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Fucking My Wife For The Crowds
by Pace (address withheld)

***

Pace was obsessed with performing sex with his wife 
before groups of men. She was very pretty, gullible, 
and very much his junior. The period of intense sex 
performance he wrote about extended from 1967 to 1972. 
But he covered everything leading up to it and beyond. 
(M+/F, public-exh, intr, oral, anal, gb, orgy)

***

Author's Note: This is correspondence with a man who 
used the pseudonym Pace. He wrote me from about 1979 
till 1987, because I answered an ad in a swinger's 
magazine. I never met him. I have no idea what has 
happened to him since 1987. He was born in the late 
1920's and felt he might have a heart condition. He may 
have died suddenly, because the correspondence 
unaccountably went blank in mid-stream. Or he could be 
alive. 



Chapter 1: My Baby and Me
-------------------------

This is a bunch of stories about me, a guy who fucked 
his wife for show in front of guys. I'll call them 
stories, but I'll never publish them as real stories. 
They're only for a very a special public, written by a 
guy who's not a "writer". There's stuff here I'd like 
to share with a very unusual, a very small, a very 
special audience. Guys who are older, like I am. Guys 
who were raised in more conventional, much more 
inhibited times in the past, when women were "nice". 
Most especially, I think this stuff would "get" to a 
certain kind of guy, get to him in the guts; someone 
like me, with an exhibitionist screw loose in his head.

I've got this funny, uncomfortable, weird and freaky 
"thing" in my head. I'd like to know that I'm talking 
to guys who understand this. You want to know what it 
feels like, fucking your wife in front of a crowd. It 
sends the blood racing through you. Your heart beat is 
unbearable, like in a marathon, the excitement comes 
and hits you, wham! wham! 

There is nothing like that excitement. It's like you're 
going to have a heart attack. I'll tell you, I get it 
at just the thought, just the image, of fucking my wife 
in front of a group of other guys, before I'd even get 
her stripped to fuck her. If this is the kind of thing 
that would turn you on, if you've ever fantasized about 
doing it, but have been too chicken to do it, the way I 
once was, then these stories, these "stories" are for 
you.

In my heart I'd really like my stuff to be read by guys 
who watched me, who were audiences at our stag shows. 
But I don't know how that could ever be. I don't know 
how this could ever get into their hands. If it did, 
this is the way I'd like to talk to them. This is what 
I'd like to say to them. I'd like those guys to see how 
I manipulated that little ninny, my little Irish wife, 
literally, the little fuckhead, the mother of my kids, 
into spreading out her Mommy cunt so they could look 
right up into her excited pussy hole. And you bet she 
got excited when she did that. We couldn't have done 
what we did if she wasn't getting something out if it, 
too, it if she wasn't excited.

And all of those guys who saw us would know I was doing 
it before the swinging Seventies, back in the Sixties. 
That's right. When I could have gotten our fucking 
asses in the klink for doing something like that, or 
even a hell of a lot worse. If my audience was reading 
this now they would remember what it was like, when 
they were at my stags. I never got to talk to them like 
a real person, one to one, we always talked about the 
stag show, itself, arrangements, bullshit trivia, I 
never got to meet them, personally.

After all, I was this kook who was letting them fuck my 
wife. I was too strange for any of those guys to look 
me in the face, most of the time. It was really rare 
anybody ever gave me eye contact. And if they did look 
me in the eye, they couldn't hide their contempt for 
me, they had this shit-eating grin, this smirk on their 
lips. Even though they talked to me, and gave me "lip 
service" about what a great guy I was, you know, 
letting them fuck my wife, or sucking them off, that 
ain't what they were thinking. No siree! They thought I 
was the biggest asshole ever born. It was a real 
charade.

Hey, guys, those were uptight times, when flower 
children were tip-toeing through the tulips with Tiny 
Tim, and Vietnam was heating up. Didn't it break you 
up, when I let you look at family album photos? When I 
sat there in your Club room running our home movies, 
just before you were going to fuck my wife? Most of you 
knew we were for real, we couldn't fake those movies 
and those photos, if you had any brains. 

Some of you guys wouldn't believe it. My wife had to be 
a hooker. Those guys thought it was all a hype, it was 
all a con job. I even showed our personal wedding 
photos, photos from our shotgun wedding. That wedding 
was real; I'd knocked up my little 17 year old pussy, 
Eileen. It was a small wedding. And there was my sweet 
ninny of a child bride, a young sweet thing who cooed 
like a bird, with her lilting Irish brogue. And her 
mother. Side by side. In the photos. Some wedding, a 32 
year old guy with a pregnant 17 year old. It was 
screwy, wasn't it??

You've got to remember watching my wife's open pussy in 
action in your Clubs, all those function halls, locker 
rooms, hotel rooms, hey, I even fucked my baby and 
invited a gang bang in a machine shop. A bowling alley. 
All kinds of places. Freaky, wasn't it, showing all 
those home movie shots, right? And then Eileen sucking 
cock, mine and yours. 

How about all that other impossible stuff I had the 
sweet innocent do, you know, in the later years, with 
black stag performers and me. The looks on your faces! 
You couldn't have forgotten us. I know I'll never 
forget the noise, the whooping and hollering, just the 
astonished shock, the unbelieving looks on your pusses. 
What a kick that gave me.

You knew, for sure, most of you who wanted to believe 
it, that we were for real. We were what we said we 
were; married, and in love. Really in love. You could 
see it in the looks on our faces when I was fucking 
her. I was grinning at her, leering at her, kissing her 
lips, her ear lobes, her neck, her eyes. You don't see 
professionals do that. They stick to cock and pussy. 
Just fuck the hole, or fuck the mouth. That's what's 
important when there is no love. You knew we had kids, 
and lived normal lives, except for my "kink", my bent. 
Wasn't it wild, seeing my wife and me take our marital 
bed right out there out in public, in front of your 
staring eyes?

I remember. Do you? You saw the little girl suck my 
cock off, and in amazement, your jaws hanging down, 
watched the totally innocent-looking mother sucking out 
the scum from cock after cock of your buddies. And 
grinning at her husband. And her husband grinning at 
her. If you were lucky enough or nervy enough, you even 
got a chance to get your own tool sucked off, or slip 
your dick into that awfully pretty, innocent looking 
young wife's Mommy hole. I've heard you guys wondering 
aloud, about us. I heard enough of you muttering. Well, 
I wish that you had this story so you could get part of 
your answer.

Well that's what I would have said to my stag 
audiences, if I could have gotten this story into their 
hands. But for the rest of you, you would know exactly 
what I'm talking about if you'd lived through the 
forties, or were a young adult during the fifties and 
the sixties, times when sex was so intense, so 
forbidden, pre-X-rated times, when you were lucky to 
see one open snatch, in your entire lifetime. Anybody 
who grew up then knew what it was like to live in up-
tight times.

 
Chapter 2: Me and My Princess
-----------------------------

To make it even wilder, I'm an Italian. An "older" 
Italian. I was born in 1927. You know how jealous 
Italians are supposed to be about their wives? 
Especially someone like me, a "paisano" who lucked out. 
Against all odds I was hooked up with a sweet honey of 
an Irish wife. I was told it often enough. How my 
Eileen was pretty enough to be a movie star. That's how 
I felt about her, too. But to me Eileen was more like 
an English Princess. 

She came on with this stimulating half-English, half-
Irish accent, but definitely a lilting brogue. I was 
the luckiest guy in the world. How would you like to 
find yourself like me, "into" a cunt 15 years younger, 
with a license to fuck her all you want? Just looking 
at Eileen, I swear, I fucked my giggling bride every 
chance I got.

And I wanted a lot of kinky sex out of her, so I 
stalked her like a cat. Gradually, slowly, slowly, I 
trained the girl. I trained her being real sneaky about 
it, into doing more and more perverted things for me. 
I'll tell you how much that innocent "look" on her face 
turned me on. It was unbelievable, whenever I could, 
I'd jump her; I'd have my sweet Princess down on her 
knees, at my crotch, gulping my hog, or flat on her 
back, getting her hairy drippy red split pounded. 

While Eileen giggled her fucking head off. Always 
amazed at how "gruff" I was. Her words. I couldn't stop 
it. Every time I looked at that cunt, I wanted to fuck 
her. It never went away. I'd literally look at my 
wife's face, sometimes, and get a hard-on. I'd fuck the 
piss out of the girl, literally, she'd always be 
running to pee after I fucked her, that hard, four 
times a day, or whenever I could.

Call me a wop or a guinea and I'd probably "break your 
face". Probably not, if you were too big. Hey, I'm no 
hero. But how else can I say it? Could an ugly-looking 
"guinea" like me ask for a sex life more exciting than 
that? I'm fucking a girl most people thought wouldn't 
even talk to me. So you'd think I'd died and landed in 
heaven, right? That was so much to have, who could ask 
for anything more? It's true. I did land in heaven.

So it's natural to ask the next question; what's this 
fucking pervert doing, here he is with the fuck of his 
dreams, and what's he doing? Dreaming of fucking his 
sweet little wife in front of a gang of guys. Now 
you've got to understand, this was way back in the 
sexual dark ages, like in the early '60s. Kennedy was 
still King. That was Camelot, and Father Knows Best on 
TV. And there I am, this nut, plotting and scheming, 
all I could think of was fucking my sweet Irish bride 
in front of a gang of guys.

What was bugging me? Where did this screwball 
"bugginess" come from? The whole story, in fact all 
these stories are just about that. I'll show you how 
Eileen and I, both of us, were sort of "set up" to go 
the way we did. We were both like loaded guns. All we 
needed was the right trigger pull to come along and 
start us down that path. We didn't know it, at the 
time, that we were going to act anything out.

We both thought we were "normal", whatever that means. 
Or at least Eileen did. With my screwy sexual 
background I knew I was a sex addict. And that 
addiction kept pumping me up with fantasies, I would 
look at every woman and undress her and fuck her. Until 
Eileen. When I didn't have to look. I could do it. I 
could fuck that dumb cunt over and over and over again. 
And she liked it! And let me do it!

 
Chapter 3: My Wife Gets Propositioned
-------------------------------------

Anyway, there was this "incident", and that was our 
trigger. Made us go Bang! And Bang and Bang, again and 
again, over and over. I'll talk more about it, later. 
For now I'll just tell you that the "incident" took 
place after my little girl had our first baby. Sometime 
after that. 

I was the proud middle-thirties father of his first 
boy. Eileen was a dumb, gullible 19 year old ninny. And 
fresh from being made a Mommy. Going to Boston 
University's School of Nursing, to do her part in 
supporting our family. But in white bobby sox and plaid 
skirts, with school stories under her arms, Eileen 
looked more like a high school freshman than a married 
lady when she commuted to college classes. The Mommy-
coed.

Well, it all happened when my wife took a ride in a 
car, she got a lift (I'll say!). The MTA trolley line 
(not MBTA, back then) right in front of our house on 
Commonwealth Avenue in Allston, a part of Boston, ran 
straight down to Boston University. It was out of 
action, as it often was. 

When that happened students hitchhiked. Eileen had done 
it often. I never knew. If I had, I'd have had a fit. A 
lot of students did it. Not girls, though. The guy who 
gave Eileen a "lift" this time was another guinea. He 
was a guy like me, a guy with just as dirty a mind as 
Eileen's "old man". Anyway my stupid little pussy got 
propositioned.

This pastafazool spotted her and psyched her out just 
right; he handed that gullible lolly pop of mine a 
bullshit line, offering to pay her an incredible hourly 
fee for having sex in front of his camera for some 
"medical photos". With her husband, "of course". My 
trusting fool confessed, beforehand, that we were just 
about stone broke. And didn't he "leap into that 
breach". Yeah, and likely to leap into her breach, if 
she didn't watch her dumb fool ass. My dumb cunt!

Get that! Medical photos! Some sh-ee-ee-t! But this is 
it! This is the kicker! My dumb cunt of a wife was 
eager to "go for it"! Fucking surprise. Fucking wild! 
Just ask me. Would I have predicted it? No fucking way 
in hell. I just didn't know how to handle the 
situation. I was too chicken and scared, wanting like 
crazy to do it, excited totally out of my skull, but 
scared, scared of cops, of Mafia, of God knew who this 
guy was. Eileen had me shaking with excitement, pumped 
full of adrenalin, when she came back to the house with 
the offer. It made me dizzy. Really!

Frankly, I dropped the ball. And did I live to regret 
that! Sure I did! Stupido! That crazy proposition 
planted the nutty idea, and I couldn't shake it. My 
amazement was that my silly goose of a beautiful wife 
was actually willing to pose for those photos. At 19! 
From a straight nice little Irish Catholic background. 
She would do it! That silly little cunt would actually 
do it!

Well it took almost five years, five fucking years 
after the "proposition" to pull off the real McCoy, but 
this wasn't posing for animal crackers. Not by then. 
No, boy. Things had really moved along in our sex life. 

