Blast from the past

One thing that keeps me sane is a stable of fuck buddies: Old lovers who moved on but are reliable after their fashion, trustworthy, sexy and insatiably horny. One of my more forbidden secrets is that I still have sex once every year or two with my former husband. It's true. We had a very messy break-up, with adultery on both sides. The funny thing is, even during the divorce, we fucked a few times. And after. Maybe it's not so funny: I know a number of women who slept with their exes even after the marriage ended. Even with all the damage, there's still that magnetism that drew you together in the first place, the magic — white and black magic — of shared history. I'd be interested in reader experiences.

So my ex-husband called. He was coming to town and did I want to have dinner? I knew where this would end up (as an insecure boyfriend put it a few years ago, "If you go see him, you'll fuck him). So I just shortcut the process and told him to come over. Come over to my place with my oh-so-experienced bed that has taken so many men and a few women since we were married. Of course, he needed no coaxing. Of the many things we have in common: We're both sluts.

He's still a handsome man, smart as hell with the kind of voice that makes me melt. He still makes me laugh. He reads, unlike so many men now. The affair with his little Rachel led to marriage and that blew up, but not before they had a daughter and he's paying major child support. Do I ever think about the children we could have had? Someday I'll tell you about that. But this is a sex blog, right? "Why would I be doing this?" my so-called healthy girlfriends would say. Because he knows just how to kiss me, when to brush my lips and neck with his mouth, when to pull me forcefully to him and kiss me deeply. Because he knows just how to undress me, and when I want to be fucked dressed hoisted up on the bathroom vanity (as happened this time, panties pulled aside, my skirt up, stockings still on and high heels digging little souvenirs in his back.

His cock is average length, thick, with a big head. It still hurts a little when that big head enters me, a good hurt that will ease very quickly but leave a forbidden memory. He's gotten better as he's aged, and not every man can say that. Before I set aside my own jealousy, I remember once he was fucking me with my legs pulled wide against his elbows, giving me this amazing pounding I'd never experienced before. "You've been practicing!" I moaned. (He claimed the wife hadn't had sex with him for a year, which I actually believe). He appreciates my sluttiness, too. Oh, my god, he can lick me. Of all my lovers, he's the best cunnilinguist. So this time, after he carried me to the bed after the hard, screaming standup fuck in the bathroom, he lovingly undressed me and started, as he always does, at my toes. A major foot-fetish guy, he loves to lick my toes — a major turn-on. Then he started kissing and caressing all the way up one leg. He barely touched my pussy with his mouth and breath before starting again on the other leg, all the way back at the foot. He loves my feet. He loves my legs and spends much time on the inside of my thighs, driving me crazy. Soon he was licking every millimeter of my labia and deep tongue-fucking me, before moving up, ever-so-gently, to my clit. Then doing all this at just the right pressure before I came again so hard I thought I was going to pass out. Later, I rode him and ran my fingers across his so-familiar chest, with its light thatch of dark hair, feeling his warm hands on my hips, then letting him pull me down to suck hard on my nipples. Then, face to face missionary style, a long, long time.

We have new traditions, one of which is when I give him a last blow job before he leaves, I say, "You're really going to miss this." I started that when we had our first strange but irresistible sex after the big blow up and separation. And he always says, as he did this time, "I know."

More reader questions about me (updated)

More questions from readers (unless there's a slew of new questions, I'll answer them on this post with updates):

Are your emails interesting?

Oh, yeah. I get everything from women asking romantic advice to guys sending photos of their cocks. Just had a young man send me a video of him jerking off a very nice big black cock for me. I answer every one.

Do you wear high heels for your dates? How high? Stockings or pantyhose?

I wear high heels, but not that high — I'm tall already. Stockings are very sexy to me, usually sheer black, sometimes white, too, in the bedroom.

