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“Bullshit.” Michael growled, sitting back down in his recliner. “You
owe it all to yourself. I just gave you a kick in the ass that got it
started. No excuse for letting yourself go to hell like that. None at all.”
He paused for a moment. “Do you still want to do this?”

She looked Harold up and down appraisingly. “Sure. Might be
instructive all around.”

Harold suddenly felt very alone and outnumbered. And a little worried.
“Um, somebody want to let me in on this?”

“Well,” she said, walking over to Harold, “Mikey and I had a little
talk last night, and I had this idea to, you know, prove just how far along
you had come in conquering your little problem.” She placed a hand on
Harold’s shoulder and traced it, feather light, down his shirtfront to his
belt buckle, which she hooked a finger into and tugged gently.

Harold swallowed hard, wondering just how far he had gotten over his
head here. He looked over at Michael. Michael, who had winced visibly at
“Mikey,” simply looked back and said nothing. No help there.

So he turned back to Diane. “Um, you mean here? Right now?”

“Sure.” she said, tugging on his buckle again. “Why not?”

Then she was rubbing up against him, her arms around his neck. Their
mouths met in a long, breathtaking kiss. Harold’s cock was as stiff as a
railroad spike, and it didn’t help that Diane was grinding her hips against
his. She broke the kiss and ran her tongue slowly along Harold’s jawline.
Planting little kisses along his neck, she slowly slid down his front,
maintaining maximum contact with her hands a body all the way. When she was
on her knees, her face level with his crotch, she began to work at his belt
buckle.

Oh, jeez, Harold thought, as he looked around frantically. Michael was
still watching, only his expression was intent. Harold got the distinct
feeling he was being *studied*.

Diane got Harold’s belt unbuckled, undid the snap, and pulled the
zipper down. A white bulge immediately poked through, as his erection
strained to be free of his shorts. His pants fell to his ankles with a
jingle of change as Diane placed a hand on his covered bulge, massaging it
gently while she looked up into his eyes. Harold already felt waves of
massive pleasure surge up from his groin. She put her mouth over the tip of
the bulge and exhaled gently. Harold clearly felt the heat of her breath on
his cock, and moaned imperceptibly.

Then she grabbed the waistband of his briefs and began to slowly pull
them down, uncovering his erection inch by agonizing inch. The pounding in
his cock was matched by the pounding in his head as he felt the elastic
drag down along the length of his penis.

Then he was free, his cock standing stiffly erect for all the world to
see. He glanced over at Michael, but Michael didn’t seem to be as
interested in the action as he was in Harold’s face. Then Harold forgot all
about him as Diane extended her tongue and ran it up along his cock.

Then, without warning, she plunged it into her mouth. All the way in.
While Harold wasn’t exceptionally large, he had still never met a woman who
could deep throat him before. The feeling was nothing short of amazing, as
the warm, slick wetness of her mouth enveloped his entire cock. The feeling
was intensely erotic, and Harold closed his eyes with a moan and rolled his
hips as he prepared to explode into her mouth.

A sudden, hard slap rocked his face. Shocked, he opened his eyes to
stare at Michael, who had bounded off his chair and stood just behind
Diane. “Harold,” he said quietly, “if you ejaculate in her mouth, she will
bite your penis off.”

At that moment, he felt a brief, sharp pain at the base of his cock as
she dug her teeth in very slightly, just as a hint, before resuming her
sucking with double the intensity.

Cold horror gripped Harold’s heart. He had been a fraction of a second
away from coming before Michael slapped him, but the slap had brought him
well back from the edge. Still, Diane’s oral talents were nothing short of
extraordinary and it would not be very long before he was back again. She
slid his cock in and out of her mouth while lightly caressing his balls
with one hand. The other hand slid between his legs and began to tease his
asshole with a finger. Already the pressure was beginning to build as
Harold frantically thought of a way to stop it.

In the midst of panic came a voice of calm. Your training, you idiot!
it said. That’s it! Harold replied. He began to repeat the mantras Michael
had taught him over and over in his mind. Slowly, the real world began to
fade into the distance as he entered a trance. The sensations beneath his
belly eased to the point where he could contemplate them or dismiss them
altogether. His heart slowed and his pupils dialated as his mind entered an
alpha state. Within an amazingly short time he became pure ego, floating in
a sea of peace and serenity.

After what seemed a brief yet endless time his hindbrain became aware
that something changed and he resurfaced to conciousness, gazing at
Michael’s gently smiling face. Harold looked down and saw that Diane had
stopped, and was sitting at his feet, massaging her jaw.

“Jeez.” she said, “Thirty fucking minutes. Nobody’s ever outlasted me
before.” She looked up at him ruefully. “Mister, you are nothing short of
amazing.”

Laughing, Michael clapped Harold hard on the back, almost making him
trip over his pants. He quickly pulled them up and refastened them. “Well,
my boy,” Michael said, “I guess I’d pronounce you cured, at least by your
own standards.”

Harold stood there, amazed. “I.. guess I really did it. I never
thought I would.”

“I had no doubt.” Michael said. “You have found one solution to your
problem. Not the best one, in my opinion, but a solution all the same. With
practice you shall find others, I’m sure.”

Harold helped Diane to her feet. He looked her in the eye and asked,
“Would you really have…?”

She just smiled and said nothing.

Harold gulped and looked over at Michael. “Would she have?”

Michael just shrugged. “Beats me. And I suppose I should know if
anybody would. After all, she’s my wife.”

Harold’s jaw dropped open. It stayed that way for a moment, until
Diane reached up and gently closed it. “You look cute when you’re shocked.”
she admitted. Then she gently tugged him towards the door.

“What are you doing?” he asked, still flabberghasted.

“I think we can find a more suitable place to finish what we
started…”

“But… but…” he looked over at Michael helplessly.

Michael just shrugged again, palms up. “She does as she wishes. And I
wouldn’t have it any other way. You have passed an important hurdle today,
and a difficult one. You deserve a reward. Enjoy yourself. Both of you.”

Harold was silenced, at least long enough for Diane to drag him out of
there and to his well-earned reward.

And what a reward it was!

In order to prevent an armed revolt by the citizenry, the mayor did
the only thing he could. He promised to drop all charges against the
…End of the part5. To be continued..

During the daytime the streets were like that of a ghost town, as
everybody remained inside with shades closed to beat the heat.
Air-conditioners became the number one most stolen item in the city,
beating out televisions by a wide margin. It made sense of a sort, after
all, you don’t even need to get inside the house to steal one. Many a
homeowner returned from work in the evening to find a large hole in the
wall where the family’s most cherished appliance once rested and
subsequently broke down in tears. However, the chief of police had a sudden
brainstorm that guaranteed a quick end to this new and despicable crime
wave. He promptly instructed all four hospitals in the Willyville area to
inform the police of any emergency room cases involving hernias or slipped
discs. When the anxious media questoned the chief of police on this new
tactic, he simply replied that the results so far were “interesting”.

In other news, weather forcaster Bob Katt had been suspended for
appearing on his show wearing boxer shorts, a tie, and nothing else. It
seems the building’s air-conditioning system had been stolen the previous
night (an impressive feat in itself, considering that the compressor alone
weighed half a ton) and Bob had refused to work in a suit in the stifling
heat. So he had walked into the studio, dressed only in his skivvies, and
up in front of the camera before any of the stunned studio crew could even
think of stopping him. Of course, it would have been very bad form to yank
him off the camera, so they simply let him do his broadcast. Once he was
finished he was greeted by a purple faced station manager. Despite the
indian pressure groups, Bob was still very popular in Willyville, so he was
not fired on the spot.

Instead, the station manager sent him on a long overdue vacation…

Saturday dawned bright, clear, and warm (surprise, surprise!). Harold
was up with the sun, mostly because he hadn’t slept at all the previous
night. His stomach was a tight little knot and his heart would not stop
pounding. He was having second thoughts about the party. Harold Sykes had
never been a party animal, and recent… events… had convinced him that
he would be very wise to stay away from certain segments of the human race
(read: female) for a long time to come. In fact, now that he thought about
it, he was rather frightened of them. After all, if he couldn’t keep Cindi
happy, would he be able to keep any woman happy? And there would be lots of
girls there, probably all laughing at him. Why go?

Then he thought about his depression of the last couple weeks. Tom had
a point: right or wrong, he had to do something.

Tom came by at 2:30 and picked Harold up. As they drove over to
Squirrel Heights, Tom did most of the talking. Harold had lapsed into a
moody silence, soaking up Tom’s words and saying almost something in
return. If Tom noticed, he didn’t show it as he kept up a steady monologue
all the way to the house.

The Squirrel Heights Boarding house was a dumpy three story affair
sitting in front of about two acres of worn out farmland. The place was run
by an aging ex-stockbroker named Michael Wilburn, who believed in free
expression of everything and threw wild parties as often as the house’s
budget would allow. Some of the parties were solely for the house’s
inhabitants, but most of them were for whoever wanted to come. Booze and
most kinds of drugs generally circulated freely, and Harold had heard
rumors even more outrageous than that. All in all, it was pretty
intimidating to an introvert like Harold, and as he stepped out of Tom’s
car and looked at the peeling gray mass of the boarding house looming over
him, and the virtual sea of cars surrounding it, he knew he had made a
mistake. He as much as said so to Tom, who ignored him completely.

The affair was already in progress, as he discovered when Tom led him
around the back of the house. There must have been almost a hundred people
there, engaged in all manner of outdoor activities. People everywhere,
talking, yelling, running, horsing around, just generally having a good
time. A table had been set up by the back door, and there was somebody
serving booze and food to an endlessly regenerating queue.

Harold looked around and noticed that Tom had abandoned him and was
nowhere in sight. For an instant he almost panicked and yelled for Tom,
then his rational mind took over. What’s your problem? it said. You’re an
adult, you don’t need a keeper.

So Harold decided to walk around and see what he could see.

In one corner a net had been set up for a vollyball game. There was a
team on each side, if a pushing, laughing, staggering group of people could
be called a team. Harold stood off to one side with a small group of
spectators and watched. All of a sudden his attention had been captured by
one particular member of one team.

She wasn’t tall, maybe five seven or so, buxom, and maybe a few pounds
overweight. Which, as far as Harold was concerned, made her all the more
nicely rounded. Her hair was blonde and fell down past her shoulders. Her
face was pretty, but not spectacularly so. What had really caught Harold’s
attention was what she was wearing, or, more to the point, not wearing. She
was dressed in frayed cutoff jeans that were so tight they had split along
the sides halfway up her hips, and a string bikini top that struggled
valiantly to hold up under the weight of enormous breasts. Harold glanced
around and saw that she had the attention of pretty much every man in the
crowd.

His heart fluttered as he watched her move, and he couldn’t help but
wonder what it would be like to take her to bed. He imagined her long hair
spread out over the pillow, glimmering faintly in the moonlight, those
magnificent breasts moving in slow liquid motion as she arched her back in
sheer pleasure, her frenzied gasps as she reached a sudden and powerful
orgasm…

Harold shook his head to clear it. Get real, he told himself. Someone
like that certainly already has a boyfriend, and even if she didn’t, why
should she be interested in somebody like him? He turned around and began
to make his way back towards the house.

Sudden catcalls and whistles made him turn around again. She was
sitting on the grass, apparently having just fallen. When she landed, the
overburdened top string of her bikini had given way, exposing her for all
the world to see.

He could not help but stare. Her nipples stood out hard, the aurioles
colored light rose pink. He ached to take them in his mouth, to feel their
soft but firm weight in his hands. Then he looked up and saw she was
staring directly at him.

He locked eyes with her and suddenly his face turned beet red. Why, he
didn’t know, because surely every other male here was staring and thinking
the same thoughts. She made no move to cover herself, she just sat there,
challenging him with her gaze.

Finally, Harold turned and pushed his way through the crowd. His heart
was pounding in his ears and his balls, denied their release, ached
miserably. He still had a raging hard-on and kept his hands in his pockets
to conceal it. He felt sick, and ashamed. And he wanted to leave this
instant.

But that stare kept coming back to him. On reflection, he felt there
was more than just a challenge in her eyes. What, he didn’t know, but he
somehow knew it. It was almost as if a spark had passed between them.
Undoubtedly it was just his overworked imagination, but…

He felt as if she wanted him, too.

Day gave way to night, as days usually do, and slowly Willyville began
to cool off. People moved out of their stifling houses (except for those
who hadn’t had their air-conditioning stolen yet) and into their back
yards. They brought TV trays, TV’s, barbecues, bedrolls, and just generally
prepared to enjoy the night in relative coolness.

All over Willyville the night was alive with the sound of voices,
televisions, stereos, lustful moans and the other noises of humans enjoying
themselves outdoors. With one exception. In Squirrel Heights, all was
quiet. The place seemed deserted, in fact. Virtually all human life in the
area had gravitated to one spot. At the Squirrel Heights boarding house,
when night fell, the real party began…

Harold Sykes hadn’t left the party like he planned, although he came
awful damn close to doing so when he spotted Cindi in the crowd. But, in
the end, the thought of going back to his lonely, empty, stuffy house was
just too much. So instead he wandered around the yard, just watching the
extraordinary panorama of human activity taking place before him.