When my wife got propositioned, back in '61, there was 
no way you could have convinced me that, in a short 
five years after, when she'd gotten her nursing degree 
and was a practicing nurse, the sweet thing would end 
up the solo performer at her first, and what I thought 
would be her only, real stag show. A stag party, a gang 
fuck. Yup, a gang fuck. You got it, baby. A pile on. 
The two of us dancing, still dressed, alone on a small 
wooden dance floor, under lights, packed with close-in, 
steamed up, teased up, panting guys, surrounded by a 
wall of watchers, their tongues hanging down to the 
floor. Waiting.
 

Chapter 4: What Happened to Amateurs
------------------------------------

I was nutty! Crazy! You know what we were facing, my 
Eileen and me, with that nutty obsession? In some 
States, just because we were amateurs. We were not like 
the regular whores and pimps who did stags, 
professionals who paid off the cops, or who let the 
stag performer fuck the cops as a "gratuity", if the 
cops wanted it. Amateurs like us could've spent months, 
or even possibly more of our lives in jail, if we'd 
been caught. That is, if we'd been lucky. 

Yeah, a jail sentence would have been lucky, in 
Massachusetts, compared to the alternative. Well, if a 
pro was going to get off the hook by sucking off a 
bunch of cops, how about your wife? What the hell, 
she'd fucked a crowd at a stag performance, hadn't she? 
Well, you became a free fuck station for every cop who 
wanted a quick fuck and blow job after you'd been 
nailed. Till a couple finally got the point and moved 
out of State.

I don't have the facts, but have to confess that I 
never read of one amateur stag performer who was busted 
in a raid for having sex at a bachelor party in 
Massachusetts being brought to trial. Unusual? Why? Was 
Massachusetts a tolerant State? Hell, no! Not with the 
Catholic hierarchy and Protestant blue-noses rampant. 

No way, Jose, was Massachusetts lenient. I'll give you 
the whole story in other chapters in these stories, but 
even now, I can fill you in on what happened to unlucky 
amateur fuckers in Massachusetts that will blow your 
socks off. No shit, for real. It certainly sounds 
strange enough to be unreal.

Back in those days, as I said, it was the rarest of 
rare things that amateurs fucked in stag shows. Some of 
the few were caught. Off and on. By accident. Maybe you 
could get away with doing one stag, once, for kicks, 
anonymously, and never go for seconds. There'd be no 
cops setting up to raid you, that way, on your second 
try. But if a couple did more than one stag show, they 
were certainly taking a chance of being caught. They 
were. It happened.

There were very, very infrequently these little bitty 
squibs, short articles, maybe a couple of column-inches 
long, in the Boston American, or the Boston Record, 
whatever its predecessor was, a Hearst tabloid, about 
stag party busts. Maybe once or twice a year. Or more. 
At the time we had this anti-porno happy Sergeant in 
the State Police who made a big deal about busting stag 
shows. He was a real bugger about dirty pictures.

But what never hit the papers was news about what 
happened to these couples after arrest, their cases 
seemed to disappear from public view. That was strange. 
Because, if you ever looked at the Boston rags after 
arrests, you never saw news about prosecutions, only 
arrests. Now why do you suppose that would have been?

Well, just think about it for a second. Would the 
"public" care about some couple stupid enough to get 
caught fucking for a bachelor party, anyway, except for 
the reporters who could generate a momentary 
titillating thrill for their readers, exposing 
somebody's perversity? Was that really a threat to 
public safety? Nobody really cared if the couple got 
jailed, or got off. It was all just a high-spirited 
dirty joke, after all, some couple out for a "kick". 
Hey there was a real problem with real prostitutes, and 
racial troubles, and the Vietnam War. So some dumb 
fucks were fucking in a Vet's Club, who cared, good 
luck to them! Lucky Vets!

So, with that situation, put yourself in a vice cop's 
place. A corrupt, horny vice cop. As a cop, you're 
never supposed to fuck the hookers, right? It's part of 
the "code", right? If you did you would be risking your 
ass, getting canned. But everybody else was getting 
ass. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. And, besides 
who would have wanted to fuck some toilet of a whore, 
anyway? Now, you got this bust of an ordinary married 
couple. 

As a cop, could you imagine a better edge you could 
have on a really "clean" couple, a couple that had been 
caught fucking in public, than the fact you could send 
them to the klink?. What the fuck was the point of 
that? Sending them off to jail? Some asshole had gotten 
his even bigger asshole of a wife to fuck and suck a 
bunch of guys. Made her into a fucking whore. Right? 
This prick obviously didn't give a shit who his wife 
fucked. Why not you? Hey, a free piece of ass. A golden 
opportunity.

These two dumb fucks didn't want to go to jail. Hey, if 
you, a cop, just wanted them to do the same thing for 
you, just once, since they'd already fucked their heads 
off for a bunch of civilians, what couple in their 
right minds wouldn't fuck the cop and his buddies, just 
have the wife suck off a few more dicks, and the cops 
would let them off scot free. The little lady had 
already sucked cock, so what was new? "Just let your 
wife suck my dick a little like she did at the party, 
buddy. No skin off your teeth." 

Quite a con? You could see that happening, couldn't 
you?. It did. It was standard procedure. If that was 
all, well, what the hell! The couple wouldn't do stags 
anymore, that was for sure. What harm in it. the cop 
got a little free piece of ass. This fucking asshole of 
a husband was making his wife's pussy into a urinal, 
anyway. Could have been just another cock blown off at 
the party. One cock more or less, and the joke is ended 
right there.

If that had been all there was to it, it would have 
been a minor corrupt end to something the cops should 
never have been involved in, in the first place. I 
admit it is hearsay, but there were supposed to have 
been instances of sexual enslavement or harassment of 
wives, and even more perverse, of families of amateur 
couples down in Massachusetts, which didn't just end 
that way. There's no way the news of these events could 
have ever broken out into the public. It was a system 
that was guaranteed to get some unfortunate victims of 
police sexual blackmail stuck into a horror that broke 
their lives.

There was nobody to complain to about what they'd been 
subjected to. Just think about it. After a couple was 
raided at a stag show, or worse, entrapped into giving 
a stag show by the cops themselves, what could they do 
to get out of what followed. Nothing. Just look at the 
judgment that would have been on them. After all, 
they'd done a stag show willingly, hadn't they. I'd 
heard, from someone who'd lived it, that couples were 
not just let go after sucking off a few cop's cocks. It 
was like being caught by a loan shark. You never get 
out from under.

And it was done in a real insidious way. The way cops 
use "good cop, bad cop" routines on criminals. There 
was always some cop, apparently with sincerity, 
"playing" good cop. What does a "caught couple" do when 
some fake sympathy is offered to them after being 
caught "wide open" by the cops? Isn't a shocked and 
totally shamed arrested couple relieved and grateful 
when they meet some "kind-hearted" cops who seem to 
understand the couple's freakiness in the exhibitionism 
department? Kind-hearted like a crocodile. That was the 
hook and the bait used to catch these poor fish.

The opener was to have the wife or woman suck off one 
cop's dick. And then, after a "social" visit, repeat 
the same ext. Then the stakes were escalated. Since the 
unfortunate couple had already been "caught in the act" 
of giving a sex show, or the woman, girl-friend or wife 
had already fucked a number of guys at a stag show, 
what was one more sex show, more or less, or one more 
dick in the lady's hole, more or less, between 
"friends", especially of the "friends" could see to it 
that the charges could be swept under the rug, in 
exchange for a "favor"? Get the picture?

These cops used that bait to suck in such couples 
further, so they couldn't back out anymore, they would 
escalate the level of involvement, get the couple 
deeper into performing perverted sex acts. Before 
Eileen and I ever got into doing stags I learned 
details and more details about it from one couple we 
were involved with personally, and closely (boy, will 
you see how close!). It taught me a lot about how to 
run my own similar sex obsession in the following 
years, and how to be clear of problems when I started 
playing out my own nuttiness.

I should drop the subject, because these were only a 
few rotten apples, of all the vice cops, a little band 
of vice cops, Staties and locals. But some cops bragged 
to victims, to degrade them even more, to let them know 
where they stood, to terrorize them about the power 
these cops had over them. I'd heard horror tales about 
what they were eventually forcing the couples to do to 
avoid prosecution, as they got them further down the 
betrayal path. Things like forced family sex.

The thing is you could never prove any of this, or 
bring cops to justice. I'll give a recent example. 
There was a protest, based on a complaint of a woman, 
not a prostitute, but an ordinary woman dated a cop, 
who claimed she's been gang raped. the case was never 
prosecuted. It did result in the closing of so-called 
Private Clubs maintained by Boston cops, sometime 
around 1987. There was a quickly quashed scandal about 
a small number of cops maintaining these Private Clubs 
where other women besides this complainant had been 
brought in and forced, many times, to have sex with 
officers.

That's in these times. Now think back to way back then. 
If a couple had opened their sexual bed to mass 
penetration at a stag show, from a cop's sexually 
bigoted point of view, the woman was a common ordinary 
slut. That was 30 years ago. Probably those fucking 
cops are still alive, having ruined these folks' lives. 
So you should have an idea of the kind of legal 
environment, the policing and emotional setting in 
which my wife and I operated, if you didn't actually 
live through it.


Chapter 5: Eileen and Our Stag Party Routines
---------------------------------------------

Now for some realistic background on Eileen. My wife 
performed her first, and what I expected to be her only 
stag party at a packed veteran's club in 1966 when she 
was only 24. And the mother of two little kids. I 
looked old enough to be her fucking father, at 39. Fat 
and hairy and balding. Pretty little Eileen didn't even 
look old enough to have two kids. She looked like a 
fucking bobby-soxer, a high school girl, or a college 
freshman cheerleader. We were totally off the wall, as 
far as any stag audience was concerned.

At the time Eileen was spreading her pussy so guys 
could get a look up her hole, that same pussy had given 
birth to two small kids, our 6 year old boy and our 
pretty 4 1/2 year old daughter (not mine, actually, as 
I later found out). I wanted to have that scene happen 
once in my life, to see it for real, and I couldn't 
stop pinching myself, I'd actually pulled it off. 
Crazzy me!

Whores did stag shows. Doped up, crazy "nymphos", 
hopped up, anything goes soon-to-die, who-gives-a-shit 
nymphos did stag shows. A married straight suburban 
housewife, with kids? Nobody, but no married woman 
ever, ever, ever did that, as far as these Clubs were 
concerned. Well, they didn't know everything, there 
were a few others. But nothing, virtually nothing 
compared to the regular stag show activity.

This is a knowledgeable guess, based on my own personal 
solicitations of Clubs, practically all of which I 
turned down as being too raunchy or wrong for what 
Eileen and I wanted. Just some statistical estimates. 
Averaged out over all the year, there are maybe 150 
marriages a week in Massachusetts. Stag bachelor 
parties back then, in the sixties, were held most often 
by industrial workers, a lot of second-generation 
Italians or even more working class Irish. The only 
others who would have bachelor parties were the scum of 
the colleges, the drunken fraternities, and they 
usually had a party using a more feeble-minded or 
compliant girl-friend of one of the members. 

So the occasional lowlifes in the general population 
would have a stag party. That would be the smallest 
percent of all the couples, not the average middle 
class church-goers, because the general run of the 
populations are too straight, or it doesn't go with 
their lifestyle in this religious uptight conservative 
New England. But concentrating on Massachusetts alone 
I'd guess, even back then, for bachelor parties, or 
parties held for salesmen, or visiting firemen, or 
fraternities, of which there was a shitload at the 
Boston colleges, in any week it would have only been a 
few, like two or maybe even three or four parties like 
that going on in any week. 

I admit, looked at cumulatively, it may look like a 
lot, as much as a hundred to two hundred bachelor and 
stag parties in any year. These would be anything from 
a hired stud and some hooker or hookers fucking for an 
audience, to sometimes, maybe once a year somewhere in 
the State, the real adventurers would have a real sex 
circus, animals and all, or combination stag shows and 
drunken gang fucks. But if you think about this 
happening among about five million people, that's not a 
lot.

In the entire New England States, all of the States, 
I'd heard from the Clubs I worked with, there were 
maybe two or three other real amateurs like us, at any 
one time, taking a chance. Because when I would arrange 
something, that would always be a chance for the guy 
who was making the arrangements to bring up the 
question of whether my wife and I would be willing to 
do this or that sex act that they'd heard about some 
other amateur couple doing. Each amateur had a very 
different style, that was for sure. 

We didn't work by formula. Often these other couples 
were just like us, usually doing it for kicks. But they 
only tried it maybe once or twice, for the thrill of 
making money fucking and having a good time in a sex 
exhibition. Sort of at random.

The amateur that made a practice of it, in 
Massachusetts, was asking for it; if they did it more 
than one or two times, sooner or later there were 
always little local yokel cops at these shindigs, and 
they'd rat to their Statie counterparts, just cop-to-
cop courtesy. A careless couple would be set up for 
entrapment. I went to elaborate measures to avoid that, 
just in the way I worked it.

Any amateur who came to the attention of the cops was 
sucked into their sick game. So that amateur would be 
off the scene pretty quickly. Eileen and I fucked for 
audiences all over New England, New York City and New 
York State. We spread ourselves thin, if you don't mind 
the joke.

