was really anything to the story about Negro men being able to last longer than white men.
"She laughed and told me: 'It all depends on the man. A good lover is a good lover. It's not how long a man might last during the sexual act so much as what he does before it. And I've known some white men who were far better than men of my own race. So ... you see, it's all in who and what a man is-not the race. We're all human and all have our personal problems."
"Well, the mood had become sexual. Somewhere along the conversational way, she had turned around to face me and at this point, I believe, she was leaning forward slightly, intent on the verbal exchange-the subject-her face serious, but the view of her breasts erotic. I suddenly realized how attractive and beautiful and desirable she was as a female; and, on top of that, I really ug her as a human being! I reached out, touched her naked shoulders-she had on a strapless red gown-and the contact was very exciting. She didn't rebel or withdraw, but actually seemed to lean closer.
"But when I suddenly, impulsively, attempted to draw her closer, she resisted only slightly, enough to hold me back for a moment, her eyes probing mine. Then she said:
"'Dave, it would be very nice, if you want me as a woman-not just as some kind of kick Do you know what I mean?'
"Well, the only thing I could do was pull her more forcefully towards me and say: I like you a lot or I wouldn't have suggested coming here. I didn't think this would happen, but you are highly beautiful and desirable. I really want to make love to you-in a beautiful way. And she melted in my arms, her lips open.
"We tongue-kissed for a long time. Then my hands ere unzipping her dress, at the back, then unlatching the bra and finally cupping her breasts. She made the whole thing a wonderful experience-this first time on the sofa.
"Later, we went into the bedroom where she orally made love to my penis. She had exciting lips and they caressed my penis like some soft, moist tender vice, totally enveloping it in such a thrilling, loving way. We ended up doing everything possible before the weekend was up. It was two human beings loving one another, both physically and emotionally. There wasn't any talk of love, but it was a romantic love-affair without any suggestion or desire to make it anything more lasting. But it taught me one thing about human beings: it isn't the color of their skin, it's the quality of what they are as human beings."
At that point I couldn't help saying: "And what kind of quality do I have?"
He looked at me, laughed lightly, then drew me into his arms. "You're a ball, Susan!"
I couldn't help wondering if he thought of me as a sexy little bitch in heat and the Negro woman as a female to respect. It was an irritating realization. Yet, I really didn't care at that moment, because the conversation had heated my enough to devour him. My hips moved to his, and I was immediately moving against the hardness of his prick. My pussy-lips were moist and extended so that his shaft was thrilling as it rubbed along them. The two of us were so hot by then that it happened very fast. I couldn't wait and my body actions screamed this to him.
He pulled me on top of his body and I quickly straddled his hips, lifted up so that his shaft up like a tall hard pole-could find its natural place at the center of my sex-hole. I slowly lowered myself, voluptuously thrilling as his prick made its way into the channel of my totally aroused and moist pussy. I was fairly gripping on this love-rod. We froze for a delicious moment, then I just couldn't stand it any longer and started twisting, circling, moving up and down, faster and faster, each thrusting penetration driving me closer and closer to climax. I was moving so rapidly against him that Dave went off like a convulsive exploding volcano deep inside me and I had a wild orgasm with him.
The thing is that during that week we three experienced some wonderful sexual orgies. One time we all went into the cramped confines of the shower, me between. And I was jerking against Ed, while Dave was rubbing his hard prick against my fanny. What fun. Dave had his hands against my breasts and Ed was Frenching my mouth, filling it with his tongue. When he lifted me with his arms, then lowered my body upon the end of his shaft, I came. Dave inserted his penis between my thighs, while the both of them helped to hold me up, my feet were not even touching the shower floor.
The dampness of our bodies, being showered with arm later, the cramped confines and being worked on Ed's prick, while trying to squeeze my thighs around Dave's long hard cock, which kept thrusting and moving in my snatch was great!
I can't explain how it is for a girl like me to have two hard cocks playing around her body. I came with Ed. Then, after being lifted off, I turned and was lifted onto Dave; and boy was it wild and wonderful!