Eventually he found a peaceful spot on the back porch where he just
sat and watched the sun set. Tom came by and asked him how he was doing.

“Better.” sighed Harold, “I really feel better.”

Tom gave him a wink. “You may be feeling better than that before the
night’s over, old buddy.” and sauntered off before Harold could say
anything.

Now what was that supposed to mean?

As it got dark, the party outside thinned out. A few left, spinning
their wheels in the gravel lot out front, but most just went inside the
house. Probably gonna booze it up good, Harold thought, Although it looked
to him like they had been boozing more than adequetely already. Harold
didn’t feel like drinking very much, especially after his binge the other
day. Drugs didn’t hold much of an attraction for him, either. Just sitting
there, alone with his thoughts, seemed to do quite a bit for him.

Eventually he awoke from his musings and was startled to find he was
alone. With a sigh he got up and went in through the back door.

The back hallway was unlit. There was the low murmur of voices and
music coming from somewhere ahead. He could make out dim light from around
a corner in the distance. Cautiously he made his way down the hallway,
hoping nothing solid was in the way of his shins.

Eventually he made his way to the light, and when he turned the corner
he recieved the shock of his life.

The front room was spacious and poorly lit. But the light was more
than adequete for Harold to see what was going on. There was about twenty
to thirty people sprawled about the room, all naked, contorted in every
kind of sexual position imaginable. And a couple that weren’t imaginable.

Harold could only stare dumbly. The floor was almost lost amongst the
moving, writhing bodies. There were six people on the couch, in some
bizarre group contortion that made them look like something from another
planet. One man sat moaning softly in an easy chair with a hard-on that
Harold would have sworn was twelve inches long, at least. He watched in
total amazement as all twelve inches dissappeared into the mouth of the
co-ed sitting on the floor between the man’s feet.

The blonde he had seen earlier was conspicuously absent.

He heard creaking above him, and he looked up. In the rafters, some
twelve feet above, a rope and pully setup had been arranged with a large
wicker basket. Three people were in the basket, which swung back and forth
alarmingly. Harold quickly moved several feet over, out from under the
setup.

His head was spinning. His experience with sex had always been
limited, and now he was confronted with a full-fledged orgy. It was too
much. He didn’t want any part of this. All he wanted was out.
Watching his step carefully, he made his way for the nearest door. He
was almost there when he saw the one thing he *knew* he didn’t want to
see.

There was a clear spot at the far end of the room. Only two people
were there, a man flat on his back with a woman sitting astride his hips,
moving up and down in sensuous rhythem. He didn’t know who the guy was but
he knew the girl. Cindi. Pain that had been mercifully submerged now rose
to stab arrowlike into his guts. Cindi turned her head at that instant and
their eyes met. Instant recognition and something spiteful and unpleasant
glittered in her eyes for a brief second, and then she turned her attention
back to what she was doing. Her movements became more frantic, and her
moans much louder, exaggerating as much as possible.

Her parting words rang in his mind: “I want a man, dammit!” Well,
fine. All Harold wanted was out. He averted his eyes and ran blindly
towards the closest exit. He stumbled over one couple on the way (startling
them into a premature orgasm) and mumbled apologies as he kept going.

Then he was in a hallway, but not the one he had come from. Doors
lined the hall on both sides. He grabbed one and pulled it open, only to be
rewarded with several outraged yells. Redfaced and near tears from
embarassment, he pulled the door shut and looked around desperately. And
empty room, anything, just so he could get out of sight and get his
thoughts together. If he didn’t do it quick, he feared he might lost his
mind. He had to get away, somehow!

There, at the end of the hall. An open door, the room dark within. He
paused at the doorway for a second, but could detect no movement within.
Empty, thank God! He slammed the door shut behind him and let the blackness
envelop him as he sank to the floor with a hoarse sob. He lay in a heap for
who knew how long before he finally calmed down.

His heart gave a sudden leap as he somehow realized, in the total
darkness, that that the room wasn’t empty after all. After a long moment,
he finally summoned up a weak voice. “Who’s there?”

There was a longer silence, and he almost began to hope he was alone
after all, when a soft voice answered “Are you all right?”

Fuck NO! I ain’t all right, you stupid… But Harold controlled
himself before replying, “I will be, eventually. In about fifty years or
so.” He hesitated before the next question, “Are you, um, alone?”

“Yeah.” she replied, “I just wanted to be by myself. I kinda outgrew
the scene out front a long time ago. All the interesting guys already have
somebody. There was one guy, but I think he went home or something.”

Harold got up, a little unsteadily “I’m sorry. Sorry I barged in on
you. I’ll leave now.”

“Please, don’t.” she said, “Unless you really need to. I think we
could both use someone to talk to.”

Harold sat back down against the wall with a weary sigh. “Sure, why
not?” After a silent moment, he continued, “Would you mind turning on a
light? I’d like to see who I’m talking to.”

“Well,” she began doubtfully, “you may feel more comfortable without
the light, but if you insist…” There was a click and a flare of light
exploded into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. When he could open his
eyes, he recieved the last shock of a very long day.

Standing by a lamp on the dresser was the blonde from the vollyball
game, still dressed in the frayed shorts but minus the bikini top, which
lay discarded on the bed. She had her eyes screwed shut against the light,
opening them a moment later.

“Oh! It’s you!”

The growing membership of the Willyville Nudist Society (formed
somewhere around July 11th) petitioned the mayor’s office to temporarily
modify the laws against public indecency so as to allow the nudists to
pursue their own version of ‘personal freedom’. A story about it appeared
in the local newspaper, and a day later the mayor’s office recieved over a
thousand anonymous letters in support of the petition. However, almost 80%
of those letters were mimeographed in the same writing, unsigned, and sent
without return addresses. Somebody had been very busy, indeed. There was no
comment from the mayor’s office about the whole situation. Rumor had it he
had snuck out of town for a long overdue vacation…

For Harold Sykes, the usual lunacy of Willyville passed over him
without notice as his days stretched into a grey cloud of depression. At
work he hardly spoke, and when he went home he drew the blinds and sat in
the stifling heat staring at a blank wall. When he saw a pretty girl out on
the street he would avert his eyes until she passed by. When his friends at
work spoke to him he would always jump, as if jolted from some private
world. When asked about his change of behavior, he would simply dismiss it
as the aftermath of a breakup. But deep inside his heart ached and he spent
long, sleepless nights wondering who Cindi might be with and what they
might be doing and being certain that she was having a far, far better time
now than she had ever had with him. His depression grew deeper and deeper
and he knew that over the horizon lay only more dark clouds.

The situation came to a head when Harold nearly throttled a co-worker
for singing “Zipity-Doo-Da” one morning after announcing his engagement.
After explaining to his supervisor (and the police officer) that he had
been under a lot of stress lately, he was awarded with a two-week (unpaid)
vacation and the advice to see a psychiatrist. Soon.

Instead he sat at home, watching “Love Boat” reruns and drinking some
horrible beer and lemonade concotion bottled in New Jersey. Masochism was
the word of the day here.

He was idly (and a bit drunkenly) trying to decide whether to use a
sledgehammer or a shotgun on the TV set when the phone rang.

The harsh, obnoxious sound grated in his ears, pulling him from the
fantasy that enveloped him. A part of him begged to answer the phone, as
usual, to see who would be calling. The rest of him said screw it, why
bother?

Finally, long ingrained habit won out. He lurched over to the phone
and yanked the reciever off the cradle. Placing it to his mouth, he offered
the most cheery greeting his jangled mind could come up with.

“Go fuck yourself.”

There was moment’s hesitation before a familiar male voice came out of
the other end. “Harold! How ya doin’?”

“Hi, Tom.” Harold sighed. Tom was Harold’s best friend and a devout
hedonist, to boot. “I’m doing fine. Just don’t feel like getting out much
in this heat, is all.”

“Yeah, right.” Tom said in a voice that made it perfectly clear he
didn’t believe a word of it. “Well, shit, man, you need to get out
sometimes, before you start to grow cobwebs or something. And I got just
the thing…”

Harold silently groaned and rubbeed his temples. The only thing he
wanted was to be left alone. One of Tom’s ‘just the thing’ ideas was the
last thing he needed right now. “Uh, look, maybe later-”

“Later my ass!” The voice on the other end roared. “I know what
happened. Kelly told me.” Harold’s eyes widened but he really wasn’t
surprised. He fully expected Cindi to blab to everyone who would sit still
long enough to listen. He tried to imagine that Cindy was sitting in front
of him instead of the TV and suddenly his hands fairly itched for that
sledgehammer.

Tom continued, “Shit, man, something like that would’ve killed me.
Cindi has got to be the most twisted bitch I have ever heard of. Nobody has
a right to do that to somebody else.”

“Yeah, I ain’t too happy about it either. But I can’t do anything, so
how about I call you later-”

“I ain’t done yet.” Tom interrupted firmly. “You’ve got to get out of
there and back into circulation. You stay in that dark house much longer,
you’re going to do something stupid.” Harold felt a sudden shock. What had
he been thinking? He had twelve payments to go on the TV yet. Suddenly the
beer and lemonade in his stomach began to churn.

“Look, Harold, I’m your buddy. It hurts me to see what she’s done to
you. I wanna help, and I think I know the best way to do it. There’s a
party going on Saturday afternoon at this place I know over in Squirrel
Heights. Right off Wanker street. The whole gang’s gonna be there, along
with a bunch of other people I don’t know. Lots of available girls, I hear.
Hoping to add a couple to my collection myself. I think you ought to go
with me. Keep me from getting in too much trouble.”

Harold’s voice was thick as he struggled with his gorge. “I… I don’t
know…”

“Aw, c’mon. I want you there. You don’t have to do anything or talk to
anybody if you don’t want. Just soak up some rays and good feelings. I
ain’t heard of anybody going away from a West Side Party feeling bad.”

“Well…”

“It’s settled, then.” Tom concluded, perhaps a bit prematurely. “I’ll
be by about noon Saturday, and you can ride with me. I know you don’t
drink, and I could use somebody sober to drive me home. If I go home at
all. If not, you can use the car. Sound good?”

Harold had his voice under control and was actually feeling a bit
better. Tom’s nonstop talking had distracted him from the full impact of
the crisis, and his depression was beginning to lift a bit. “Sure, why not?
Should I bring anything?”

“Toothbrush and a change of shorts, maybe.”

They talked for a few more minutes and when Harold finally hung up, he
felt immensely better. He had felt so alone not long ago. It was good to be
reminded he had friends. Maybe with their help he could pull through this
depression and come out a whole human being once again. But that was still
a ways off.

In the meantime, he tidied the house up. Lastly he came to the
collection of bottles from his binge that morning. He was astonished to
discover how much of that stuff he had drunk. Thinking about it reminded
him just how awful the stuff really was. He hiccuped once and ran for the
bathroom, hand over his mouth.

He almost made it.

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you’d given up hope of it ever coming true it does. It’s like getting a

Christmas present in February. It’s not anything you expect, but it sure

can make you happy. That’s just what happened to me.

Before I share it with you I’ll give you a little background. I was

introduced to the pleasures of sucking cock at the tender age of 15 by one

of the neighborhood tough guys, who was a couple of years older than me.

He thought he was pretty cool, Mr. BadAss “forcing” another guy to polish

his knob, but he soon discovered that you can’t force the eager. It may

have burst his bubble to learn that I liked it, but it didn’t prevent him

from seeking me out. It was after all the perfect arrangement; he liked

being sucked; I liked sucking.

He gave me lots of practice; by the time I turned 16 I was a fairly adept

pole smoker. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy doing my neighbor, but after

taking his load at least 150 times I wanted to expand out to new (and

hopefully bigger) things. I looked at any good looking guy I saw as someone

who I could suck if the opportunity arose. It was just a matter of time

before something happened.

That summer, having just got my license, I wanted my own car. My dad made

me a deal. He owned a small manufacturing company. He’d front me the

money for my wheels, but I’d have to pay off my loan by working for him

during all school vacations. Who could pass up a deal like that? So that’s

how I met Eric.

Eric was 20 years old and everything I considered a super hunk to be. He

had short-cropped, sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, an All-American,

Saturday Evening Post kind of face together with a body that nearly took my

breath away the first time I saw him. He was my definition of

masculine. There’s no denying it, I was in lust at first sight. From the

moment I noticed the bulge protruding from the crotch of his jeans I wanted

to do nothing less than drop to my knees and worship it.

Eric had worked for my dad since his senior year in high school, but we’d

never met. I knew him by reputation only. Dad really liked him, saying he

was a hard and willing worker and dad was never one to hand out compliments

or praise just for the sake of doing so. At the time Eric was sort of a

jack of all trades, learning the entire operation from the ground up. Dad

had great hopes for advancing him as the business grew and prospered. My

summer job was going to be to take over running the outside errands and

office boy duties that he’ been doing while he became more involved in

learning the production end of the business.