Have you ever been required to fuck someone while on the job? Or anything sexual at that? Or, it's classified! ;)

It happens on the job and I know women who have done it. One famous incident involved the Mossad agent "Cindy" — really named Cheryl — who used the tender trap to help in the kidnap of an Israeli who spilled the beans on their nuclear program. Our intelligence agencies do it, too. I haven't been called upon for that particular work, although my looks have helped me in various situations.

What's your kinkiest unfulfilled fantasy? Have you ever been tied up? Done the tying up?

I've been tied and done the tying and it's sexy. My kinkiest unfulfilled fantasy...I'll have to think about that. Any suggestions?

Can you take a picture for Halloween? i.e. Cheerleader being naughty?

That would give away my high school.

What other foreplay do you like?

A man's voice — the right kind of voice — can make me wet. Skin-on-skin is a turn-on, when my lover and I lie side-by-side. Strong, sure hands on me. Talking about sex. Another woman being interested in my lover makes me territorial. Footsie under a table. Being passionately kissed on a Paris street under the streetlights. A man who reads books and can talk intelligently about them.

Have your pics ever made it to the Internet?

The frat boys were taping my near gang-bang experience in college. My ex-husband took some pics of me and he was so mad later he might have put them out there (luckily I changed my hair style).

Does size matter?

It depends on the woman, really. A good five- or six-inch cock can be totally satisfying, especially wielded by a good lover. On the other hand, a really big cock used by a bad lover is disappointing aside from the look of it. Most women would probably like a larger cock with a capable and giving lover, who is a mensch. But I knew a guy with a cock so big he said he couldn't find a lover!

Do you consider yourself bisexual?

I've thought about that, because I've mostly loved my experiences with women. But I prefer guys. I guess I am pan-sexual, open and willing when horny and faced with a horny, attractive lover of either sex.

What has surprised you most doing your blog?

The number of people who have had sex with relatives.

What birth control do you use?

The pill.

Have you ever had public sex?

Yes. I fucked a guy on the hood of his car. He had my imprints there as a reminder of our fun. Once I was sucking a guy's cock as he drove. He became so crazed he pulled over into a rest stop, came around to my side, opened the door, slid me around in the seat, dropped his pants and fucked me hard with his ass sticking out of the open door. I've been fingered on Amtrak. Fucked a guy in a state park by sitting on him with my miniskirt on and his cock sticking through his fly — we were totally dressed and the only clue you would have had was our motion and my orgasm, which I couldn't quite stifle. Got a round of applause from a group of guys in the distance. There were others.

Opening up to readers questions, interesting if the answers are true. The Justin rape is intriguing on several levels. Did you secretly anticipate it? Did you secretly want it to shame your sister? You clearly could have stopped it but didn’t. Was it an experiment in turning the tables mentally from victim to controller? Was it a challenge to humiliate Justin and keep him primed for later encounters? What was really going through your head at the time?

The answers I've given are all true. And I guess the answers to your Justin questions are all, "Yes." I certainly wanted to get back at Amber for a host of things. Afterward, I felt terrible. It was a horrible lapse of judgment brought on by all those things, plus I was really horny.

Does it arouse you to know guys are jerking off to your stories?

Yes. But it's also gratifying to hear from the many women readers who feel liberated or justified by the blog and my sexual freedom, and the number of gay readers who come here.

What other lingerie do you like?

Stockings and garter belts; bustiers and corsets. Usually black. Sometimes white.

MORE QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS:

If you could turn back time, what would you change?

That's the kind of existential question I'd need time to think about. I'm happy with my life. I was very fortunate in my career. And I've had a wonderful lifetime of fucking!

Have you ever wanted to start a paid website with pics and vids of you?

No.

What's your style to "market" yourself for these sexy situations?

The unfair reality is that even an average-looking woman can get laid any time she wants to; that's not true of most men — some reach that point in their 30s, others never do.

I am outgoing and can converse on many levels. I can be flirty or stand-offish, depending on the situation and what I want. I show interest in others. And I was blessed with good emotional intelligence (as well as good taste in clothes and nice legs).

Do you fuck Asians?

You bet.

