My first time, part two

My first big cock: The average erect penis is from 4.7 to 6.3 inches and that's been my experience. It all matters in how you use it, guys. A man with a big cock can be fabulous if he is a skilled lover. On the other hand, I've had some average men who were among my best because of the same abilities.

My first experience with size was mixed at best. A fraternity brother had led me to the basement during a party and we fucked. I was still lying, miniskirt hiked up, there trying to catch my breath when another shape appeared, unzipped his pants and displayed the biggest cock I'd yet seen.

He climbed on and pushed in. Between pussy juice and the cum in me I was thankfully well lubed. It still hurt for several minutes, then felt better, then really good. After he was done, I saw a line of guys waiting their turn, grabbed my clothes and ran out.

My first anal sex: I know you guys have been waiting for this. Lots of men had wanted to take me in the ass but I held off until I was married. I didn't have many "firsts" I could offer my husband, but this was a big one.

"I want you to fuck me in the ass," I said during a lovemaking session. He got out KY and put me on my knees.

First he entered by pussy and fucked me slow and sweet. I felt his finger slide into my anus, syncopating with his cock moving in and out of my pussy. Then two fingers. Finally, he pulled out and rested the head of his penis against my perineum, then slowly entered me. "Am I hurting you?" he asked. "No," I said, although it was uncomfortable as he fucked me.

I didn't come from this but it was still thrilling, especially thinking of what my uptight family would think of their little cheerleader honor student getting it up the ass. "You're a very naughty girl, Linda," my husband panted, instinctively understanding. He had a violent orgasm and I felt him shooting in me. He stayed there until he went flaccid and we showered together.

My first public sex: This is a tough one. The summer I lost my virginity, I cheated on my sweet boyfriend with a bad boy from high school on whom I'd had a crush. One night we drove into the country and he fucked me on the hood of his muscle car.

It was wildly erotic to be outside, the breeze running across my legs, my moans and screams out there wafting into the woods. But nobody was there. He said he would never get the dents removed from his hood.

The first "official" time was when I was having an affair with one of my professors — common then, but a fireable offense in our neo-Puritan age.

Believe me, I was not being taken advantage of. Anyway, it was winter and the sun had set early. I went down on him and sucked his cock a long time. Then I sat on his desk and he fucked me. After, I saw that a crowd had gathered at a window of a nearby building and had seen the whole thing. They applauded. I smiled and curtsied. My lover was mortified and always closed the blinds after that.

Girl love I

Readers want to know about my experiences in tongue-worshipping. Here's a quick rundown:

Pam was my first. She was my suite-mate for a year in college. In a world of Courtneys, Amandas, Ambers, Tiffanys and Jennifers, we were Xers with baby boomer names. We always got along well and talked about guys incessantly. I was just getting started. Pam had been hooking up since she was 15, so I knew she was way ahead of me. Looks: She had the most lovely straight blond hair, angel face and tight body to die for.

One night, we had both been dumped by guys we were seeing and sitting on the sofa commiserating over a bottle of wine. She leaned over and kissed me. I can't say I had ever been sexually attracted to a woman before, but when her warm, soft mouth connected with mine it all changed. I didn't pull back. Pretty soon, we were in a mad makeout session and she was fingering my (very wet) pussy.

I was a virgin this way but always up for a challenge, so I undressed her and got on my knees. Her pussy was an "inny" with a very light dusting of pubic hair. She was extremely wet, too, and I loved her scent. I no doubt clumsily parted her outer lips to find a sweet pink blossom waiting for my tongue. It took her a long time to heat up to a full orgasm — she warned me. But, no problem. I was turned on and fascinated and licked away. She stroked my hair and called out my name until she was grinding her pelvis into my face. Then she let out this long, low moan and came. She returned the favor in the bedroom. "You have a beautiful pussy," she said, the first time I had ever heard that. She was aroused by my natural red hair, too. Pam had made love to other girls and her expertise was immediately evident. My previous lovers had given perfunctory licks, if that, before mounting me and pumping away for their own pleasure.

Pam took her time, kissing the insides of my legs, working her tongue all around my labia and inside me, then licking my clitoris with ever-increasing pressure. My feet were burning and I lost track of everything not connected to her tongue and my pussy. She held my hands tight as I let out scream after scream. It was my first mature orgasm. I thought later, "Wow! So that's an orgasm." Before that, I realized, I had baby orgasms from fingering myself or being fucked by some muscular, in-a-hurry young man. But nothing like this.

We held each other all night, in-between more of this wonderful new thing in my life. She sat on my face and we sixty-nined, both firsts for me. The next morning, I didn't feel any guilt, just extra horniness. For the rest of the year, we continued dating guys but also periodically ending up in bed together. I still get aroused thinking of her flawless skin and lovely hair. She's married with children now, but we still stay in touch.

After that, while I preferred men, I knew I could enjoy girl-love, too. And how.