Of course this meant that for the first couple of weeks I would be working

with Eric while he trained me. As far as I was concerned this was the

perfect arrangement and I determined to have him before the two weeks were

up. To understand where I was coming from, or at least to put it into

perspective, you need to know that I was an only child with asthma and I’d

become used to getting my own way. Not that I got everything just for the

asking, but if I was willing to work and plot, I usually got what I

wanted. Add to this the fact that I’d led a very sheltered life, despite

the fact that I’d been sucking cock for over a year, and really didn’t know

much about sex in the real world. So it’s somewhat understandable that it

didn’t occur to me that anybody would see anything wrong with one guy

wanting to suck another off, and I certainly didn’t realize that a guy who

enjoyed sex might turn down the offer of a blow job. Not even the fact that

Eric was married with one kid and another on the way deterred me in my

quest.

I certainly didn’t waste any time. We’d been out on the road alone for

about 20 minutes when, not even trying to maneuver the conversation toward

sex I just came out and asked,

“Eric have you ever had a blow job?”

He looked pretty shocked, at least by the abruptness of the question, he

laughed a little nervously and said, “course I’ve had a blow job. I’m

married aren’t I?”

I didn’t know what to say so I blurted out the first thing that came to my

tongue, “your wife blows you?” I’ll admit I felt more than a little stupid.

…End of the part1. To be continued..

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— I was greatly relieved to notice that he was not wearing boots –

then clumsily undid his pants. His heavy sterling belt-buck chinked

against something; shit, I thought, she’s already got a clue; he wears

a metal beltbuckle. I laid my fingers over my lips in the “Shhh!”

sign, and he nodded, though I don’t think he was aware that he’d

done anything wrong. I turned politely when his pants came off, and

sat down in front of Jeanine’s small television set, which was stacked

on top of a wooden box. I turned on the television set — a good

strategy, I thought, since the program’s sound would muffle any he might

make — and didn’t look up from the screen until the first commercial.

He was panting, and pulling up his pants. His eyes did not rest again

on Jeanine, who was lying on her side, her knees raised to her breasts.

Jeanine would not talk with me for a week after her dose of

mystery love. I guessed that that was the sexual equivalent of post-

battle stress syndrome — after all, that had been her first experience

with intercourse. For a while I was worried, but then she came to

visit me.

“I want to do it again,” she said, lighting a cigarette.

“Ah ha! See? It worked out, didn’t it?”

“First times are never smooth, Bobby. That was just to get

the job done; now I want to do it for fun.”

“I should charge you money for all my trouble.”

“You’re not a pimp. When can you set it up again?”

“I’ll have to communicate with your invisible knight.”

“You do that.”

* * *

One of the questions that I had to confront was whether to

select the same guy for the second event. As I saw it, the main

advantage was that if there was only one guy there was less chance

of the situation getting publicized. The more participants, the

greater the likelihood of someone blabbing. To tell you the truth, I

didn’t even really consider that using the same guy over and over would

increase the intimacy of the encounter, or that they would care more for

each other with repeat sessions. I assumed that since the guy was not

permitted to divulge his identity there was zero chance of any

intimacy.

But the downside of sticking with this one guy was that the

fellow was not a remarkable lover. It felt strange for me to evaluate

another man’s sexual competence, and I wondered if my standards weren’t

a bit slanted by my own preferences. Moreover, I realized that probably

no man could really flourish under these circumstances. But perhaps by

rating this guy’s moves truly objectively I might be able refine my own

skills as well. At any rate, my conclusion was that this guy was too

quick. Not a severe premature ejaculator, but probably far too quick

for Jeanine to really savor the experience.

“So, look, do you want me to get the same guy?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I do. I don’t want half the

male population at U.M. parading their penises through my room.”

“You’re exaggerating. All I’m saying is, I might be able to

get someone with more staying power. Maybe better endowed. Someone you

could enjoy more.”

“Are you going to ask to inspect their genitals before

admitting them?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then, you might end up with a guy who shoots before his

cock even enters me, or a guy who’s got, I don’t know, two inches or

something. This guy — whoever he is — is reliable. Maybe not

exquisite, but he’s tried and true. Stick with him.”

* * *

Stick with him we did, for a total of nine sessions, and the

guy’s performances became increasingly effective. In all fairness,

I’d say he went from about a 2.5 to an 8. At first edgy, reserved,

a little bashful, he became graceful, attentive, and powerful.

Jeanine became more relaxed, shed her inhibitions and fears, began

grabbing his shoulders, arching orgasmically, clawing at his

back; vocally, she was like an orchestra warming up: she went from an

eerie, cadaverous silence to delicate moans to exultant laughter to

ecstatic wailing to animalistic shrieks. It was really incredible to

watch. Yes, I admit, the spectacle really tore me away from her

television set.

…End of the part3. To be continued..

Ted instantly looked away. For a moment he gazed out at

the snow, his eyes following its passage from the black sky to the

window, where it melted against the warm glass.

“Well, I’d hafta think about it.”

“No no, it’s a simple question. Would you sleep with her?”

He cocked his head.

“Well, would she be talkin’ much?”

“No, she’d…well, she’d just be lying there, I guess.”

After a moment he shrugged, then said, “Sure, I guess, if…

I mean, it’s a little far-fetched, but I suppose if–”

“That’s it. Thanks.”

* * *

“Jeanine, look.”

She was lying back on her bed, a rumpled psychedelic nest of

quilts and velvet pillows, gazing at the Janis Joplin poster she’d pinned

to the ceiling, and smoking a Marlboro like it was marijuana. This was

another one of her perennial complaints: the dearth of illicit drugs on

campus. She rolled her eyes to me.

“I’ve talked with a bunch of guys. I mean, word has reached

me that there are a bunch of guys around here who find you extremely

attractive. It’s just that…”

She hammered her cigarette out in the clay ashtray resting

below her belly, then said bitterly, “It’s just that they don’t have

penises.”

“No, no. Look: Do you know Ted Daniels?”

She covered her face with her hand, groaning.

“Good lord. Ted’s farmer stock. He’s as articulate

as a bullfrog with tape over its mouth.”

“Well, okay. Do you know Mickey Blake?”

“Yes, I do. Well, actually, no, but I did once watch Andy

Griffith, and that’s close, right?”

“All right, this is getting complicated. Do you know Les

Goodman?”

“Know him? Well, I’ve smelled his overalls, but I haven’t

actually gotten within fifty yards of him. That’s close enough to

smell his overalls, though.”

“Jeanine, you’re making my point, okay?”

“What point is that?”

“It’s not that there aren’t romantic opportunities here, it’s

just that you’re so full of contempt for all the guys at this school

you’re not even willing to give them a shot. It comes across, okay?

They can all tell how much you deplore their agrarian mentality, or

whatever, and so of course they’re not going to make advances toward

you.”

“Listen, all right?” She grabbed another cigarette from the

pack and gestured fiercely with it. “If I slept with any of these guys,

sure, it might give me momentary pleasure, but I’d be on the verge of

nausea until I got old enough to drink.”

She lit her cigarette slowly, sucking at the lighter’s flame

until it had burned up half of the tobacco, then lay back. Janis

watched over her like the patron saint of dissolution. She puffed for

a while, coughed hatefully, then closed her eyes and groaned.

“Christ, Bobby, I just want to get laid.”

Then the solution came to me.

* * *

At least it seemed like a solution at the time. Like many of

my solutions, it ended up generating more problems than it solved, but

at least they were interesting problems. The solution was that I would

select some clean, sexually hungry young man to come to Jeanine’s dorm

room and anonymously fuck her while she was carefully blindfolded. The

guy would take a solemn oath to not reveal his identity to anyone,

especially her, and would have to swear not to talk about the unusual

encounter with anyone. Jeanine would get laid, but would not have to

endure the painful knowledge of which local nitwit she’d slept with.

The guy, for the price of keeping his mouth shut, would get pussy.

The illusion that it was a simple plan lasted only briefly. The

first actual encounter went smoothly: the man and I walked in together

and found Jeanine masturbating on the bed: naked, blindfolded.

“Jeanine,” I said sweetly, “You have company.”

She froze for a moment, then lay back, her breathing quick and

…End of the part2. To be continued..

Reputedly, anal orgasms are qualitatively different from the vaginal,

clitoral, or penile varieties. For some persons, they feel more

intense or even seem to occur on an entirely different plane of

experience. Others find a deep sense of relaxation and calmness,

a feeling of oneness with the cosmos, a transformative experience.

Some even claim the anal orgasm to be a powerful triggering element

for sex magick.

——————————————————————-

Her ass was big. Gargantuan. It drew his eyes like a magnet. She had the

perfect shape, bottom heavy with a huge, pear-shaped ass. It was, as an

astronomer acquaintance used to say, an luminescent globular cluster. When

she walked, her wide hips swayed enchantingly in a complex trigonometric

curve, and her ass must have made a blip on radar screens continents away.

Val was still coping with the effects of the breakup with Warren. He had

an empty feeling in his gut, the lower part of his gut to be exact. The

emptiness that Warren’s hard dick had so satisfyingly filled. But,

dammit, he craved a soft and warm and round womanly body to hold and

caress . . . and make love to, and be loved by.

Amaya had a mind to go with her perfect ass. She was funny and smart and

delightful to be with. She had an infectious smile. Her laughter could

dispell the gloom of an overcast day. She could talk intelligently about

about computers and science fiction and classic Russian literature. More

important, she seemed interested in *him*.

Val acted the perfect gentleman toward her the first few times they were

together. Lunch followed by dancing followed by pleasantly murmured

goodbyes. Dinner and a movie, then a kiss on the cheek. An early

morning ride in a horse-drawn carriage, breakfast in a sidewalk cafe,

conversation, and a light kiss on the lips.

She was the one who had to take the initiative. “Don’t you feel any

physical attraction *at all* toward me, Val?”

“Well, Maya, now that you mention it . . . ”

“Then show it, damn it! You act like a brother toward me. I’m well aware

you enjoy my company, but isn’t there anything else there? Maybe, just

maybe my body turns you off. I’m too damn fat, I know, and then there’s

this huge fat ass of mine. It’s part of me though, it’s me!”

“Woman, calm down. I appreciate all of you, and that big fat ass of yours

most of all. Believe me, I’m a connoisseur of asses, and yours takes the

grand prize. I worship that ass of yours. I tremble when I see it. I’ve

been a bit shy around you precisely because I’m so hot for your bod . . .

but I didn’t want to offend you.”

“Offend me because you find me physically attractive? Idiot! Come here.

Kiss me, you fool!”

He did, and it turned into a warm hug. His hands, seemingly of their own

volition, slid down and quickly found their way to that magnificent ass

of hers, and quite a double handful it was, too. One thing led to another,

as it so often does (in fiction at least), and they ended up in each

other’s arms that night.

“Val, my hot, hot lover!. Oh! You really do seem to like my ass. Come on

now, get behind me and come into my pussy once again so you can bump up

against my big ass. Deeper! I *like* that feeling. Mmmm. Maybe a bit later,

if I’m up to it (and *you’re* up to it) we can play other ass games. Hmm?”

He lovingly annointed her round, lush ass with scented massage oil.

Rubbing and caressing every square inch of that flowing, abundant flesh,

he memorized its contours and texture. He burnished and worked the surface

of that finely sculptured ass until it heated up under his fingers and

gleamed mirrorlike with a rich layer of oil. She reached behind to spread

her shiny cheeks.

It turned out that her ass was as magnificent inside as out. She enjoyed

…End of the part5. To be continued..

Then there was the added bonus of being able to reach around and with

a massaging hand make Warren’s hard dick twitch and spasm and spurt

. . . and see and feel Warren’s stretched-open asshole involuntarily

contract and clench around the dick deeply embedded within it. It seemed

that ass-fucking a man had its peculiar attractions.

The next time they met, Warren wanted to be on top. The thought had

already occurred to Val, but . . .

——————————————————————–

The one thing men fear most is being penetrated. Being fucked in the

ass. It implies loss of manhood, loss of control, degradation. It’s

the ultimate taboo. Yet, anything forbidden, especially *that*

forbidden has a powerful attraction.

——————————————————————–

. . . Yes, Val been more than a little bit curious about how it would feel

to take a dick into his own ass . . . to be the one fucked. He was getting

hot and horny just thinking about it. And Warren somehow knew that. He

gave Val a confident smile and began unbuttoning his shirt. It was a race

between the two of them to see who could get out of his clothes first.

It went surprisingly well. Warren was a patient and skilled lover and he

understood the value of lube.

The initial entry was a bit of a shock. Val felt himself *stretching*

down there, felt his hole enlarging, felt himself opening and being

pulled apart by the hard flesh pressing into his tunnel. He ached with

the sheer rapture of it and a long drawn-out sigh escaped his lips.

“Are you all right?” Warren asked.

“What you’re doing to me — it’s tearing me apart, but it feels so good

and I don’t know what’s happening . . . ”

“Just think of it as a transformative experience,” Warren suggested.

“Let your feminine side express itself.”

Looking at the full-length wardrobe mirror, Val watched two naked male

bodies on their hands and knees. It was bizarre seeing Warren’s bare ass

bouncing back and forth. The glimses of fleshy shaft sliding in and out

of his own ass brought on flashbacks of all the times he had been on

the giving end. It was perverted. Dirty. Unnatural. Thinking that made

him even hornier. His dick was hard.