I'd like to ask if it's always the case whether you can feel a guy cumming inside of you. My girlfriend says she cannot feel it when I finish. I'm wondering what you've found to be true. Also, what does it feel like when a guys cums inside of you?

I can feel it: A wonderful pulse and gooey, warm sensation inside. But not all women can, based on girlfriend sex talk I've had. I think I have more nerves inside than most. And I love the feel of semen trickling (or cascading!) out of me afterward.

Which of your escapades is your favorite, the one that you think of over and over, that gets you wet, that you wish you could repeat? Why?

So many! Probably too many to count. I get pretty wet thinking about that night at the frat house, the sense of innocence, stupidity and intoxication that almost had me pulling a train. That's one.

All (sort of) about me

You're a curious bunch. I'll answer all the questions I received and keep updating this post as new queries come in.

Is your name really Linda Sue?

Yes

What do you look like?

I'm a natural titian redhead, 5'8", with perky small breasts and prominent, long nipples, a nice butt and long legs. My hair falls over my shoulders. Men love my pussy, which has large labia.

Do you like porn?

No. It doesn't do anything for me. And I wonder about the fetishes of younger men who spend a lot of time on porn sites. I don't have huge artificial breasts. I don't shave — love my natural red pubic hair. The idea of a guy coming on my face or slapping my butt while he fucks me doggy style are definite turn-offs. The shaved thing makes me wonder how much these men are after ten-year-old girls.

How old were you when you lost your virginity?

Nineteen

Do you prefer Wilson, Ed Brown or Baer?

These are guns, not porn stars, by the way. I liked the Special Forces Carry when I fired it. But prefer the Glock 23 or SIG Sauer P220

If your job is so sensitive, why have a blog?

I love sex. Maybe I'm rebellious. Maybe I am watching you.

Every try a strapon either giving or receiving?

Yes. I fucked a boyfriend with one. Receiving, not so much. I love the feeling of skin on a real penis.

Do you practice safe sex?

Hmmmmm. If it's a stranger, I use a condom, even though I hate them. I prefer men I know or have scoped out, professional, middle-to-upper middle class. It's no guarantee, but... I love to feel a naked cock in me and to feel semen shoot inside me.

Are you happy? Do you feel loved? Does it matter to you? What would the best night/day of your life look like?

Is that you, Mom? Yes, yes and yes. As to the last question, see the posts on this blog.

Do you always lie if a man asks you if his cock is big enough? Do you ever fake it?

I never lie because a man who knows how to use his cock is big enough (and I can teach him if he doesn't know). I have never faked an orgasm, but I come very easily.

Are the pictures on here really you? Right now are you shaved?

You know how I feel about shaved. Many of the pics are of me and lovers. Others were sent in by readers. You'll have to use your imagination. The profile pic is me.

Where in the crap have you been? Dont you know we use your adventures to jack off to?? GEEZ I love the old stories but need some new stuff! Bang your brother in law again or cruise a bar again (preferably in my town!!)

That's classified, dear.

Do you think you can suck two cocks simultaneously, and swallow both loads with no difficulty?

I could do it if the guys didn't get all weirded out about being gay because their cocks touched.

Do you believe the legend regarding Cleopatra performing fellatio on 100 Roman noblemen in one night?

I missed that in my classics classes. It's possible if she used the vomitorium.

What's your take on DPs and facials? Had one/looking forward to one?

A DP sounds uncomfortable and a facial is a total turnoff.

What's the biggest load you've ever seen a guy shoot? What was your reaction to it?

My ex-husband was a big commer: Big load and very strong stream. I LOVED it. I've also had lovers who pulled out and a long stream of semen trailed their cocks...big turnon.

Have you ever farted while having sex?

Yes, and had pussy farts during fast, hard doggy.

What does good foreplay consist of? Having your breasts sucked on and your pussy licked? Do you need to get warmed up before you want a cock in your mouth? Do you like when guys ask you where you want their hot load? In your pussy or your mouth?