Each and every jerk of his prick inside my still hot snatch was heavenly! We both came together. Then the three of us washed each other, which was quite a trick in that shower, but highly erotic and fun! Then we went into one of the bedrooms, after drying our bodies, and laid down, side by side. It wasn't long before sexville was on its way again, with each of my hands active between the brothers' legs, fondling and squeezing.
It was really some thrill to have two dicks at once that way. They were both having some fun of their own, one on each of my breasts. The double stimulation on my nipples, each being licked, sucked and fondled differently by a different guy, was just overwhelming. Before either of them could go off, I straddled Dave, while still fondling Ed's prick. He rose up so it was possible to kiss one breast and rub and fondle the other. I kept my lips positioned high enough so that Dave could work his up and down, making that wonderful hard thick dick of his churn inside my pussy.
When he'd gone off, I lifted away, rolled on my back, and opened my thighs so Ed could enter where his brother had just been.
Oh, we really had an orgy that afternoon Though by the time Ed had coupled with me to orgasm, all of us were pooped, at least for a while. Later we did a threesome, where I was straddled across one brother's hips while the other stood over us, facing me so it was possible to perform fellatio upon his shaft.
We were either doing things like that during the week, or I was having a blast in private with one or the other. Sometimes, after I'd exhausted one, I'd go to the second brother and screw him blue in the face until neither of us could take any more.
I don't know what they thought if me as a human being, but they dug the sex scene.
What I mean, it did sorta bother me about how a man could have romantic love affairs with a black African woman, yet consider me nothing more than a good lay.
Of course, that is really what I am! I'm terribly good; and that's not bragging, really. A girl can tell if she's good, especially when she's good looking and willing to do anything at all with men! , There was a time at a party where I put on a show for the group. Well, let's put it this way, I was the center of attention, but there were quite a few others: four men and two women. The combinations we set up were wild. I'd be lying down on the floor-a carpet under me-and two guys I'd fondle, while another was entered into my vagina, his body leaning back-a pillow under my hips-so that I could feast on another guy. The men I fondled were performing cunnilingus on the two girls who straddled their faces, so they could lay on their backs next to me. The man I was going down on was in a position to squeeze and caress the two other girl's breasts. If there had been room for two other guys, I'd have loved having them sucking on my nipples.
Another circus kind of action I became involved in was with a different kind of situation. A lesbian was going down on me-well she was bisexual, really-while a guy was banging her in the rear. I was blowing the hard dick of a guy who straddled me with his thighs while he lapped it up with another girl who had her legs spread above me head.
These were private parties with very few watchers, come to think of it. Everybody took turns. When one got socked out, they were replaced by new blood. I lasted longer than anybody else in these kind of sexual exercises.
I've even had private parties with lesbians where I'd be going down on one while another would be using a dildo on me. Maybe there would be more than three girls involved besides myself.
But, the thing is, while there is a thrilling kick to be gotten out of the orgy-scene, it still is more fun to have some guy who is a real stud-artist and keep with him during the night, because you can relate in a personal way. And I guess everybody wants that, most of all.
To quote one college student:
"Sexual freedom is a great thing. To be free to experience the kind of pleasure you want-in any kind of combination. But when there's more than one partner involved it's merely sex: crude orgasm. Fine for a new kind of kick, though not the same thing as when you are with one girl or man, depending on your sexual devotion. Because sex is something more than orgasm. It's that, sure! Still, when the emotions are involved, no matter how small that involvement, it means more. You are able to build a kind of relationship that is personal; that touches something more than the sexual guts of a person."
I can't help believing he is right about that. Orgies are fine in their place. But everybody wants to be needed, loved. That's probably a conditioning brought on by our upbringing. We are born in a family and have love showered on us. We learn the need for love. Love means security in an emotional way. Love means you are important, that there is somebody who cares. And there's nothing more terrible than not being cared about.
