I've caused way too much trouble already, so I'm going to tell you a wonderfully cock-hardening/panty dampening tale from my friend Cheryl.
She dated guys in high school, but some fun came from her "gal pals." As she told me, "Guys are kind of stupid at that age and while I loved their muscles, the way they smelled and even their dopey guy stuff, I really was kind of afraid of their roughness and wasn't one to put out. I liked making out and letting them play with my boobs and I would toss a hand-job their way on occasion, but I never fucked them.
"I learned to rely on myself for easing the tension, if you will. I should say myself and two other girls I had known for years. For the most part the three of us hung out together all of the time. Sometimes it would just be the three of us on a Friday night, or it would be the three of us and a bunch of other girls, but it would always be the three of us...
"As you can imagine, familiarity either breeds contempt or a special closeness. We were close...So close that we shared everything. At one point that began to included what we called "relief therapy". If one of us had been on a date or did some "heavy petting" with a boy and needed a little relief but didn't want to do it ourselves, we could rely on each other.
"It usually was quite simple and consisted of either two of us or all three of us meeting at one of our houses. The relief sessions would begin by the person in need (funny...at the beginning of the session there was only one in need...by the end almost always all three of us got some relief) lying down and covering her eyes. Then you would feel someone removing your clothes and then, most generally, hands playing.
"Playing with your hair, your boobs, your stomach, feet, knees and finally playing with your pussy. And, we got quite good at jilling each other off. I still mastubate on occasion thinking of relief sessions. When we were freshman in college we all came home (we went to different schools) at Thanksgiving and agreed on a relief session. I got to go first and was quite surprised not only to have a kiss laid upon my lips (we never, ever kissed like that) but to actually being licked down there....oh my god.
"I had a very pleasant orgasm. And when I sat up I was like 'I, I, I...can't...,' and they both started giggling. 'Nice, huh?' Ummm...I would say so....
"Our last relief session together was probably in 1985-86. Two of us still stay in contact and live millions and millions of miles apart in both distance and in the direction of our lives. But, we still love each other. We met a few years back for our 20th reunion. We never mentioned our sessions, but about a week later I got an email from her and she said that she had wanted to talk about them, but just lost her nevve. She has not once done anything with another woman and really missed that special touch. We agreed to have a 'session' one day when we could get time to meet somewhere. Hasn't happened yet. It may never. But I like thinking about it.
"I will always enjoy the touch and feel of a woman and will never go long without the sweetness of a kiss or the absolute joy only one woman can give to another. Men? Can't do with out them. Women? Can't have an incredible, stupendous, outstanding, un-describable, intense, orgasm without them. Oh, sure, I have had good sex with men. But never had head like that from a woman."
And all I have to add is: I think I am going to swoon!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Doors open to dark slutty passages
The return of Heather into Chris' life and our unsuccessful bid to lure her into our bed naturally destabilized things. On Wednesday night, Chris called me to say he was working late and might be over later. My radar went up, of course. And when he got to my place around eleven, I smelled pussy on his face when he kissed me. And it wasn't my pussy. Maybe he had suddenly turned dumb and stupid, thinking I wouldn't notice. Maybe, as we find in my business, he had a secret wish to get caught.
Get caught he did. He tearfully confessed that he had gone over to Heather's condo. She had called him hysterically, threatening suicide if he didn't talk to her in person. That's what he said. And one thing led to another, pretty soon they were in bed. He had her pussy scent on him, nicely pungent, the pussy of this 24-year-old blonde with her perfect hair. Fourteen years younger than me, the worthless little bitch. Whatever. Later the whole thing might arouse me and I would want all the gory details, but at that moment I turned jealous psycho bitch and kicked him out. The wheels of sexual fate were turning, whether I realized it not. I kept smelling Heather...
Things didn't get better Friday when my sister Amber came into the city to have lunch with me. Amber is, let's say, the anti-Linda. Even though she is younger than me, she is as sexually conservative as a woman from the 1950s, a total suburban soccer mom. She used the lunch to lecture me on the need to "get married and settle down and quit being 'that' kind of woman.' " I was pissed, to say the least. She doesn't know a goddamned thing about me. But she judges me every time she looks at me because I don't have three kids, a boring husband and a look-alike house on a cul-de-sac.
I decided to stay home alone Friday night. I was watching Netflix and drinking my second martini when the doorbell rang. I thought it might be a contrite Chris, but it was my brother-in-law. Justin has made no secret of his lust for me and I have repeatedly rebuffed him. He's the kind of lout that absolutely doesn't attract me. But there he stood, this big, tall lug, obviously tipsy, walking past me into my loft.
He noticed the martini glass in my hand. "We never had that drink you promised me," he said. I told him I never made that promise and it was time for him to leave.
"That's not going to happen," he said angrily. "I'm tired of the way you **** girls have treated me for years," he said, using my last name and the maiden name of his wife, my sister Amber. "You know how fucking long it's been since I've had sex? Amber won't even suck my cock. And you...," he faced me menacingly, "you're a little fuck slut. I know how good it will be with you." He stepped into my private space and put his hands heavily on my shoulders.