Foreplay can include a sophisticated man who knows good wine, sparkling conversation and makes me laugh. Good kissing is essential foreplay. So is touching, kissing my neck and ears and belly. Sucking my breasts and licking my pussy are grand, too. I don't always need foreplay. And sometimes it's nice to be asked about their load, especially if they're panting and desperate.

Do you regret making the promise to answer all these questions?

Not yet.

What is the most taboo sexual experience you have had?

I've often sought out the taboo, so it's hard to say. Probably this one.

Ever had sex in a car?

I'm pretty tall. I've sucked cocks in a car, and had sex on the hood of a car.

Have you ever been married?

Yes, once.

How many lovers have you had?

Thirty eight. Add another ten or so that were just blow jobs.

Do you date people who email you from the blog?

No, sorry.

Ask away

I'm going to do a post answering your questions about...me.

Send me an email or use the comments section to ask anything. I'll answer in the next few days.

XOXOXO

Now it's your turn

My readers can write of some of the sexiest real-life carnal experiences. That's what I want now, based on the poll at the right. Use the comments section to tell us about your hottest, nastiest, most forbidden or kinkiest proudest conquest. Don't forget to add those details. As for you lurkers: Join in — nobody can tell who you are. That's what the "anonymous" button is for!

Linda Sue

Learning to juggle

I started masturbating at age thirteen (back off, pervs). It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Even though our family was very repressed -- I swear my parents only had sex three times, resulting in me and my two siblings -- I was fascinated by my body, its urges, the changes I felt coming over me, and the outside world saturated with sex. The bad girls in school fascinated me, even though I was, sadly, a very good girl. But late at night, when the house was quiet and dark, I would lie in bed and explore. When I accidentally found my clit and got my first baby orgasm, I was hooked. One night my mother burst into my room, as was her wont, and found her eldest daughter naked and spread wide, fiery pubic hair and all, hands down in private parts. I could see her blush even in the dark. She closed and door and stomped off, never saying a word.

I'd fantasize about guys and none more so than Steve. He was tall, with wavy dark hair and wine-dark eyes and that indefinable and unlearnable gift called "cool." In a high school of suburban achievers, he was a hood: ran with the wrong crowd, spent lots of time in the city, drank and dealt pot, rode a rice rocket and drove a hot car. And yet he was very funny and clever when he chose to be, much more mature in many ways. I had a monster crush on him even as I spent my senior year in a steady relationship with Mike. Steve was a year older and unapproachable (I didn't have the confidence I would later acquire, or realize the power of even average-looking women). Steve noticed me, especially when I wore my cheerleader outfit. But we barely knew each other. He was also pussynip in the way of certain dangerous guys and never lacked girlfriends. As I moved into cocksucking with Mike, keeping my virginity technically intact, sometimes I imagined I was fellating Steve the bad boy.

I went to Boston for my first year of college while Mike stayed in Seattle, attending school there. We visited each other and that summer I lost my virginity to him. No complaints there; he was the perfect starter boyfriend. Definitely cute and with a future. Other girls envied me. But one night at the supermarket, I ran into Steve. He knew my name. We talked and he asked me out. My panties were getting wet just standing there.

The next night I wore a little black dress and he wore torn jeans. He took me across the floating bridge into Seattle on his motorcycle, my dress flopping wildly and no doubt revealingly, my clit feeling the vibration of the bike, my arms wrapped around his muscular middle. We bar hopped through Pioneer Square, him drinking three beers for every one I sipped. When we ended up at his apartment in an old four-story brick building in an iffy neighborhood (now gentrified), it just seemed a given. He didn't ask my permission as he put his strong hands on my shoulders and guided me into his bedroom. It was little more than a futon on the floor with iffy sheets, but I was dizzy with arousal. We'd been making out in the bars and he was an incredible kisser, a little forbidden cigarette smoke on his breath.