The liquid friction of the dick pistoning in and out of him and the

sensation of fullness rippling up and down his gut felt . . . well,

good. No, better than good. Intensely good. Head-exploding good. His own

hard dick was throbbing in the rhythm of what was going on inside his

ass. Each time Warren bottomed out in him, Val sensed his guts vibrate

with a rumbling surge of power. After a few minutes of that, he felt

pressure building up within him and . . . and . . . Warren was holding

steady at maximum depth and reaching around to massage his dick with a

greased-up hand. Val pulsed and released his liquid between Warren’s

fingers, while his ass throbbed and clenched around Warren’s dick. He

gasped and strange geometric patterns flashed behind his eyeballs.

“So, you liked it?”

“It was okay,” Val managed to croak. He felt a pleasant ache in his rectum

as he used a hand towel to wipe up the wetness dribbling out of him. What

had happened to him, really? Had he lost an essential part of himself –

his manhood, or had he gained something? What had he become?

———————————————————————–

A quaint term for orgasm is “the little death.” The person experiencing

it allegedly dies, and is reborn changed in some essential way. So

it is with a man sodomized for the first time. He has overstepped a

barrier, and this has released an enormous charge of psychic power. For

better or worse, he has transformed into a new and different person.

———————————————————————–

“I do believe you’re a natural,” Warren was saying. ” A natural bottom.

…End of the part3. To be continued..

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sufficiently warped that one had to lean on it in the last inches. She had

simply pushed it toward closed as she walked in. I knew that she would

see the door ajar by inches if she were to sit on the toilet. I waited for her

to come back and push it the remainder of the way, but she didn’t. Instead,

she continued to talk to me as if the door just cracked open was a

convenience and not an embarrassment.

For all our openness, she’d not been this relaxed with me at home.

I strained to hear her intimate sounds. I needn’t have, for when she began

to pee, it was remarkably loud. I could hear her initial tinkle followed by

the characteristic hissing sound of female urination, pee splashing against

the porcelain, ending with the less forceful last squirts dribbling into the

water. I was enthralled with the sounds, for it called to my mind vivid

mental imagery.

As she pulled toilet tissue from the roll, I was suddenly aware that

she’d been talking the entire time and I’d not heard a word. Oh, Lord, I

hope she hadn’t asked me a question.

My heart sank when she said, “Will you?” in a tone that indicated

that this was the second time she’d asked it.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I missed that. Would you say it again, please?”

She laughed and flushed the toilet and as she came out of the

bathroom belting her robe, she smiled and said, “I asked if you had any of

that promised chilled Champaign, and if so, could I have some?”

We spent the next few hours catching up, first one then the other

talking, sipping inexpensive Champaign and once again, sinking into the

easy familiarity we’d discovered. I shared with her the intense

competitiveness I’d experienced in school, the long hours I’d been putting

in, trying desperately to maintain the pace and the feeling of isolation in a

crowd. “Christ, Mom, I haven’t even kissed a girl in months!”

“Poor Uncle Wiggly,” she said. The origin of that expression was

lost to me, but I knew it to be a tongue-in-cheek sympathy.

“Yeah, poor me,” I agreed, smiling. She’d never let me sit on the

pity pot long.

Looking at my watch, I whistled and said, “Even if we rush, we’re

going to be more than fashionably late. You want the shower first or shall

I?”

“You go first. You know how I like to fuss. I’ve got some

primping to do if I’m going to impress your friends.”

“You spend more time doing less making up than anyone I know,”

I complained, not for the first time.

She laughed and reasoned, “You’ll like the result. Now, get

going!”

An hour later, near-record time for her, we were off to the dance,

having given up on the notion of dinner entirely. Our entrance might have

been choreographed, for there was an apparent brief lull in the music as we

entered and people were mostly standing around the edges of the floor, I

thought, just to watch us come in.

My chest was puffed up with pride and self importance, having this

knock-out woman on my arm. She was wearing a dark green, partially

iridescent dress with a flowing, full skirt and a tight bodice, cut shockingly

low. The full upper portions of her breasts were visible and they seemed to

sway and bounce with her step. I kept reminding myself not to stare.

Sometimes it even worked.

“I must look good,” Mother said, “you’ve been staring at me all

night. Thanks.” Suddenly changing the subject, she asked, “Have you

smelled my new perfume?”

I shook my head and leaned toward her neck, as if to smell the

scent behind her ear but she surprised me by pulling the bodice of her dress

away from her breasts and leaning toward me. Suddenly I had an almost

…End of the part9. To be continued..

anticipated that I would be a tall man, for my father, at 6′ 2″, was the runt

of his family. Couple that with my mom’s genes and it seemed reasonable

that I’d be tall. It was not to be. At eighteen, we were pretty much the

same height. I knew just where the tips of her breasts hit my chest.

I should mention that my mother had very attractive breasts, a C-

cup with prominent, up-tilted nipples that were often evident despite her

clothes. Sometime later I was to learn that she was one of those women

who were blessed with exceptionally firm, youthful breasts, that never lost

much of their firmness. She is one of those rare females that will have

youthful breasts into her later years. Like intelligence, beauty is given to us

as an accident of birth, no more than a fortuitous role of the genetic dice.

It’s comforting to be part of a line of good stock I was told, but I hadn’t

thought of it in this arena of sexual attractiveness.

While my mother’s figure was model-attractive, it was her facial

features that were eye catching. She had a straight, almost aristocratic

nose and a wide, full mouth. Her prominent cheek bones set off her

unusually attractive eyes. They were hard to describe, her eyes. She had

high, full, unaltered eye brows, that were dark in color in contrast to her

natural auburn hair. But it was the eyes themselves that caught your

attention, for they were a light green-blue with an exotic cast. At times I

thought she might have some Asian blood, but I never got a hint of it in the

rest of her family. In any case, they were striking, often dark and brooding

and at times almost electric. Without altering her facial expression, her

eyes could show humor or joy and, at times, anger. I often wondered what

she looked like when sexually aroused.

But I digress. Back to the awakening of my sexual awareness.

I didn’t set out to seduce my mother, despite the rich and lurid

fantasies I entertained. I held them as deeply secret and guarded as one

would any shameful, licentious desire. The thought was given no more

than masturbatory acknowledgment, as frequent as that was. Still, the gap

between our thoughts and our actions remains hidden from our conscious

awareness by the strength of our denial. So while I might have denied a

plan to seduce her, my actions would have argued differently. I set out to

be her friend and her confidant, to reduce if not break down the

conventional barriers between us. This was largely an unacknowledged

plan of mine. I don’t recall thinking anything more detailed than vague

objectives of getting closer to her.

Over time, I became more open with her about my self. I asked her

opinions of things, including girls and dating and later, sexual things. I

worked at being her emotional intimate. It wasn’t difficult, for she was at

heart an emotionally trusting and open women who, it turned out, was

largely unencumbered by repressive standards. To my surprise, we

gradually became good friends. That I would bond so closely with my

mother was not surprising, given my nature and that fact that my father

was largely an absent force in my life.

I slowly became less conventional in my own modesty. It was not

at all unusual for me to chat with my mother wearing no more than my

Calvin Kleins. I was aware that she studiously avoided looking at my body

when I was so briefly dressed, but she never reprimanded me for

inappropriate attire.

———————————————————————

I became aware that when my dad was away, she usually left her

bedroom door open. I took that as an invitation and often walked in on her

to “chat.” Not infrequently, I’d catch her in her bra and panties. She’d

say, “Whoops,” and slip on a robe, loosely tied. Once, as I walked into her

room, she was walking out of her large closet wearing only an unbelted

robe that swung open as she moved. From a moment only, I saw her nude

body. It was no more than a flash that left nothing more than an after-

image. It was that after-image that I examined so repeatedly. I saw firm,

upthrust breasts, and a flash of dense pubic hair at the base of a flat

abdomen . . . and then she pulled the robe closed without comment.

I’d gone in to ask her if she’d like to play some tennis and for a

moment was tongue tied, standing there, staring at her.

…End of the part4. To be continued..

“Changing your clothes . . . were you flashing me?”

“Of course. I wanted to give you a thrill. But what I found out

was that *I* was the one who was getting the thrill. It got me wet,

showing myself to you. Several times – you may remember this – when I

left you to go into my bathroom, I had to masturbate. And that gave me a

thrill. Sitting on the toilet, fingers on my sex, knowing you were right out

there. I wanted you to know and at the same time, I was terrified that you

would know. Funny, huh?”

Another glance over her shoulder. “A little harder, please?”

I increased the intensity of this erotic spanking. Her cheeks were

getting pink and she was getting wetter. I could see the sheen of her juices

on my cock as I pulled it from her tight, wet sheath.

“Did you ever think about “doing it” when you were playing with

yourself, Susan?”

“With you?”

A harder slap. “Yes, with me!”

“I was really embarrassed then, even with myself, but yes, of course

I thought about it. I tried to think of other things when I was

masturbating. I tried to hold off thoughts of you, but so often – sometimes

stuck and unable to get off – thoughts, visions of you would pop into my

head and whoosh! I’d get off. After a while, I gave up and just used you

all the time. I’d day dream about you and get wet when you’d see me

dressing.”

Nodding in recall, I said, “I’d get so hard, it’d hurt. I was always

afraid you’d see me and be insulted. But it was so thrilling, I couldn’t stop.

Did you know that?”

That it was thrilling or that you got hard? I certainly knew about

your stiffies. And I knew it had to be about me. One part of me was

shocked I guess, but the stronger, the sexual part I mean, was excited. I

tried not to look, but I did. I just couldn’t help myself.”

I was brought to a halt by the intensity of my emotions. “I

*thought* you knew and averted your eyes because you disapproved.”

Laughing, I added, “I’ll never hide it again.”

Wiggling her ass, she asked, “Why’d you quit spanking me, Billy.

It was just starting to feel good. And by the way, how’d you know I

*liked* to be spanked, anyway. You seem to know a lot for a young guy!”

“I read a book once,” I quipped, as if that explained everything. I

resumed the spanking, alternating one cheek and then the other.

Arching her back, she rested her head on her forearms again and

observed, “I’ve quit trying to figure it out. I mean, I’m a feminist and a

strong woman, but I *love* to be spanked. I think it’s a sexual thing, you

know, a pleasure thing and it has nothing to do with feminism. A little

harder, if you please?”

Turning up the intensity current a notch, I slowly moved to the

bottom of her buttocks, to the crease where the cheek meets the thigh.

With only the fingers, I slapped the tender area closer to her vulva.

“Oh, YES!”

Then I moved inward, right next to the fur-trimmed swollen lips of

her cunt and continued the erotic slapping, asking, “And here?”

“Yes . . . no. I mean, spank me right on my pussy, Billy. I’ll come

for you . . . it’s getting closer . . . yes, right there . . . oh, yes, yes, yes . . .

shit, shit . . .,” and her words again degenerated into a crescendo of

pleasure as she thrust her hips further back at me. I slipped my thumb into

her cunt, pressing the soft tissue right behind her pubic bone. Thrashing

her head and beating her small fists into the pillow, she shuddered, once,

and then again, then falling into a heap, sobbing.

I held her close in my arms, patting her head and murmuring soft

sounds of loving. “It’s OK, Mom, it’s really OK. I’m here. You’re all

right.”

She nodded her head, sobbed again and with her voice catching in

her throat, said something like, “I’m OK, Billy. There’s nothing wrong

except I can’t remember when I’ve felt like this. It’s never happened just

like this before. I’ve never felt so . . . so much. It’s almost scary. But I’m

certain about one thing,” and then she stopped.

“What’s that, Susan?

“That I love you, Billy. I don’t know if we’ve done the right thing

or not, but I know that I love you. And I know that there’s no going back.

I’m not sure what to do next, but I want you to know that this was one of

the more beautiful moments of my life. I want you to know that I have no

regrets about this, about us . . . that I love you very much.

That was the beginning of a new chapter in our lives, my mother

and me. She and my father never divorced and while they continued to

have differences, at times major differences, they both were willing to show

up for their marriage and work at maintaining the good parts.

We remained the very best of friends and very occasional lovers.

Oh, we always fooled around, teasing each other, but permitted ourselves

moments like this one only at rare moments. I suppose we were rationing

ourselves, or more correctly, she was rationing me.

This little story is not meant as a case for incest. While clearly it

might work from time to rare time, for the most part, it’s too dangerous

and too wrapped in dysfunction. It’s just that this time, it did work. For

us. My life was fuller and better for it. I look back only with fondness and

pleasure and at times, wonder.

Suddenly and abruptly, I feel a hand being placed on my
shoulder and look up in surprise to see two handsome
men in jeans and tee-shirts standing there. One of them says
he didn’t mean to disturb me, but they knocked on the front
door and there was no answer, so they thought they might
as well try to look around in the back to see if anyone were home.

He explained that they were here to fix the filter in the pool
and that my husband had called them this morning from his
office. “Oh yes!”,I said, the filter is broken. Go ahead.”