Cape Cod memories

Work just took me to Cape Cod. It was wintery and icy, with the ocean the color of lead. Despite this, the landscape brought back an amazing sense memory. I was 21, in college in Boston, with long red hair and, as a girlfriend said, a body to die for. In the late spring, a boyfriend and I spent a long weekend on the Cape. Everything was blooming and the sea was a deep blue, mirroring the cloudless sky. It wasn’t crowded with tourists yet, just enough people that things didn’t seem as desolate as the past few days in real time. He was tall, dark, athletic build, magical mind. He had dark, curly hair and a dick with a thick shaft and small head, which created an interesting sensation when he was inside me. We took a bag of books to read but ended up fucking what seemed the entire three days. I don’t think I read a thing.

The “tone” of the trip was set when we found a secluded beach, laid down a blanket and screwed. I had on a denim miniskirt, and he – a great kisser, this one – laid next to me and kissed my lips, face and neck while his fingers found their way inside my panties. By the time he pulled them off, they were wet and I was panting. He stripped off his jeans and slipped inside, riding me at an easy pace even though I was already moaning loudly, right on the edge of coming. The nature all around, from the sea bird calls to the breeze to the openness of the terrain only added to the arousal. My skirt was hiked up on my hips and he raised my legs over this shoulders and really started fucking me. The feeling of his balls against my hips was incredible. I came with a scream, which only added to his momentum. He moaned, shuddered and collapsed on top of me. We held each other with the ardent passion that only comes with youth and then laid side-by-side, staring up at the puffy clouds that had started to roll by. It didn’t take him long to get hard again, and I gave him a long blowjob; it certainly wasn’t given with the skill I later learned, but he didn’t complain. Those young balls gave me a nice full load that spurted all the way into my throat.

Later, we checked into a bed-and-breakfast and became notorious. As you know, dear reader, I am loud when I make love. It only took a couple of hours before there was a knock at the door and the yuppie-matronly owner told us to quiet down. Did I see a little smile in her eye? After that, I tried the “don’t wake the children” style that I imagine parents must learn, stifling my moans by biting my lower lip, and eventually screaming into a pillow as he was fucking me hard from behind. Oh, he wanted to fuck my virgin asshole, but I wouldn’t let him.

We ate lobster in Provincetown (I still have a picture of us wearing bibs and looking goofy). We were, ahem, in the minority as a straight couple. He dared me to pick up a girl at one of the bars, but I was too chicken then — even though I’d crossed that slutty threshold with Pam. It was tempting, though, and only added to the sexual vibe. I challenged him to pick up a guy; men were already eyeing him. "See how they're looking at your crotch?" I teased. He got all discombobulated, as men usually do, and refused.

The last morning, we made slow love in the bed of our notorious lodgings. Missionary style. My knees up and against him, and then my legs and feet resting against the backs of his thighs. The windows were open, birds were singing, and a cool breeze caressed our naked bodies. After he came and lay next to me, I thought: Could life get any better? Now I think, Was I ever that young? Back to the present, one night I did stop at a bar in Provincetown for a light dinner and a martini. I had a long talk with a woman next to me: Short blond hair, sweetheart face, buff body, about my age. As closing time approached, we made out a little — she had a snaky, inviting tongue — and she invited me to her house. I demurred. There’s a lot of truth to the old saw: What does a lesbian bring on the second date? A U-Haul. And I wasn’t looking to be her wife. Anyway, I was on the job.

A cock in the hand

A reader wants my take on hand jobs. "I'm interested in any story with a big cock, a lot of cum, or just about anything that strikes you. Needless to say, detail would be much appreciated." And, "PS, Have you ever caught a guy masturbating? If so, a story about that would be fantastic as well." You know me. I love to be of service, and serviced.

Hand jobs aren't my kink. Still, there's something wonderful about making out with a guy and feeling his erection through his pants. Then slipping my hand inside his fly and stroking his cock. I've stroked men through their suit slacks in fancy bars, and done it under the table of four-star restaurants with my foot. If it's a new lover it's like (I think I've written before) opening a Christmas present. Cocks are hard, yet their skin is so preternaturally soft. I do love to stroke a cock as he kisses me, or fingers me. I only had one bad experience this way when I reached inside and found a skinny, three-inch penis. Since he was married anyway, I just ended things after the make-out session.

I did a good deal of hand jobs in high school, when I was keeping my virginity by jerking off my boyfriend (and a couple of other dates, too), before I graduated to blow jobs. Those early memories of the first time I felt a cock in my hand are still arousing. Boyfriend came the first time after I ran my hand up and down his penis maybe half a dozen times, leaving a huge stream of semen all over his pants, steering wheel and, of course, my hand. It was the volume and power of an ejaculation that only a seventeen-year-old boy could have. We were both surprised as hell! It was cool, white and sticky, stringy and unlike anything I had ever experienced. I wasn't adventurous enough then to lick it all up, but I did take a little taste off my finger — and I was addicted to semen ever since. After that, he always wanted me to jerk him off, since I was saving my cherry. After I started sucking cock and fucking, the hand job alone lost its allure.