But, in general, nobody in staid, uptight, sexually 
repressed New England had ever heard of what we were 
doing, that is, in the sixties. In California, today, 
fuck it, it's like buying a hot-dog at the beach. No 
big deal. It's an amateur hobby or second income. But 
these are weird times.

But what we were doing? Where did you ever hear of an 
audience being treated to a family-style (for real) 
slide show and home movies, beforehand? Just to give 
the affair that "homey" and "cozy" flavor. You get the 
impact?? That was a real kinky husband, for sure! My 
audiences dropped their socks with astonishment that it 
was actually taking place. They thought, always, that 
it was some kind of joke, or hype, or "kicky" con that 
I was putting over on them. 

Well, some six years, and 45 other stag shows, by 1972, 
my Eileen was then a jaded a 30-year old mother of 
three kids. At that point my disgusted wife pulled out 
of doing stags forever. Four years later she would 
totally split from me. We'd had a third kid, less than 
a year after the first three stag shows, in 1967. A 
short break. In case you've got a dirty mind; no, no, 
our third baby was not conceived out of the pool of 
scum pumped off into my wife's bare pussy hole at a 
stag party. As a matter of fact, Eileen was three 
months pregnant, and showing a little preggie belly at 
her third stag party.

That fun "party" the little pregnant mother had was her 
third stag or it could have been her fourth party. I've 
got a list, but it's too much bother to look it up, 
right now. Anyway, this bunch of stag parties, about 
one a month, was like a crazy opportunity, they all 
sort of all fell into my lap at once. I'd been 
maneuvering for a year, and everything came together at 
once.

I wasn't even assured by Eileen that she'd be willing 
to do any more than just the first one, if even that, 
but went ahead with the arrangements, anyhow. Why not? 
Arranging for it was pretty exciting, in itself. I 
could always pull out. The young mother had 
"entertained" at that many parties in just three or 
four months. Three or four of them.

And this third or fourth party was a real scum bag of a 
dirty gang fuck. Not like the first two or three 
parties. Those first two stags were a model of fun, 
they were really wild, better than we could have ever 
imagined. There were high jinks, the young mother 
playing tease, everybody coddling her, enjoying her 
sweetness. Not like this sordid affair in a bowling 
alley in Connecticut. In Willimantic we had a crowd of 
real low life. I'd gotten the lead from other activity 
I'd indulged in, trying to line up parties. 

Anyway, at this affair there was Eileen spreading her 
pussy right on the bowling alley, bowling naked, 
frigging her pussy with "duck pins", blowing off line-
ups in the men's room. All the things guys had ever 
wanted to do to all the gals they ever saw in a bowling 
alley were acted out. On my wife. No family photos 
here. Just a gal walking into a bowling alley with a 
bunch of guys waiting, in nothing but a coat and her 
skin, and whammo! flash open the coat, showing nothing 
on but black high heels and pussy and tits out for 
action.

I've got a great series of nude photos I took of Eileen 
earlier that same night. I did these "rehearsals" in 
our living room, before we did our stags. It happened 
the first time we did a stag, and it became a really 
important part of the ritual. In these photos, which 
are featured in the video, there is Eileen showing 
those tits and pussy, just as she was ready to go for 
it that night. The only photos I got a chance to take 
that night were nudes. 

These were taken when we almost leaped for our "sex 
room" within moments after our kids were picked up by 
Eileen's Mumsy for an overnight. We didn't waste time 
fucking around with cameras, I'll tell you that, for 
sure. I had to get my rocks off into her, and Eileen 
had to fuck her bloody head off, before we left. It 
just had to happen. Period. Otherwise the tension on 
the long ride from New Hampshire down to Willimantic 
would have burst over on the road. 

These "rehearsals" were some of the most excited sex we 
ever had, anticipating the main event, talking about 
what would happen at the stag party, while we were 
fucking, there in our "sex room", and going out of our 
heads over it, coming like crazy.

Ah, but then there's the "aftermath". You know what I 
mean? You know that "let-down" guys get after fucking? 
The lethargy. The feeling of "what the fuck did we ever 
do that for?" Eileen and I would moan and groan, and 
look at each other, all worn out from fucking, and 
laugh. Oh, why the hell were we doing this? Eileen 
would go limp, looking at me. 

Laughing at the both of us, calling us both nuts. We 
shouldn't go through with this. We'd already gotten our 
rocks off over the idea. Nothing could be more exciting 
than that. How the hell was Eileen going to go through 
with this now? What the hell were we doing, going to a 
stag? All the little woman felt like doing, was going 
into her beddy-bye and snuggling up to the pillow.

And frankly, I didn't feel too peachy-keen on the whole 
idea, either, post-coitus. After fucking my girl, here 
I was in a normal, rational state of mind. In the clear 
light. Ugh! This was screwball! I looked at it the same 
way as the audience looked at me. What kind of crazy 
was I to want a crowd of horny assholes sticking their 
dicks into my wife, the good and kind mother of my 
kids? Ooo-oo-oh, what a weirdo! I must be some sick 
puppy to have started this.

We sort of made ourselves do it. We had no more desire 
to go through with this than we had to wade through a 
tub of shit. But we had to. We would laugh and groan, 
saying we'd fucked away our evening, or our party. And 
we were getting paid. The idea of all those guys 
waiting. All the build up. None of these Clubs ever 
believed we'd ever really go through with it. 

Couldn't blame them for thinking I was just some kind 
of fruitcake, getting my rocks off over an idea, a 
fantasy that I could never pull off. Frankly, it was 
just as well we fucked beforehand. Who the hell could 
have taken the tension, on the drive down? You know, 
that was like a five hour drive. But the same thing 
used to happen those times, later on, when we stayed 
nearby, in a motel. The frantic fucking, beforehand.

Ah, but then, there was the stag show itself. Then all 
the pre-fucking paid off. Because we needed patience, 
and a clear head. Once you've fucked, you're not that 
keen to fuck again, so the fucking set me up to get 
into it unexcited, mostly, cold-blooded, and protected. 
Both Eileen and I both walked out of shows I'd arranged 
that were suspicious, even after all of my screening. 
Never started them. 

Sometimes there was just this feeling that we could be 
raided, or the guys were acting too fidgety, as if they 
were not letting us be in charge, but were leading us 
on, so they could do something I expressly said we 
wouldn't do. You know. Like a shiftiness in the eyes, 
an unwillingness to make eye contact, I just had the 
sense of betrayal in the air. 

It was like a sixth sense, a radar. I'd heard the 
horror stories and took them all seriously, every one 
of them. I'd say that one out of every four or five 
planned stags were like that. If we'd been all juiced 
up, too much, we probably would have walked into some 
really nasty situations. I don't want you to get this 
wrong. We were excited. But not THAT excited, if you 
get what I mean.

Sort of something that grew out of this pre-stag 
"blowing off the steam", or the cum, if you'll pardon 
the joke, happened more or less the way it was destined 
to. We ended up giving these little "warm-ups", after 
the first year, or maybe less, with my "contact", the 
guy who'd arranged it with me, or the MC. Believe it or 
not, at some of the stag shows we actually had an MC 
introducing us. We'd rehearse the thing with the guy, 
try to "lay it out".  

Those were really the best of the shows, when a guy was 
making funny remarks into a mike while your wife was 
fucking on stage. Hilarious, sexy, funny, erotic, 
exciting, all of that. Some of these guys were great 
clowns, keeping the atmosphere light, while my wife 
fucked, either me, or groups of guys, or male stud stag 
performers at "the party". 

I mean Eileen would be in the middle of blowing off 
some guy's dick, and she'd catch the funny line and 
start laughing, with the dick in her hand, I mean she'd 
stop sucking cock, and crack up. The guys who were 
waiting to be sucked off, the line-up, laughing their 
heads off. HONEST!

These guys, the MCs, usually wanted to get their rocks 
off first, a sort of privilege. WE knew it, but the MC 
and Eileen and I played a little tease and seduction 
game, exciting, really. It always ended up with the guy 
and me fucking my wife Eileen's cunt and mouth together 
in a threesome. I'll tell you, sometimes, just because 
it was ahead of the main event, in the empty hall, or 
on an empty stage, without anyone there yet, it could 
bring on some of the most intense orgasms, for all of 
us. Our most solicitous and best MCs, on stage, were 
guys who fucked Eileen's face or pussy ahead of the 
crowds.

On the later stags it would sometimes be the officers 
of the particular Club, union or managers and coaches 
and captains of the team, a small group, who would take 
us to dinner, amazed at how "normal" we were, as a 
couple. Three to four to five or six guys fucking 
Eileen, before "The Main Bang". 

It was the time pressure, to fuck Eileen before the 
herd came in, that pumped it all up. It was frantic, 
hectic, crazy, everybody laughing, because they all 
felt they had to fuck my wife and get their rocks off 
into her pussy hole or her mouth before the "gang 
came", a real pun. A real competitive, exciting 
atmosphere. It was like they were "cuckolding" their 
buddies or team-mates, getting one up on them, like 
fucking a lady in her own house, in the marital bed, 
within minutes of the time the husband was due home for 
supper. Same kind and brand of excitement. The 
erections in these "warm-ups" were hard as rocks, not a 
limp dick in a car-load.

A Description of Eileen:

At this point I realize that Eileen is sort of 
faceless. I'll remedy that. If you're not part of that 
very intimate, special, and favored crowd I've been 
screwy enough to send a copy of the video to, I'll 
describe my pretty wife Eileen. At least the way she 
looked back then. 

Eileen had a very pretty oval-shaped Irish-British 
face. Her looks were common in this country. My little 
wife was a "type", one of the prototypes of the All-
American girl. Eileen resembled "Ivy League" women you 
usually associate with class, with upper-class. A lot 
of pretty clothing models look like Eileen in the 
tonier catalogue order stories that the smarter and 
richer and frugal Yankee crowd shops from, catalogues 
for classic clothing, like "The Talbots".

There are a lot of model "types". At the extremes are 
those with these refined oval faces. You've seen them, 
they look like royalty. At the other end are these 
large-jawed, wide-apart cat-eyed small snub-nosed 
creatures, the Shirley Temple types. Eileen's refined 
oval face was crowned with a wavy halo of short, honey-
colored hair. Her features are evenly spaced, none too 
large for the others, except that her eyes are really 
big lamps. 

Eileen's full brow was graced with arching thick 
eyebrows, like Elizabeth Taylor's, and below these were 
large, sparkling china-blue eyes. Imagine a honey-
colored hair version of Elizabeth Taylor. Eileen's jaw, 
unlike Elizabeth's, which is slightly weak, is normally 
shaped, compared to another English-Irish type, the 
lantern-jawed Irish or English. 

Her skin was the clearest of clear, almost pearl-like 
and translucent, and occasionally her nose and upper 
cheeks got freckled in the sun. She had a straight 
strong nose, and shapely, soft, very definite pink, 
beautiful lips framing a rather medium sized mouth, and 
regular, evenly spaced, beautiful white teeth. She also 
had a load of dental work done on that mouth to make it 
perfect.

I mention the teeth because the less wealthy Irish and 
English girls of Eileen's age usually had poor teeth 
due to poor diets. Eileen had a brogue, charming, and 
that in spite of the fact she'd been raised in this 
country from the time she was 3 1/2 years old. 

I'd expect that my most interested readers would have 
been born during the pre-War, 1925 to 1940 period. They 
may remember the English actress Deborah Kerr. Eileen 
looked like a mix between Taylor and Kerr, somewhat 
similar to Kerr, with a stronger jaw, a very classy 
dame.

The companion video has been filmed in accordance with 
a script which has also been included in the story 
collection, in case particular readers don't have 
access to the video. The script gives the voice 
narration which is dubbed in on the video to accompany 
the visual image. The tabular entry preceding the audio 
dubbed material gives the duration of the narration, 
and the point in time at which the narration starts. 
The script was used as the guiding document for making 
the video.

I know I sound very technical, and my writing also 
sounds sort of technical, too, or "intellectual". 
Frankly, I've never been to college, but I grew up in 
New York, and my Mamma made me into a bookworm. I've 
read everything, so I'm self-taught. I mostly sell. I 
sell real estate, I sell anything. But I always haunted 
writer's groups. I took courses on writing, on film 
writing, too. So I've written tons of material over my 
life. The "intellect' is only skin deep. Underneath it 
I'm still pretty much of an animal. As you'll see.

This is the first place in the stories where I'll slice 
a cut, or an extract from the video script into the 
story. Appropriately the opening part of the script is 
titled story 1, Chapter 1, with identical titles to 
story and chapter. The video more or less travels along 
in parallel with stories. In the opening section of the 
video I show Eileen's face for the first time, just the 
way I've described her. These are the script extracts 
from B01C01 video clips 01 and 02.