Now let me interrupt here to say I could easily have taken Justin down, gently or hard, and he never would have known what hit him. But this spooky sense of (perhaps self-destructive) revenge came over me and I didn't do it. I put down my drink and just said, "fuck you, you white trash loser," and I slapped his face hard enough to leave a red spot on his cheek.
It had the desired effect.
"You little bitch!" he screamed, grabbing my arms and pushing me against the wall. "You've always thought you were too good for me. Well, guess again Susie fuckslut!" He kissed me with all that can be described as brutal lust. It was primal and, I have to say, for that moment at least, arousing. His breath smelled of cigarettes and his strong tongue pushed past my teeth and into my mouth. I could already feel his hard cock against my belly -- he's that tall.
I felt my blouse being torn off. He didn't wait for anything as time-consuming as a button. I slapped and fought ineffectually against him, and then I felt his real strength as he dragged me by the arm into the living room and knocked my feet out from under me. I went down with a slam onto the hardwood floor and just as quickly my jeans and panties were being pulled down. I never stopped "struggling," which added to my dark arousal. He undid his pants in one quick movement and his cock was bobbing before me.
I'd seen it before, and it's probably the biggest in my experience. About nine inches and thick. Unlike some big cocks, it's very hard all the way...so there it was bobbing in front of my eyes as he pulled my knees apart and leaned into me. I felt the head of his cock on my pussy lips. "Susie wants it," he panted. He could feel that I was trenching wet. I said no.
He shoved in with one motion and I cried out, for real this time. He reached down and grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head. Hs breath was hot and foul against me. The floor was cold and hard. I really felt like I was being pulled apart down there. Even with the lubrication, my poor little pussy walls were being stretched way beyond what they were used to. Then he was in to the hilt. I couldn't believe it. He started fucking me hard. I raised my legs so he wouldn't hurt so much banging against my cervix and pretty soon my magic pussy had expanded to accommodate him.
"You're a tight little cunt," he huffed as he plunged in and out. I turned my head away, but my body kept responding. I could feel a massive orgasm building in me as I used my legs and heels to pull him deep into me with each downstroke. There was no artistry here, no lovemaking here. Just animal fucking. He re-adjusted, raising himself on his arms and letting my hands go free. I grabbed his ass and fucked him back as our rhythm quickened into madness.
Intellectually, I hated to give him the satisfaction, but intellectualism had long since gone out the door. I surrendered to a long orgasm, screaming, clawing at his back. "Ohhhhh,shit,"he yelled, and I could feel his huge dick pulsing inside me. Just like the bastard I knew he was, he pulled out immediately -- seeing his penis again, I was amazed I had gotten that monster inside me; it was now covered with semen and pussy juice, wet, snowy liquid, the thick veins on the shaft standing out. He stood, pulled up his pants and walked away, sitting down and drinking the remains of my martini. He lit up a Marlboro.
So there I lay, wide open and dripping semen on my floor, my clothes ripped off, some dark river crossed. He just stared. In a while I went in the bathroom, cleaned up and tried not to look at myself in the mirror. Cum was running out of my pussy and down my legs, come that had been in my sister, too. He was still there when I came out and gathered my clothes.
"Don't get dressed, Susie, we're just beginning. You're gonna suck me off and swallow every drop. Goddamned, girl, you fuck like a snake. Are you really related to that frigid bitch I married?" He said it and turned from me to open the beer he had pulled from the refrigerator. At that moment, I rabbit punched him in the kidney and used my foot behind his kneecap to drop him to the floor. He fell hard and yelped. Then I brought both hands against his ears, just hard enough to addle him -- I know just the right amount to avoid serious damage.
I said, "Get the fuck out." He looked at me, frightened, and left. He didn't have the guts to call me a bitch until he was safely through the door. I made myself another drink, lit one of the cigarettes he left behind, and felt fine.
Get caught he did. He tearfully confessed that he had gone over to Heather's condo. She had called him hysterically, threatening suicide if he didn't talk to her in person. That's what he said. And one thing led to another, pretty soon they were in bed. He had her pussy scent on him, nicely pungent, the pussy of this 24-year-old blonde with her perfect hair. Fourteen years younger than me, the worthless little bitch. Whatever. Later the whole thing might arouse me and I would want all the gory details, but at that moment I turned jealous psycho bitch and kicked him out. The wheels of sexual fate were turning, whether I realized it not. I kept smelling Heather...
Things didn't get better Friday when my sister Amber came into the city to have lunch with me. Amber is, let's say, the anti-Linda. Even though she is younger than me, she is as sexually conservative as a woman from the 1950s, a total suburban soccer mom. She used the lunch to lecture me on the need to "get married and settle down and quit being 'that' kind of woman.' " I was pissed, to say the least. She doesn't know a goddamned thing about me. But she judges me every time she looks at me because I don't have three kids, a boring husband and a look-alike house on a cul-de-sac.