Not that I want the kind of love that is lasting-not right now. It would be impossible to be loyal to any oneman. Though, if I met a guy who is more than willing to share me and himself with other partners, it is something else. But there are too few men who feel that way about their women. They want total possession, though they believe it is all right for them to screw other girls. I simply don't believe in the double standard. And it isn't necessary today when we have such good birth control at our fingertips.
One girl told me this-and she was married at the time:
"If I want some fucking from a man and he's willing, I can't see why not! My husband cheats I expect it of him! But heaven help me if he finds out about my lovers!"
Well, like I said in the book earlier, I really don't believe I could stand having a man I was supposed to love giving it out to another woman. If he did-well, I'd certainly get even.
That's the trouble. I always find myself in a flux-a total confusion about what I want. One moment I'll consider in a very serious manner the idea of marrying some guy who thinks swapping partners is a great ball; at other times most of the time!-I don't think I could stand a man loved screwing another woman. Maybe that's where I'm hung-up about it. I wouldn't take that from any man!
Still, one fact remains, if I want to get married, I'll have to pick some guy that is outstanding in every way! I don't think there's a guy around who is like that, but in the next chapter I will try to tell about the few guys I've slept with that would have been interesting to develope into a more serious thing-though they didn't take me seriously. And considering some of the way s I met them, I can't say I blame them.
I'm screw-happy and there just isn't many men who can keep up with me in the sex department; and that, by itself, is a tough problem!
CHAPTER EIGHT - HERE COMES THE LOVERS
I really don't know exactly how to write about my so-called lovers. What I mean is that I have mixed feelings about such meetings. Well, if you know what I mean, it's sort of like two people meeting in the fields, the sky dark, clouded, a storm starting, lightning flashing in the distance and the air chilled. You are strangers, but both in need of mutual help against the very elements of Nature. Each of you are alone, yet there's the stranger who might help to comfort you, at least for the moment; and when the storm passes, you are alone again.
I read a statement somewhere, though I don't know when, about nobody loving a tramp-a girl of easy "virtue". At the time it impressed me, I guess. At times, I remember and feel very lonely and lost.
What I am really trying to tell the reader is that it is not easy to be me-or a woman like me!
I've read over the book to this point and have discovered one basic point missing-at least not brought out to its fullest: What it is like to be me!
I've tried to tell about my early experiences and the things that happened with my family, and something of how that influenced my teenage and young adulthood. I've made every effort of be honest, detailing my own personal sexual feelings concerning the sometimes orgastic relationships I've had with men; sex involving nothing more than the physical release and having nothing to do with the emotions.
Well, let me put it this way: no one can go through life without having their emotions touched. I've had moments of terrible loneliness and depression. I've had times of wonderful orgastic pleasure. But seldom have I experienced what most women seek out and find: The loverelationship between herself and a man.
I haven't helped much, true. I've been crude, vulgar, bold, brazen and blunt with men about my sexual desires. I've picked men up at bars, gone home with total strangers after a party, simply because when a man's hot cock is offered I am not the kind of woman who can say "No"-as the song goes.
Nobody will find happiness or success in life until they learn to accept themselves for what they are; not as something perverted or cheap. A person isn't cheap unless they think of themselves as being so. In self-acceptance and honest self-awareness of one's own strengths and weaknesses, we all become better people. The important thing is to understand this and make it a life-time project to always grow and be willing to not judge others any more than you might want others to judge yourself. Nobody knows how they might be in your shoes; they would probably be much the same. The thing that matters is if a person is happy-or at least more happy-in the role they play in life. If they are happy and don't go around hurting other people, what right do others have to point a finger and say this or that person is immoral. The only immorality in life is blind hatred, blind judgment, blind voicing of attitudes that are, in reality, groundless.
The way I'd say it, in my own words meaning just lying it on the line-is: Nobody has a right to point at me and say I'm a tramp. Nobody has the right to make judgment about the way I've lived because I've never really gone out of my way to hurt people.
