So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie)

The Big Bad Wolf is playing EmpireCraft and doesn’t particularly want to hear about it when Little Red Ridinghood stalks into the apartment. She slams the door after herself, which makes Wolfy flinch and hurriedly close the website he had been browsing in between turns. If Ridinghood saw what he was looking at, he’d be embarrassed.

She sets her picnic basket down heavily on their twelve dollar Ikea coffee table, making it sag dangerously. The Wolf is familiar with this routine and knows what it means: another one-night stand; another swing-and-a-miss.

“I don’t get it,” Ridinghood announces petulantly.

The Big Bad Wolf makes a noncommittal wolfish sound. The game was going poorly anyway. London is on the verge of capitulating to the Irish Horde. It doesn’t help that he has been browsing porn while playing.

“I just don’t get it,” Little Red Ridinghood repeats. “Why can’t I come when I’m with a guy? I do just fine by myself. I can orgasm for days on end. But with a guy it’s like… I get this close, but it stays just barely out of reach.” She sat down heavily on the couch behind the computer desk. “It’s like… I get so fucking close, and then he starts humping away like crazy, and totally loses the rhythm. It drives me insane.”

There is a clunk and another clunk as Ridinghood takes off her boots. The Big Bad Wolf knows that her jeans and trademark red hoodie will be next. Ridinghood has a really bad habit of wandering around the apartment in nothing but her skivvies. He is going to have to say something to her about that. Sometime.

On the screen, Cromwell is fiddling while London burns. The Big Bad Wolf hears Ridinghood squirm out of her street clothes. Despite himself, his dick tingles and stirs inside his pants. At the same time, his tail bushes up like a Halloween cat. He wonders if she gets the connection. He wonders if she even cares.

“Guys are easy,” Little Red Ridinghood went on, “All you have to do is apply a little friction, maybe add a touch of wet; rub, repeat, and not stop. Why do girls have to be so tricky?”

“Maybe you should try fucking a girl,” the Wolf says, “and then you both could not come together. I heard Rapunzel goes both ways.”

“Up yours,” Little Red Ridinghood tells him, but not in an unkind way. She ruffles the Wolf’s hair between his ears, which makes him crazy, and retires to her own bedroom. The Wolf tries, and fails, to ignore the muffled humming drone of her vibrator.

*

“Bigger isn’t always better,” Little Red Ridinghood announces over coffee. The Big Bad Wolf winces as the toaster ka-chunks and spits out a pair of PopTarts. He is hung over, in a pretty brutal way. Goldilocks was over last night, while Ridinghood was out with Rumpelstiltskin. Wolfy and Goldi wrapped themselves around an improbable amount of gin and tonics, and hung out and talked into the wee hours of the morning. Bitching and complaining mainly, mostly about their love lives and the lack thereof. The Big Bad Wolf could probably have fucked her, or at least gotten a blowjob, if he’d made any serious effort. But he hadn’t. Probably for the best, the Wolf reflects; Goldilocks is a friend and a really cute girl, but she has her own issues, and more than her share of baggage. The Big Bad Wolf gets a reasonable amount of sex, for a single creature, but he is a lonely Wolf.

Ridinghood is unfailingly chipper in the morning, a condition the Big Bad Wolf alternately envies and loathes. She likes to recount her previous night’s adventures over PopTarts and coffee, and the Wolf likes to torture himself by listening.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Little Red Ridinghood continues with a smirk plastered across her face, and a frosted breakfast pastry in one hand. “I like a big dick as much as the next girl. But Rumpelstiltskin’s schlong is way out of bounds. I mean, it hurt. Holy shit, just getting it in was an engineering challenge. And then he wouldn’t just be done. He’s one of those guys who thinks that the girl always has to come first, and who get’s all pouty and bent out of shape if she doesn’t…” She sighs, bites the PopTart in half. “I had to fake it, just so he’d get off. I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it, over the years.”

The Big Bad Wolf has heard plenty of Ridinghood’s fake orgasms, and he disagrees. To his ears, they just sound fake. But he keeps his big fat trap shut. As usual.

*

The Big Bad Wolf has a lunch date with Grandma. They meet up at a hipster little bistro on Gingerbread Lane, a couple blocks off the L train. Grandma wears leather pants, probably an unfortunate choice, the Wolf reflects ruefully. She’s not bad looking at all, not for her age, but still… Leather pants?