From where the pool filter was located those two hunks had a
great view of me and feeling kind of horny, I thought I’d give
them a show. I undid the strap of my bikini top so that just a
little tit was showing and I pulled my bottoms tight up into my
crack. I knew they could see and that I was having an effect.

One of the guys, a blond who said his name was Pete, walked
over and asked to use the bathroom. “Right through the door and
to the left.” I said, sitting up a bit and letting my top fall
free exposing my large ripe breasts. The look on his face was
one of shock and embarrassment. “Oops!” I said, and winked at
him.

He just smiled and headed to the bathroom. While he was
gone I called the other guy over, Jeff was his name, a tall
muscular fellah with black hair. “Could you put some sun tan
lotion on my back” I asked as I rolled over onto my stomach.

“Sure!” he said. Slowly he massaged the oil all over my back and
legs. Then I turned over and asked him to do the front too, which
he did with a grin. His large firm hands began squeezing and
rubbing my tits. As he did that I reached up and unzipped his
pants revealing a thick hard ten inch cock! I sat up on the
lounge chair and slid his hot meat into my mouth. I sucked
slowly on the head of his fat dick, slipping it in and out
between my red succulent lips. By then his friend was back and
was already taking off his pants. I laid back on the lounge
chair and removed my bottoms. I spread my legs wide and the
blond guy took his big hard shaft and plunged it into my
dripping cunt.

The other guy stood over me and fucked my large aching tits
and mouth with his giant prick. The two of them pumped away
filling my mouth and pussy with their cocks. I wiggled and
moaned as they thrust in and out of me, ravishing my hot naked
body. My pussy clamped down tight on the thick tool between my
legs brought me orgasm after orgasm. I could feel the cock in
my mouth swell and I sucked faster until the guy shot a hot
creamy load of come down my throat. Then the guy fucking me blew
his wad deep in my cunt. I laid back, basted in their love
juices, and smiled.

After all of that exotic lovemaking, we all went for a cool
refreshing swim and did it again before my husband got home.

I wanted to thank you for that nice exercise video you sent me. I was
really surprised to find it in my stocking…I mean…at 36 24 35…I didn’t
feel chubby! But the phone lines were down this morning, and I was bored
so I tried it out for a lark….it WAS a LARK!!!!

I got into my leotards and leg warmers and started the tape. Good
old warm-ups…yuck!!…but this tape has some damn good looking dudes
doing the exercises…and I got….”warmed up” as I watched. I even felt
a little kinky doing the pelvic rocks as I watched their pelvises tilt
provacatively towards my own. My gaze remained riveted on their pelvises
as Jane began the arerobics. Through their stretchie suits I could barely
make the outline of a certain muscle that I thought could use some exercise.
…damn…better get back to work! 1-2-3-4 arms front…arms back…arch
out that chest…push it out! …well Jane…I’m thrusting my chest out
as arched as I can…can’t you see those taut nipples pointing at those
hairy chests beside you?!!!?? I’ld like to lick their nipples each
time they arch them towards me!

But its a little warm in all this…I’m sliding off the leg warmers
and unbuttoning my leotard. The background music is nice…reminds me of
this time I was with this guy in his car…well, never mind.
1-2-3-4 better follow the steps turn right 3-4…oh…lordy…look at HIM!
There is this gorgeous hunk of man working on my phone lines…well…
actually it seems he’s more interested in playing peeping Tom! And
he didn’t catch me looking…I think I’ll have a little fun with him!!
Besides…these dudes on the tape have been totally ingnoring me!
Instead of moving my arms around in circles..I’ll let my hands circle
my breasts as I rock my chest back and forth in time to the music…
oh, yes…he’s still watching! I wonder if he’ll notice me licking my
lips…mmmmmmm….

Ah…back to the pelvic rock again…guess I’ll point mine towards the
window as I pretend to keep watching the screen. My hands start on my
hips but move toward my thighs with each rock…my hands are just reaching
under the leotard as Jane swithches to floor exercises. I’m really putting
on a show now as I unbutton all my buttons and caress my breasts thru my
bra…yeah…this’ll make him HOT!!! Now my hands are roaming up and
down my thighs and I too have gotten very HOT…my breathing has changed
and I no longer want to tease…I want that man…NO ..I NEED HIM…NOW!!
I look at him and our eyes lock this time and he smiles wolfishly.
I beckon with my finger but he just smiles at me…and rakes his eyes
over my wanton body. Now HE pretends he’s working…but he’s still
peeking!!!

Two can play this game! I closed the curtains and waited…hoping.
The door bell rang! “can I have a drink of water” “Please do cum in”
I gave him his water then turned to open the door to let him out. HE
grabbed me then and said he wanted to do a few exercises with me. He
had the strongest tannest arms and I wanted him…so I took him into
the exercise room and started on warm-ups. I exercised my tongue on
his lips and his salty, musky neck. He quickly joined me in these
routines..as we deviated quickly from Jane’s routines. His strong
and gentle hands began to explore my hungry body…my nipples arched
longinly for his touch…I moaned when he found them. He caressed
them with his hands…then explored them with his tongue, sending
shivers throughout my body…when he took each nipple in his mouth
and sucked it was too much. I became so hot and so dizzy, I begged
him to stop. Instead he continued to suck while his fingers drifted
down and under my leotard. He felt around for my clit as I greedily
guided my clit to his lovin fingers. I needed it then. Sucking
and stroking he took me higher and higher..no chance for a breath
my clit hot and swollen soon exploded its passion climaxing for
what seemed forever!! Damn it was good! Thank You Mister!!!

I asked if there was anything I could do to repay him…and of
course he was ready with an answer. He took off his jeans and stood
over me. He was ready! Through the bottoms of his red Boxers I
saw his gleaming hardness. I got up on my knees for a better look
and pulled the boxers down to expose his want. I quickly gave him
a “blow job” breathing lightly over the lenghth of his shaft. He
responded by moving his dick closer to my mouth…”suck me…please”
I kissed the tip then wrapped my tongue aroungd his head…as he
began to moan. I continued feathering his shaft with my tongue
as I felt his need increase. He begged me to take it all in and
I relented. He was so hot he began to thrust into my mouth… I put
an end to that. I held his hips steady as I slowly sucked his weapon
deep into my throat, sliding it out, sucking it deep. When I was ready
I increased the tempo. He soon spurted with joy.

AS he rested himself I finished undressing and demanded equal
time! He laughed and said we should be even already but that as he
was in a very generous mood I should prepare myself. But I wasn’t
prepared for such an onslought! He started with my lips and ears
and my neck…teased my nipples and then totally mastered me with
his attentions to my clit. He used his fingers, his toes, his teeth
and his tongue…and what a tongue…he had me so high I never knew
if I was cuming or going…I know I did a lot of cuming…Then he
gave me a very wet sloppy kiss and entered me with his hard cock.
I wouldn’t have thought that I had any energy left to respond.
But after a few deep thrust, an answering need grew in me. My walls
responded trying to capture his higness as he drew back after each
new thrust. He positioned himself so that the thrust was greatest
near my clit. Each time he thrust a surge of shivers raked my body…
I was climbing higher and higher again nearing the places he had
already driven me. He had total control and held himself back till
he felt me climax…then he spent himself with 3 great deep strokes
and we lay spent in each others arms.

I must admit, it WAS a GREAT workout!!! Eat your heart out, Jane!!!

Love,
Sadie.

CANONICAL LIST OF ‘HOW THEY DO IT’s

A king does it with his official seal.
AI hackers do it with rules.
AI hackers do it breast first.
AI hackers make a big production out of it.
AI hackers do it with robots.
AI hackers do it robotically.
AI hackers do it artificially.
AI hackers do it depth first.
AI hackers do it with robots
APL programmers do it with stile
APL programmers are functional.
APL programmers do it backwards.
APL programmers do it backwards.
Accountants do it with double entry.
Accountants do it with balance.
Accountants are good with figures.
Acrophobes get down.
Actors do it on stage.
Actors do it on cue.
Actors play around
Ada programmers do it by committee.
Ada programmers do it in packages.
Advertisers use the “new, improved” method.
Advertising majors do it with style.
Aerobics instructors do it until it hurts.
Aerospace Engineers do it with lift and trust.
Agents do it undercover.
Air Traffic Controllers do it in the dark.
Air Traffic Controllers tell pilots how to do it.
Air traffic controllers do it by radar.
Airlifters penetrate further, linger longer, and drop a bigger load
Alpinists do it higher.
Ambulance drivers come quicker.
Analog hackers do it continuously.
Anglers do it with worms.
Animators do it 24 times a second
Ansi does it in the standard way.
Archeologists like it old.
Architects have great plans.
Arsonist do it with fire.
Artillerymen do it with a burst.
Artists do it by design.
Artists are exhibitionists.
Artists do it with emotion
Artists do it with creativity.
Assassins do it from behind.
Assembler programmers do it one-to-one.
Assembly line workers do it over and over.
Astronauts do it in orbit.
Astronomers do it while gazing at Uranus.
Astronomers can’t do it with the lights on
Astronomers do it with Uranus.
Astronomers (astrophysicists) do it with a Big Bang.
Astronomers do it under the stars.
Astronomers do it with thier Telescopes (Refraction periods?)
Astronomers do it in the dark.
Astronomers do it with stars.
Astronomers only do it at Night
Attorneys make better motions.
Auditors like to examine figures.
Authors do it by rote.
Auto makers do it with standard equipment (or optional equipment).
B&Ders do it with their hands tied behind their backs!
BASIC programmers GOTO it.
Babysitters charge by the hour.
Backstrokers do it face up
Bailiffs always come to order.
Bakers knead it daily.
Bankers do it with interest. (However, there is a penalty for early withdrawal)
Banker – Past performance is no guarantee of future potential…
Bananas do it in bunches.
Band members do it in front of 100,000 people.
Band members do it in a parade.
Band members do it in sectionals.
Band members do it all night.
Band members do it on the football field.
Band members do it in public.
Barbarians do it with anything. (As do orcs.)
Barbers do it with shear pleasure.
Bartenders do it on the rocks.
Baseball Players (Sports people) Do it for alot of Money
Baseball players make it to first base.
Baseball players hit more home runs.
Baseball players have leather-covered balls.
Basic programmers do it all over the place.
Basic programmers do it all over the place.
Basketball players have big rubber balls.
Basketball players dribble before they shoot
Basketball players score more often.
Beekeepers like to eat their honey.
Beer brewers do it with more hops.
Beer drinkers get more head.
Beta Testers do it looking for mistakes.
Bicyclists do it in 10 speeds.
Biochemists make better lovers…want us to make *you* one?
Bio – Does that mean your offering to make a better lover than the one I alrea
dy have, or to improve ME?!??
Biologists do it with clones.
Bo Jackson knows doing it.
Boardheads do it with stiff masts.
Body-builders do it with muscle
Bookkeepers do it with double entry
Bosses delegate the task to others.
Bowlers have bigger balls.
Breaststrokers touch with both hands
Bricklayers lay all day.
Bridge players try to get a rubber.
Bridge players do it with finesse.
Broadcast/Cable Majors do it on film.
Broadcast/Cable Majors do it to epic proportions
Building inspectors do it under the table.
Bus drivers come early and pull out on time.
Butchers have better meat.
Butchers do it with dead meat.
C programmers continue it.
C programmers do it with lint.
C programmers SWITCH often.
C programmers SWITCH and then BREAK it.
C programmers SWITCH and then BREAK it.
C programmers continue it.
C’Bers do it on the air.
C++ programmers do it with their friends, in private.
CIA operatives do it with a security blanket.
COBOL hackers do it by committee.
COBOL programmers do it very slow.
COBOL programmers do it very slow.
CS111 students do it with interspersed comments.
CS111 students do it in binary.
CS111 students do it with ORGs.
Californians do it laid back.
Campers do it in a tent.
Cardiologists do it lightheartedly.
Cardiologists do it halfheartedly.
Carpenters hammer it harder.
Carpet layers do it on the floor.
Cartoonists do it with just a few good strokes.
Cavaliers do it mounted.
Cheerleaders do it with more enthusiasm.
Cheerleaders do it enthusiastically.
Chefs do it in the kitchen.
Chefs do it for dessert.
Chemical engineers do it in packed beds.
Chemists do it reactively.
…End of the part1. To be continued..

The weekend after graduation is a particularly dull time for a bottle
shop. Everyone that wants booze has either left town, is still nursing
the worst hangover of their academic life, or is still plowing through
leftover alcohol. Or has to work. Which I was.

The late afternoon sun pounded through the dirty glass of the front,
what little was not covered with signs loudly proclaiming a message of,
in essence, “Get Drunk! Cheap! Here.” The weather in Cambridge had
been particularly lousy, especially for June, our most promising month
until October. But the thunderstorms and rain showers had given way to
a passably nice day. The weather was guaranteed by the owner of the
shore having scheduled me for an all-day shift.

The job sucked, but the alternative was home to Lancaster, PA with my
parents, a fate I would have gladly licked Mass Ave clean with my
tongue to avoid.