Of course, some might claim that any woman who would seek to seduce married men, just for the kicks, is a disgusting tramp without any moral judgment. My answer would simply be: You can't seduce a man who doesn't want it! The action is between me and the "husband". If it weren't me, it would be somebody else, and as a point of fact, I've never bedded down with a married man who hadn't been screwing other females long before I came along. In marriage there are two sides to the coin; and if a man strays it's the woman's fault because she has failed in some way or another in giving her husband what he craves and needs, either sexually or emotionally.
Someone told me that no man or woman will cheat on their married partner for any reason other than righting a wrong clone to them-imagined or not! Something like that, anyway. The point is, even here I've done nothing with such men that wouldn't happen in any case-and maybe in some way I've helped them and their wives, in the long run.
Now I would like to tell about a few men I've known who meant something to me more than orgasm-though were very good in the sex-department. I wrote about one boy, when I was sixteen, the following:
"I'm crazy mad about him. He's so good when it comes to sexing me. He has deeply lustful eyes and obviously likes me as much as I like him."
I also remember that it broke off pretty fast. He met a so-called "nice" girl and dropped me like a hot cake!
But we had several weeks of hot times together, meeting after school, going some place where we could be alone, often in his car, parked on a dark street or in the country.
I remember that he just loved to have me blow him. I enjoyed it very much. His prick was big and the crown soft to pull between my lips. He wouldn't do anything but lie back, enjoying himself when I was working on his hard cock. But later or before he would juice me up like mad!
I remember one experience very strongly. We were out in the country and no sooner had we spread a blanket out, than I was reaching between his legs, fondling, saying how much I simply loved his thing. I called it that because I didn't have the guts to come out and say the sexier word. He unzipped his pants so I could have a naked view. His fingers peeled down the shorts and I put my mouth around the end of his prick. But I didn't go all the way, because I was so hot myself. I finally stopped, looking up at him and said: "I want it right!"
We embraced and he pulled my skirt high above my waist, slipped my panties off and then lowered himself between my legs. On first penetration I went wild, jerking up and down against him until we both climaxed. Then I performed fellatio on his spent shaft until it was up again So I was able to straddle his legs and enter into sexual intercourse once again.
No matter where we were, it was hot and fiery, happening very fast. He said I was great, the best there was, and I believed he meant more than merely sex.
I can't remember why I cared so much about him. Maybe it was just one of those puppy-love crushes. It was one of the first prolonged affairs.
Two years ago, I wrote this about a man who worked in a drug store. "Oh, he's divine, so tall and handsome and his eyes are so sexy when they look into mine. We have a date for tomorrow and I don't Know how I'll control myself. But I'll certainly try to make him believe I'm 'respectable'. He has to like me in a good way, or I'll simply die!"
But that night things just happened. I learned pretty fast that he was the kind of guy who liked a woman to "play it honest!" Which meant: If sex came up, it should be developed logically to the end.
I remember that while we were dancing, his hips pressed so tight against mine that I could feel him getting an erection. He just grew big and large between us and the rhythm of the dance was such that I just couldn't help brushing back and forth against his hard. It made me real pressing my thigh between his legs. He said something in my ear to the effect that I felt real good.
When we got off the dance floor, he motioned the waiter over, paid the bill and escorted me out of the club without once having asked what I wanted. In his car he turned and looked at me, then said: "You're too much!"
Then without warning, he reached out, pulled me to him and we kissed like it was for real.
When the kiss stopped we were both on the ragged edge of orgasm.
He pressed a hand into my breast and then said: "If you don't let me have you, I'll die of frustration!"
I was weak with sexual need and merely moaned, slipping my hand round his neck and bringing my lips against his. He returned the kiss, then asked if we should go to his or my place. I suggested his apartment.
I wrote in my diary the following: "Boy was he a big gun! He filled my mouth with that big thing of his and I went crazy. I wanted it at both places at once. We sixty-nined it all the way, first time round, then sat and talked, t hen screwed each other pink!"
I remember how wonderful his hard prick had been in my mouth, and how wild he'd been when penetrating my snatch. Slow and easy, lingering strokes that got better and better. I stayed all night with him and in the morning we made love again. He liked to caress and fondle my body with his large hands and tell me beautiful things about how lovely I was. He made me feel like a woman who is loved, both emotionally and sexually.