I decided to stay home alone Friday night. I was watching Netflix and drinking my second martini when the doorbell rang. I thought it might be a contrite Chris, but it was my brother-in-law. Justin has made no secret of his lust for me and I have repeatedly rebuffed him. He's the kind of lout that absolutely doesn't attract me. But there he stood, this big, tall lug, obviously tipsy, walking past me into my loft.
He noticed the martini glass in my hand. "We never had that drink you promised me," he said. I told him I never made that promise and it was time for him to leave.
"That's not going to happen," he said angrily. "I'm tired of the way you **** girls have treated me for years," he said, using my last name and the maiden name of his wife, my sister Amber. "You know how fucking long it's been since I've had sex? Amber won't even suck my cock. And you...," he faced me menacingly, "you're a little fuck slut. I know how good it will be with you." He stepped into my private space and put his hands heavily on my shoulders.
Now let me interrupt here to say I could easily have taken Justin down, gently or hard, and he never would have known what hit him. But this spooky sense of (perhaps self-destructive) revenge came over me and I didn't do it. I put down my drink and just said, "fuck you, you white trash loser," and I slapped his face hard enough to leave a red spot on his cheek.
It had the desired effect.
"You little bitch!" he screamed, grabbing my arms and pushing me against the wall. "You've always thought you were too good for me. Well, guess again Susie fuckslut!" He kissed me with all that can be described as brutal lust. It was primal and, I have to say, for that moment at least, arousing. His breath smelled of cigarettes and his strong tongue pushed past my teeth and into my mouth. I could already feel his hard cock against my belly -- he's that tall.
I felt my blouse being torn off. He didn't wait for anything as time-consuming as a button. I slapped and fought ineffectually against him, and then I felt his real strength as he dragged me by the arm into the living room and knocked my feet out from under me. I went down with a slam onto the hardwood floor and just as quickly my jeans and panties were being pulled down. I never stopped "struggling," which added to my dark arousal. He undid his pants in one quick movement and his cock was bobbing before me.
I'd seen it before, and it's probably the biggest in my experience. About nine inches and thick. Unlike some big cocks, it's very hard all the way...so there it was bobbing in front of my eyes as he pulled my knees apart and leaned into me. I felt the head of his cock on my pussy lips. "Susie wants it," he panted. He could feel that I was trenching wet. I said no.
He shoved in with one motion and I cried out, for real this time. He reached down and grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head. Hs breath was hot and foul against me. The floor was cold and hard. I really felt like I was being pulled apart down there. Even with the lubrication, my poor little pussy walls were being stretched way beyond what they were used to. Then he was in to the hilt. I couldn't believe it. He started fucking me hard. I raised my legs so he wouldn't hurt so much banging against my cervix and pretty soon my magic pussy had expanded to accommodate him.
"You're a tight little cunt," he huffed as he plunged in and out. I turned my head away, but my body kept responding. I could feel a massive orgasm building in me as I used my legs and heels to pull him deep into me with each downstroke. There was no artistry here, no lovemaking here. Just animal fucking. He re-adjusted, raising himself on his arms and letting my hands go free. I grabbed his ass and fucked him back as our rhythm quickened into madness.
Intellectually, I hated to give him the satisfaction, but intellectualism had long since gone out the door. I surrendered to a long orgasm, screaming, clawing at his back. "Ohhhhh,shit,"he yelled, and I could feel his huge dick pulsing inside me. Just like the bastard I knew he was, he pulled out immediately -- seeing his penis again, I was amazed I had gotten that monster inside me; it was now covered with semen and pussy juice, wet, snowy liquid, the thick veins on the shaft standing out. He stood, pulled up his pants and walked away, sitting down and drinking the remains of my martini. He lit up a Marlboro.
So there I lay, wide open and dripping semen on my floor, my clothes ripped off, some dark river crossed. He just stared. In a while I went in the bathroom, cleaned up and tried not to look at myself in the mirror. Cum was running out of my pussy and down my legs, come that had been in my sister, too. He was still there when I came out and gathered my clothes.
"Don't get dressed, Susie, we're just beginning. You're gonna suck me off and swallow every drop. Goddamned, girl, you fuck like a snake. Are you really related to that frigid bitch I married?" He said it and turned from me to open the beer he had pulled from the refrigerator. At that moment, I rabbit punched him in the kidney and used my foot behind his kneecap to drop him to the floor. He fell hard and yelped. Then I brought both hands against his ears, just hard enough to addle him -- I know just the right amount to avoid serious damage.
I said, "Get the fuck out." He looked at me, frightened, and left. He didn't have the guts to call me a bitch until he was safely through the door. I made myself another drink, lit one of the cigarettes he left behind, and felt fine.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
How many cocks did I suck that night?
Now that we know each other well, dear reader, I can confess some dark secrets. There was the first time I went to a so-called lifestyle club. It was my senior year in college, I was just as much of a sweet young thing as you can imagine...