I didn’t notice her at first, as all my attention was taken up by
counting out change for a $100 for a young guy who was buying a
newspaper. He had a smile that I’m certain was intended to be
apologetic, and if I had been in a better mood it might have worked,
but I was inconsolable. A line had formed, and she joined the end of
it, not stopping to pick anything up. With each sale, I noticed a
little more of her.

Bottle of wine, $12.95. Short blonde hair.

Two six-packs of Coke, $4.49. About 5′ 8″, blue halter top. Nice
figure.

Bottle of gin, $6.80. Cute, button nose.

She reached the front of the line, and gave me a smile that broke
through my lousy mood. Blue eyes. A little necklace that looked
vaguely Southwestern, all turquoise and silver.

“I’m looking for Cedar Street? Any idea where that is?”

We’re at the corner of Mass Ave. and Cedar. This was going to be a
short encounter. I told her.

“No, no, not that Cedar! Cedar in Somerville. I love Boston, but I
hate driving in Boston.”

We’re in Boston the way New Jersey is in Manhattan, but I wasn’t going
to start that line of conversation.

“Where are you from?”

“California. How about yourself?”

“Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I’m going to Harvard …” I started in, but
I seemed to have said the magic word.

“Lancaster! I have friends in Lancaster.” Reminded me a bit too much
of the Pennsylvania license plates, but she’s gone on. “They’re
members of my sorority, and I just saw them at our June Weekend
reunion. I’m in town for that …”

As she went on, a one-person conversation, I took in her voice (quite
husky, considering her bubbly demeanor) and glanced (with appropriate
discretion, I hoped) up and down her body. She was, well,
well-stacked. Unfortunately, my discretion was insufficient for the
task, and I looked back up to her face to see her smiling at my
regard. As I blushed, she leaned down over the counter.

“Some people get all the fun jobs,” she said, in a low, conspiratorial
voice.

“Uh, yeah.” Witty reply. Clever. That’s right, I thought, wow her
with your intellect.

“Place seems quiet, today” She said, glancing around, stretching
herself. Her elbows sunk slowly onto the countertop. I looked up from
the view thus created by the lowering of the halter-top fabric to see
her looking at me with a smile that had switched from conspiratorial to
something else.

“Think of anything we could do to make the job more fun?” she said.

“Well, it’s cooler in the back.” Shit, I thought, did I say that?

“We could fix that,” she said, turning around and surveying the back of
the store for the door.

“This way,” I managed to gasp out with lungs that didn’t seem
completely under my command. In one fluid motion, I had closed the
register, grabbed a package of condoms from behind the counter, and
locked the front door. No customers in the parking lot, good, just one
car, must be her’s. It looks like there’s someone in it, but nah,
couldn’t be, anyway, who cares?

I led her into the back room. It’s even worse than the typical back
room of a liquor store, whatever that looks like. There are boxes
piled everywhere, both empty and full, the usual collection of posters
proclaiming that all you have to do is drink some terrible brand of bad
American liquor and amazingly women who would scrape you off their shoe
now will fall into bed with you. Not in so many words, of course, but
the message is clear.

She surveyed the scene, with what I assumed was less than complete
enthusiasm. Well, it is a bottle shop, not the Marriott. But when she
turned around, she still has that infectious lovely smile on her face …

“I can cope with this.” She pulled the tank top over her head,
revealing her lovely breasts still in a white bra. The bra came off a
moment later, and she was in my arms, pulling me down to a kiss. And a
very nice kiss it was, very deep and soft. Even with lots of tongue,
there are kisses that are very sharp and angular-feeling, but this was
a lover’s kiss. I still can’t completely explain the difference, but
there you are.

With a plop, the package of condoms dropped to the floor. She somehow
managed to slither out of her shorts while kissing me, and did a
lovely, slow, descent to her knees, running her hands down my chest.
Kissing me through my jeans, she unbuttons them, and applies her mouth
to my already-hard cock with tremendous skill.

“Now …” Lick. “I don’t …” Slurp. “have …” Gulp. “much time
for this,” she finally managed to get out, between licks with her
tongue along my balls, “so let’s be quick!”

Nothing like a little performance anxiety to make an evening special,
but I wasn’t going to turn this down for anything.

She retrieved the packaged of condoms, and (with cardboard and wrappers
flying everywhere) managed to extract one. As she stood up, naked
except for jewelry and shoes, she rolled one onto me with one hand, the
other steadying herself on my shoulder.

“OK, I’ll just bend over like this,” she said, as businesslike as if
she was staging a play. She turned her back to me, and bent over,
steadying herself on a pile of Guinness boxes. She spread her legs,
and one hand spread her lips apart. Amazingly, she was very wet
already, wet enough to…

“Well? C’mon!” she said, always impatient. OK, OK, I was just
enjoying the view. I stepped forward, rubber-clad penis in hand, and
slid it. There was almost no resistance, I was amazed.

I started slowly, with long strokes, but she was having none of it.
She started setting the rhythm, pushing back, in, out, in out. Her
free hand was playing with her clit, and she was starting a lovely
pattern of moans in time with her thrusts. In, out, in out … she
came once, twice as I finally lost control and pounded into her,
grabbing her hips.

She started screaming, loud enough that I was afraid the next door
dry-cleaners would hear. “Yes, yes, YES!” she yelled out as I came,
much faster than I thought I ever would, shaking as my cum poured out
of me.

I staggered back, a bit unsure of my balance, and came out of her with
a pop. She gave a small whimper of displeasure, but was back into her
shorts and tank top (bra in the pocket of the shorts) before I even had
the condom all the way off.

“That was very nice, thanks. I better go, my boyfriend’s waiting.”

“BOYFRIEND!”

“Yeah, he’s in the car. He’ll wonder what’s taking so long.”

“Boyfriend?” OK, I had already said it, but I still wasn’t quite
getting the answer I was looking for.

“Relax, he’s reading a newspaper, and nothing distracts him from that.
Anyway, gotta go! Thank you kindly,” she said, with just a touch of an
affected southern accent. And with a small peck on the cheek, out she
went through the store, unlocking the front door and tearing out of
it.

I staggered into my clothes, cleaned up the condom package debris in
the storage room, and put one condom-package worth of change in the
register (the owner would notice, he’s that kind of guy).

I watched the car pull away, and head down Mass Ave. Even through the
grimy windows, I can see that it was the guy with the $100 driving.

I still don’t understand some relationships.

A Users Manual From The
Computer Relations Institute

The following manual is provided as an aid to those open
minded adults wishing to achieve a more fulfilling and
meaningful relationship with their UNIX computer.
WARNING!!: Do not attempt the more difficult positions
immediately! Start with the simple relationships and work
your way up, or damage to the operator and/or terminal may
result!

LOGON

As in all relationships, you must start by approaching the
terminal and making some small talk. In computer
terminology, this is referred to as “logging on”. It is,
however, just a highly evolved form of foreplay (much like
the singles bar scene). If the computer is receptive to
your advancement (hey what is your sign? #grep
/etc/passwd), then it will respond by asking for a
password. This is the computer’s way of weeding out the
nerds before verifiably engaging in any relationship. It
also sets the term for the give-and-take interrelationship
to follow. If this condition of foreplay is successful, the
user is allowed to “access the computer”. Once this is
past, the user and the computer are ready to network in
some serious entanglements.

CHECK-IN WITH DOT

The computer has a vast and ponderous knowledge that may be
accessed by the temporal user (it’s “been around”). To
decide just what form of relationship will develop, the
computer kindly produces a $ prompt, which evokes the
terminal user to fork up an appropriate response and press
the ENTER key (more about entering later!). How much the $
expects is dependant upon Dot Profile. Everyone knows Dot
don’t they? Dot’s gotta hold on you where you live! Without
Dot’s help you could be awking off in the corner! Dot’s got
your mail! Dot’s got your history for the last several
transgressions, so you’d better be sure Dot is taken care
of properly at the $ prompt. No short changing here! If you
do short the Dot, you’ll be seeing it on the front page of
your news_rc

PROGRAM ACCESS

Ah! The fun part! Most programs require a lot of entering.
Care has to be taken here not to enter the wrong thing in
the wrong place! NOTE: You may find your self entering
repeatedly to achieve any degree of success. You may enter
as hard (often stated “strike any key”) and as fast as you
like, but like any sensitive partner, please be aware of
the computer’s feelings. Automation and modern technology
have produced the most advanced of all partners our multi-
user, multi-tasking environment. (Wouldn’t it be nice if you
could multi-user without fear of catching something,
including bullets.)

PROFICIENCY

The system, if properly approached, will respond almost
instantly and openly to user advances. (Dinner, dancing and
a show aren’t even needed.) As you improve you may even be
able to experience multiple relationships per day. Just
work your way up slowly. (Be careful, you are beginning to
sweat on the keys!)

EXITING

After accessing your favorite program and dwelling on all
the earthly delights available from the depths of the
system, it will soon become time for the climactic end of
the session. This step has been automated to allow the
users to take full advantage of their passions. The system
will be ready to get off any time the user so desires. No
more trying to time things just right! The user types EXIT
and enters for the final time. The computer responds
instantly, and with much relief and gratification, the user
is thrust out, finished and spent from passionate endeavors
in the exiting world of computer relationships. The only
thing that seems a bit unfair is that the computer
immediately begins to invite another LOGON!!

CONSEQUENCES

As in any highly developed personal relationship, certain
responsibilities and consequences exist. Privacy,
especially in multi-user scenarios is non-existent! There
are more ways to see what the user is doing and has done
than you would expect. PID (not pelvic inflammatory
disease) can generate child processes which will then spawn
PPIDs and so on. The awesomeness of the birthing of child
processes can occasionally be interrupted. The cause of
these birth defects is sometimes predictable, and sometimes
cannot be explained, and you wind up with a core dump right
in the middle of your directory! HONESTLY! There are proper
places for dumping. Thankfully, cores don’t smell.

Interruptus and aborting of processes are frowned upon by
the local right-to-life movement. However, the system
doesn’t seem to be at all distressed by multiple interrupts
and aborts. Sometimes its helpful in keeping the process
population from getting out of hand and into the system.

MORE ON MULTI-USER

The computer is the most versatile of all partners. For
those operators who have advanced beyond the one-on-one
scene, the computer is open to many variations. It is
capable of having relationships with many different users
at the same time. (This would be an unpopular subject in
news.soc.singles) It won’t even call you by the wrong name!
Caution for humans needs to be exercised. Multiple
relationships are very difficult for users, and
extraordinarily simple for the computer. Also, the
tirelessness of the computer can often exhaust the most
lascivious user. Hours on hours, days on days, until the
PIDs number 10^6 the computer will keep asking for LOGINS!

PROGRAMMERS

A very elite group of computer relaters exists, known as
“programmers”. This group can delve as deeply into the
mysteries of computer relations as is technically possible
today. It is this group, in fact, that is able to maintain
the computer at the fevered pitch. Not much is known about
the practices of this elite group, but studies are going on
at this time to determine how their complex groupings are
tied into the inner workings of the mighty computers. It
should be noted that relationships between users and
programmers should be approached with precaution. The depth
of knowledge of the programmer may well burn out the more
simple minded users if the computer is not allowed to act
as counselor.
In closing, the user is encouraged to explore the satisfying
world of the computer. Thrust in headlong to the depth of
your ability. Seek the serene but passionate heights of the
most intense programs. You will come away satisfied and
content in the knowledge of a relationship well founded.

DEFINITIONS

GOING DOWN – Occasionally, the entire computer will turn
“frigid” in mid-course and refuse to do anything. This can
be very frustrating to the operators. It is truly traumatic
to the users that are about to exit in the relationship.
The reason for this action is not entirely known. Indeed,
it appears that the result of going down has entirely the
opposite effect than the action practiced by humans on each
other that bears the same name. However the computer can be
made to recover from this withdrawal by very special
foreplay performed by system administrators. (Special users
and programmers). Going down has one redeeming quality. It
is often the cause of the PID numbers to fall nearly to the
extinction level. PIDs and PPIDs are annihilated by the
millions. This is the ultimate in child process evacuation.

COLD START – This is a term for the intricate foreplay practiced
by programmers on a computer that has “gone down”.
It appears that this is the only form of foreplay
that the system will respond to in order to arouse
a withdrawn system to engage in relationships with
the more common users.

WARM START – This form of foreplay between system
administrators and the computer occurs when the computer
has “gone down” from the secret actions of the system
administrators themselves. No one knows why this
ritualistic form of system deprivation is periodically
practiced by this elite group. Some theories suggest it is
a method whereby the programmers drive their satisfaction
from the frustrated energies of the other users.

BACKUP – A back-up is performed by the programmers at
regular intervals. It may be some form of rear-entry or
“back-door” access to the systems most private parts. The
reason for this is also not known., but at times when the
system “goes down”, it would not be possible to bring it
around again had some programmer not performed a “back-up”
recently.

RUNNING- This is a devious practice performed by the
a programming group or system administrators that is thought
TAPE to be a form of electronic bondage. The system is thought
to derive much pleasure from this. We know that it has to
do with the memories of the system, and is therefore thought
to be very important. This act is never forgotten by the
computer unless it is “erased”, which may be some form of
pleasure-trance induced by the programmers.