Three weeks later, I'd written the following about him:
"We had a wonderful time up at the lake this weekend. It was all sex. We made love in the mornings, nights and in the afternoon, but we did other things, too. I believe he really likes me. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe he's the man for me. He makes me feel like a real woman, not just a hot cunt!"
He let me down pretty fast, though. Vet tried to do it nicely. It ended up that he didn't want to continue seeing me, because it was getting "sticky". I tried to force the real explanation from him, and he finally said:
"Look, you're a ball, but that's it. If you hadn't been so much fun, it wouldn't have lasted this long. I'm simply bored!"
That hurt. I went out and picked up a couple of men at a bar and had an orgy for a whole bloody weekend, not leaving the motel room once. I'd keep one of the men sexually active while the other got food or drinks and brought them in. I didn't even bother getting out of bed to eat. I just took turns with them until they wore out.
The only other guy to really mean anything to me was a man I worked for during summer vacation a year ago. He was about ten years older than me. It was an office job and I did light typing and filing. He was the boss' son and took notice of me the second day I was working there. It wasn't difficult for a date to develop. He couldn't get his eyes off my body. Finally, he asked if I'd like to have dinner with him.
The dinner was at one of those restaurants on the beach with an ocean view. A very romantic evening. He told me quite a lot about himself. He'd been in the service in France and had been in love with a woman there.
"I was married to a girl here at that time, but it was a bad marriage, right from the start. When I got back to the States, I learned my wife had been sleeping out on me, too. We broke off the whole thing. I almost went back to France to the girl I'd been having quite a romance with, but I learned she was getting married to a longtime family friend. So ... that kept me here."
He had gone into quite a lot of detail, more than I can really remember. But it touched me. It seemed as if he'd gotten a raw deal all the way around.
That night he kissed me in the car, outside my apartment. I almost asked him up for a night cap-and hopefully for a sex meal. But for some reason, I didn't. I wrote in my diary that he'd "impressed me quite a bit and seemed very sensitive."
The next day, at work, he said how much fun the evening had been and that he'd like to date me gain sometime. So I said any time he wished. So it was that night.
We dated for about a week with nothing more than light kissing in his car. Somehow I managed to keep from suggesting that he come up to my apartment. About halfway into the second week, I asked him to come over for dinner.
I fixed the place up romantic, low lights, had c amp a g n e and martinis, cooked expensive steaks and put on a stack of romantic music to make love by. My dress was a low cut red one that gave off a perfect view of my breasts.
By the time dinner was over and drinks were affecting us, I suggested dancing to the music. We danced and he got hard pretty fast, since I was rubbing and pressing up against him, using my thigh between his legs.
I'd decided it would be socially correct to make a sex-play this evening, simply because I couldn't stand not having it-and we'd been dating almost every evening since the first time out. It was too much for me!
He went along with the play without batting an eye. Though later I learned he'd been quite surprised by what he called my boldness.
Before too long we were kissing, my arms around his neck, his around my waist. I kept my thigh against his hard erected shaft, wiggling, thrilling to its pressing form.
He lifted me up in his arms and carried me to the bedroom after I said, "I'm burning all over."
That first night was beautiful because he caressed the clothing off my body with light, tender ouches. When my breasts were bare, he kissed each nipple lovingly, sucking it between his lips, flicking the point of his tongue across it.
When he peeled down my panties, his lips lowered and kissed my vagina, his tongue lacing up along its mouth. Then he was undressing and I saw the bigness of his cock and moaned at the sight.
He came down alongside me, kissing my breasts, sucking my nipples, moving from one to thighs.
Then I grabbed his cock and started fondling and squeezing, and moaning with pleasure until he lifted up. He lowered himself between my parted thighs. The first thrust gave me an orgasm, then he continued until I climaxed again around his erupting shaft.