There was one exception. I had a fling with a very well-endowed man. His cock was so thick he couldn't get it inside me. He called himself "Foster" because he claimed his penis was the size of one of those big Aussie beer cans. It wasn't quite that thick, but I just couldn't take him in my little pussy. So I gave him several hand jobs, sometimes as part of fellatio, sometimes just with my hand. His cock was shaped like a missile, with a smaller head than the shaft. His balls held plenty of white stuff and I loved making a mess.

As for catching someone in the act, when I was fourteen I walked in on my brother as he was masturbating. I almost immediately closed the door, but the image was burned in my brain. He was surrounded by porn magazines and frantically running his hand up and down his cock. I was horrified but also a little turned on. I did my own masturbating in my room; more than once my mom threw open the door and gave me a long lecture about how "that" would give me diseases, how "that" was the devil's work. She should have seen her son.

Once I was drunk in college and went back to my boyfriend's place late. We smoked some dope and listened to music. Then ended up fucking a long time on the floor while his room-mate was supposedly passed out on the sofa. But as I was riding my lover I noticed movement, and the roomie was jerking off while watching us. I caught his eye, then he immediately pretended to me asleep. I had a major orgasm, right then, stifling myself in boyfriend's shoulder. Back then I was still too repressed to have invited the room-mate to join in. But as I lay there panting, I looked over and saw that he had come, too. And he was licking his sperm off his hand! By this time, he wasn't even faking sleep. He grinned at me lasciviously. A few days later, we were fucking on the same sofa, while boyfriend was away.

I had to hand it to him.

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.

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.

Earning extra credit

I've been reading the book, The Death of American Virtue, about the Clinton impeachment. Back in college I had my own Monica Lewinsky moment. I was having an affair with one of my professors. A very nice man, who is a well-regarded scholar at an elite university in the northeast -- I'll leave it at that. He was married, of course, and old enough to be my dad. But he was incredible horny and good in bed.

In one of our sessions, we got a motel room and he had just sat on the bed when I dropped to my knees, unzipped his pants, and watched his cock spring out at the ready. I took him in my mouth and spent a long time licking, teasing and sucking. I was still perfecting my techniques. He wasn't complaining at all. Sometimes I would look up at him and smile while I kept jerking him off, then I would go back to earning extra credit. On this occasion, he came suddenly. I felt a little salty, bitter come on my tongue, then came a big spurt of stringy semen. I wasn't ready for it and gagged, pulling away. A viscous white string connected my mouth to his cock head and soon landed on my blouse. I picked up some of it with my fingers and swallowed it, trying to look sultry. But sure enough, I went back to my dorm with a big come stain on between my breasts. My roommate Pam smiled...she knew what it meant. And it sure wasn't, "I spilled a milkshake." It wasn't a blue dress, but, hey...

Another time, I came to class wearing a very short khaki miniskirt, no panties, and sitting in the front row. It was a lecture hall with raised seating for the students, so he could see all the way to Omaha when I opened and crossed my legs, which I did several times. At first, he grew red in the face, and I could tell he was growing elsewhere. Usually, he liked to walk around as he lectured. This time, he stayed safely behind the podium.

Afterwards, he said, "Linda, I need to see you in my office." So I obligingly went with him. Once the door was closed, he nearly threw me against the wall, smothering me with kisses, his hard cock pressing against me from inside his pants. I was already wet and could smell my pussy.

He put his hands on my waist and lifted me on his desk. I was still fully clothed, but the skirt had already ridden up and I opened my legs. I heard his pants unzip and his cock pushed inside me. He fucked me like a maniac, my legs wrapped around him, his hands firmly on my back. Panting in my ear, "Linda...God!...You feel so good!" He lasted maybe two minutes but it was enough for both of us to come. He held me and kissed me, whispering my name...so adult. And his cock finally slipped out of me. His semen and my pussy juice had mingled to make a nice stain on his blotter. But there was also a wet, white stain all over the front of his pants. He had been so eager to fuck me that he hadn't even pulled down his pants.

It was only then that we saw the group of young men and one woman in the adjoining building watching us. Nothing ever came, so to speak, of that public sex. As for how he explained the stain on his trousers to wifey...I never found out.

The stranger

I see from the most recent poll that quite a few of you have a secret fantasy to be taken roughly by a stranger. I'll tell you a story I've never told before, and you can decide if it would really be for you. This is definitely not the Harlequin romance "rape" fantasy carried around by some women.

I was 20, naive and stupid, and I hadn't learned how to fight. In other words, I couldn't control a "rough taking" for my own purposes, as I have sometimes done later. It was a typical late spring Saturday night in college, bar-hopping with girlfriends, cockteasing, drinking. I vividly remember everything, right down to what I was wearing: a khaki miniskirt and tight olive-green top, braless. I had a boyfriend at the time, but had gone out with some female friends. We were in one of the bars near campus; it was late and we were flirting with some of the louts from town. They desperately wanted to fuck us, and quietly hated us because they thought we felt we were above them (and we were). Still, there was much laughing, touching, propositioning...my pal Heather was giving each man a kiss after she did a shot of Jager.