WARM DUMP – Not much is known about this. Theories presented
by researchers on system relations are so strange and
repulsive that this is most often handled by government
agencies. The droppings for some, called “cores” are
immediate calls to investigation.(Preverts) (Is that the
opposite of Postverts?)
MODEMS – A piece of equipment that can allow for telefornication
by both authorized and unauthorized users if
the system is not properly prepared.

collaborative effort by: Jay Lewis
Pete Rourke

I’d been mulling over the physical evidence we had… and it
wasn’t much.

My attention had shifted to the booze as it made oily swirls
through the smoky amber, just like it always did. I’d heard the
tap of high-heels, and unconsciously glanced up and smiled as
Janine carried a tray of fresh drinks to the table in the corner.
Somehow, she always drew my attention. It was her long tapered
legs I suppose, or maybe the way she filled out her blouse.

I’d been stopping in to have a drink a few times a week ever
since I moved into the neighborhood. A nice enough place, but
nothing special. I suppose it was a combination of their chili
and Janine’s muscular calves that kept me coming back. It’s
unbelievable when you think how fast a year can pass. One day
blending into the next, on and on. ‘Maybe your booze consumption
has something to do with the way the days run together,’ I
thought, as I sipped my drink.

I was always coming up with brilliant ideas like that. “Stop
smoking. Stop drinking. Start exercising. Win the Lottery.
Write a book about some interesting case and make a million.” I
was a real fountain of great ideas.

So far tonight, Janine had been to my table twice. The first
time to deliver a glass of my usual, and the second when I waved
her over to pay the check. Both times we played eye games, and
flirted, like always.

I’d gathered up my raincoat, from the empty chair across the
table, where I’d tossed it in a sodden heap. I said my goodbyes
and gave Janine a wink, . I was in the process of shrugging on
the soggy coat, and trying to open the front door at the same
time, when it crashed open…. And everything changed.

Like I said, I was leaning forward, shrugging on my beat-up
London Fog, so the door smashed into my forehead, and I fell flat
on my ass. I knew what had happened, so I looked up to see what
kind of ill-mannered son-of-a-bitch had whacked my melon. Little
did I know…

From my vantage point on the floor, my eyes flicked up and saw
what looked like a full acre of firm, tapered, nylon encased
inner thigh that went up and up until it disappeared in the
darkness under a short navy blue skirt.

“I’m so sorry,” were the first words she said, as I scrambled to
my feet.

“Forget it,” I growled, as the adrenalin rush started to pass,
and a whole different set of hormones kicked in. I brushed
myself off, with a little help from the lady, and mumbled
something about getting another drink.

“Oh, let me buy,” she said. “It’s all my fault!”

“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “That was my table over there,” I
added pointing.

She set out walking toward our objective, and I followed. About
this time it struck me that this lady didn’t walk. She
“moved”… What I had taken for a navy blue skit was really the
bottom half of a knit dress that hugged her body like the skin
fits a grape. And the skirt wasn’t a typical knit. It was split
up the side, nearly to the hip.

I suppose my mouth dropped open, because when I checked out the
guys at the bar, that’s what had happened to them… We all
looked like frogs catching flies.

My attention quickly shifted back to the lady’s back, or rather
her backside that shifted alluringly with every step. Her skirt
ended above mid-thigh, and her trim ankles, sculptured calves,
and trim tapered thighs flashed, as the split displayed nearly
their full length, in the subdued lighting, as that tight knit
bun-hugging, ass-emphasizing skirt showcased her tight, rounded,
undulating butt; that moved like two well-oiled footballs.

She turned, as she reached ‘my table’, pointed at a chair, and
raised her eyebrow, asking if her choice of a seat was
acceptable. I nodded. She sat, as I approached, and crossed her
long thoroughbred legs, as her skirt rode even higher on her
thighs.

I sat, and I guess I stared, because she asked if I was all
right.

All right was hardly the term to describe my condition. If you
placed your emphasis on HARD, it would been much more accurate.

I waved to Janine, who by now was glaring daggers at me, and as
she made her way to ‘our table’, I asked my companion what she
would like.

“Black Jack… And have her bring the bottle.”

As we waited for a now surly Janine to return with our drinks, I
introduced myself… “By the way, I’m Eric… Eric Thornquist.”
I always was real smooth with the ladies.

“Nice to bump into you, Eric,” she laughed. “I’m Candice.”

“I’d enjoy bumping into you too, Candice… repeatedly, but next
time I’d use something other than my head.”

She laughed, at my attempt at humor. Little did she know how
honest I was being. Shit, I’d been checking her out, during our
stroll to the table (which I thoroughly enjoyed), and again as
we faced each other across the expanse of ‘our’ heavy oak table.

She was about 5′-7″ and probably weighed 125-130 soaking wet.
(Was that a Freudian slip?). Her hair was long and blonde,
falling in soft waves until it ended, below her shoulders. Her
complexion was flawless, and her lips were full and friendly.
The top of the dress accentuated the rich fullness of her
breasts, and maybe it was the chill, but just saw a hint of her
nipples, when the light was just right. And her face was as
perfect as the rest. Open, and honest, with sparkling green eyes,
there wasn’t even a hint of pinched meanness. Maybe my luck was
finally changing.

“So, Mr. Eric Thornquist. What are you doing here tonight?” she
queried.

“Just stopped for a drop of the usual,” I answered. “And you?”

“I saw this place written up in the Arts and Entertainment
Section a while ago, and thought I’d give it a try. I thought it
had a cute name…”

“You mean, The Broken Drum?”

“Yes, but that’s not the cute part. The cute part is the
rest..’You Can’t Beat it’. That’s what the article said too.
That you couldn’t beat their steaks.”

“They are pretty good,” I answered lamely, and then plunged on,
with what I thought was a suave segue. “But, by yourself? What
about your significant other?”
…End of the part1. To be continued..

Ive been seeing lots of requests for the old beer is better posts
so here they are along with (for the women folk of course) all
about cucumbers.

======================but first=====================================
A Sunday school teacher was telling her class about the difference between
right and wrong.

“All right children, let’s take another example,” she said. “If I were to
get into a man’s pocket and take his billfold with all his money, what would
I be?”

A little girl raised her hand, and said, “You’d be his wife.”
======================its true its true=============================

25 GOOD REASONS WHY BEER IS BETTER THAN WOMEN

1. You can enjoy a beer all month long
2. Beer stains wash out
3. You don’t have to wine and dine beer
4. Your beer will always wait patiently for you in
the car while you play baseball
5. When you beer goes flat, you toss it out
6. Hangovers go away
7. A beer lables come off without a fight
8. Beer is never late
9. Beer doesn’t get jealous when you grab another beer
10. When you go to a bar, you know you can always
pick up a beer
11. Beer never gets a headache
12. After you’ve had a beer, the bottle is still worth
5 cents
13. A beer won’t get upset if you come home and have
another beer
14. If you pour a beer right, you’ll always get good
head
15. A beer always goes down easy
16. You can have more than one beer a night and not
feel guilty
17. You can share a beer with your friends
18. You always know you’re the first one to pop a
beer
19. Beer is always wet
20. Beer doesn’t demand equality
21. You can have a beer in public
22. A beer doesn’t care when you come
23. A frigid beer is a good beer
24. You don’t have to wash a beer before it taste
good
25. If you change beers you don’t have to pay
alimony

86 REASONS WHY A BEER IS BETTER THAN A MAN

1. A beer makes life easier.
2. A beer NEVER leaves the toilet seat up.
3. A beer lasts longer than seven seconds.
4. A beer doesn’t want to watch pro wrestling.
5. A beer won’t expect you to cook dinner when you’re
not hungry.
6. A beer will never leave dirty socks on the floor.
7. A beer will never expect you to sit in the wet spot
IT makes.
8. A beer doesn’t care if you go shopping.
9. A beer doesn’t mind when your mother visits.
10. A beer does as many chores as a man, with a LOT less
complaining.
11. A beer won’t leave you for a younger woman.
12. A beer won’t leave you for a younger man either.
13. You don’t have to worry about getting AIDS from a bisexual beer.
14. Having a beer can’t make you pregnant.
15. A beer won’t tease you because you once liked Barry Manilow.
16. A beer will never smell like a man.
17. A beer doesn’t wouldn’t trade you in on a sports car.
18. If a beer did have a sports car, it wouldn’t love it more than you.
19. A beer doesn’t want to go out alone with the other beers.
20. A beer doesn’t sulk.
21. A beer wouldn’t waste its money on Playbeer magazine.
22. A beer won’t switch the TV channel.
23. A beer doesn’t have to sleep with the windows open.
24. A beer doesn’t snore.
25. A beer can’t interrupt.
26. A beer doesn’t care that you can’t find your car’s carburator.
27. A beer doesn’t think black leather bikinis are neat.
28. A beer doesn’t belch.
29. Or fart.
30. A beer doesn’t mind having pantyhose dry in the bathroom.
31. A beer doesn’t care that you don’t balance your checkbook.
32. A good beer is easy to find.
33. Tall, dark, good-looking beers are common.
34. A beer can’t pout.
35. A beer doesn’t have a mother.
36. A beer doesn’t have friends who will drink your beer.
37. A beer wouldn’t yell if you dented the car.
38. A beer won’t get jealous if you enjoy another beer.
39. A beer won’t even mind if you have another six pack.
40. A beer doesn’t buy everything labelled “turbo”.
41. A beer won’t care if you gain five pounds.
42. A beer will be there for anytime of the month.
43. A beer doesn’t want children.
44. A beer doesn’t think poetry is queer.
45. A beer isn’t ready until you’re ready.
46. If the beer is finished before you are, you can have another beer.
47. A beer can’t talk about the women who had it before you.
48. Hangovers go away.
49. A beer tastes good.
50. Having a beer doesn’t make you want to take a shower.
51. A beer would never leave hair in the bottom of the bathtub.
52. A beer is never late.
53. A beer will never invite friends home for dinner without calling.
54. A beer’s life does not revolve around the world series.
55. A beer won’t think less of you if you can’t name the Steelers’
quarterback.
56. A beer won’t even act amazed if you can.
57. A beer would never make fun of your new outfit.
58. A beer never needs a shave.
59. You don’t have to let a beer win.
60. A beer doesn’t care what toppings you get on the pizza.
61. Just because you have dinner with a beer doesn’t mean you
have to sleep with a beer too.
62. A beer doesn’t have morning breath.
63. A beer never wants to go to the drag races.
64. A beer is happy to go where ever you want to go.
65. A beer helps with the houswork.
66. A beer will never drink the last beer.
67. A beer will never fumble with your bra.
68. You can’t get herpes from a beer.
69. A beer will never take the newspaper apart before you’ve read it.
70. A beer always lets you read the Sunday comics first.
71. A beer is seldom messy.
72. When a beer is finished, it doesn’t roll over and go to sleep.
73. After you’ve had a beer, all you’re committed to doing is
throwing out the container.
74. A beer container is recyclable.
75. A beer wouldn’t mind if you wanted it to wear a condom.
76. A beer will NEVER call you “Babe”. Or “Sugar”.
77. A beer is never tempermental.
78. A beer will never complain about your cooking.
79. A cold beer is a good beer.
80. A beer is not kinky unless you want it to be kinky.
81. A beer will never worry about losing its hair.
82. A big, fat beer is nice to have.
…End of the part1. To be continued..

Reasons why
Beer is better than women

A frigid beer is a good beer.
After a beer, the bottle is still worth a nickle.
All you have to do to get head is undo the top and turn it upside down.
Beer always goes down. Easy.
Beer can is worth something after you’ve had it.
Beer doesn’t bother about foreplay.
Beer doesn’t care about your size.
Beer doesn’t care what position your in.
Beer doesn’t care when you come.
Beer doesn’t cry if you don’t talk to it for a week.
Beer doesn’t demand equality.
Beer doesn’t get jealous when you grab another beer.
Beer is always ready.
Beer is always wet.
Beer is never late.
Beer labels peel off without a fight.
Beer never has a headache.
Beer never talks back.
Beer stains wash out.
Beer will never have a another beer.
Beer will never leave you for a cucumber.
Beer won’t get pregnant.
Beer won’t get upset when you come home with beer on your breath.
Beer won’t mind if you fart after you’ve had it.
Beers don’t get PMS.
Beers don’t get fat.
Beers don’t get headaches.
Beers don’t have cellulite.
Beers don’t have periods.
Beers don’t have teeth.
Beers don’t leave wet patches in the bed.
Beers don’t mind if you don’t stay up all night.
Beers don’t nag.
Beers don’t want equal rights.
Beers don,t have mother-in-laws.
Beers improve with age.
Beers never leave pubes in your throat.
Hangovers go away.
Having a Beer won’t give you a sore back.
If you change beers, you dont have to pay alimony.
If you go to a bar you’ll definately be able to get a Beer.
If you pour a beer right, you’ll get good head.
When a beer goes flat, you toss it.
When you go to a bar, you know you can always pick up a beer.
When you open a beer you know your the first and only one to have it.
You can carry half-dozen Beers in one hand with little fuss.
You can enjoy a beer all month long.
You can have a Beer cold.
You can have a Beer in public.
You can have as many Beers as you want and they won’t get jealous.
You can have more than one beer a night and not feel guity about it.
You can piss and have a Beer at the same time.
You can share a beer with a friend and it doesn’t care.
You can’t catch syphillis from a Beer.
You don’t have to chat a Beer up before you have it.
You don’t have to wash a Beer before it tastes good.
You don’t have to wine and dine a beer.
You don’t need to dress up to pick up some beers.
You never find a med in your beer.
You never have to wait for a Beers nails to dry.
Your beer will always wait patiently for you, in the car, while you play a sport.