Frank took me to a party in the Hamptons. It was off-season, and once we got there I was by far the youngest in a party of five couples. The booze and pot flowed freely. I had hardly eaten that day and it took no time for the martini and marijuana to go to my head. Then the clothes started coming off. In no time, of course, a penis was in front of my face.
Read my delicious adventure on my sister site, the Fellatrices.
Frank took me to a party in the Hamptons. It was off-season, and once we got there I was by far the youngest in a party of five couples. The booze and pot flowed freely. I had hardly eaten that day and it took no time for the martini and marijuana to go to my head. Then the clothes started coming off. In no time, of course, a penis was in front of my face.
Read my delicious adventure on my sister site, the Fellatrices.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Penises I have known
They come in all shapes and sizes, and in my way, after my fashion, I have loved them all. A reader sent me a photo of a recent conquest. He had a penis that curved down. That I had never experienced before. I have had a couple that curved upward -- I think that was Bill Clinton's "distinguishing characteristic" during Monicagate -- and they really can make me feel my G-spot. But downward...I haven't done that. She didn't like him.
It got me thinking.
Some cocks I have known:
B had a thick, long cock with a distinct head. He kind of bulged out in the middle. We had quite a time working it into my pussy the first time. He said he was eight inches long. Talk about being filled up! And I remember licking the skin on his cockhead, how it was very rough and almost scaly looking, but of course so soft to the touch.
M, another big boy. His shaft stood straight with a slight curve when I had him on his back. He had a big, prominent vein in the shaft and I could feel it pulse as he got excited -- loved that feeling in my mouth or hand. A big cummer, too. His head was very prominent and the "eye" of his cock was bigger than I had seen before. Absolutely loved to fuck me from behind, and loved to "take" me and stuff as much of that cock into my little asshole as possible.
J was average but thick and with an even bigger head. I could feel so filled up. He really knew how to fuck, too, and made the most commonplace position special. He'd rotate his hips as he fucked me on top. Divine! He got almost purple-red with arousal. Very very prominent head...made the licking and sucking interesting. And I could always feel that head when he first entered...felt like a virgin again, every time.
G, a redhead, had a nice average cock sticking out of this thatch of red pubic hair. His cock was pale and pink, and the head got very red as I sucked it and played with it. His semen was thick and stringy -- once had a string about eight inches long coming out of my pussy once he dismounted.
T's cock was big like a missile. His head was barely distinguishable from the shaft. And the shaft, which was so smooth, got slightly bigger as it went down. Made for a very full feeling inside of me. I could never even try to get it all inside me.
D was very black...Wesley Snipes black...and stereotypes fit. He was gigantic, and uncircumsized. He hurt me when he fucked me and didn't care. His skin was mottled black and pink on his cock. He made me come and I resented it, because he was so goddamned arrogant.
MR's was uncircumsized, too...fascinating to play with the foreskin, reveal his nice head hiding in there. His glans were very sensitive. I could feel a different kind of friction as he fucked me. Very edgy and arousing.
L was small, maybe 4 inches, and the reddest cock I ever saw. I could only come riding him because it was hard to get that filled-up feeling. But I could take him all the way inside my mouth...
And there are so many more.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Thanks for being truthful...
...but the results of the poll at right, on the number of lovers, makes me realize I've been an even bigger slut than I had realized.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
A girl walks into a bar...
I walked into the bar first. I was wearing a nicely fitting green top, a pleated gray skirt that came to my knees and sheer white stockings. I thought it was a demure look, but I could feel the eyes on me. I took a table, as Chris and I had agreed, and began fending off the advances of strange men. It was a nice problem to have.
Chris came in next and took a chair at the bar. He looked at me approvingly and smiled. I recrossed my legs for him. He smiled more. Heather was late, which I suppose is a prerogative of sweet young things. She swept past me, wearing a little black dress. She wanted to make a statement and did she...! Her blond hair flowed gently back and forth on the nape of her neck as she walked past, clueless about me.
She hugged Chris and then kissed him, and not a friendly, I-used-to-be-your-girlfriend kiss. It lingered and went tonguey. It was an I-want-you-back kiss. He kissed her, too, and ran his hand down her back to her tight little ass. This wasn't exactly part of the plan, but I should have expected it. As you recall, I told Chris he could fuck Heather and I would fuck other men, or we would invite her into our world. She may have been an ex, but since she came back, he's clearly been aroused by the idea of some kind of action involving Heather. He liked the latter suggestion and here we were putting the plan into action.
She sat on the opposite chair and the skirt rode up even higher on her thigh. Chris likes the leggy ones, fortunately for me. They talked, thick as thieves, Heather drinking a cosmopolitan that was the same shade as her lipstick. I was joined by a banker type. Not bad looking. I smiled and let him introduce himself while they talked. She tossed her hair and took his hand. Oh, does she want him back... I listen to my new friend talk about the rain and imagine her legs wrapped around Chris as he fucks her. I wonder how she'd be in a threesome and how she'd be with just me. We might make Chris jealous.