I was soon down on the futon, my panties tossed aside, black dress still on and his dick pushing into my recently virginal pussy. My breath went out with an "oooph" and my pussy walls alternately opened and tightened. God, it felt good. My abstract brain was thinking: Moving very fast here...second lover in two months... The rest of me just wanted to be fucked, which Steve did expertly. He raised himself on his arms and danced his pelvis up and down, swiveling. This was definitely not Mike. I was moaning and having little orgasms when he came with a loud moan and collapsed on top of me, falling asleep. I just ran my hands through that dreamy hair and thought, wow. In an hour, he was ready again and I sucked him off. He recovered in no time and got the dress off, worked over my breasts and nipples and fucked me more.

That's how much of the summer went: juggling Steve and Mike. I felt guilty but always aroused. More than once I slept with one while the other's semen was inside me...I was a sore Susie some weekends. It was impossible not to compare the two, from anatomy to how they loved on me. Steve taught me to fuck with my legs over his shoulders, doggy style. He'd fuck me like I wasn't there, and then like I was the only woman in the world. It was a scary magnetism. Mike was solid and dependable, sweet. But there was the backbeat of expectations: come home and go to college here, visit his parents, get married, have kids. Steve didn't give a shit. He just wanted to fuck. Neither one lasted. I went back to Boston and entered a life that Mike couldn't have handled ("Sorry, Honey, it's classified. How was your day?"). I wasn't going to be Steve's biker chick, either. Last I heard, he was serving ten years for drug dealing. And Mike got married, had kids, got divorced, remarried. But sometimes, when the night is right and I see a couple of kids on a motorcycle, I think of Steve and he still thrills me.

Bitch

I go through extremely horny and wild times in my life. Sometimes I'm even placid and faithful after my fashion. And occasionally, rarely, I am very bitchy. This is an unusual condition for me, but it's where I've been in recent weeks.

Ever since Chad found his sweet-young-thing girlfriend, one who can accommodate his eleven-inch cock, he's changed. He still wants to come over and fuck me, of course. But he wants to talk about her. Lauren this and Lauren that. It would be one thing if he wanted to talk about their sex life. Instead, it's all relationship and even domestic stuff. I can see where this is headed and right now he's a taker. I don't mind sexual takers, to an extent, if they have something else to offer. But this blechy lovie-dovie shit. Spare me.

So Chad was talking and we were going through a bottle of wine. Then he wanted to fuck. He led me back to the bedroom and, a rarity for me, I was just not in the mood. We joylessly stripped by the bed — he's feeling guilty, no doubt — and climbed in. Few preliminaries. He didn't get his cock sucked and didn't seem to notice the signal. I lay down and just let him fuck me, let him do the work. You want to marry this solipsistic girl, get ready for this kind of sex...until the kids come, then no sex. As usual, he got about two-thirds inside me, and it felt great (I'd be a liar if I didn't admit it). I got wetter and wetter, the sounds of cock, pussy and pussy juice in the room.

Then I just opened my legs wider, put my feet on the mattress and started fucking him back, doing my oscillating pelvis move. He comes in less than thirty seconds. I came like I did early in college, which is not much.

"God, that was great!," he said, dismounting. He still doesn't know to wait a while before pulling out. The emptiness he left matched my mood.

"Now," I said, "leave and go home to Lauren."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Work is very intense and high-stakes right now, and every few months an old lover comes through town. Until then, I'm just going to be a bitch. And sometimes I'll be a really horny bitch, especially right before my period. Forgive me.

Dresses I've known (and been known in) Part II

My friend Pam and I were very, very bad a couple of times in college, miniskirt-wise. We put on our sexiest short skirts and found places to sit while doing a "Sharon Stone" leg crossing as men walked by. Then we'd be bitchy cold if they tried to hit on us. Oh, did I say we weren't wearing panties — and with my titian red pubic hair the view up my skirt was unmistakable. No, horny guy, you didn't just imagine that. I have to say, we looked great. That happens when one is twenty. Afterward, we'd be so damned horny that we'd either end up in bed with each other, or have to go off and find our boyfriends of the moment and get some hard fucking. And they thought we were so aroused and came so fast because they were such studs.

