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.

You guys don't make it easy...

You want everything (see poll at left). So demanding and masterful :-)

Returning to the lifestyle club

It had been an especially unrequited horny winter until my friend Chris visited from Seattle. He knows my kink side, and I knew our time together wouldn't be taken up with conventional fucking. He used to work in D.C. and still has friends here. He persuaded me to go to a "party" on Friday night. But I could tell this was not going to be the usual dull District cocktail do. So I put on my sartorial sex armor under a long black dress, just in case I was right.

I was. We drove out to a large, pleasant house in the suburbs. The party consisted of six other couples, all well-dressed professionals. But my first hint that this would be different was when Chris said we would only use first names, and given my work, I should use a nomme de eros. I picked "Amber." Introductions were made and we had delightful cocktails and light conversation. Then the hostess, "Robin," a conservatively dressed, creamy skinned blonde, said, "Let's go into the playroom and get to know each other better."

I've been to one lifestyle club before, when I was much younger. Now I was once again the youngest person present (Chris, too), or at least I looked it. As we walked through the house, I could feel the men watching me move. We came to a large room with sectional sofas and futons on the floor. Everybody started taking off their clothes. I slipped off my dress revealing sheer black stockings, garter belt, and a black corset that pushed up my breasts. Most of the people knew each other and got together regularly -- they were anticipating the fresh meat.

I sat on a sofa while Chris ravished his friend "Robin" with kisses. They were still standing and his cock stuck out straight, bobbing insistently against her light dusting of blond-brown pubic hair. Pretty soon, he had her down on a futon and was fucking her missionary style, while her husband looked on. He's good, and I could see she was enjoying the attention from this younger man. Other people paired up -- all the married couples were making out with someone else. For a moment, I felt like the ugly duckling at the eighth-grade dance, not sure what to do next.

This was solved for me when a torso with an erect eight-inch cock was presented to me. I looked up and saw, "Andrew," the distinguished gentleman from the other room, looking at me with a lewd smile. I took him in my hand and started slowly stroking his cock. The shaft was thick and the head prominent. I took it in my mouth for a few tantalizing sucks, then licked it like a lollipop while holding his hips with both my hands.

The next thing I knew, I was down on the carpet with that dick being pushed into me. He was not one for finesse, and even though he had paused to put on a condom, he shoved right into me. It hurt and felt great at the same time, and I cried out. This only made his face light up in a kind of a scary way. I knew I was in for it, but not how much. Looking around, I could see the other couples had stopped and were sitting, watching us. Some of the men were stroking their cocks. He threw my legs up over his shoulders and started fucking me with deep, hard stokes. It was banging into my cervix and I made the mistake of telling him, saying, "slow down, baby." "Oh, no, Amber's going to get fucked," he panted, pounding me even harder. Chris and "Robin" watched with smiles on their faces -- Chris knowing my sometime submissive side.

My legs were next pinned inside his elbows so I felt truly trapped, my ass now high in the arm, his breath coming down on me hot, his big balls slapping against my hips, his strength totally overpowering me. My pussy was making so much lubrication that I could hear the noise of our fucking. My usual pre-orgasm feelings were absent. I was just being taken, being fucked like hell. Then my world just exploded. I heard a loud, animal-like scream -- it was me. My feet were suddenly hot and I saw colors and white dots at the edge of my eyes. My pussy was contracting like crazy, my whole pelvis was on fire, and I kept screaming and moaning, then bawling. It was one of the most amazing orgasms of my life -- is there such a thing as a cervical orgasm? He grunted and came in me. Somewhere in all the athletic pounding the condom had broken, so I could feel his semen spurting deep in me. He pulled out immediately and I was just left there on the carpet, my arms splayed out, still weeping and moaning.

Two of the women, "Lisa" and "Carrie," came over and held me. Both were brunettes in their late 40s, and pretty soon they were kissing me and caressing my very sore body. "Lisa" got between my legs and started licking Andrew's come out of me, and giving my pussy lips and clit a gentle going over. I started heating up and could feel my contractions starting again. "Carrie" sucked my nipples, then sat on my face and I eagerly tongue-fucked her. She had an "inny" pussy with small lips, but pretty soon I was hitting all the right spots and she let out a long, low moan and ground her pelvis against me as she came.

Another man was fucking "Lisa" by the time I came up for air, and Chris was back at it with "Robin" doggy style. "Robin" came quickly, a screamer, and an "I'm coming!" screamer at that. "Robin's" husband was being serviced on the sofa by another woman. There wasn't any recovery time for poor "Amber" (me) -- but at least I made it to a futon before being fucked doggy style by three different men in succession, and every one of them taking his time to enjoy me. One had an upward-curving cock, which was an interesting feeling. I just kept my head down and let them do the work -- I was still wasted from my cervical orgasm. I licked "Debra" -- a redhead with a nice pussy and full bush (but not a natural red like moi) while "Tom" fucked me from behind with his uncircumcised dick. And tried to suck "Eric" while being fucked from behind, but I didn't bring him off.

The last man fucking me while I was on my knees pulled out suddenly and pushed into my ass, just lubricated by my pussy juice and the semen, and came inside my anus. Thank God he was small. (And KY and clean wipes had helpfully been provided). Semen dribbled out of my ass, mingling with my pussy drippings. Somewhere along the way, the corset went away... The hostess had towels we could sit on once we were sharing bodily fluids.

And so it went. I sucked two cocks to orgasm and got fucked three more times, including by Andrew, with me on top this time, giving him my corkscrew move and making him come sooner than he wanted, and by another man very gently, slowly, my legs wrapped around him, and holding me afterward. I gave the hostess a nipplegasm" sucking those fair firm breasts. The room smelled of pussy and semen. The swingers especially liked me because I was open to pretty much anything.

But turnabout was fair play. As we sat and nursed our drinks and some snacks, waiting to go again, I dared Chris to suck off one of the men. He turned deep red and shook his head. Everybody started chanting "Chris...Chris...Chris...!" The women came over and started loving on him, while also holding him down on the sofa. Pretty soon, macho Andrew bent down and started sucking Chris's dick. And Chris didn't complain long.

Andrew had by far the best recovery time in the room, and his cock was hard again in no time. "Now it's your turn," he commanded, and Chris, as if in a trance, got on his knees and started sucking Andrew off. The woman gave advice. But I think Chris was just thinking, "What would I like if I were getting my cock sucked?" So pretty soon he was into it, right down to stroking Andrew's balls and shaft as he sucked.

Those balls were bottomless, or so it seemed, when Andrew's eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a loud moan. Chris didn't stand a chance because Andrew was holding down his head like some college boys had done to me. I could see him swallowing as fast as he could, but Andrew shoved into his throat, making his gag, and a long string of thick come was hanging out of his mouth when Andrew let him up. As if to make heterosexual amends, "Carrie" sat him on the sofa and rode him to another orgasm.

We drove home mostly in silence, having gotten more than we bargained for. But even though I would be sore for days, I felt great. If this was "middle age," include me.

"I'm not gay," my young man said at one point, his tongue and palate still sounding as if they had semen sticking to them. I remembered the first time a man had come in my mouth: the taste, the feeling, the sense of it in my stomach.

I patted his no-longer-virginal mouth. "Neither am I."