What's she like,? I asked him. Pretty straight-laced, he said. You'd never know it from the dress and the PDA, but who knows. So the evening goes on and I am on my second martini when her body language changes. She goes as rigid as a statue. She withdraws her hand from his. She glances over at me and I give her a smile and a little wave. She just stands there and stares. She's a pretty thing when surprised. I can see the flush spread from her breastbone up into her fair face. She doesn't smile back.
The remains of the cosmo were in Chris' face before I even saw the flash of the glass. She stormed toward the door, but not before stopping at my table.
"You bitch!"
"You might like me," I said pleasantly.
The blush became so bad I thought she would stroke out. Meanwhile my new banker friend cautiously excused himself.
Heather clicked away on her little pointed-toes. I finished my drink. Oh, well.
Chris came in next and took a chair at the bar. He looked at me approvingly and smiled. I recrossed my legs for him. He smiled more. Heather was late, which I suppose is a prerogative of sweet young things. She swept past me, wearing a little black dress. She wanted to make a statement and did she...! Her blond hair flowed gently back and forth on the nape of her neck as she walked past, clueless about me.
She hugged Chris and then kissed him, and not a friendly, I-used-to-be-your-girlfriend kiss. It lingered and went tonguey. It was an I-want-you-back kiss. He kissed her, too, and ran his hand down her back to her tight little ass. This wasn't exactly part of the plan, but I should have expected it. As you recall, I told Chris he could fuck Heather and I would fuck other men, or we would invite her into our world. She may have been an ex, but since she came back, he's clearly been aroused by the idea of some kind of action involving Heather. He liked the latter suggestion and here we were putting the plan into action.
She sat on the opposite chair and the skirt rode up even higher on her thigh. Chris likes the leggy ones, fortunately for me. They talked, thick as thieves, Heather drinking a cosmopolitan that was the same shade as her lipstick. I was joined by a banker type. Not bad looking. I smiled and let him introduce himself while they talked. She tossed her hair and took his hand. Oh, does she want him back... I listen to my new friend talk about the rain and imagine her legs wrapped around Chris as he fucks her. I wonder how she'd be in a threesome and how she'd be with just me. We might make Chris jealous.
What's she like,? I asked him. Pretty straight-laced, he said. You'd never know it from the dress and the PDA, but who knows. So the evening goes on and I am on my second martini when her body language changes. She goes as rigid as a statue. She withdraws her hand from his. She glances over at me and I give her a smile and a little wave. She just stands there and stares. She's a pretty thing when surprised. I can see the flush spread from her breastbone up into her fair face. She doesn't smile back.
The remains of the cosmo were in Chris' face before I even saw the flash of the glass. She stormed toward the door, but not before stopping at my table.
"You bitch!"
"You might like me," I said pleasantly.
The blush became so bad I thought she would stroke out. Meanwhile my new banker friend cautiously excused himself.
Heather clicked away on her little pointed-toes. I finished my drink. Oh, well.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Linda Sue's faithful tales of adultery, part II
The Eliot Spitzer spectacle was uniquely American. War in Iraq? Failure in Afghanistan? Global warming? A garbage cluster in the ocean the size of the lower 48? Historic highs for oil prices? Implosions in the financial system? Nah...puritanical posturing on sex.
People watched "poor" Silda stand ashen-faced by his side and asked, "How can she do it?" Maybe she wants to keep her family together. Maybe she wasn't that interested in sex anymore and knew. Maybe she loved him. Nobody can look inside a marriage and really know what it's about.
My marriage collapsed on infidelity. But of course it was deeper than that. He was disappointed that I couldn't bear him children, and he couldn't express it honestly. I was disappointed that the passion and desire of our courtship seemed to die so quickly. The nights he would fuck me against a wall, the nights he would fuck me four times and still want more, and read me poetry.
I've told you a bit of the break-up. In fact, the first time I went to my husband's office and met his new assistant, Rachel, I knew he would fuck her if he wasn't already. One of those women intuition things. It wasn't just that she looked like a younger version of me, but there was that lust vibe that is so obvious between two people.
Oh, I could be a jealous, psycho bitch back then, especially since I wasn't getting any. It's not that my thoughts were always pure. How bad did it get? I started following him, and I know a thing or two about surveillance. How bad did it get? I followed him after work to Rachel's cute little garden condo, hopped the wall (dressed all in black) and watched as they kissed and she made him a martini. He kissed her like he used to kiss me, and yet it was different. It was somehow more urgent, as if he understood his mortality better and thought he might stave it off for a little while with this young flesh.
How bad did it get? I huddled in the bushes, glad she didn't own a dog, and watched them fuck. Jon was always a turn-off-the-lights-and-open-the-blinds kind of guy. I could see everything. It ripped me apart and made my pussy drip. Sex is a mystery, what can I say? I had denied him nothing with my body, but it wasn't enough. And here he was fucking Rachel, who naked was not quite a clone but prettier, lithe and luminous -- I had to admit it. She was loud when she fucked, too, but different, too...almost like a wild creature once she got going. I had never seen him look so happy. I finally leaped the wall again silently, then threw up in the alley and bawled for an hour in a darkened car.