–

“Where the hell you going?” Don asked Kathy as she hurried past him,
naked from the waist down.
“Fuck off, pencil dick!”
After his wife walked through the back door, leaving it open, he
rushed over to it and shout out, “Be careful, dear, it’s the rutting
season. That lilly white ass of yours makes a pretty good target!”
The northern half of Wisconsin heard Kathy’s reply.
“That’s right, dear! Even the dumb animals use their cock at least
once a year, which is more than I can say for some people I know!

Jack was beginning to change his mind about this group. They weren’t
so bad after all. From where he was sitting, he could see everything
that was going on, unlike poor old Don, who was still running back and
forth in the kitchen. Relieved to see that Bob was even in the spirit of
things, Jack decided to join the fun. He walked out to the dance floor
and stopped when he was standing behind the kneeling and sucking Melisa.
The flaming redhead was truly a sexual marvel. For her size and
appearance, it was amazing that she could do some of the things she did.
Her pussy had squeezed his cock so hard this morning that he thought she
was going to snap right it off, and she had to be the proverbial woman
who could suck a golf ball through a garden hose. Everything about her
spelled sex. There was only one thing he didn’t try with her, and he was
sure she wouldn’t object to doing it now. As Jack reached down to open
his pants, Janice yelled at him.
“Why don’t you come over here. I’ll suck your cock better than she
ever thought of doing it.”
Janice was still teasing Simon, her pussy and hands rubbing the
enormous shaft of his cock, but not yet letting him penetrate between
the puffy lips of her gyrating hole. Jack looked up at Tom for his
approval. After all, it was only common courtesy with the people he and
Mary had been swinging with to get the consent of both spouses if they
were in the same room. Besides, Tom could and just might beat the shit
out of him if he didn’t.
Tom looked over at his wife and asked, “No bullshit, you really wanna
suck his cock?”
“Why can’t I? You’re letting that fucking whore suck yours!”
“Calm down, baby! Go ahead and suck his cock if you want to.”
Janice was really pissed at Melisa, and thought she was the most
spoiled brat she had ever run across. After years of baby sitting, she
knew how to deal with someone like this. All she had to do was take away
anything they wanted, until they learned how to behave. And Janice was
going to teach Melisa that lesson. If Simon’s wife wanted sex, Janice
was willing to fuck and suck everybody there just so she couldn’t, even
if it meant doing all of them at the same time. If Melisa wanted dick,
Janice was going to make sure that the only kind she got was a limp and
drained one.
Tom watched as Jack got undressed and then stepped up in front of his
wife. Simon’s cock had been hard for what seemed like hours already, but
she hadn’t put it in her pussy yet. Even though his dick was larger than
anyone’s there, Janice couldn’t be afraid of it since they went together
in high school, so what was Janice waiting for?
Melisa suddenly let Tom’s cock pop out of her mouth and sprang up from
the floor. She then slipped the spaghetti straps of her dress off her
shoulders, and let the whole thing slide down her body. Once it was
around her ankles, she kicked it out of the way, piled her hair on top
of her head, and did a slow sensual turn. This caught everyone’s eye,
even Janice’s. To the steady beat of the music, Melisa then leisurely
took her lace panties off and kicked them in the air, somehow aiming for
and making them land on Tom’s extended prick. Next, she turned her back
to Janice’s husband and bent over from the waist. Slowly running both
her hands up the back of her nylons until they reached her small rear
end, she spread her cheeks open. Rotating her hips, Melisa looked up
from between her legs at Tom and asked, “You want to fuck me in the
ass?”
As if hypnotized, Tom staggered toward the tiny redhead with the small
bottom she was inviting him to fuck. It didn’t look like one of his
fingers could fit inside her tight hole, let alone his cock, but he sure
as hell was going to give it a try. Slowly stumbling forward with his
pants down, he watched Melisa spread her ass cheeks open wider for him.
Placing his hands on her hips, Tom brought her back to him. His dick was
way too far above her back side, and with his pants at his feet there
was no possibility of getting his cock at the right angle in this
position. He called Jack over to give him a hand with her while he took
his pants off. The two of them lifted the petite redhead up and placed
her on the nearest table on her hands and knees.

Officer Richard Todd was on patrol, driving through the dark woods and
occasionally stopping to check on the cabins not occupied by their city
owners. Things were pretty quiet, but then they always were.
“Rich, this is base, come in.” the radio speaker blared.
“What is it, Joan?” he said into the mike.
“Are you anywhere near Don’s Tavern?”
“Why? Does another drunk need a ride home? This ain’t no taxi you
know. It’s a patrol car and I’m a police officer.”
“Don’t worry big shot, nobody’s going to puke in your car. I just got
a call about someone running around in the woods near Don’s, that’s
all.”
“So?”
“So they’re naked as they day they were born. Hustle on over there
before I put you on report.”
“I was only kidding.” Rich said.
“By the way, the caller said the lunatic is female! Base out.”
Rich put the mike back and punched the accelerator. Since it was some
lady running around naked and not a guy, he didn’t put his emergency
lights on, hoping he’d be able to catch whoever she was, instead of
scaring her off when he got there.

Kathy had retrieved the dildo Jack gave her from its secret hiding
place. After taking the rest of her clothes off, she walked back
outside, the double-headed fake cock swinging at her side like a billy-
club. Standing butt naked in the shadows, she poked her head around the
front corner of the tavern she and her husband owned and peeked in the
window.
Big Tom Jackson’s wife was on her knees on the dance floor now, not
the tiny redhead. The lovely looking brunette was sucking a cock, but it
wasn’t her husband’s. The man was as tall as Tom, but it wasn’t Tom.
Kathy then noticed that people were behind Janice. It was Bob and the
young blonde she was so jealous of. They were fucking each other silly.
Kathy then looked around and finally spotted Jack. He and Tom were
really giving it to the redhead. She was kneeling on one of the table-
top video games, getting fucked from behind by Tom and sucking on Jack’s
cock.
The sight of all those people fucking and sucking each other got her
juices flowing again. Leaning against the wall outside, Kathy spread her
legs apart and placed one end of her dildo up to her pussy. With both
hands, she slowly pushed the head inside her aching and very lubricated
hole. When she had about nine inches of it inside her, she remained
still. Thoughts of all those hard and ready to fuck cocks made her
tremble with a deeper desire. She wanted to just walk inside and grab
the first one within reach. Jack, Tom, Bob, or the other guy, she didn’t
care which one it was. Sure the dildo did its job and allowed her to
enjoy orgasm after orgasm, but it wasn’t the same as having a throbbing
live prick spray its hot liquid inside her clenching and willing box.
Nothing could replace that. Even though it was pure torture for her, she
had to have another look at what was going on.
Tom’s wife was now straddling the guy she was sucking only moments
ago. She heard the loud sigh as Janice lowered herself down and took his
cock into her pussy. Kathy, not caring if any of them saw her now, stood
in front of the window and began fucking the dildo. She hoped one of
them might see her and invite her in to join their party.

“I’m gonna come!” Jack grunted, thrusting his hips and driving his
entire cock down Melisa’s throat.
“Me too!” Tom shouted as he pounded her from behind.
Melisa was about to have her own orgasm and didn’t want the men to
stop. Suddenly, she felt the cock in her mouth jerk and explode, firing
its cum. She somehow managed to swallow the first blast and the second
and the third one, but didn’t swallow after that. She let the man fill
her mouth with his gooey sperm until she couldn’t hold any more. Melisa
then parted her lips and let his cum run out, spilling down his still
hard dick. When the creamy fluid was dripping and hanging from his
…End of the part4. To be continued..

“You should see those people out there! You’d think I was running was
a whore house or something.” Don said to his wife as he brought a tray
of dirty dishes into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” Kathy asked.
“You know that girl who’s always showing off to the guys?”
“She at it again?”
“No, it’s worse!”
“What’s she doing this time?”
“You won’t believe me, so you better take a look for yourself.”
“Let me finish cleaning this pot first.” Kathy told her husband. “You
know, sometimes I think you’re just a horny old goat who’d like to get
into her pants. The poor girl just likes to have fun, and since her
husband doesn’t mind, I don’t understand why you always have to make a
big deal out everything she does.”
“Oh, yeah! Well, wait till you see what that poor girl of yours is
doing this time!”
Unknown to Don, Kathy was envious of Mary’s looks, body, youth, and
the steady fucking she knew the blonde was getting. Kathy, on the other
hand, had to masturbate for her sexual relief because Don was always too
busy with their tavern. Even at fifty years old, Kathy was still in
pretty good shape and had received many offers from the men who came in.
Since she felt it would be wrong to cheat on her husband, she turned
them all down and masturbated instead. In fact, it was the blonde’s
husband who really got her hooked on masturbating.
Jack had been trying to talk her into going to bed with him for some
time, but Kathy just considered his advances nothing more than friendly
flirting, albeit a little crude at times. About a year ago, when the
place was empty, he came in and started making a play for her again. As
usual, Kathy politely turned him down. Jack finished his beer and just
before leaving, he handed her a box, saying that until she changed her
mind it was something to remember him by.
After he was gone, Kathy opened the package, expecting to find a long
stem rose or type of flower. What she found was anything but flowers,
and she started to laugh. Jack had given her a dildo! She heard of
these, but never actually saw one before. It was two feet long, and each
end of the flexible rubber shaft was molded to look like the head of a
man’s prick. Kathy wondered about its unusual size and shape. The naive
woman was confused. There was no way she could possibly get both ends of
the thing in her at once, so why did it have two dick heads?
Kathy put the dildo to good use though. She quickly became experienced
at using it, and after only a few days was addicted to masturbating with
it. For the first time in her life she could have a hard dick in pussy
for as long and as many times as she wanted it. She even stopped
bothering Don about having sex altogether. He didn’t seem to mind,
because their constant bickering with one another had ceased, and Kathy
was in a better mood.

Jack kept talking to Bob, knowing that if he didn’t and things got
quiet, Sue would move her hand away from Mary’s pussy. While pretending
to be interested in what Bob was saying, Jack put his hand back under
the table and searched for Sue’s. Both women stiffened when they felt
his fingers. Bob rambled on about his favorite subject while, right
across from him, his wife and Jack were rubbing Mary’s pussy.
“Oh!” Mary sighed loudly when Jack’s finger plunged into her wet slit
and he wiggled it around. “That’s right, and if you don’t get the hook
set just…” Bob continued, as if Mary was suddenly interested in
fishing.
Sue had to stifle a giggle at her husband’s ignorance. With all the
wine, plus the outrageous things the three of them were doing, a crazy
idea popped into Sue’s head. Moving her fingers above Jack’s, Sue parted
the slippery lips of Mary’s pussy and began stroking her clit with the
tip of her fingernail. Another sigh came from Mary, but Bob kept right
on talking. Sue then squeezed her hand around Mary’s entire vulva,
leaving only a small puffy opening so Jack could continue to finger-fuck
his wife.
Mary bit her lower lip to keep from screaming out as Jack and Sue
played with her cunt under the table. The blonde had done some pretty
bizarre things since marrying Jack, but they had never anything in
public. Mary knew that most of the people in town thought she was a
flake and a tease. This was okay though, because she thought most of
them were boring. She wondered what people would say if they ever found
out that their recently elected Mayor’s wife liked playing with another
woman’s pussy.
Mary slowly began clenching and unclenching her ass cheeks, causing
her pussy to move up and down slightly. Jack shoved another finger
inside her and spread her pussy open. Sue released her grip from around
Jack’s fingers, and then slid her middle one between his. At the same
time, they both pushed the digits into his wife’s dripping hole. Mary
lost control, doubling over as though she had severe cramp in her
stomach.
“Are you all right, Mary?” Bob asked.
“I’m… okay.” the trembling girl barely managed to say.
“Why don’t we go to the ladies room, honey.” Sue said as she stood up.
Jack looked past his wife and said, “You’ll make sure she’s feeling
better before she comes… back, right Sue?”
“Don’t worry, she’ll feel a lot better by the time we come… back.”
As the two women went to the ladies bathroom, Bob noticed a big wet
spot in the seat of Mary’s pink dress and made a comment to Jack about
it.
“She’s got female problems… can’t control her water very well.” Jack
said convincingly, but knowing full well the stain was there because
Mary’s pussy flowed juice easier than any woman he know of.

Out on the dance floor, it looked like Janice and Melisa had started a
…End of the part2. To be continued..

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