The Wolf always feels a bit like a whore when he’s out with Grandma. He eats a tiny, exquisitely crafted and shockingly overpriced baguette, and they go through the requisite motions:

“My, what big ears you have!”

..sigh… “The better to hear you with, Grandma.”

“My, what big eyes you have!”

“The better to see you with, Grandma.”

“My, what big paws you have Wolfy! I wonder what else you have that is big…?”

This is the Wolf’s cue to signal the waiter. Grandma picks up the check as always, which the Wolf shouldn’t really mind, but does anyway. It’s kind of emasculating. Being kept can be a mixed blessing. They retire to Grandma’s apartment, the doorman winking knowingly and obnoxiously.

Once inside, Grandma peels off those hideous black leather pants. She takes good care of her body; she must have been seriously hot when she was younger. She still looks good, damned good. The Wolf is fully erect, and it isn’t just a Pavlovian response.

Grandma likes it hard, rough, and from behind. She bends over her Barcalounger, and pulls her lacy sapphire panties to one side. The Big Bad Wolf slathers his cock in lube (Grandma doesn’t get wet like she used to), and jams it up inside her. Grandma grunts and the Wolf utters a long, drawn-out howl. He may feel like a whore, but right now feeling like a whore feels pretty damn good. She likes it hard and fast, so he gives it to her hard and fast, shoving his cock all the way up her pussy before pulling it almost all the way out and then slamming it back inside. The wolf smacks Grandma’s ass as he fucks her; he claws at her back and nips the back of her neck with fangs that could pierce bone crush vertebrae. Grandma loves it, and she lets him know, loud and clear. It doesn’t take long. She comes hard on the Wolf’s thrusting cock; and when he yanks her steel-grey hair and slides one slick, manicured finger up her crinkled asshole, she comes a second time, just for good measure.

The Big Bad Wolf finishes inside her. Which isn’t a bad way to finish, no not really bad at all.

They relax nude over Bombay Gin with just a hint of tonic, thrown in for propriety’s sake.

“So, when are you going to fuck her?”

“Who?” the Wolf asks, startled out of his hazy post-coital reverie.

“Your roommate, of course. Red. When are you going to fuck that spicy little piece of ass?”

“Oh… Her. She says I’m her best friend. She says I’m too nice. She doesn’t want to spoil a perfectly good friendship.”

“What-ever.” Grandma lounges back in her Barcalounger, spreading her legs and giving the Wolf an eyeful of her juicy, freshly-fucked twat. A twat that appears to be ready for round two. “Fuck her. I would.” She takes a big fat drink, and smacks her lips. “If I were in your shoes, I’d totally jump on that red-haired action.”

*

Little Red Ridinghood walks right in on the Wolf masturbating to a porn video. The wolf likes amateur porn, and he favors redheads.

“Oh!” she exclaims, “Excuse me!”

She almost seems to hesitate a moment, and the Big Bad Wolf almost thinks about asking her to stay. But she is already gone.

*

Morning coffee and toasted PopTarts. The Wolf drank too much again and has a headache. Little Red Ridinghood is just as chipper as always, though the Wolf knows she stumbled in not three hours earlier after a date with Pinocchio.

“I swear, that boy doesn’t know when to stop!” Ridinghood bitched, with a peculiar combination of petulance and smugness. “I mean, he’s made out of wood!”

The Wolf sighs. He’s not sure he wants to hear this. But he is all ears.

“He fucked me raw. He’s not all that hung, you know, he just never gets soft. The boy is insatiable. It was kind of cute at first, but then it just got painful. My coochie is going to be sore for days. And it’s not like I even got to get off.” She sighs dramatically, spreads her legs and runs her fingers gingerly up and down the crotch of her grey sweat pants. “He can do some pretty interesting tricks with his nose though…”

This is too much for the Big Bad Wolf. He excuses himself, makes his exit, takes six Advil and a very long, very hot shower. He jerks off under the running water and feels sorry for himself afterward.

*

The Three Little Pigs are a trio of fat, greasy, horny little porkers, and they make no apologies for it. To get into their apartment, the Big Bad Wolf has to go through the whole “I’ll huff and I’ll puff…” routine, which was cute like ten years ago, but is kind of annoying when you have a hard-on the size of the state of Florida wedged into your pants. But when they do open the door and let him in, it’s all worthwhile.