When he pulled out of me I coiled up, lowered my head between his thighs and started loving him with my mouth. He caressed the back of my head as I pulled his cock between my lips, tongued the end, then filled myself with his manhood. Once he was hard and large, I straddled his hips, rubbing my snatch against his long prick, thrilling again and again to the feel of his hard slipping up and down on my love-lips. Then I couldn't stand it any longer, and let him into the gates of my love-chambers, convulsively gripping on his wonderful meat, jerking and circling faster and faster until we both climaxed. Afterwards he said: "Wow, you're wonderful. You are so beautiful and perfect! The best damned woman I've ever known. Nobody did things like that!"
He stayed the night.
From then on, we didn't bother going out to movies or nightclubs, but met at his apartment or mine, staying together all night, screwing until we had exhausted one another. He always told me how much he loved my body, loved the way I was with him, saying how perfect and great I was.
Weeks went by like that until I wrote in my diary: "I'm in love. It has to be. I've never known a man like this-who could be so loving and tender and sexually exciting. We match perfectly. I'm always satisfied by him. There was never any man who could make me that happy!"
We went on a week's vacation together, in Las Vegas, and I found myself thinking how great it would be to live with this wonderful man. then one evening I suggested that we would be a great pair because we were so much alike. He didn't answer, but made love to me in a violent, wild way, taking my body, stuffing himself into my snatch even before it was moist. But I moistened up, fast and had an orgy of comes from that session.
Any time I might mention how great we were as a couple, he'd find some way to change the subject, usually be screwing me like a crazy man, violently, with passionate madness. I didn't guess what it really meant.
Finally, I suggested that we live together for a while, because we were almost doing that now.
We were in bed at the time, at his apartment and he started to reach for me after I made that suggestion. I pushed him back, said: "I'd love living with you!"
He froze, frowned, then said: "Look, let's not fool ourselves. The only thing we have is sex. So come on, let's screw our asses off!"
The shock of that statement numbed me enough so that he was able to assult my body. By then I began responding to the movement of his shaft inside me; it was impossible to keep from experiencing high pleasure; maybe even a greater pleasure because it had been taken out of my hands and he was almost raping me. Afterwards, I voluptuously devoured his penis with my lips like some possessed woman, half-driven out of my mind.
It was the last time I saw him. He called once and I cooled him off with a quick no. I quit the job the next week; we never saw one another again.
In looking over what I've written here, I feel a sense of uneasiness. It seems so shallow, yet as a friend has pointed out, this is probably because the experiences were painful to recall. I hesitated to expand upon them in detail and, at the same time-for much the same reasons-find it necessary to leave them here, unrevised or edited, in order to say something that will possibly give the reader an understanding of women like myself.
There were other lovers along the way that emotionally meant one thing or another to me; but to record them would mean repeating over and over a pattern that I find I've fallen into. The point, I hope, has been made.
Maybe to many readers I seem perverted or possibly the ideal bed-mate; but neither is the case. For I don't feel that I'm perverted in the common sense-unless one might call my body sexually sensitive in a "perverted" way-and a woman like myself can't consider herself just a good, ideal playmate for male lovers-though I don't question that the men I've slept with find me highly enjoyable in bed.
What I mean in the above paragraph is that I have a highly developed, obsessive desh'e for sexual orgasm with men, which is so overwhelming that all other "social" considerations go out the window. And, in all honesty, I don't believe this makes or he deal bedroom fun and games, since it is never a lasting arrangement, but merely a meeting of two bodies in an orgastic union that should never touch the emotion. Most people want emotional union, as well as sexual. With a woman like myself the partner to sex-love is of little importance. Most men will consider an affair with me much as they might with a prostitute who is giving it away for free! Kicks. An Orgy. But nothing more!
And nobody, not even a woman like myself, can go through life without something more than a purely sexual relationship with other human beings. Everybody wants to be needed and loved; respected by others.