I broke off to go pee. The bar had two unisex bathrooms with locks on the doors. I waited for a girl to finish in one and went in, starting to close the door behind me.

I never got that far.

A man was right behind me and pushed me inside, locking the door behind us. I let out a shriek but it was drowned out by the band. He was only a little taller than me, but very muscular and stocky, with skin so black it shone. I barely had noticed him hovering on the edge of our little group out at the bar. He was very drunk and I smelled the beer and cigarettes on his breath as he shoved me against the wall and mashed his mouth against me, pushing a thick, long tongue between my teeth. I flailed my arms ineffectually as he pulled up my top and roughly sucked on my nipples.

I was pinned and knew I was in real trouble, and my mind wasn't really working. Was I being raped? The thought never really came into play. Everything was overwhelmed by this masculine force and the primal insistence on what he wanted. He pushed me hard against the wall as he grabbed at my legs, fondling me under my skirt, getting big fingers under my panties.

Then I was spun hard toward the sink, barely reaching out to grab on before I ended up on the floor. I stared at the dirty porcelain as I felt my panties being literally ripped off. Then the hem of my miniskirt was pushed up on my hips and I was forced forward. His strong legs spread me almost like a cop ready to perform a frisk -- but that wasn't what he was about. A voice in my head: "You're going to get fucked..." And then, over the music, he yelled the exact words, adding some choice misogynistic terms.

He stood close behind me. Then there was a sudden, searing pain in my pussy. I didn't even have time to feel his cock about to enter me. The air was knocked out of me and I felt my pussy walls straining to fit him. I wasn't even very wet at that moment -- and I was wet almost all the time back in those days. It took several strokes before the lubrication made it easier, but he was hung and fucked like a thug. Hard and fast and like I wasn't even there. I was bent forward, heaving out with every stroke, but his strong grip was on my hips and there was always another "in" stroke coming. Sometimes it went painfully up to my cervix. I was completely in his control. I felt like his cock was so thick it would split me, a feeling that only gradually eased as I got dripping wet and my pussy changed to accommodate such a big one. I looked down and saw his pants at his ankles, undulating on the floor to his movements inside me.

I hung onto the edges of the sink and looked up to see my face, grimacing with each pounding of his shaft. Behind me, he looked smug and angry as he fucked me standing up, his mouth half open, grinning when he saw me watching us. My little skirt was hiked high and the black of his hands were amazing in contrast to the peaches-and-cream paleness of my ass. I had a little orgasm in spite of myself, which just made him fuck me more roughly.

Just as the band finished the set the room was silent enough for me to hear him grunt loudly, and I felt several spurts of semen going deep into me. Thank God I was on the pill. He kept fucking me, slower now, for several minutes, and I think he even came again. By this time my forehead was down on my arm, my eyes closed. I didn't want to look.

He pulled out as roughly as he had entered. As he pulled up his pants, I got a look at his big cock, with little ridges and swirls of our white juices on it. Even deflating, it was the biggest one I had seen so far. Then he opened the door, showing me still proned out over the sink, my legs opened, cum starting to run down my leg. I could hear his buddies applauding and knew they were debating whether to come in and take turns. Somehow I got enough strength to slam the door and lock it. I sat on the toilet and watched his semen dribble out. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel. Angry? Guilty? I mostly felt numb, and very sore. Later, as I walked back to my dorm -- my ripped panties gone, he took them as a trophy -- he kept dribbling out of me, down my shaking legs.

I was raped then and now I'd cut his balls off with a combat knife. But I'd be a liar if I didn't admit to looking back on that encounter and feeling a little aroused by the memory. People are weird that way. And as some readers have told me, I do have a latent submissive side.

That secret college lover that the good girl never discussed

I've left up the poll on college sex experiences to savor. What a delicious variety! You already know about many of my coed dalliances.

One of my coleagues is named Susan. She's a little older, but is still gorgeous, with cute-short blond hair, Ivory soap girl skin and, from what I can tell, a killer body, with very firm, perfect breasts. Gradually, she's opened up and we've traded stories. I put in the category about only having sex with your steady -- except for that secret one-night-stand -- because of her inspiration. It took some doing, time and bottles of wine, but here's Susan's college story, as told to Linda Sue.

I grew up in a very straight-laced family in the South. Dad was a church elder. You get the idea. I was a good girl. I was going steady with a guy who was a year older; we met in high school. But it wasn't until I was nineteen and a freshman in college that we went all the way and I lost my virginity. Rob was a very nice young man, but...a little boring. We were both going to the same nearby state university, and it was just assumed we would soon marry after graduation. But, in my way, I already knew I wanted out of there. Southern girls don't rebel -- at least in my experience. So I guess I acted out.