I got my revenge. But might I have stood with him at the podium if he had ever come clean, not just about the infidelity but about what he really needed, his bottom line? Maybe. Probably. The worst thing about the divorce wasn't losing a husband or even a love. I lost my best friend.
People watched "poor" Silda stand ashen-faced by his side and asked, "How can she do it?" Maybe she wants to keep her family together. Maybe she wasn't that interested in sex anymore and knew. Maybe she loved him. Nobody can look inside a marriage and really know what it's about.
My marriage collapsed on infidelity. But of course it was deeper than that. He was disappointed that I couldn't bear him children, and he couldn't express it honestly. I was disappointed that the passion and desire of our courtship seemed to die so quickly. The nights he would fuck me against a wall, the nights he would fuck me four times and still want more, and read me poetry.
I've told you a bit of the break-up. In fact, the first time I went to my husband's office and met his new assistant, Rachel, I knew he would fuck her if he wasn't already. One of those women intuition things. It wasn't just that she looked like a younger version of me, but there was that lust vibe that is so obvious between two people.
Oh, I could be a jealous, psycho bitch back then, especially since I wasn't getting any. It's not that my thoughts were always pure. How bad did it get? I started following him, and I know a thing or two about surveillance. How bad did it get? I followed him after work to Rachel's cute little garden condo, hopped the wall (dressed all in black) and watched as they kissed and she made him a martini. He kissed her like he used to kiss me, and yet it was different. It was somehow more urgent, as if he understood his mortality better and thought he might stave it off for a little while with this young flesh.
How bad did it get? I huddled in the bushes, glad she didn't own a dog, and watched them fuck. Jon was always a turn-off-the-lights-and-open-the-blinds kind of guy. I could see everything. It ripped me apart and made my pussy drip. Sex is a mystery, what can I say? I had denied him nothing with my body, but it wasn't enough. And here he was fucking Rachel, who naked was not quite a clone but prettier, lithe and luminous -- I had to admit it. She was loud when she fucked, too, but different, too...almost like a wild creature once she got going. I had never seen him look so happy. I finally leaped the wall again silently, then threw up in the alley and bawled for an hour in a darkened car.
I got my revenge. But might I have stood with him at the podium if he had ever come clean, not just about the infidelity but about what he really needed, his bottom line? Maybe. Probably. The worst thing about the divorce wasn't losing a husband or even a love. I lost my best friend.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Candy's dandy but semen gets me creamin'
If you think the taste of semen or pussy juice is yucky, you need an attitude adjustment! They're among the sexiest things about sex. Read all about it on my new post at the Fellatrices.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Mary Beth tells all about call girls and powerful men
Mary Beth came over last night for wine, Thai food and a long talk about our favorite subject, sex. As you know, Mary Beth turned a chance encounter in college into an entrepreneurial gold mine. She was a coed hooker. We talked about many things sexual, but I wanted her specifically to weigh in on the troubles of New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, or, as the Daily Show dubbed him, the Luv Guv.
Linda Sue: So did you ever fuck a governor?
Mary Beth: No, but I did pick up a few high-powered clients over time. Remember, most of the time I worked for myself. I tried to be very careful, using referrals from one man to the next. I was very discreet and never greedy. I did work for an agency for a few months, which was also interesting. Anyway, I had a city councilman, a couple of members – ha! – of the state Legislature. There were some very rich businessmen, at least one of whom was later on the cover of BusinessWeek.
LS: Which one surprised you the most?
MB: Without a doubt, it was when I fucked the president of the university. Fortunately, he didn’t know I was a student.
LS: How were they different from your other johns?
MB: They tended to be paranoid, very careful. A couple had bodyguards that stayed outside, but most tried to be as anonymous as possible. They were all Type As, very intense, very bossy. A few were nice men, but most were kind of cold and selfish, almost like I wasn’t there. But they liked me. They liked the idea of fucking this sweet young thing. One liked me to dress up like a school girl, another loved me in a tennis skirt. They pretty much were into the same things as other men, but that also means they could get pretty intense and rough as they worked out whatever stresses or issues they had in their lives. They liked it that I would do what their wives wouldn’t, blowjobs, anal, different positions…that I really seemed to liked sex and came.
LS: Ever fake an orgasm?
MB: No. I love to come. I did learn to tailor my responses, at least a little. If they got turned on by a screamer and scratcher, I could do that. When I really come, I usually don’t scream.
LS: I can barely contain myself, so it’s a good thing I don’t have kids. Any kinky stuff?
MB: The college president was into light bondage and a blindfold. That was about the most. I wouldn’t go for anything heavy duty or scary. Remember, I vetted them in advance.