The Three Little Pigs adore being eaten out. The one thing they all like almost as much as being on the receiving end of cunnilingus is watching a fat, juicy piggy pussy getting licked. The Wolf is always happy to oblige.

The Piggies get naked faster than you could say ‘higgledy-piggledy’. They are utterly uninhibited little creatures, all pink and roly-poly and jiggly and wiggly. Their breasts are big and bouncy, their bottoms are wide, their pussies are wet and slippery, and their tails are tight little corkscrews. They lounge on the bed and watch lasciviously while the Big Bad Wolf gets undressed. His cock is already plenty hard, and they ‘Oooh’ and ‘Aaah’ with unfeigned admiration. The Little Piggies are nothing if not an enthusiastic audience.

The First Little Piggy spreads her legs, and the Big Bad Wolf dives in. She is sopping wet and juicy, and her taste is oh-so-slightly reminiscent of bacon. The Big Bad Wolf would love to slather maple syrup all over her crack, and lick it clean. Maybe sometime he will. He slurps up and down her pussy, dragging the flat of his long tongue between her puffy pink labia and slathering her clit.

The Big Bad Wolf inserts first one, then two, and finally three thick fingers into the First Little Piggy’s cunt. He finger-fucks her, gently at first, spreading her wetness up and down and all around, then harder and harder, until he is lifting her pelvis all the way up off the bed with his fingers. With his fingers buried deep inside the First Little Piggy, he bends over and laps at her clitoris.

The other two Piggies ‘Oooh’ and ‘Aaah’. They will all get their turn, but they are not patient creatures, and they have started in on each other while they watch the show, touching, nibbling and kissing. The Piggies are certainly not lesbians, and it is just a little bit like incest, but right now they don’t care. The Second and Third Little Piggies are intertwined like double helixes, stubby little fingers getting busy between fat thighs; their little piggy eyes glued to the Big Bad Wolf and the action on the futon mattress.

The First Little Piggy surrenders to her excitement, grunting and squealing and huffing and puffing her way toward a massive orgasm. Meanwhile, the Big Bad Wolf is already thinking about where he is going to come. The Piggies don’t hold with fucking or sucking, but once they have all gotten off (at least once, maybe twice, or more), one of them will jerk him off, and he gets to choose where he comes: boobies, or ass, or squirting off onto a wide-spread piggy pussy, or into an open mouth, or even all over one of their plump pink porcine faces. It’s not a bad arrangement. Not at all.

Once the First Little Piggy has settled down and extracted herself from the Wolf’s long and sticky fingers, he goes to work on the Second Little Piggy, who is halfway there already. Delayed gratification has never been the Piggies strong suite.

It doesn’t take long for the Big Bad Wolf to finish off the Second and then the Third Little Piggy, and by then the First Little Piggy is ready to go all over again. The Wolf is getting tired and frustrated, but he does his duty, using more tongue and less fingers this time, bending the First Little Piggy over the back of their ratty old couch and burying his long snout between her cheeks, licking up and down the cleft of her ass, alternately tonguing her pussy and asshole, letting her do the clit stimulation herself, until she comes one last time, squealing and oinking with pleasure. It is, he has to admit, pretty gratifying.

The Big Bad Wolf has made his choice. The Second and Third Little Piggies each lend a hand while the First Little Piggie sprawls limply across the futon. It doesn’t take long; it has been several days since he has gotten off, and he’s overexcited anyway. Howling at an invisible moon, the Wolf shoots off all over the First Little Piggy’s not-so-little tits. His balls twitch and tremble and he squirts gobs and gobs of pearlescent white semen across her chest and beyond, splashing onto the futon. They will definitely need to change the cover after this afternoon.

Temporarily sated, the four friends get dressed and have a drink. The Piggies favor vodka tonics, with more vodka than tonic. They want to know when he’s going to get around to fucking Ridinghood. He tells them she just wants to be friends, and they laugh at him, which is annoying. Mildly buzzed, the Big Bad Wolf strolls homeward, his balls hanging low and loose, the intoxicating smell of piggy pussy still lingering on his fingers.

When Wolf gets back to the apartment, Riding Hood is in her bedroom, getting loudly and vigorously fucked.

The Wolf attempts to ignore it. He fires up his computer, puts on some music, tries to concentrate on EmpireCraft. It doesn’t work. The sounds of Riding Hood getting banged keep leaking right through his expensive headset. Who is it? The Gingerbread Man? Tom Tom the Piper’s Son? Jack Sprat? It doesn’t really matter. Whoever it is certainly is enthusiastic. And Riding Hood is faking orgasms all over the place.