# TITLE WORDS DURATION START 
 MIN SEC MIN SEC 
01 Desk portrait of Eileen 95 0 37 0 0 Script:

This pearl-necklaced, bare-shouldered portrait of 
Eileen, my very young and classy looking Irish-born 
wife, was taken in '63 when she was only 21 years old 
and the mother of our two small children, aged 1 and 3. 
I was a 36 year old hustler, a self-educated, ugly, 
bald and fat Italian, and very vain about my wife's 
heritage, the classy English side which gave her the 
snooty look you see. I proudly kept a silver-framed 
version of this photo at work, which co-workers dubbed 
"the Princess Portrait". I adored Eileen and kept a 
wallet version for showing off, too.

# TITLE WORDS DURATION START 
 MIN SEC MIN SEC 
02 Color head portrait 104 0 41 0 37 Script:

Not only was a miniature of the desk portrait in my 
wallet, there was a full figure photo shot taken in the 
same photo shoot as the bare-shouldered portrait, on a 
Sunday dawn, in July, at 5:30 A.M., in our deserted 
Town high-school football field. Eileen was wearing 
pearls, dress patent leather high heels, and was stark 
naked, grinning from ear to ear, her nipples rosy, red, 
erect, with a shocking thick bush of pubic hair, 
posing. I often flashed these photos as a teaser for 
prospective stag party contacts, or for kicks, on 
travel, in darkened bars, when other guys showed wallet 
photos.


Chapter 6: Our Public Exhibitionism
-----------------------------------

I'll make a comment on that script piece. That football 
field was the reason Eileen and I moved into the small 
New Hampshire town where we settled and raised our 
kids. It was way down in this hollow, below the line of 
sight from the Town high school and elementary school 
complex.

Eileen indulged me, early in our marriage, by 
accompanying me as I cruised around searching for 
deserted places where I could play at the risky sport 
of having public sex. Outdoors I usually pulled quick 
photo sessions of my nude babe, and then had her get 
down on her knees to suck me off, naked, or fucked her 
standing, while she bent over to get pumped. Rarely on 
her back on the ground. But mostly with her nude, and 
me dressed. Usually at dawn, in picnic grounds, or 
other kinky locations.

It was during on one of my excited hunts over the 
landscape of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, heatedly 
looking for places to publicly fuck my amused, young, 
gullible and accommodating bride, that we went through 
this sleepy small New Hampshire town. I took a dog-leg 
off the main road because I'd spotted a school sign. 
That's how I'd stumbled onto this great, half-hidden, 
half public outdoor location.

For a long time, while we lived in the Town, I played 
this risky game, teetering on the edge of being 
discovered. Fucking Eileen by the football field meant 
taking the tantalizing chance of being discovered, in 
our own Town, at the same time minimizing the risks of 
discovery, because of the time of day, and depression 
of the field below the line of sight. We had enough 
close calls to keep it incredibly exciting.

There's no thrill like a set of headlights coming down 
the road, at 1 or 2 A.M., on a weekday school day 
morning, on a totally moonlit, bright warm Spring night 
to give your balls an extra thrill, when some teen-age 
parker or make-out artist is seeking to drill his date 
for excitement. This happened.

The moon is full, the sky clear, and it is brilliantly 
lit. Eileen and I are both naked. Instead of being 
close to the slope which led up from the hollow to the 
road which led into the area from Main Street, we are 
in the open, the furthest part of the field away from 
the slope, the most likely spot to be looked down on 
and seen. But it was also the easiest position from 
which to run to cover, you could dash it, with your 
dick dangling, naked, dragging your clothing, within 
five seconds, the dashing distance to the area behind 
the rickety iron stands, and then the covering darkness 
of the Norway pines.

My sweet naked wife is bent over, hands on her thighs, 
I am fucking her little pussy. She must have been all 
of 20 or 21. I had my dick in my own wife's pussy, 
while she's bent over naked at the edge of the field. 
The car is approaching the field, slowly. There I am, 
in the middle of an ejaculation, as my sweetie is 
grunting, Uh-Uh-Uh, right in time with my pumps, bare-
ass, biting her lip, trying not to shout as she has 
orgasm after orgasm. She is grunting, muttering that 
they were going to see us, they were going to see us. 
Because the headlights are shining way above us, into 
the trees line.

Oh, shit, I was coming. That's an ejaculation caused by 
headlamps. My prick squirted off a gusher into Eileen's 
vagina. We both grabbed clothing, crazy, and scrambled 
for the woods, suppressing giggles at the surprise and 
the situation. Eileen left a baby blue sock lying in 
the field.

And while we dressed, in a hurry, about to crawl back 
home, the fucking intruder became just that. Two sets 
of minds with two great thoughts. A huge, tall 
humongous guy with a teeny little girl, it looked like 
a high-schooler with an elementary school girl, headed 
for the same field. Right square in the middle of the 
fucking field, yeah, that's what I said, the fucking 
field, this kid, this guy, gets down on the moist 
grass, on his back, both kids fully clothed. No 
nakedness for these two youngsters. The little girl 
drops her panties and climbs on to the prick of what I 
would bet was one of the school's football players (I 
would bet it).

We were the ones who were supposed to be the fucking 
performers on this field! But there they were. Fully 
dressed. I kidded Eileen that we should join them, in a 
foursome, my mouth literally in her ear. She winced 
because it tickled her, the idea, and had to suppress a 
giggle. What could they do? I told her. Caught red-
handed, no red-pricked. No, she wasn't in to that, 
shaking her head vigorously.

It was too dark under the trees, I could barely see 
Eileen's face. The teen agers were maybe 200 feet away. 
You couldn't see any details. This was not the standard 
porno suck and fuck. We watched, but were pressed to 
get the hell out of there. You know, we got this 
"after-fuck" letdown, and wanted to be home in bed, 
just then. Eileen was giddy because she'd lost her 
sock, as we walked behind the Church on the Common to 
our house, grinning. The Town totally asleep. A farm 
Town. I didn't know why Eileen found it so funny.

I didn't get back to the field for several days, was 
too busy, and Eileen's sock was gone. What the hell did 
anyone want with one lost sock? Probably a dog got it 
and used it as a rag toy. Out of curiosity I walked 
around where the two kids had been fucking. Deep in the 
newly growing Spring grass, there it was, the condom, 
somewhere about the same area. That started me 
searching, from then on.

That was a busy place, "our" field. I wonder how many 
others had skittered off and watched Eileen and me 
fuck. The grass was pretty worn down on the field, 
during the summer. The upper field was used for 
baseball, but the football field always had kids 
playing on it. There were condoms under the stands. 
Interesting. Fucking on the slats and pulling it off? 
There were, on average, two or three used condoms a 
month. A lot of them close to the steep slope, up the 
hill, at the base, and others close to the tree line. 
Pretty few "in the open" fuckers. How about that?

The apartment we rented in an old New England farm 
house converted into three rental apartments, was, 
literally, within walking distance from the field, just 
by dumb luck. The house was 600 feet from the Town 
Common, and the entire school complex, and the field 
itself, was only 1300 feet from our front door. 

This meant that, any time of the night we could skulk 
over to the field, totally clear of street lights, just 
crossing the street at like 3 or 4 in the morning, and 
taking one short block's walk to the "way" that led to 
the field. It was our own private public 
exhibitionistic stage, weather and time permitting.

It was one of the features of the Town, this location 
for fucking Eileen at dawn, which attracted me to the 
Town when we had to move and look for a place, just 
before Eileen delivered her second kid. Anyway, after 
we moved to Town we used this location many times, 
unobserved, as one of various places in the Town where 
I pursued this screwy business of fucking my wife in 
public. As we became settled residents I also used our 
Church sanctuary, and various meeting rooms, because I 
had keys to the building, and even eventually got a key 
to our Town Hall, because I'd gotten involved in Town 
politics. 

Anyway, on the occasion when I shot these wallet photos 
the Town was fast asleep, and our only audience was an 
occasional stray dog who watched this strange 
performance. The situation was always exciting for me, 
and on this occasion, too, Eileen ended up giving me a 
blow job, pearls and all, till I squirted my sperm into 
her throat, which she swallowed. I was too excited 
fucking Eileen's mouth to fuck around with cameras, 
just then. 

After Eileen swallowed my cum for me in one of my 
public exhibitionistic adventures I would always be so 
happy, really manic, actually, that my elated state 
would amuse Eileen. I'd be giggling and joking. Like I 
would be after she gave stags for my pleasure, later 
on. I would fawn over Eileen. After we returned to the 
house I'd feed her breakfast. I'd spend an hour in our 
bed frigging her, fucking her, bringing her off to one 
orgasm after another. Those days she'd be treated like 
a princess.

Eileen's Body

To flesh out my description of Eileen; the girl was 
short, barely five-feet tall, had slight down-sloping 
shoulders, they were very slim. On top Eileen was a 
petite girl. Her mouth-sized little tits were far apart 
on the outer edges of her upper chest, close to her 
arm-pits. She could've worn deep V-neck blouses with no 
tit cleavage showing. Eileen's breasts were crowned 
with nipples that erected into very prominent suckable 
teats when she was sexually stimulated. At least half-
inch long pointy teats.

My Irish Eileen had a rather longish torso, with broad 
hips, a big ass, and shapely dancer's legs, accentuated 
by strong thighs. My tiny wife's broad hips had 
prominent love handles which begged to be grabbed so 
her pussy could be pressed against an erection, hips 
that were very sexy on such a little girl, and gave her 
a slight pear-shaped body. 

The pretty young mother was blessed with an ass that 
jutted out, a big round Irish ass, while up front she 
flashed a bushy Irish pussy that stimulated desires in 
some guys to bury their faces in her hairy crack and 
eat her cunt. It wasn't my dish, because as far as I 
was concerned my wife had a nasty-tasting snatch. 
Eileen was never taught, and never consistently 
practiced any sort of basic feminine hygiene.

Here's the script from the next video clip which 
illustrates that description I just gave of Eileen:

# TITLE WORDS DURATION START 
 MIN SEC MIN SEC 
03 Eileen in stag rehearsal 87 0 34 1 19 Script:

As my first story opens I describe Eileen's face. 
You've seen her beauty now. In the story I lovingly 
describe Eileen's naked body, and here she is, laughing 
and teasing, flashing open her coat on her pussy and 
tits the way she did in one of her first gang fucks in 
1966 at a bowling alley in Willimantic Conn. 

This Polaroid was shot during a fuck and suck photo 
session I held in our living room as a sort of cunt and 
cock "warm up" before the gang fuck activities of that 
night, when Eileen diddled her hot red pussy in front 
of a drooling audience.


Chapter 7: Today's Boring Sex Reality
-------------------------------------

I want to make a comment on the difference between a 
true story and the loosy-goosy fantasy stuff that seems 
to dominate all porno media, whether it's video or 
text. I find that stuff, a lot of it, anyway, so 
dreamy, vague, or repetitious, with all the same dirty 
words, that it's boring. I think what I'm laying out 
for you may be a lot different, unlike the swinger 
stories of today. Today nothing is shocking. Or really 
gut-wrenching, stimulating, either. Nothing is 
exciting. Everybody has seen everything, and porno is 
the most boring thing in the world. 

Boring, boring, bo-o-o-o-ring. But what we did, won't 
happen again, with the freedom, and all the 
possibilities we were able to explore. I can't see, in 
post-AIDS, nudity-shocked America that a straight 
couple could exploit the innocence of their crowds, and 
their own adventurous spirit to do the unimaginable, 
the surprising, the utterly unthinkable. Everything is 
thinkable, there are no surprises, no stimulations that 
don't have to be utterly sick to cause some kind of 
reaction, even if it's revulsion.

Because of AIDS-fear, how can a truly happy, ordinary 
couple fuck groups of ordinary guys. Without formula. 
Formula garters, formula high heels, formula shaved 
pussy, formula whore outfit. Formula cum shoot off. We 
played original sex games with guys who would never 
have fooled around, in their whole lives, unless we had 
tripped our funny sexy way into their lives. 

Guys who'd never even looked into their wives' pussies 
spread, seen any snatch wide open, in the light of day. 
I'll tell you something, jaws dropped, literally, jaws 
dropped open when I exposed my wife's spread cunt to 
some of these guys. You know what a kick that was for 
me? 

There I was, in front of an audience, wheedling and 
seducing my apparently resistive and embarrassed wife 
into giving the guys a look, getting her to bend over 
and spread it wide. Just to see the looks on their 
faces? 

These days I've sat at a nude bar and watched some 
cocaine-doped up angel spreading her 19 year old pink 
pussy right over me, and gone on drinking with a bar 
buddy, ignoring a display which would have brought down 
the house when Eileen and I were doing those things. 
Times really have changed, for the much, much worse.

Today ordinary guys, regular guys are scared of their 
shadows, would never, in their right minds, hold a 
free-for-all gang fuck, like we did, without fear. 
They're scared their dicks will fall off. Today what 
ordinary guy would even dream of dipping a bare cock 
into a gal's holes, without the perhaps realistic fear 
of dying a terrible death? AIDS-fear chills a dick, for 
real. 

What kind of gang sex is that, with condoms? Beat your 
meat! You meet a better class of people. AIDS has 
turned us all into a nation of meat-beaters, 
masturbation is definitely "in".