LS: Did you think less of them for going to you, or think about their wives.
MB: I didn’t think less of them. Remember, I was a kid and pretty selfish in some ways. I did this because I could rebel, I loved sex, but I especially loved the money. I never think badly of a customer. I didn’t think about the wives. I figured, hey, you can’t satisfy your husband, so not my problem. The hubris of a cute 20-year-old, what can I say? Now that I am married and have children, I am more ambivalent about this. I think men in general will stray, and it’s how you decide to deal with it. Having said that, it would really hurt me if my husband, C****, did it, whether it was with a hooker or a girlfriend. Now I do think I probably kept some marriages together by giving the men an outlet. But I can really see both sides. But there’s a reason it’s the oldest profession.
LS: You said you worked for an agency. I never knew that.
MB: Yeah, that was an adventure. It was very high-class and safe. I had a driver who was a former cop. Got a good cut of the money, which was very good. But it also produced the scariest episode, which probably caused me to get out of it for good.
LS: Let’s tell that story another day…How about a refill?
Linda Sue: So did you ever fuck a governor?
Mary Beth: No, but I did pick up a few high-powered clients over time. Remember, most of the time I worked for myself. I tried to be very careful, using referrals from one man to the next. I was very discreet and never greedy. I did work for an agency for a few months, which was also interesting. Anyway, I had a city councilman, a couple of members – ha! – of the state Legislature. There were some very rich businessmen, at least one of whom was later on the cover of BusinessWeek.
LS: Which one surprised you the most?
MB: Without a doubt, it was when I fucked the president of the university. Fortunately, he didn’t know I was a student.
LS: How were they different from your other johns?
MB: They tended to be paranoid, very careful. A couple had bodyguards that stayed outside, but most tried to be as anonymous as possible. They were all Type As, very intense, very bossy. A few were nice men, but most were kind of cold and selfish, almost like I wasn’t there. But they liked me. They liked the idea of fucking this sweet young thing. One liked me to dress up like a school girl, another loved me in a tennis skirt. They pretty much were into the same things as other men, but that also means they could get pretty intense and rough as they worked out whatever stresses or issues they had in their lives. They liked it that I would do what their wives wouldn’t, blowjobs, anal, different positions…that I really seemed to liked sex and came.
LS: Ever fake an orgasm?
MB: No. I love to come. I did learn to tailor my responses, at least a little. If they got turned on by a screamer and scratcher, I could do that. When I really come, I usually don’t scream.
LS: I can barely contain myself, so it’s a good thing I don’t have kids. Any kinky stuff?
MB: The college president was into light bondage and a blindfold. That was about the most. I wouldn’t go for anything heavy duty or scary. Remember, I vetted them in advance.
LS: Did you think less of them for going to you, or think about their wives.
MB: I didn’t think less of them. Remember, I was a kid and pretty selfish in some ways. I did this because I could rebel, I loved sex, but I especially loved the money. I never think badly of a customer. I didn’t think about the wives. I figured, hey, you can’t satisfy your husband, so not my problem. The hubris of a cute 20-year-old, what can I say? Now that I am married and have children, I am more ambivalent about this. I think men in general will stray, and it’s how you decide to deal with it. Having said that, it would really hurt me if my husband, C****, did it, whether it was with a hooker or a girlfriend. Now I do think I probably kept some marriages together by giving the men an outlet. But I can really see both sides. But there’s a reason it’s the oldest profession.
LS: You said you worked for an agency. I never knew that.
MB: Yeah, that was an adventure. It was very high-class and safe. I had a driver who was a former cop. Got a good cut of the money, which was very good. But it also produced the scariest episode, which probably caused me to get out of it for good.
LS: Let’s tell that story another day…How about a refill?
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Lies, damned lies and statistics
Gee, I know I'm a girl and not supposed to be good at math and all, but I can't help noticing the poll.
Last time I looked, 53 percent of respondents said they had enjoyed one or more affairs (assuming the same-sex affairs were multiple votes). But a total of only 33 percent either confessed it or never said anything about it.
What did you other 20 percent do?
Last time I looked, 53 percent of respondents said they had enjoyed one or more affairs (assuming the same-sex affairs were multiple votes). But a total of only 33 percent either confessed it or never said anything about it.
What did you other 20 percent do?
Friday, March 7, 2008
Feeling vulnerable, territorial and...aroused
My lover gave me quite the fucking last night. He had my legs up under his arms, spreading me wide as he pounded that glorious big-head cock into me. It's a vulnerable position. I'm pushed down and open. It's also a very arousing one. It's cool and the window is cracked open but sweat sheens on his face as he fucks me to a more frantic pace. His eyes are closed. At first I was running my hands across his chest, holding his arms, but as things step up I grab his ass and feel it slamming in and out of me. I reach up and scratch his back, which makes him even more powerful in his strokes.
I know he's thinking about fucking Heather again, or maybe fucking me and Heather together. He says he's never done anything like that before. And he's keeping his own counsel about my advice to him the other night. But the intensity of the sex is clearly higher.