Being out in public with no underwear and in a short skirt, too, was an amazing sensory feeling. The fingers of warm summer air tickling up my legs and into my pussy. Nothing between me and the outside world. My long legs, all 5'8" of me ("five-six of that legs," as my ex-husband said) striding through nature oh-so-naturally. Liberating, yes. A turn-on — most definitely. Especially with the eyes on me. I knew what they were thinking, and what if they knew those long legs led up to no panties...

This little adventure was quite the drive into Nasty County for a girl who was still shaking off her uptight, anti-sex, theocratic upbringing. On the other hand, it had risks. Boston then wasn't as gentrified as today, and the hoods were abundant. One day we did our beaver show off campus and a gang of five tough, working-class Irish kids started following us. This was long before I knew martial arts, much less carried a weapon. We were terrified. We gave them the slip at Downtown Crossing. Otherwise, I could imagine being dragged back to Southie or Dorchester for a couple of days of gang rape. Doing this to what they perceived as stuck-up, upper-class college girls would have only added to the allure, and probably brutality. The public defender would have said we were "asking for it." Twenty, cute and stupid. This scared us out of going commando so flagrantly. But I still do it occasionally still. (Pam is now a suburban mommie who wears long jumpers -- sigh).

Short skirts provoked so many consensual fuckings. In recent years, a long-distance lover checked into a hotel and I knocked on his door. I had on a tight, mid-calf skirt. Tasteful but men noticed, especially "leg men." It got his attention. He pulled me inside. After about ten minutes of the most divine kissing and embracing, he steered me into the nearby bathroom, hiked me up on the vanity, pulled his cock out of his suit-trousers and started fucking me. My panties never even made it past one ankle. They shook there like a little storm flag as he frantically screwed me. After we both came and disengaged, his semen spilled onto the inside of the skirt's fabric.

Oh, if I had ten dollars for every time that's happened in my life, or sperm otherwise ended up on one of my short skirts. That cool liquid feeling against the backs of my thighs as I drove home from an interlude. Those skits made for great "access" during college for outdoor and quasi-public sex. A guy fucked me on the hood of his fancy car one night, out on a country road. My khaki miniskirt pushed up to my waist and the breeze wafted over my legs and ass as he mounted me. We left heel and knee prints in the hood, and I bet they would hear me screaming that singular getting-fucked scream a mile away. Another guy pushed me up against a railing at a deserted ocean overlook and took me from behind, just pushing aside the thong I was wearing under the short skirt. I looked out at the waves and somehow that made my orgasm more intense.

A boyfriend in grad school and I were on the train. I was in a denim mini. He just kept reaching over and fingering me. I almost came and was starting to moan when the conductor started through the car and I moved his sweet hand. My first married man lover took me out to a fancy restaurant. I was wearing my first little black dress. He sat across from me and I felt his stocking foot against my calves. Pretty soon it was up inside my crotch expertly "fingering" me. He got quite a kick out of watching me flush and stifle moans while he looked on with great innocence. The toe of his socks ended up quite damp.

And that leaves the grand history of Linda Sue in little black dresses...for another day.

The limits of kink

Because some of you asked...here's what happened with Chris and me after our visit with his swinger friends. He was very messed up after his cocksucking episode. His usual dry wit and conversation turned into sullenness and long quiet periods staring at nothing. I could sympathize, remembering both the first time a boy had come in my mouth: the surprise, the feel and taste...and recalling the first time a man held my head down and pumped his semen into my mouth. Despite my efforts to draw him out about it, he didn't want to talk.

This from my friend who had been happy to arrange for a "strangers" gangbang (see here and here and here) for Linda Sue, and who reveled in seeing me make love with a woman. He also enjoyed my college tales about my first girl-love, Pam. Plainly the whole goose-gander equation was out of whack.