Chapter 8: Stag Show, The Way We Did It
---------------------------------------

The usual stag shows were performed by whores in the 
mid-Sixties. What a kick we were. A pretty young wife 
in her mid-twenties, with two little kiddies at home, a 
clean and caring mother did not expose her pussy to the 
glare of Club klieg lights before a crowd of shocked 
and drooling males.

Because I was making my own rules there were some 
peculiarities in what I demanded of these Clubs. You 
know, 46 or 47 stag parties over about a seven year 
period is hardly "burning rubber" in the stag party 
sprint competition. But I interviewed at least ten 
times that number before I would settle on a Club or 
group, maybe twice a week, sometimes. And I had a 
couple of real strict rules.

If there was a gang screw, it was all open, in front of 
the entire audience. A lot of Clubs didn't want that. A 
lot of Clubs didn't qualify. See ya later. That was my 
kick. That's was my payoff, that was what I was in it 
for. You couldn't take Eileen off into a side room, and 
one after another go in and fuck her, so that maybe the 
whole crowd would have gotten a chance to fuck her. 

That wasn't my thing. If nobody from the audience could 
get it up to fuck Eileen in front of his buddies, fine, 
at least everybody had gotten a good show, a good look 
at her screwing. But just because of what she was, and 
what most of them believed her to be, you would be 
shocked how many ordinary guys who would never, in 
their life, have dreamed of taking their porkers out to 
fuck a woman in front of buddies, who would not do it.

Now I want to make a point about that. You know, there 
are probably between 900 and 1000 men and boys, and I 
mean from old men to young boys, I really mean boys, 
little boys, who stuck their pricks into one or another 
of that little mother's orifices. I don't even know if 
many of the older guys are even still alive, today, 
because that pretty little mid-twenties housewife was 
fucking and sucking off some pretty worn-out old 
veterans of World War I and World War II in some of 
those Vet's Clubs. 

She was a little baby when some of these guys were 
grand-pappies. My wife Eileen was gulping cum out of 
the balls of guys who were thirty and even forty years 
older than she was. Just the idea she was so much 
younger than they were stimulated a lot of old cocks 
into squirting off into my little wife's pussy hole, 
almost the minute they got their excited hogs jammed 
into the young mother's twat.

Most of these gleeful, grinning and grateful guys were 
faithful older married guys, or poor lonely bachelors, 
drinking in the Vet Clubs, or other private clubs, 
living at home with their old parents. Fucking my wife 
was the chance of their lifetime to screw another guy's 
wife, without getting shot in the ass by a shotgun. 

Fucking the lady's pussy in front of her husband's own 
face, yet! I can't ever describe the glee and 
excitement on these guys' faces when they first saw my 
wife naked, and then actually jammed their rods into 
her holes. It was unforgettable. Like their entire 
lives could have ended just then, they could have died 
and gone to heaven.

Talk about excitement, though. You think those guys 
were excited? My heart used to pump up so much, like I 
said, that half the time I thought I was going to have 
a heart attack from watching. I'd get so steamed up, 
often, at least at the first stag shows, that my dick 
never went limp. I would jump in and fuck Eileen, join 
the crowd fucking my wife maybe six, seven or even 
eight times in an evening.

And my wife? Forget it! When she was new at stag 
fucking Eileen was often so crazy with the excitement 
of this totally forbidden and crazy activity that she 
was she was flushed from forehead to her collar bones, 
like with hives on her neck. Orgasms! Her pussy would 
not stop twitching all evening. That's why we did stags 
on week-ends. It would take Eileen two days after a 
stag party to even get up and move around, that's how 
deeply into adrenal shock the mass fucking put her.

Once she got exposed to an audience, and I even touched 
the end of Eileen's clit with my finger, her orgasms 
never stopped till the last of the stag. There was no 
way to number them, orgasms would keep coming for the 
entire evening. Often the only relief Eileen got, 
because the minute a cock went into her pussy, her 
firecrackers popped, was when the little girl was down 
on her knees, sucking off a line of cocks. 

A lot of times the situation would get her so excited, 
sucking on one cock after another in a line, that she 
couldn't resist putting her finger down in her crack, 
and that would light up the firecrackers again. This is 
no shit. Not like "cool sex" of today. More like what 
that phony Madonna slut simulates, but fakes. 

For some of those guys probably the only blow job they 
ever got was from my wife, if the Kinsey Sex Report, 
shocking as it was at that time, was right. According 
to Kinsey, back in 1954, I don't remember exact 
figures, only some 30% of the entire male population of 
the United States had ever gotten a blow job, even 
once. It was even less for the some the men of the 
older generation that Eileen sucked off. 

Only one out of ten of those guys who were fifty and 
sixty, in the mid-sixties, had never gotten their dicks 
eaten, ever. The rest, the 90%, dreamed about it and 
could only imagine what it felt like.

About These Stories:

I don't know who the readers of this story will be. I 
mean, out of a thousand guys, some of you readers could 
actually have been at one of Eileen's shows and gang 
bangs. For those of you guys who wondered what it took 
to bring a couple like us to Clubs and parties, like I 
said in the beginning, I'd like them to know what my 
wife Eileen and I were really like, how you got the 
chance to fuck my little sweetie. 

For you kids of the younger generation, I don't see how 
any of you could possibly be interested in this. With 
the adult movies, and the routine, boring, boring over-
exploitation of numb cock, numb cunt, numb, numb, numb 
sex acts, scenes over and over again of guys squirting 
off cum on girls, like drilled soldiers, this forbidden 
world we lived in will be totally unreal. 

I'll try to bring back for the guys of my generation 
what it was like. They can remember. After awhile, with 
present day porno, there's no place to go from here, 
for the young. There is no innocence. When everybody 
has seen everything, what's hidden? The world is like a 
fucking animal barnyard!

Anyway, that should fix an image in your head of our 
heroine. Now this series of stories, and the video tape 
featuring her sexually active body, didn't just come 
out of the blue. The collection evolved. 

Initially I wrote to Swinging magazine correspondents 
during the late '70s and the early '80s. The original 
letters were accompanied by a few dirty photos of my 
then-recently-divorced wife, Eileen. Along with the 
pornography I mailed out, which featured my ex-wife's 
pussy and tits, I included a photo-narrative describing 
events and personal background for each dirty photo. 

I also mailed illustrative family album photos to show 
how straight and conventional she was in real life. 
Eileen had left me very few of either types of 
photographs when she divorced me, she'd grabbed 
practically all of my porno and family photo 
collection.

Anyway these photos that I sent out, and the 
accompanying extended captions that went with the 
photos, which I called "photo narratives", fleshed out 
the stories I wrote about the stag shows and other sex 
acts that Eileen had been conned into doing for me. All 
of these stories, which were originally in letter form, 
were fused into a version of Eileen's sex biography. 

The biography was written bit by bit, and then in a 
more organized fashion over a period of years. I told 
Eileen's story year by year, from the time she was a 
young child, till she was doing stag shows with me, 
because that was also the way I laid out the photos, 
year by year. It seemed natural. So Eileen's sex 
biography got the title of the "Chronology". There were 
two evolving documents, the Chronology and the Photo-
Narrative.

I got more and more questions from correspondents. The 
more I answered, the larger the Chronology and Photo-
Narrative grew. In fact parts of the Photo-Narrative 
got so extensive and long that they had to be broken 
off and joined into the Chronology. 

Correspondents asked for all sorts of details; they 
were curious and amazed at the pair of us. They wanted 
to know about our family life, about Eileen's early sex 
life. They wanted to know very exactly how I managed to 
con Eileen into becoming an amateur stag performer. 
Some guys wanted me to describe other gals I'd fucked, 
like Eileen. They wanted to understand how I got my 
almost hypnotic power over my wife.

When I first started writing to these fellows all I did 
was to described certain stags that I'd enjoyed, but 
not in too much detail. I talked about the first stag 
show we ever did, that was like a virgin describing her 
honeymoon. And like a honeymoon that first stag party 
set the tone for many of our other performances. 

My correspondents wanted details, times and places, and 
most important to them, numbers. They were obsessed 
with numbers, statistics of sex. My writers wanted to 
know things like the number of guys Eileen had sucked 
off at some particular stag party/gang bang, or the 
number of cocks that had pumped her holes at both ends 
at that same party. They wanted details about how many 
oversized cocks she'd shoved into her vagina, or sizes 
and colors of cocks that Eileen sucked.

Their statistical curiosity was amazing. They asked for 
information on the overall totals, like for all the 
stags she'd ever done, the totals of how many guys in 
all she'd given blow jobs to, the grand total for all 
of her stag blow jobs. Or else guys would want to know 
the grand total of cocks or the total numbers of 
animals Eileen had allowed to penetrate her little 
mother's pussy hole.

I had to rough all that in either raw, from memory, or 
based on occasional notes I happened to scribble down 
at the original stag shows. And I had to find those 
notes in all the jumble of disorganized papers that had 
piled up around me, in disorganized depression after 
Eileen had left me. I didn't have that many very 
detailed notes, they were scattered all over, helter-
skelter. 

Those original notes had been jotted down with nothing 
in mind, mostly out of my own amazement at what had 
happened with my wife. So many times, though, most of 
the numbers I supplied my correspondents were only 
guesses, and I made that clear. Eventually a summary 
table was needed, including question marks where my 
estimates of numbers were only rough guesses.

I kept adding stories or incidents to the letter 
documents, based on requests to do so, or tried to 
reconstruct statistics which had been asked for, and my 
audience got larger and larger. And so did the hand-
written letters I sent back, which I then ended up 
typing out in more organized form. To my surprise I 
ended up with chapters, and then I'd managed to write 
small stories. Out of desperation, in the mid-eighties, 
I invested in a computer and word-processor. Then, over 
the years, more stories were written, and the 
collection slowly took shape.

The same format as I used in the letters is continued 
now in the stories. The individual stories are in the 
same tradition as my Chronology of sex, they are stand-
alone descriptions of sex adventures. In a very similar 
way the script of the companion video to these stories 
plays the same role as the Photo-Narrative did, and 
it's accompanying still photos relative to the 
Chronology. 

The companion video, like the material that went along 
with the Photo Narrative, still consists largely of 
still photos, with the script being narrated or dubbed 
in as voice background. For those of you who don't have 
access to the companion video I've included the script 
of the video as a separate story, and interspersed 
script extracts into the stories, where appropriate. I 
refer to the appropriate clip, often, to illustrate 
some portion of the story.

My motivation for writing and sending out photos at 
first is obvious, it grew from a sense of outrage at 
being abandoned by Eileen, and out of a desire for 
revenge. Even before she'd left the girl had stopped 
sleeping with me more or less, mostly less. As a matter 
of fact it was almost by mutual consent. She'd turned 
into a no fun fuck. Even though the stags had stopped I 
lived in a detached dream world of denial of that fact.

I really went a little nuts, to be frank, denying the 
realities of our situation. In a totally bizarre and 
looney way I believed that Eileen was really taking a 
"sabbatical", a short leave from doing stag shows, that 
it was all only temporary, that my little girl would 
"let her pussy heal" and that she'd return to doing 
stags. 

To show you how really out of touch I'd become, I 
actually continued to arrange for totally insanely 
dirty stag shows, which Eileen had no intention in the 
world of doing, crazily using photos of her former stag 
performances to arrange these nutty affairs, and 
pulling out at the last moment on screwball excuses. It 
was like the pull of habit. Most of my time had been 
spent arranging stag shows for Eileen, was my "kick", 
my high, and I couldn't give it up.


Chapter 9: Destruction of my Porno Library
------------------------------------------

Finally, in '76, four years after Eileen had stopped 
doing the stags, my poor baby completely broke her 
ties, walked out, left me with the kids, took up with a 
girl who'd been our family friend, but now in a lesbian 
relation, and divorced me. The lesbian relation was new 
to both of them, and it was very short-lived. 

During the four year dry spell before the Finale, 
before Eileen walked out, and after she stopped doing 
stags, I found I could live without fucking her, 
because I spent those years whacking my fucking dick 
down to a frazzle, jerking off over my photo collection 
of her stag performances, happy as a clam over these 
mementos.

However, when my now-infuriated wife finally screwed up 
the courage to leave me, this lesbian-provoked, 
revengeful wife of mine grabbed my entire porno 
collection, film canisters and all, in its entirety. 
The vast majority of my dirty photo and film collection 
was centered around Eileen, with some small excursions. 

If I'd retained the collection I probably would've 
spent the rest of my years whacking off over images of 
the little girl's pussy being pumped by hundreds of 
different penises, and her mouth being pumped full of 
cum. I might have been too busy whacking off over 
memories to write letters. And these stories. It was 
the loss of all that gorgeous dirty material that 
stimulated this weird project. I tried to recapture the 
images with words.

So I got even with my ex-wife by spreading around the 
few surviving photos I'd retained. These photos 
survived because they were random and low quality 
filthy photos I'd unintentionally and carelessly kept 
clear of the huge hoard, secreting them in odd places, 
so the kids wouldn't run across them, but forgetting 
them, mostly.