There was Steve. I'd had a crush on him in high school: he was tall, broad shouldered, with dark wavy hair. He made me wet and flushed feeling -- it was so embarrassing. But he was one of the school "hoods" -- rode a motorcycle, not going to college, close to the drug dealers if not one of them, and working class. We were very much middle class, with dad being a prosperous businessman. To date Steve would have been impossible.

But after having lost it with Rob, a few months later I ran into Steve in a store. He asked me out and I accepted. I just did it. I couldn't believe I had done such a thing. My pussy almost gushed into my panties as I said yes. I was going steady with Rob, of course. But there I was. So Steve takes me to a movie and after drives me back to the dorm. We get into a heavy makeout session in his car. I step out and walk back to the dorm in a comatose horny state. I can't think of anything else. I had reached down and felt his hard cock being restrained by the fabric of his pants. My nipples ached they were so hard.

Later that night he calls and we talk awhile, and he tells me to come over to his apartment. Again, totally out of character, I did it. We were all over each other before he even closed the door. He was a great kisser and very strong. He guided me into the bedroom and had my clothes off in a flash. I protested a little, but he was going to have his way with me. And I was turned on by this. Intellectually, it made no sense. But it was a huge attraction, this man I had wanted just taking me. He also kept calling me "Susie." I was always "Susan," nothing else, a quick little bitch to correct people. But when Steve called me "Susie," it just fed my lust. He dropped his pants and kicked them off. His cock was larger than Rob's and it wobbled enticingly as he moved.

I started to caress it and try out my very rudimentary skills in fellatio, but he pushed me down on the bed and was on top of me in a flash. I reached down and guided his cock inside me. I was very tight, but also very wet and he skillfully took his time pushing inside until he was in to the hilt. I was already gasping and moaning and bucking against him. This little voice inside me was saying, "Wow, I have the second cock of my life inside me now -- two in one year, and I was supposed to be faithful and settle down with Rob...even my parents would have been shocked to know Rob and I had done it. That voice didn't last. Steve just overwhelmed me with his physicality. He was very athletic, a much better lover than I had experienced. He was also kind of rough and dominant. Again, this was a turn on. Pretty soon he had my legs up over his shoulders -- an incredible new feeling. He fucked me a long time, and I had my first vaginal orgasm. Then he let out a loud cry and I could feel his big cock pumping semen into my recently virginal pussy.

We made love three more times until it was time for me to go to class. I was fucked doggy for the first time. Even with a shower, his come was running out of me all the next day. I had a date with Rob that night. Although I'm sure I acted strangely, we ended up screwing, too. It was quite a letdown. In two days, two different men. Not exactly church conversation.

Steve was my secret lover for the next three months. I argued with myself about it being wrong, about the need to confess. I never did. More time than I can remember, I went from one man to the other's place with semen in my pussy. Steve would fuck me roughly, in all sorts of positions, giving me these blowout orgasms; Rob would make love to me sweetly and innocently. Steve really knew how to drive me crazy sucking my tits, and he taught me how to give killer blowjobs. I still remember how big and impressive his balls were. I learned how to tease him, then really bring him off in my mouth. Or just give a quick but satisfying blowjob out in the car. Rob benefited from my learning. Steve always gave me this thrilling sense of being an outlaw...ironic considering my eventual career.

Steve knew I was still going with Rob, but didn't really care. I was a college girl, and he knew it had no future. But what fun we had, and made even more so by its illicit nature. The two worlds of Rob and Steve were so separate, I never really worried about getting caught. I broke it off and we had one more great fuck. After graduation, Rob and I married, as expected. But I knew it was a mistake even as I walked down the aisle. We divorced six years later and I left the South for good.

For years, I kept Steve as my little secret. The outward me certainly stayed pretty straight-laced -- only five lovers in forty years. But I'll never forget my "hood."

Open thread: The things we've done under the influence

What I've done while tipsy. Well, I got into a submissive fling with a much younger man (read about it here, here, and here). I had my first sexual experience with a girl. I fucked my bother-in-law. Drunken little slut.

As Dorothy Parker said, "I love a dry martini, two at the most. Three, I'm under the table. Four, I'm under the host."

When I was 20 and still fairly inexperienced, I had a doozy boozy experience. For years, I had noticed how my dad's buddies had their eyes on me. For a long time, I thought it was because I was ugly or funny looking. Hey, I was naive. Anyway, by 20 I was savvy enough to know what it meant. Once I accompanied my father to a dinner/springtime party for the large company where he worked. I wore a little black dress and was already looking for trouble.

As soon as we got there, I ran into my dad's golfing buddy Chuck. He had long "appreciated" me. Buff and tan, he was a surgeon and private pilot, very cocky, very married. He steered me over to the bar and bought me my first martini. Back then, like any college kid, I liked beer or sweet drinks. But I wanted to appear sophisticated. We stood against the wall and talked. Soon Mrs. Chuck -- Diane -- drifted over and joined the conversation, staring daggers at me. She was a pretty blonde -- but an young attractive woman is a destabilizing threat to any wife with half a brain. We talked, time passed and all of us went to circulate elsewhere.