I never sensed Chris had a limit to his kink, but guys are different. It's one thing to see girls doing each other, maybe even being "bi-curious," as the ads say. Obviously it's another to do the deed in real life. For the rest of the visit, Chris seemed out to prove something. Every time we fucked, he gave it to me as hard as possible, often uncomfortably so. He wouldn't let me go down on him. And I haven't heard from him since he left.

Still, I have this delightful mental image of his expression as he was sucking Andrew's large, thick cock and then faced the moment of truth: ejaculation! Chris was a swallower. I was proud of him. And I think deep down, he liked it. If I were more adventurous, I might go back on my own. But I live on the edge enough.

Dresses I've known (and been known in) Part I

My sister Amber got the tits in the family. Men still stare at her chest, making her uncomfortable. I got the legs and ass, learning early that men paid attention. I always favored miniskirts as a result, despite my mother's contention that I dressed like a "harlot." My dresses have so many stories to tell. Here are a few.

My cheerleader outfit. Our high school had traditional sweaters and short-pleated skirts. Nothing as revealing as today, but to my mind more sexy. It was all about legs. On game days I would wear my cheer outfit through the school day to bring the team luck. I also noticed that more than one boy would be staring at me with a tent rising in his pants. One night after a game, I was outside the school when one of my father's friends pulled up and offered me a ride home. I sat into the plush leather of his Mercedes and we drove off. He was a physician and a member of our church, and pretty soon he was expertly running his hand along my thigh. I didn't make him stop. It felt amazing, every nerve in my body shimmering right into my pussy. I could smell my scent and was so wet I worried about his car seat. We pulled over and he pulled me into him and kissed me. It was a deep, full adult kiss, very different from the awkward smooches I had received from my boyfriend. He moved his hand up the inside of my thigh but was foiled by the tight shorts underneath. So all he could do was finger me through the fabric as we made out — I still had a baby orgasm. He unzipped his pants and his erect penis popped out. My mouth wanted it, pure instinct taking over. But I was afraid, so I just stoked it awhile. Then he drove me home. I didn't know how I felt about the whole thing, still being somewhat in thrall of my family's sexual hangups. I was still a virgin. So I felt guilty and avoided him. When he was around my dad, like a lot of dad's friends, he often had those hungry eyes on me.

I never had sex in the cheerleader outfit when I was a cheerleader. But I kept it, and can still fit into it. It's seen me through many a burn-the-paint-off-the-walls role play.


Denim and khaki skirts. I wore these quite a bit in college during the spring and summer. Most were about mid-thigh, a few shorter. I can't count the number of times a boy or man said, "leave it on," as he fucked me. One at a bar whispered that he's love to see that miniskirt crumpled on the floor at the foot of his bed. I didn't go home with him, but I became aroused anyway, corny line and all. As I recall, I had on a khaki mini the night I barely escaped a gang bang at the frat house. Another one was on the night I was drunk out of my mind and was basically raped by a stranger. Not so good. But it didn't stop me from showing leg. Once I was walking down a street and caused a wreck — a man was watching my saucy walk and my legs and rear-ended an SUV.

In college, the boys were very insistent, lacking any real seduction skills or willingness to let things unfold. They loved to dance or stand at the bar, running a hand inside the hem of my skirt, trying to get inside my panties. Sometimes I stopped them. But for the boys I chose to sleep with, the miniskirt — me in the mini — was definitely "the point of entry" in the attraction. They'd hump me in that endearingly demanding way of young men, but almost always asking me to rub my legs against them, or wrap my legs around them. I didn't need any coaxing, because I loved it, too. And at 5'8", I can do a good job of leg wrapping.

I played tennis for awhile, something expected at my expensive school back east. Oh, I loved that white tennis dress. Virgin-whore, whatever. It made me feel sexy. More than one player's game was destroyed by watching me walk by. I was no Steffi Graf on the court, but I could outfuck her in bed, I bet. One boyfriend played with me regularly, and our games invariably ended back at his place with me being fucked in my tennis whites. One time he fucked me on the grass in a secluded (we thought) spot. I never got those grass stains out.