Anyway these dregs of a once spectacular collection, 
showing Eileen being fucked and sucking my cock, and 
shoving veggies up her cunt, were sent to every guy I 
could. It was sort of dumb and careless, but I really 
couldn't get over the loss. I circulated Eileen's dirty 
photos via the sexually explicit Swinging magazines of 
the eighties, blabbing about what a filthy cunt she'd 
been, advertising as if Eileen was still actively doing 
these dirty things with me. 

I kept wishing it were still true. What an agony, if 
only she had! It not only stimulated my correspondents, 
but it got my overcharged rocks off sending out the 
photos. I continued getting the same ball tingle I'd 
had before, like when I'd publicly spread open Eileen's 
vagina to crowds and watched human and animal dicks 
plug her hole and mouth.


Chapter 10: The Last Years of Stag Parties
------------------------------------------

From a current perspective I can't blame Eileen for 
running out on me. Those first stags that started in 
'66, and for a few years after, were fun and kicks and 
highs, all the way. The stags we performed in the later 
years were very twisted. In fact we'd gotten very 
jaded, ourselves. In the beginning my sweet Irish wife 
was young and sexually inexperienced. 

Frankly, even though Eileen appeared to be very 
reserved, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, the 
little Irish cunt was normal and had a healthy 
curiosity about what it would feel like to stuff other 
healthy cocks into her very itchy crotch. And then, out 
of her mind with surprise, having started out doing 
stag shows, and the gang fucks that went with them, 
largely to feed my sexual perversion, my wife herself 
got a twisted kick out of being gang banged in front of 
me, having me witness her getting off her rocks over 
and over again with other men's pricks jammed into her 
cunt.

Eileen confessed to me one time that she got this 
enormous kick at being married to me, and putting the 
horns on me in public, cuckolding me right to my face 
at stag party after stag party, with hundreds and 
hundreds of different men pumping her pussy. 

My pretty little wife said that guys would ask her, 
they'd whisper in her ear, while vigorously pounding 
their pudding into her bowl, if it wasn't fun to get 
fucked right in front of her husband, forcing him to 
watch other guys fuck her, and her fuckers and she 
would giggle over it, like bad little kids. That kick 
and that thrill was the fuel that kept both of our sex 
organs red and swollen in the beginning.

Toward the end, in the later years, our stag shows got 
very perverted. In those later days I was trotting this 
little innocent-looking wife around to stag shows which 
featured Eileen in sex performance in front of more and 
more jaded, glutted and demanding audiences. 

They wanted to watch Eileen get ass-hole fucked, to 
suck off blacks and animals, to fuck and suck immature 
boys. All of which she did, including the young boys. 
My wife was uncomfortable that these kids were just a 
year or two older than her own developing son, and that 
our son would soon be the same age as the kids she was 
sucking off and fucking.

Added to that funny feeling in Eileen's mind was 
increasing desire from the audiences to view us in 
family sex acts, mixed with animals, and so forth. 
Worse, though, there were increasingly perverted 
"suggestions" and actual intimidations and all sorts of 
manipulation from our stag "groupies". These "groupies" 
were often the actual Club contacts and liaisons I 
worked with in producing stag shows, as well as guys 
who hung around with Eileen and me, both after and 
before the stag show, proper, these groupies were stag 
show "fans".

Quite often, for the extra kick of it, and on an 
unpredictable and discretionary basis, Eileen and I, 
either before or after the show, would initiate an 
improvised and stimulating little small-group side-
actions with our groupies. These mini-stags were a sort 
of sexual bonus offered to the Club contacts. If we 
pulled off one of these appetizer shows or fuck 
sessions, there was always the hope on my part that 
this would serve like a sexual "payoff", a bit of 
sexual "baksheesh".

I hoped that such sexual extras would bias our contacts 
a little more in our favor, in dealing with potential 
loss of control among the crowds. That possibility 
always hovered over a performance, the chance of a 
violent and disgusting gang rape of Eileen, an 
uncontrolled and abusive use of her body. In fact, 
after our groupies had fucked my little wife's hole, or 
shot off their loads into her mouth before the main 
bang, the payoff turned out to be very real. 

Often enough to be worth it, the contacts would indeed 
be protective of Eileen, when the Club members, drunk, 
would get loud, vulgar, cursing Eileen like an ordinary 
whore. Our groupies were a great defense, setting the 
tone for the other Club members, in many ways, treating 
her affectionately and familiarly.

These "Bonus Boner Bangs" could sometimes take place at 
the same Club premises where the main bang occurred, 
either before the main event started, or after everyone 
had gone. On some occasions we'd go off to another 
location, like a friend's private home, or the 
contact's home, or even our own motel room and have a 
little sex appetizer or dessert. It made the contact or 
the groupies feel privileged.

The problem for us with some of these groupies, at the 
later period stags, was that frequently a few of these 
characters turned out to be little local tin-horn cops, 
or State Police or Sheriffs, or local "big-wigs", jerks 
who thought they could push people around. 

Some of these distasteful bully boys were even, by 
chance, low-level minor Mafia-connected clowns, petty 
ante types. You could lump them all together, no 
difference between cops and Mafia, in terms of sexual 
intimidation. They got their sex kicks from the same 
source, having someone sexually in their power. They 
got off, really got orgasms from intimidating couples 
sexually, they would brag about it to us, forgetting 
who we actually were.

Anyway, some of these slobs and creeps occasionally 
tried pressuring Eileen and me, by threats of blackmail 
and other intimidation, like implying how easy it would 
to get us busted, and even worse, physically mashed up 
by muscle, if we didn't go along with indulging their 
perverted tastes. And their tastes ran to having us 
indulge in family sex on stage with our young kids, for 
their amusement. The fact that I always carried a snub-
nose had a chilling effect on some of that. But not 
enough, as far as I was concerned.

As we moved into the '70s, in just that five years from 
when we started doing stags, the climate had changed. 
It was wilder, less intimidating, because obscenity 
laws had been blown off the stories, but I felt we were 
in very dangerous and threatening territory. It was 
hard to avoid in the private Club stag scene. Clubs 
could now get amateurs, suddenly, to do anything, 
anything at all in front of them. Both Eileen and I 
felt the menace.

In '66, when we did our first stag I started out being 
afraid of being arrested by the cops. Not Eileen, my 
ninny never had the thought cross her simple mind. 
Eileen never read the news, and when our neighbors got 
busted in '64, for similar activities, Eileen walked 
around in coo-coo land, being very sympathetic to them, 
but never really paying attention to the gruesome 
details, the way I did. 

She never personalized it, applied it to our situation, 
thought it could happen to us. In spite of these 
unpleasant overtones I still could find some "clean 
fun" situations, but the newer demands of the seventies 
finally blew Eileen's fuse.


Chapter 11: A Dumb Way to Destroy My Collection
-----------------------------------------------

Anyway, after doing stags for over six years Eileen 
flew the coop, and for good reason, in retrospect. From 
what I just said you can see how nasty things were 
starting to be in the stag scene. And she was over 
thirty and no angel anymore. But Eileen really pulled 
guerrilla warfare on me by destroying my collection. 

What amazed me was that the silly asshole didn't even 
bother to burn it all, she and her lesbo girl-friend 
just dumped the contents out of her car trunk packed in 
closed cardboard cartons, intact, onto a pile of trash 
in a Town Dump near our own Town. Dopes! The damned 
stuff could've broken open, or some nosey clown 
could've found it and Eileen's pussy would've been 
famous among friends and neighbors.

Eileen wasn't thinking straight about anything, 
anything at all when she broke and ran. She left me 
with our kids, after having been such a super Mommy.

I'd had four lock-safe file drawers packed with eleven 
years worth of instant cock erection. There were black 
and white and color prints, Polaroid's, slides and 16 
mm movies that showed my little housewife jamming stuff 
into her pussy and fucking and sucking incredible 
numbers and different kinds and shapes and colors of 
cock. I'd photographed & printed up at least ten 
thousand prints, and Lord knows how many slides and 
Polaroid's. 

And maybe even a hundred hours of 16 mm sound film, 
some of it from stag parties, some from little sex 
exhibitions we used to do for pleasure in abandoned or 
deserted public places at odd hours.

All of it was high quality, sharp and unique, 
especially the animal sex portions at the stag shows. 
These included a unique and spectacular set of reels I 
took of Eileen getting her pussy fucked by the front 
end of a little donkey's dong, where the donkey 
actually dumped this huge stream of cum into the little 
mother's cunt hole because I used a lubricated jerk-off 
tube I slid over the full length of little animal's 
dong to stimulate an ejaculation.

The first five years' worth of the collection, taken 
before I'd gotten Eileen to fuck crowds at stags, 
showed Eileen in solo sex, that is either jamming stuff 
into her cunt hole, or having sex with her husband. The 
collection from the early years progressed from nudes 
to more outrageous acts. I "stage managed" a bunch of 
phonied up sets that made it look as if Eileen was 
doing sex acts that had never happened in reality, to 
stimulate my fantasies.

Our earlier photos were spread pussy shots in our home. 
Then I seduced Eileen into posing for photos of me 
jamming my happy little red cock into her hairy pussy, 
with her acrobatic body bent and contorted into every 
possible position, or eating my cum in all sorts of 
deserted places, like in the empty school I mentioned 
before, and other public buildings in our little Town, 
when I'd succeed in getting keys to those places. 

We did fuck around in our Church, and the only shots I 
dared to take were photos of Eileen giving me a blow 
job in the minister's study, because the study had no 
window and the flash wouldn't be visible outside the 
Church.

These were all tame compared to the photos in the 
collection dating from the last six years. This was the 
crazy stuff, it showed Eileen performing for stag 
shows, sucking off cock line-ups, and getting her young 
mother's cunt penetrated by animal cock, with bunches 
of blacks roasting her at both ends on the spit of 
their pricks, like some little pig with its mouth 
stuffed over a fire.

Pitiful odds and ends of my once glorious collection 
survived the destructive onslaught, a hundred or so 
photos and slides that had been overlooked, hidden in 
various places in the house to keep them away from our 
kids. In spite of precautions, though, one of our baby 
sitters had gotten hold of samples of my secreted 
photos, but I'll tell about that in another story. 

Anyway, deprived of my collection I got bugged on 
trying to remember how incredible it had all been, but 
I didn't have my photos to stimulate me. You must be 
able to see how frustrated I was. Which was partly the 
reason I started to write. To remember.


Chapter 12: Training Eileen for Stags
-------------------------------------

You'll see I'm not a real writer. I'm certainly a 
piggie. But not a real writer. Of course I'd love it if 
this story made you feel like you were looking over my 
shoulder, watching Eileen's cunt get filled, or even 
inside my skin, feeling my dick being sucked like a 
vacuum cleaner by my pretty woman's pretty mouth. 

This is not the fantasy of some teen-age jerk-off 
artist imitating Playboy or Penthouse letters. That 
kind of shit, describing cocks and cunts and tits and 
assholes in repetitive "flowery" language keeps my dick 
limp. Some of you guys may not like real sex 
description. Virgin teen-agers eat up that crap about 
"sweet" cunts and "creamy" cum.

When I was trading photos I got "fantasy" bullshit back 
from some of my correspondents. By contrast, when I say 
that a cunt smells like toe cheese, that's on the 
level. Some lousy cunts smell that way for the same 
reason that all toes smell that way. Cunts and toes are 
moist and sweaty, with no air. The skin oil rots or 
ferments like any fat, and when it rots it stinks. 

I don't call cum "creamy". It's not. It could be lumpy 
and stringy, and real foul-tasting, especially for my 
wife, sometimes. In fact sometimes it made my wife gag, 
the cum from some guys, if they ate the wrong things. 
She'd occasionally bitch about it. Like mother's milk 
picks up tastes from what a gal eats. You are what you 
eat.

O.K., enough of this philosophical bull-shit. Let's go 
back to '66. The news magazines were full of stuff 
about the Beatles, Andy Warhol, the Velvet Underground, 
psychedelic light shows, the Vietnam War. On the sex 
scene topless dancers got busted and fined for showing 
bare tit in San Francisco. Honest! Showing nipples 
without pasties, without little nipple cups, nipple 
brassieres. How's that for medieval? And bare pussy! 
Jail sentences!

Ordinary people got tossed into the clink for doing sex 
acts that were yawn material, ten years later, like in 
the sex peep shows along 42nd Street in New York. You 
can sense that the same sort of legal sex repression is 
starting up again these days. You can go to jail right 
now in Georgia for having your wife suck you off in the 
privacy of your own bedroom, because of a new law. Some 
dude in Georgia is currently serving ten years because 
his wife fucked him over that way. That's the way it 
was then, only ten times worse than today. 

Hugh Hefner of Playboy fame was constantly harassed for 
just showing bare tit. For sure. But now, the sixties 
are coming back, a nudist magazine, today, one that 
shows anybody under 18 naked, not even sexually 
involved, is open to prosecution in Massachusetts for 
"child pornography". The wheel turns. It's coming back.