Half an hour later, Chuck found me on the terrace of the country club, bored out of my skull by these old fogies. He brought another martini, and I drank it. He was very attractive, and I felt the innate competitiveness now with Diane, and I drank way too fast as he asked me about college and whatever... Pretty soon, I excused myself to go to the restroom. When I came out, there was the buff surgeon, standing in the hall. He took me by the arm and led me into an unoccupied ballroom.

We came together like matter in some physics experiment -- and, wow, being kissed by an older, experienced man was so much better than making out with some college guy. He just ravished me with kisses on my mouth, neck... I was ravenously horny as he put me on a table, hiked up my legs and pulled down my panties. He went down on me and I thought I would come right then -- but he was good; he just kept me hovering on the edge of orgasm. I kept ineffectually reaching for his pants, and soon he complied. Dropping them and his boxers, as he slid his cock inside my dripping pussy. I gasped from the moment he entered, and he fucked me with sure, rhythmic strokes. It didn't take long before I exploded, screaming...I couldn't help it.

He was still standing, fucking me on the table. "God, you're so tight," he gasped. He fucked me expertly, through a couple more orgasms, but I could tell he was about to come, too. "Are you on the pill?" he breathed. "Unh-huh," I managed to get out, and he came inside me, shuddering, moaning...hell, he was going to come inside me whether I was on the pill or not, he was so far gone. I felt his come shoot in me, and he held me close for a long time, stroking my hair, telling me how beautiful I was.

We put ourselves back together -- having left a massive come stain on the table cloth. About fifteen minutes later, I was back with dad, but still watching Chuck across the room. He was talking to this or that bigwig, smiling like a man who had just fucked the sweet young thing he had lusted after for years. Then Diane came up, smiled sweetly and pulled on his tie, as if to pull him down to kiss him. A second after their faces met, she slapped him so hard I could hear it across the noisy room. She had smelled my sweet pussy odor on Chuck's face.

By that point, I was drinking Diet Coke.

My high school fellatio class

It's my regular Wednesday post on my sister site, The Fellatrices. Today I confess all about how I kept my virginity in high school...technically. Hope mom isn't reading.

The tasty world of high school 'relief sessions'

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!

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?

More college tales: Fun in the dorm

Another college memory for you...

Mike (No. 1) and I thought we had his dorm room to ourselves one night. After we made love, we fell asleep in each other's arms in the little bed. Sometime after midnight, Mike's roommate came back, stripped and turned down the other bed. This wasn't supposed to happen! They had an agreement as to who got the room on certain nights. But there he was...

Mike was sleeping the sleep of the well-fucked, but I'm a light sleeper and my eyes came open. The roommate was blond, very tall and I couldn't help noticing he had a very large cock poking out of dusty blond pubic hair. It was semi-erect. He was much bigger than my (at that point only) boyfriend.

It was pretty dim in the room and he couldn't tell I was awake and watching. It was a warm spring night and I barely had the sheet on me, so he got a nice view of me. I was younger, still somewhat fucked up about sex...but I was afraid to even move to cover up...and I was fascinated. The roommate kind of wobbled over, obviously drunk, and checked me out. His cock was right by my face and it started to get hard, not only longer but thicker. I could have raised my head and taken it in my mouth. My pussy was drenching. Then he went over to his bed and got in.

Eventually I fell asleep, but then I felt myself being caressed and kissed and a body easing its way between my legs. I was sleepy and my eyes were closed. I kept them that way, remembering the arousing sight of the roommate. A penis slid inside me and I gasped, then tried to keep quiet as I was fucked. It felt so damned good. I pulled my knees up, then wrapped my legs around his torso. It was Mike of course.

I opened my eyes and smiled at him. His eyes were closed as he got into it, so I glanced over at the other bed. The roommate was on his back, seeming to be asleep. Except there was this big tent in the sheet, and I could see movement. He was masturbating to the sounds of our fucking. Then he looked over and saw me and smiled. He pulled the sheet away just in time for two big gobs of semen to shoot out of that big cock. By that time I could barely stifle the orgasm that shook me down into my bones. Mike came sweetly and quietly and fell asleep on top of me.

I never consummated anything else with the roommate. But it might have qualified as my first threesome. If I had been a little less fucked up, I would have invited him to join us.