In moments of depression and loneliness or deep, total self-honesty, I feel cheated. Sure, I'm beautiful, accrding to our modern-day standards. I'm the kind of woman who will climb into bed with a man and givve him any kind of sexual thrill he wants. I enjoy sex; thrill openly to all sexual acts with a total open-mindedness. I'm not hung-up in bed; and it's an all-out, no-holds-barred, experience for the man! I'm not sick like the medical nympho who can't experience orgasm. Sometimes, I wish it might be like that; most of the time I thank God it isn't!
The monkey on my back is the highly developed response to anything sexual; both physically and psychological. There have been men in my life who might have "talked" me into marriage, though I doubt very much such a union would be lasting, in the ordinary sense.
What does a woman like myself do to satisfy her emotional longings! What are the answers that will bring happiness to my life? I've even thought of becoming a prostitute so it would be possible to have as many men as a girl might want, and get paid for it. But such short moments flit away, because I am not the kind of person who is able to "sell" themselves in that kind of perverted way. If anything, I would feel a cheat charging for experiences I was getting the most out of.
Usually, I don't let such depressing attitudes bother me. I find it possible to live life from moment to moment, experiencing orgasm with men selves, emotionally having a total cop-out, not thinking about the future. It is the only way to survive!
Maybe, in time, things might change and I'll meet a man willing to give marriage a try; but what kind of man would that be? I'm sure there are many who would jump at the chance. Yet I'm just as sure that most of them would be undesirable to me. Not that I'm picky, but rather I don't believe in cheating on a relationship. To marry somebody I found less than all-consuming would cheat the man and cheat me!
If anything, I do have honesty to give to a relationship! I don't believe in playing games, telling lies, acting out a part that is a mental fiction. All too many men and women play at life, forcing themselves to take up a role that seems respectable to society, yet is not giving them the total experience they should have.
I'll be leaving college in a few months and be really forced out into a chilled world to survive as best I can. Chances are I'll have a series of jobs that wil involve a series of sexual adventures, both job and affairs coming to an end at the same time.
I know that to question the future, to seek out something which might never be possible, will only bring frustration.
A friend told me the following:
"Sometimes it is better to just live as best you can, with honesty, and let things happen in a natural way. In time, maybe years from now, you'll discover a new woman inside your mind and body-a more mature, well-adjusted female-who can find happiness when the right man comes along. To plan too far ahead would be foolish, because we never know what tomorrow will bring, what new comer we might turn to change our whole outlook, and the direction in which we shall move from then on. Being open to this unexpected event makes us willing to accept it completely when it comes."
For myself, I believe it is best not to worry about tomorrow, since even without the international situation, the threat of the H-bomb, the unexpected accident that might wipe life from my body, anything could happen to change the course of the future-bring happiness to loneliness, completeness to a life that seems for the moment but an endless search for orgastic union with as many lovers as are willing to climb into bed with me.
In closing, I would like to say the following: Every human being is a completely different combination of physical, sexual, emotional, mental parts; nobody is simply a human shell, without feelings; nobody is a sexless being, either. Even the most frigid of women have sexual desires, though they are certainly hidden under the layers of guilt and confusion about morality and social ethics. A woman like myself who seems, on the surface, to be a sexual cat-in-heat, hungering for male lovers with an erotic desperation, has that other side of her that longs for more than lovers, hungers for emotional love and emotional fulfillment.
I do believe that if anybody could be another person, they would act, think and be the same as that person. If any human being was trapped in my body, had experienced my life, they would end up exactly like me. They would not be able to escape the total at the end of this life-ime equation.
If there is anything the reader should get from my story, it should be the understanding that to judge a woman like me is to judge themselves if they were me! We all are what our ex periences have made us; what our body makes us; what others make us. But we have a choice, too; a small one, yet important. We can either be honest about ourselves or live a lie; kidding ourselves we are something different.
Probably more terrible than being me, is being the kind of person most of the world is made up of: people lying to themselves, to others and living lives that are made up of a mental fiction about themselves and others around them.
At least I can say one thing: I've tried to be honest, and have found in putting down my sexual experiences, trying to understand them, I've reached a place in my living experience where it is possible to be honest about what I am and what my future might bring.