So what really happened? I'll give you a sample of what 
it was like. At heart Eileen was shy, but she'd do 
anything I wanted her to make me happy, sexually. But 
it was all very tricky. She had to be properly 
"handled". I'll tell ya', I had to do a lot of 
manipulating, a lot of screwin' around to bend this 
gullible, completely trusting Catholic wife of mine 
into satisfying even some of my less perverted sex 
acts, in the early months of our marriage. Sooner or 
later she'd do it all, but I had to concentrate. 

It wasn't only me that got my rocks off at conning the 
little dummy. My blue-eyed sweetie pie herself got a 
kick out of the seduction game. Even if she didn't know 
what was in my twisted brain, my tootsie knew she was 
going to end up doing what I wanted. But the cunt loved 
to play extra innocent, just to tease me.

It took time. Like when we all lived in Camelot, and 
Kennedy was "in", my 19 year old wife was being drawn 
into the exhibitionism. Five years later, post Beatles, 
long hair and flower children and LSD Eileen was 
showing off in public, for an audience. Here I was, 39, 
and balding, a very unattractive Italian. I was married 
to this movie star quality wife, who was only 24. You 
know what Eileen looks like, either from my 
description, or looking at the video.

Here are the two of us in this scene. We're both at a 
VFW party in a hick town near Brockton Mass. Let me 
call it Easton, a real little cow-town that time let 
pass by. Here's this darling five foot high wife of 
mine, a good mother of two small kids, out for a night 
on the town with her husband. The two of us are dancing 
on a miniature dance floor to the romantic sound of a 
tune crooning from a jukebox. 

As a couple we're both dressed the way people do for 
cocktails and dinner. I'm in a three-piece brown 
business suit, gold watch and all. My blue-eyed wife is 
dressed very "upper class", a tasteful orange and red 
paisley satin blouse, deep green woolen skirt, deep 
green, warm panty hose kinds of things, and low heels.

We're doing a showy solo on a dance floor in this 
little Club. The Club may have had a ship outside, on 
its sign, I'm vague on this. Maybe it was called 
something like the Diplomat, or some such name, that 
didn't go with the ship sign. I don't remember exactly, 
it's possible, even at the best of times, to confuse 
one Club with another when you go out "dancing". 

Anyway, there we are, my wife and I, all dressed up to 
go out to dinner, and now we're dancing under intense 
spotlights. Eileen is a great, talented dancer. She 
makes it all look so easy. Nothing unusual. But Eileen 
is the only gal in that Club that night, all alone, in 
a room packed to the rafters with VFW Club members and 
invited male-only guests.

So what are we doing here? Well, this audience of small 
town hicks are drooling in hot anticipation of what's 
been promised for that night. Before we'd arrived at 
their darkened Club they'd been circulating tasteful 
"artistic" nude color prints I'd made of Eileen, and 
which I'd lent them for weeks before the show. 

These prints were lying around on the bar tables, being 
glanced at from time to time by the drooling patrons as 
my suburban-looking little wife and I dance lovingly in 
front of them, kissing, cooing at each other. My wife's 
ordinarily pale white face is red in the cheeks, 
flushed with excitement in anticipation of what is 
going to happen.

Eileen has never done what I'm about to try with her, 
in her life. There's a lot of suspense in the air, 
because the deal I worked with this Club was that no-
one could guarantee that this little girl wouldn't get 
cold feet at the last minute. It might be just too much 
for my wife, because I wasn't quite sure the little 
mother could actually strip off her clothes and bare 
herself naked in front of them, no less fuck her 
husband or do anything like that. 

I assured them that my little housewife had never taken 
off her clothes in front of a crowd of leering guys 
prepared to watch her husband fuck her mouth and cunt, 
no less spread her legs for them to get a crack at her 
slit. These guys are sweaty, panting to take out their 
dicks and jam them into all her holes at once if I can 
get her fucking me in front of them.

Finally, after unbearable suspense, I don't strip my 
quivering, panting wife totally naked. No. But what I 
do, on the shellacked wooden dance floor, is to help 
Eileen, fully dressed, to step out of her panty hose 
after she kicks off her shoes, one after the other. The 
first step! The flood gates are opened. The guys howl 
with delight. Both Eileen and I take the cheer with 
raised arms, like victorious prize fighters, while 
flashbulbs from cameras pop off. 

That won't be the last of those for the night. Excited, 
giggling, laughing my head off, I bring out a chair, 
Eileen bends down, her head on the chair, and, with a 
flourish I jerk up my own wife's skirt while she 
spreads her legs wide as she can for them to peer up 
her naked and exposed wide-open hairy little mother's 
gash.

When the impossible finally happens in front of their 
goggle-eyes, the girl's pussy is swollen and glistening 
fiery red as the exposed organ actually drools a string 
of pussy wet down her inner thigh, waiting for her red-
faced and shaking husband to drop his pants and jam his 
overheated cock up her hole. 

How about that! This is 1966 and a cunt bush exposed in 
a San Francisco Topless Bar gets some poor girl 30 days 
in the slammer. But here's a straight suburban mother 
of two small kids getting her pussy pumped for show!

This first Club stag turned out to be Act I in a long, 
crazy, bunch of sex acts, all part of these 
exhibitionist adventures with Eileen. At first this was 
my private sex fun. Performances in deserted places, 
pretending I was fucking my wife in front of imaginary 
audiences. What I did for private kicks eventually 
became real public entertainment.

The sex shows that Eileen gave were unlike anything 
seen elsewhere, before or since. Nothing I've ever read 
before about stags is like what we did. The point is 
that modern swingers are so jaded, do sex so much by 
formula, that one whorish gang bang or stag show is 
pretty much like the other. Why even bother? They're 
all the same. But back then I didn't know there was any 
formula for a stag show. 

When a Club wanted a formula stag show I told them to 
hire some whore. I just didn't know any better. I'd 
never seen a stag show. I knew what would be a wild 
send-up for me. It turned out to be the same for my 
audiences. What gave me kicks gave them kicks. I was an 
amateur. The acts that Eileen and I performed blew guys 
heads straight away, each stag different at each club, 
never the same.


Chapter 13: Just and Old Pervert
--------------------------------

As for me, as I said, I'm just an old Guinea, ugly, 
balding, with a hooked nose and double chins. I was 
born in 1927 in Little Italy, New York City. I look a 
little like Marlon Brando, and felt gypped when he 
played the Godfather. That should have been me! I'm 
certainly not very attractive, to say the least, very 
average in prick size, even under, barely six inches. 
Just to cap my physical repulsiveness, I've got this 
fat belly hanging over my pants belt. Too much pasta.

So how come I've got this almost hypnotic control over 
some very beautiful women, the classy "goody goody" 
types? These women, who will do almost anything for me 
sexually, are almost always "proper" looking girls and 
women. Almost cold-looking. Uptight. They're women who 
look like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. 

When I get hold of them, they'll do anything, things 
you couldn't believe, things even they couldn't believe 
they'd done, afterwards. I mean anything, they turn 
into the real pigs. All of these dames look so 
inhibited and passive. Never fooled me. I've jammed my 
cock into maybe a hundred or so different women in my 
sex life. Not a lot, these days.

Often other guys wouldn't look twice at some of these 
gals, because the gals were either too shy, too 
"plain", not "foxy" enough, or so spectacularly pretty 
that they were dubbed "cold fish". If I'd show an 
interest in such women often I'd get told by other men 
with "superior knowledge" that I'd never get any sex 
out of them, not to waste my time. That was their 
opinion. But I knew my targets.

Well what's the secret? I think I know. I'm in many 
ways a lot like my Italian mother, I even talk like my 
mother. I think I act sort of feminine, almost 
"faggoty", in many ways. Like a fat old Italian lady, 
almost like that comedian sidekick of Burt Reynolds. 
Dom Delouise. But all I can think about, night and day, 
is fucking women. But only certain kinds of women.

Women who like macho men never ever give me a second 
glance. The bitches. They can't stand me. And I can't 
stand them. It's mutual. But women who are drawn to 
other women, who don't want to compete with other 
women, the way the bitches do, these gals absolutely 
accept me, totally. And trust me, totally. It disarms 
them. I'm a wolf in sheep's clothing. That's the nub of 
it, right there. 

In their guts these women seem to accept me as just 
another kind of woman. It's funny, sort of, peculiar. I 
talk recipes, and housework and other woman things, 
around woman, and always, "feelings". I'm very 
sensitive on that point. Lot's of women feel "mothered" 
by me. Passive women.

I've got a woman's sensitivity, and frankly, some of 
the women I've made love to say I make love to a woman 
as if I were another woman, except for this odd fact 
that I need to get my cock sucked, more than anything 
else. They say that I seem to love every single part of 
a woman's body. I do. Except for women who don't take 
proper hygienic care of their pussies. I can't stand 
cheesy smelling pussies.

Since the age of six I've been bugged on women's naked 
bodies, on seeing erect pricks stuck into, or rubbing 
against cunts and tits and asses. Or on seeing guys 
standing around with erect cocks, leering at naked 
ladies. Can you believe this, at six years of age I was 
totally turned on by sex? At six years old, a sex 
fiend??! I've always spent 25 hours a day thinking 
about sex. 

I practically go out of my skull, panting with my 
tongue out of my mouth, to see cock jammed into a 
pretty girl's mouth. The first time I ever looked at my 
innocent wife all I could imagine was how she'd look 
with my cock disappearing into that pretty little 
mouth.


Chapter 14: Conning Eileen into Stag Show Greatness
---------------------------------------------------

From the time my wife Eileen was 18, in 1960, till that 
incredible first stag show, in 1966, I'd gradually 
manipulated the little dummy into doing progressively 
more outrageous sex acts for me. Like first getting her 
to suck cock. And then teaching her how to really suck 
prick till it made the hair on my balls bristle. And 
then teaching her to love getting a cock into her 
mouth. And the same for eating and swallowing cum.

Eileen often said that she'd do anything, anything for 
me, just to see me beaming at her with this enormously 
happy face. Usually I look pretty serious. Not mad, but 
serious. I rarely smile. When I first started training 
my Irish innocent, sexually, I'd never planned that, at 
some time in the future, I'd end up showing off my 
naked Irish honey in front of crowds of men, fucking 
and sucking my cock. 

I surely never planned that I'd eventually be 
exhibiting my wife having sex with me, and then, with 
more and more elaborate stag actor groups, and 
exhibitionistic sex circuses, and that the act would 
happen over and over again, in so many different 
places, with so many varieties of settings.

When I married the 18 year old, in 1960, her belly full 
of my child, I couldn't have envisioned that a mere six 
years later I'd be encouraging one audience after 
another to fuck her holes en masse. If you'd pardon the 
joke, the chance to fuck my wife in front of a bunch of 
guys didn't just fall into my lap. We went on a long 
wandering sexual journey before we ended up doing 
stags.

Without my knowing it at the time, I got some 
unexpected help out of Eileen's past, when it came to 
conning the girl into having live sex before a crowd. 
She'd never let on, until we'd been doing stags for a 
while, that she'd been seduced as an 11 year old pre-
pubescent girl into showing off her pussy to a bunch of 
masturbating little Jewish pigs. 

I think that one of the things that encouraged Eileen 
to go along with my stag shows was that it gave her the 
chance to re-live over and over that early pussy show 
she gave. My opinion. Eileen's early exhibitionism gave 
me a "leg up", if you will pardon the terrible dirty 
pun, in worming my wife into giving sex shows.

What started as one stag show didn't stop there. In 
spite of all the filthy things she was conned into 
doing with her pussy and her mouth in front of shocked 
and delighted audiences, and you'll read about them, 
there is a strange irony, which my "customers" always 
commented to me about, after they had witnessed one of 
her shows.

Eileen never acted twisted, or whorish. She looked and 
acted like a freshman high school cheerleader. 
Exclusively male audience were invariably stunned 
watching a pretty little thing like her with a huge 
black cock pumping off gobs of cum into her mouth, 
while another black guy would hold his big black club 
in his fist, jamming the monster up into the little 
housewife's cunt. It always looked like it was the 
first time this outrageous thing had ever been 
perpetrated on her, almost as if her husband had 
arranged for her to be raped by two black studs in 
front of an audience.

What gave the entire thing its kick was the way I often 
compounded the perversion, before the performance, by 
giving slide shows of Eileen derived from our family 
album, or home movies, showing our wedding and her life 
as an ordinary mother at home with her kids.

If you don't mind the aside, a pussy is just a pussy. 
It's like food. Without the hype, without the enormous 
drama I concocted around Eileen's stag, as a real 
showman at these performances, there would've been 
nothing there. If I feed you hamburger in McDonalds, 
big deal! If I give you a beautiful waitress, and red 
walls, and soft lights, and a little sauce, this same 
crappy meat becomes "the experience of a lifetime".

Bring in a whore to a stag, and it is pure 
"yawnsville". Who really gives a shit? So she's going 
to fuck every cock in the place. Big deal! That's what 
she does for a living. The girl is bored, the audience 
is bored. 

Who the fuck cares, these days. You have to keep 
looking for bigger and bigger "gimmicks". What the hell 
is so special about watching fucking, unless there's 
some kind of "hook", something that gets you in the 
gut. Which is why practically all the porno I see these 
days is totally, completely predictable, and the most 
boring, yawn-inducing crap in the world.