My college fucking yearbook

You seem to like it when I tell the stories of my cocktease/cock-pleaser years in college. It got me thinking about my lovers then. Let's go in chronological order.
--Mike was my first and I was his first. It didn't hurt a bit and there was no blood. We would fuck for hours, in all kinds of positions. Great fun. But things quickly accelerated to pressure from my family to bring him home and put him on the husband track.
--Seth. My first and only frat party. I got wasted. He was flirtatious and cute -- I can still see his butt in my fantasies. I let him take me downstairs. He fucked me missionary and with my legs over his shoulders. I knew I was being "unfaithful" to Mike and, God help me, it was a turn-on. He came in me and pulled out. I was lying there feeling high and warm and...
--Glenn came along. He was my first black lover and my first big cock. I didn't even realize he was there until I felt the mattress sag and this guy was over me, and then this cock was forcing its way into my recently virginal pussy. It hurt at first and was uncomfortable for awhile. He didn't give a shit, and his whole being masterful and strong and athletic as hell were a guilty turn-on. Then it felt really good and I came hard and loud. I got out in time to avoid a gangbang.
--Pam was my first girl. It was sweet and soft and she made me love having my pussy licked. I gave as good as I got. We fooled around for a long time, even as we were seeing other guys.
--My infidelities finally broke up my relationship with Mike. Two days later I was sucking Jon's cock in the library. He was an intellectual and even at that age I found brains a huge turn-on. We remain fuck-buddies to this day.
--Steve was Boston blue-collar Irish, like the guys in "Mystic River." I met him on some do-gooder outreach we were required to undertake. He was very attractive and I started dressing more provocatively. The day I wore a short skirt without panties he took me outside in the cool night and fucked me against a wall. Yes, it was slumming, but he was good in the sack. A very well-hung man, and knew it. Unlike some, he also knew how to use that big cock. He loved to fuck me from behind, and I grew to love it. He wanted to fuck me in the ass but I wouldn't let him. Things fell apart one night when his wife found us fucking and started throwing things.
--David was the professor I seduced. He liked my legs and, he said, my mind. My first older man.
--I had a more stable relationship with Dave. He was a history major and I could tell he was a rising star. We stayed together through my junior year, and although I sucked off a couple of guys and slept with Pam occasionally, I was pretty faithful.
--Luc was my Paris fling the semester I studied overseas. He smoked a lot and even I ended up smoking Gauloises. One time he brought me off on a train going something like 170 miles per hour. We had a blanket over us and he fingered me to orgasm. He loved it that I tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to avoid being loud. Being fucked in Paris is everything you dream.
--Things got crazier when I was juggling Frank, Mike 2 and Craig. Some days I might be carrying around the semen from all three inside my pussy and my stomach. I had gotten better at keeping lovers at enough distance to keep from getting stuck and bored. Frank was rich from the LBO boom and had a sailboat in the harbor and an estranged wife (named Linda) down in New York. He also had the smallest cock I ever fucked, about 4 inches erect -- but it still had its charms. He liked having me on his arm, and taught me many worldly, sophisticated things. The gifts were quite lavish, so some might say this was my equivalent of my pal Mary Beth's coed hooker. But being young, sexy and female has benefits; life is unfair. When Frank found out I was "cheating" on him, he got mad and told Mike 2, a lawyer and buddy. Big drama. They all came back, though. Men ;-) And then it was time to go to graduate school.

What's that running down my legs?

I've always loved the elemental things about sex: smells, tastes, bodily fluids. I'm reminded of this again now that I am getting sex regularly. I went to work today with my lover's semen dripping into my panties. A few minutes ago I felt a big glob fall out of my pussy and almost shuddered from the arousal.

It's a way of carrying around the experience and reliving it.

Things got interesting back in college when, on summer days, I would go without panties if I was feeling especially horny. More than once I noticed semen running down the inside of my leg. So did others. I smiled like the demure girl I am. Yes, I've put my finger "down there" to come back with a taste of our mingled juices.

I had a lover who took great pleasure in smelling me on his mustache hours after he had given me a good tongue-lashing. In the shower, he would tell me how he hated to wash me off of him. He would make an extravagant show of sniffing my panties after he stripped them off me. He loved to lick my asshole. Loved it.

I've carried around thick sticky cummy tastes in my mouth and that special feeling of sperm in my stomach, even sperm of more than one man. Every man smells and tastes special, and leaves a special "finish" in my mouth.

Ah, coming back home to an unmade bed and falling into it, smelling the sex in the sheets long after my lover has left. I have commandeered one of his dress shirts. I put it over my naked body and lie in those storied sheets, moaning at the ceiling, waiting for next time.

That cute supermom was a coed hooker

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A brief history of my orgasms

It makes me sad when I hear about a woman who can't or won't come. A few may have good reasons. Once a woman told me how she had been abused by her father starting at age 11, until she moved out at age 18. She had a lot of lovers, saying "I like to get the sex out of the way so a man will talk to me." But she had never had an orgasm.

I've told you about a friend who didn't want to let a man lick her pussy because she was afraid of losing control. And I've talked to a few women who seemed to hold varying degrees of this view. I guess most men are crappy at fucking, i.e. fucking so a woman really loves it. So these women don't have to worry about a good ride bringing them off. Pump, pump, snore, watch NASCAR. Finally, I know of a few who just can't come, although most of these just fake it.

I've never faked an orgasm. Maybe it helps that I have always been hopelessly horny. I started playing with myself when I was about 11, and had my first "orgasm" a year later. I put it in quotes, because although it was an orgasm, a revelation and a release, better was to, er, come.