I am thinking about him fucking Heather, too. It's bringing me close to orgasm, thinking about the way he pinned her legs back and rammed in and out -- does she moan or scream? Was she inventive and edgy? I want to know but he won't say much yet. I assume the worst: she's a hot little harlot with all the right moves.
It's a curious feeling, a pit of the stomach insecurity, a pit of the pussy voyeurism, an all-over flush of primal territorial madness. This my man...I have to take back my man... Oh, she's a little babe. She has the kind of straight perfect yellow-blond hair that always made me feel plain. It moves as a sleek unit against the nape of her neck as she turns her head. And she's ten years younger -- hard to compete against that. I'm also attracted to her. And if he wants he, well let's me honest...it might let me off the hook.
Don't think I'm a heartless bitch. I want to believe in love. But I need sex more and I cherish my freedom of action. Mixing love and pleasure can be dangerous. How will he choose? Will I choose for him? Stay tuned, dear readers.
I know he's thinking about fucking Heather again, or maybe fucking me and Heather together. He says he's never done anything like that before. And he's keeping his own counsel about my advice to him the other night. But the intensity of the sex is clearly higher.
I am thinking about him fucking Heather, too. It's bringing me close to orgasm, thinking about the way he pinned her legs back and rammed in and out -- does she moan or scream? Was she inventive and edgy? I want to know but he won't say much yet. I assume the worst: she's a hot little harlot with all the right moves.
It's a curious feeling, a pit of the stomach insecurity, a pit of the pussy voyeurism, an all-over flush of primal territorial madness. This my man...I have to take back my man... Oh, she's a little babe. She has the kind of straight perfect yellow-blond hair that always made me feel plain. It moves as a sleek unit against the nape of her neck as she turns her head. And she's ten years younger -- hard to compete against that. I'm also attracted to her. And if he wants he, well let's me honest...it might let me off the hook.
Don't think I'm a heartless bitch. I want to believe in love. But I need sex more and I cherish my freedom of action. Mixing love and pleasure can be dangerous. How will he choose? Will I choose for him? Stay tuned, dear readers.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Domestic bliss for Linda? Not to worry
Things are getting interesting with my new lover, and for once I'm not the slut (yet).
I was meeting him at a bar on Saturday night and, as often is the case (hey, I'm a girl), was running late. To reach the bar, you have to walk down a corridor, then through the main part of the restaurant. I did all these things, to see my honey kissing another woman. She was cute and young, with lovely straight blond shoulder-length hair, cut just-so. She had a nice little body, poured into black jeans.
They were together at the crowded bar and locked in a kiss that was not just a friendly smooch. She reached around and grabbed the ass that had been my territory lately. They talked a little more and she left. She walked past me and I smiled. She smiled back. We're just two females navigating a world of predatory men, right?
There was a time when I might have been jealous or, for a time especially when I was PMSing, gone psycho. Instead, I just sauntered in,enjoying all the strangers' eyes on me. Chris greeted me with a kiss. I pulled him down to me and tongued his mouth, imagining the transaction that had gone on. We had a drink and a nice chat, considering the loudness of the room. Later we went to dinner and I told him what I had seen.
He turned bright red. I felt sorry for him. She was his former girlfriend, Heather. She was having a hard time, missing him. He didn't mean for the kiss to happen. Please, Linda...
I stopped him. I'm not looking for forever, babe. So you need to make a decision. You can fuck her, and I will fuck other men. Or you can bring her into our world. You decide.
He was speechless. He said nothing as we walked back to my place and had the most fiery sex so far. He promised he'd think about it.
I was meeting him at a bar on Saturday night and, as often is the case (hey, I'm a girl), was running late. To reach the bar, you have to walk down a corridor, then through the main part of the restaurant. I did all these things, to see my honey kissing another woman. She was cute and young, with lovely straight blond shoulder-length hair, cut just-so. She had a nice little body, poured into black jeans.
They were together at the crowded bar and locked in a kiss that was not just a friendly smooch. She reached around and grabbed the ass that had been my territory lately. They talked a little more and she left. She walked past me and I smiled. She smiled back. We're just two females navigating a world of predatory men, right?
There was a time when I might have been jealous or, for a time especially when I was PMSing, gone psycho. Instead, I just sauntered in,enjoying all the strangers' eyes on me. Chris greeted me with a kiss. I pulled him down to me and tongued his mouth, imagining the transaction that had gone on. We had a drink and a nice chat, considering the loudness of the room. Later we went to dinner and I told him what I had seen.
He turned bright red. I felt sorry for him. She was his former girlfriend, Heather. She was having a hard time, missing him. He didn't mean for the kiss to happen. Please, Linda...
I stopped him. I'm not looking for forever, babe. So you need to make a decision. You can fuck her, and I will fuck other men. Or you can bring her into our world. You decide.
He was speechless. He said nothing as we walked back to my place and had the most fiery sex so far. He promised he'd think about it.
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