So, because my audiences knew Eileen was an ordinary 
housewife, and a mother, it brought up their pricks 
straight and eager to be fucking the woman. In 
contrast, regular whore stag shows were conducted with 
the dregs, the really burned out whores who just 
couldn't give a damn. 

Because Eileen was so conventional, in both the 
everyday style of her life, and in appearance, well 
that was the ultimate kick for all of us, for Eileen, 
for me, and for the fortunate Clubs that went along 
with my very stringent conditions.


Chapter 15: Young Eileen, Preparation
-------------------------------------

Let me see if I can give you an insight into the girl, 
herself. Eileen had grown up in a relatively stable 
home, even if it wasn't too happy, with parents who 
were strangers to each other. She'd had a mostly 
uneventful childhood, without any abuse. The little 
girl had never been spanked or heard a voice raised in 
anger against her. And with the few Irish Nannies that 
Mumsy hired, when Eileen was under 6, that was quite an 
accomplishment. 

Mumsy had a thing about violence, so she handed her 
child over to these very gentle and docile Irish woman 
from the Old Country, which is also why Eileen hung 
onto her brogue, even though she was brought up in NYC. 
The women were tickled pink to have in their hands a 
very well-trained little puppy of a girl like Eileen.

Then, later, Eileen had another brand of Nanny. That 
was after she was over the age of six. These Nannies 
were lusty, hearty Jamaican women. With accents that 
resembled her own Irish Brogue. Eileen remembers these 
women with great love. Because she had these frankly 
sexual, lustful black women in her early upbringing I 
think it encouraged a hidden rebellious streak in 
Eileen. 

It gave her a chance to give only surface obedience to 
the strict Catholic upbringing she got, while inside 
she was felt more like a little Jamaican savage. That 
freedom more or less neutralized the fearful Catholic 
background in which she was growing up.

Eileen remembers these women as being very uninhibited 
about their nudity around her. They encouraged her to 
go nude in front of them. When she was a little six 
year old girl, still impressionable. Eileen described 
to me the thrill of disrobing in front of them, and 
wanting very much to disrobe in front of her mother, to 
shock Mumsy. 

That's why Eileen worked with me so cooperatively the 
time I conned her mother to join us in a nudist camp, 
with our kids, as a "family". That experience allowed 
Eileen to live out a fantasy. Without Eileen helping me 
manipulate her mother into the deal it would never have 
been pulled off.

Anyway, these Jamaican Nannies of Eileen's had big 
asses, and were always telling Eileen that she must be 
a little black girl, under her white skin and blue 
eyes, because her bum was built just like theirs. She'd 
be brought to their houses, during the days, sometimes, 
before supper, and it was an erotic and free-wheeling 
atmosphere, with lots of rum, and lots of men "feeling 
up" the women, in the most casual way.

Eileen thought she may have actually witnessed 
something like a real sex act, but was never able to 
recall exactly what had gone on, it's all fuzzy in her 
mind. On the other hand the experience wasn't 
remembered as unpleasant, it was more something that 
happened in the heat of the moment, accompanied by a 
lot of friendly laughter by her Nanny, Constance. 

Maybe that's why it was so easy for Eileen to fuck 
black studs with huge cocks, when I finally conned her 
into doing stags with black studs, because of that 
early pleasant experience she remembered.

My wife's fondest memories from childhood were those of 
her summers in Camp, spent in the company of other 
kids. Mumsy was very stingy about some things, in spite 
of the high-class upbringing she arranged for her kid. 
Eileen's mother found it "an injustice" to pay "real 
money" to send her kid to a camp. So, to save money 
Mumsy sent Eileen to an uncharacteristically "un-posh" 
charity-sponsored camp. The place was liberally 
peppered with black kids, also lots of Jewish kids from 
liberal homes.

From the time Eileen was six or seven years old till 
she was 16, when she was made a junior counselor, 
Eileen had a lot of immature weenie to ponder over, 
because kids used to run around naked in the bunks, 
though the initially shy Eileen never partook, in her 
earliest years. 

Boy, did the little girl ever take it in with her eyes! 
Eileen never got over her curiosity about penises, from 
then on. And she confessed to me that, as a little girl 
at these camps, she was utterly fascinated by black 
cocks, based on having seen them when they were just 
"sprouts".

Without knowing it, I even exploited those happy 
sensual camp memories to give me totally outrageous 
pleasure, when we were deeply involved in my more 
obsessive and risky sex adventures. That was when I had 
my wife perform sex with under-age pre-teen boys. When 
Eileen was sucking on a 12 or 13 year old boy's erect 
penis, or guiding it into her mother-sized pussy hole 
she'd flush beet-red. 

It was a sensation for the kids who were getting sucked 
off, or for members of an audience watching her perform 
fellatio on a young cock, to witness her blushing, to 
have visible proof of her deep embarrassment. It really 
enhanced a sex performance beyond measure.

Eileen made no bones about it to me, she'd discovered 
that the sensation of sucking off a kid's cock was the 
most intense orgasmic sex she'd ever experienced in her 
life. It was almost like the dirty movie, Deep Throat; 
Eileen claimed that a young cock shooting off a load 
into her mouth brought her off to orgasm, all she 
needed was to have her finger resting lightly as a 
feather on her clit at the same time, just brushing her 
clit, and bang! that was it, Eileen's pussy would be 
coming over and over and over again, getting wet as a 
shower when there was an ejaculation by an immature 
penis into her mouth.

Eileen confessed to me way later, after she'd had sex 
with young boys, that she'd gotten these deep crushes 
on little boys, like barely pre-pubescent boys, or just 
pubescent boys, during the times she'd been in camp, 
even though she'd been younger than they were, like 
when she was in the seven to ten year age bracket. Even 
as a grown women such newly pubescent boys stimulated 
her, sexually, even though she'd never even mentioned 
it to me. 

Getting turned on by twelve year old boys was Eileen's 
deepest, darkest secret, the one feeling about which 
she had the greatest shame, but it was also like a 
time-bomb, when it came to one of our performances.

This hidden part of Eileen only came to the surface 
after she'd had sex with immature males at some of the 
freakier things I'd arranged, in the latter part of our 
sex adventures. Eileen derived an interesting insight 
from this, and an understanding of some male 
perversion. She said that, if she got so much intensity 
from her relations with young boys, then, for the first 
time she could understand why "dirty old men" might get 
some outrageously strong reaction to sex with young 
girls, though that didn't mean she could approve. She 
just understood it, personally.

Eileen, as an only child was mostly neglected and left 
in the hands of these Nannies. Eileen's father almost 
completely ignored her. Mumsy was preoccupied with 
dragging Eileen to social functions. Mumsy actually 
sent her daughter to a school to be trained in "proper" 
manners, to be, in Mumsy's words, " a real lady". Mumsy 
succeeded. But Mumsy never got to know her daughter as 
a real person. 

Eileen behaved the way she was supposed to, acting like 
perfect little lady on the outside. Mumsy accepted the 
right behavior from Eileen, insisted on it, but behind 
Mumsy's back Eileen was always rebelling against Mumsy 
in sneaky ways, which gave the little girl pleasure.

Eileen recalled for me, once an incident from when she 
was 13 or 14 years old. During those times she often 
would masturbate with Mumsy's hairbrush handle, and not 
wash it off. One kick Eileen got from the twisted sex 
acts I had her perform was when she'd kid me, giggling 
over the idea of "what the neighbors would think if 
they knew", and likewise what her mother would feel, if 
she ever knew what her "sweet" little girl was doing. 
It gave the Eileen an enormous emotional jolt, doing 
the forbidden and totally outrageous behind Mumsy's 
back. It also allowed me to make my impossible 
fantasies real.

I knew none of this from the start, it all became 
revealed much later. I think if I'd known at the time 
how rebellious she was about Mumsy, consciously, and 
not so intrigued with how clever I was in seducing 
Eileen into performing, I probably could've worked out 
an even more exciting hype, with Eileen's cooperation, 
on the way I exploited her Mumsy's nude photo, at 
stags. 

From that enlightened perspective I suspect that it 
would've given Eileen a great huge kick to know that, 
behind her Mumsy's back, I had dirty old men slobbering 
over photos of her Mumsy's nudeness.

Eileen grew up pretty straight in the way she behaved, 
considering. Out of necessity the young Eileen had 
developed tight friendships with both boys and girls 
her own age, her peers, like most of the kids growing 
up today. Since she was born in New York, in Manhattan, 
and raised in a mixed ethnic neighborhood, the boys she 
was friendly with were mostly Jewish boys. 

That's because the Irish Catholic males she went to 
school with were tough little bastards who hated all 
manner of females. They mostly punched the girls out, 
behind the Sister's backs, or treated them with 
contempt. The Jewish boys who went to the public 
schools, and who the little Irish adventurer Eileen had 
been attracted to as a young girl, they were like 
forbidden fruit to Eileen. She confessed to me that 
they almost seemed like women, underneath.

Eileen also confessed to me her impressions of 
practically all the Italian boys she'd ever met, except 
for me. Eileen felt that Italian men were insincere, 
scheming, basically untrustworthy, with hidden violence 
underneath. She said that she'd never, ever sensed that 
violent quality in me. Eileen said that, as a matter of 
fact, I'd reminded her more of the Jewish boys she had 
been charmed with.

Well, we both grew up in New York, which was loaded 
with Jews. Maybe she caught that quality in me because 
I hung around with Jewish kids a lot, when I was young. 
They were the only ones with wild sex ideas in their 
heads who mouthed off about sex. Italian kids were just 
crude and vulgar. In fact I was the first Italian male 
Eileen had ever let inside the charmed circle. Also the 
first older person. I was her substitute Daddy.

But Eileen sure missed the boat on my scheming, or 
maybe she actually got a kick out of it. I certainly 
was not trustworthy when it came to manipulating her so 
I could get my perverted sex needs met. On the other 
hand I was sort of trustworthy about protecting her 
reputation. It was in my own best interest to keep the 
sex game in business.

I walked a very slender line in how well I kept the 
secret. I always got excited over the prospect of 
exposing Eileen's activities to friends and neighbors. 
However, I never went the distance, only because of the 
mental damage that I feared this exposure might cause 
to my little kids.


Chapter 16: Impact on Our Kids
------------------------------

I needn't have bothered, as it turned out. Actually, 
our kids were tougher than I thought. They told me, 
when they were grown, that they'd caught on to the main 
thrust of what the two of us were doing, it wasn't that 
big a secret from them. They'd overheard things, in 
spite of all of our efforts. 

Little kids have big ears. As far as they were 
concerned we were just their Mom and their Dad, and 
that was it. For instance they, all three of the kids, 
knew that their Dad, for one thing, took fuck photos of 
their Mommy. They evidently hadn't made a big deal of 
that fact. 

It didn't mean anything, good or bad to them. They had 
no sex curiosity at the time, or so they said to me as 
adults, so the photos and "those other things" were 
just something that their Mom and Dad, as "big people", 
did, just more silliness, as far as they were 
concerned.

What surprised me more though, was that my son told me 
that those kids had known for years that I'd been 
having his mother "have sex", in his words, with other 
men. He'd evidently overheard me once, when he was 
about eight years old, talking enthusiastically, but 
incautiously, to some contact at a Club. Evidently I'd 
assumed he was asleep, and had carelessly left my 
living room door partially open, instead of locking it. 
I'd been very explicit as to what his mother was going 
to do at the party, so my kid had a clear picture of 
what went on, though none of it made much real sense to 
him.

So if we'd been "exposed" this would've been nothing 
new to the kiddos. As a kid my son claimed that he'd 
made a kind of "kid's sense" out of the conversation. 
It sort of bowled me over that my son had known in a 
very vague way what the purpose of our trips was, when 
his Grandma baby-sat the three kids during these over-
night and over week-end stag show excursions.

It was after I'd split with his mother. Here he was, in 
his twenties, telling me these things. These incredible 
youngsters didn't make any big deal of it. They'd 
always played Mickey the Dunce with the two of us, for 
our benefit. As they explained it to me much later, 
individually, when they were young adults, we two were 
the only parents they had, and they adored us, no 
matter what we did for our sexual amusement.

They loved us for the way we brought them up. They'd 
never been physically punished, and had only rarely 
experienced a cross word spoken to them. All three of 
our kids appreciated how much we played with them as 
they were growing up, and how we always treated them 
adoringly. And they'd returned the love, and the trust. 
As a matter of fact our kids confessed to us, when 
they'd matured to young adulthood, that they always 
felt they'd been treated with exceptional love and 
affection, compared to their playmates. Their friends 
often told them how much they envied them their 
parents. 

So no matter how freaky the rest of the world would've 
thought we were, these kids were loyal, they were 
really very strong little kids. Anyway, the possibility 
of having our kids learn about our secret activities 
kept me somewhat in line. 

That line disappeared when Eileen deserted me and 
destroyed my porno collection of her photos.

END

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It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
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Kristen's collection - Directory 63