My first lover slipped his cock inside me effortlessly. It felt nothing but good. He didn't last long, but it didn't matter because I was so overheated from him sucking my nipples and finger-fucking me, from weeks of build-up to the big night, and that we were doing it in my parents' bed (!) -- all made me come. I soon realized how I could really have an orgasm, when my college roomie Pam gave me a real pussy licking, and I ended up screaming, coming three times one right after another, and collapsing in a heap.

Oh, so that's what they've been talking about!

As I look back, I also realize I was always curious about sex, was easily aroused thinking about scenarios or appreciating them when they came true, and, to the distraction of my mother, was very uninhibited about my body. I always felt all the connections -- between my pussy and nipples, backs of my knees, toes, wrists, fingers, ears, the inside of my thighs...brain. I learned to make myself come even if a lover was not so skilled. I am a great cowgirl and can grind against him and get off.

I know I'm lucky. Some women, maybe most, can't come from fucking alone. But it helps to be fucked well. Over time I learned to tell the difference. My first older man, a professor, really knew how to take his time, heat me up, and then fuck me on top in a way that still rubbed against my clit. One good orgasm just taught me how to have another, and it became easier and easier.

I also know I am unusual in being both a "multiple" girl and a screamer. I can't help it.

When I turned 30, my lover at the time gave me a present. He fucked me into a couple of baby orgasms. Then he slipped down between my legs and tongue-worshipped me into 28 more huge and small orgasms and aftershocks. Thirty orgasms in all. I couldn't even move when it was done.

Maybe it won't be so bad turning 40, after all.

I kissed a girl, for the first time

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The night I was initiated on Frat Row

I recently read a piece in the New York Times about a woman who lost her virginity at a fraternity "ledge party." This party school tradition involves having sex with a woman where others, such as frat brothers, can watch from the window ledge. She was traumatized, especially by the shunning reaction of her sorority sisters.

I shunned the frat scene in college. I was a stuck-up precious-little-thing National Merit Scholar, who would never deign to slum along fraternity row, much less hang out with women in sororities. But one night I found myself at a party, at a frat house, and it produced one of my most memorable adventures.

There was dancing and pot and booze and ecstasy, and I probably did all of them, before ending up dancing without music with this very handsome boy from LA. He was the classic tall, dark and handsome (TDH). I was only a few months from losing my virginity and had a steady boyfriend. I was also imbued with all my family's hangups about sex, so the assumption was that I would marry boyfriend. My body was buying none of this.

Just being close to TDH made me drenching wet and I was sure the whole room could smell my pussy. As we danced and rubbed against each other, he kept running his hands up my thighs, going under the micro-mini I had worn to the party. My head was spinning.

Next thing I knew he was fucking me. I was vaguely aware he had taken me downstairs in the frat house, to a basement where there was a mattress. There were no preliminaries; not that I was complaining. I remember being on my back, watching my panties come off as if in an out-of-body experience, a bulbous red cock head. As he pushed into me, I gasped...I was now definitely back in my own body. He fucked me hard as I moaned and whimpered and called his name. It felt very naughty and rebellious to be calling a name other than my steady's. TDH's cock felt different, thicker, and he fucked with a disinterested abandon that was very unlike my steady's gentleness. He raised my legs up over his shoulders and fucked me more. It felt amazing, this new wonderful position.

He grunted and pulled out, and I could feel his semen tricking out of my pussy and down my ass. Without even a kiss goodbye, TDH disappeared. I lay there panting, high out of my mind, my legs still wide open. Then I felt the mattress sag and looked up to see a new face. He was black, with a broad, muscular chest and dreadlocks. Somehow I knew him.

The next thing I knew I screamed in pain. I really felt like I was being split open. He didn't notice but started fucking me with long, deep strokes. My pussy adapted, the first time I was surprised by the amazing shape-changing ability of this wonderful body part, and this huge cock started to feel good. Then it started to feel really good! I raised my knees and rested my ankles on his back as he fucked me. I came and lost time and he was gone.

About this time, I realized I'd better get the hell out of there. So I pulled down my come-soiled miniskirt, put on my shoes and stood up, just in time for a huge glob of two men's mingled semen to flow out of my pussy down my legs. The basement smelled like semen. Even on the wobbly walk back to my dorm, come kept running down my legs.

I later learned a few fun facts. Boys had been watching me get fucked from the stairway; more were ready to gang-bang Linda Sue had I not beat a hasty exit, and the black guy was a star football player. Oh, and they filmed it with a cam corder. It's probably out there on the Web (I'm the innocent teen redhead with her legs wrapped around the frat boys).

I should have slunk away in shame. (And, yes, let me add the obvious that real date rape is horrible; but I was there of my own choice and knew, kind of, what I was getting into). Instead, I felt very horny and very liberated. There was no way I was going to marry steady and move to some boring-ass suburb. I knew I had begun my life in the sisterhood of sluts.