Wolf splits over to the House of Candy and proceeds to get fucked-up drunk.

*

Several days later. Wolf was supposed to have a date with Grandma, but she cancelled at the last minute, and he doesn’t really mind. He is playing EmpireCraft, and looking at naked girls on the internet; alt-tabbing between the two, and as usual, his game is suffering for it. The Ottoman Empire is foundering; the Irish have developed mechanized warfare and are overrunning North Africa. He doesn’t hear Riding Hood come in.

“Cute tits,” Little Red Ridinghood observes.

The Big Bad Wolf is looking at redheads, in various states of undress. He alt-tabs back to his game, where the Irish Hordes are sacking Jerusalem. Under his fur, he is blushing, but Ridinghood doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’d do her,” she goes on. “I wish mine were a little bigger. Not huge, just a little bigger.”

“I think yours are perfect,” says the Wolf. His tail is poking out the back of his pants, big and bushy, like a scared cat. It always gets big and bushy when he gets an erection.

“Thank you!” Ridinghood says. “I’d like to see her pussy.”

The Big Bad Wolf switches windows and clicks on the ‘next’ button. This picture does indeed show the cute redhead’s pussy. It is shaved, with fat, pouting lips.

“Cute pussy! It looks a little like mine, except I have more hair. It would look cuter with a big fat wolf dick stuffed up inside it though.” Ridinghood informs the Wolf. His tail gets even bushier. Before he can think of an appropriate response, she is gone.

*

The Big Bad Wolf is in the shower. In the kitchen, the coffee pot is burbling and hissing. Ridinghood is still asleep in her bedroom. She always sleeps in men’s boxers and a t-shirt. The Wolf is seriously considering jerking off in the shower. He hasn’t started yet, but as far as his penis is concerned, the decision is already made.

Little Red Ridinghood walks into the bathroom. She is wearing tartan boxer shorts and an oversized t-shirt that reads ‘WHO THE FUCK IS MICK JAGGER?’ She still has sleepy eyes. She reaches around the shower curtain, grabs the Wolf by the erection, and pulls him straight out of the bathtub.

She waits while he does a perfunctory towel-off of his soaking-wet black fur. The whole time he can feel her eyes on his body, hungry.

He follows her into her bedroom, which is a mess of an epic sort. They land on the bed.

There is a lot of kissing. The kissing is really nice, and they both want more of it, but they are also both eager to move on to other, more urgently pressing matters.

The Big Bad Wolf pulls off Ridinghood’s boxers. She does indeed have a very pretty pussy with pink, eager inner labia and a soft muss of red hair atop it like a cowlick. He takes an ankle in each paw and lifts her up to his face.

He drags his tongue along the length of her pussy, exploring in between the puffy outer lips. She is very excited. She tastes delicious. When his tongue brushes across the erect nubbin of her clit, she bucks and squirms. “Fuck me!” she demands, her voice raspy and urgent, but the Wolf does not stop.

Up and down, up and down he laps, the flat of his tongue dragging lazily across her labia, caressing her clitoris. Wolf is holding her ankles up over his head so that the only part of her body that is touching the bed are her shoulders, outstretched arms, and the back of her head. Her red hair is flying like it is in a whirlwind. She struggles, but she doesn’t get away. The Big Bad Wolf is a strong animal, with long, ropy muscles. “Fuck me Wolfy! Goddamn it, fuck me! Fuck me, please!”

He lifts her up a little more. Now it is just her red hair that is touching the sheets. He buries his snout between her ass cheeks. His long, wolfish finds her anus and squirms up inside. She squeals incoherently, twisting and flailing, whimpering his name, begging him.

Finally the Big Bad Wolf relents. He plops Ridinghood back onto her bed, where she lies, twitching and mumbling, her legs spread wide apart, her fingers running lightly petting her sodden cunt. The Wolf could watch this show all day. But not today.

He wastes precious time looking for condoms, before Ridinghood tells him “In the little wooden box, under the bed.” There are some other interesting items in there too, ones that the Wolf would be very interested in trying out with Ridinghood sometime. But not this time.

Properly wrapped, the Big Bad Wolf slides his cock right up into Ridinghood’s pussy. She is hot and wet and slippery and very excited and ready for him. She wraps her legs around his butt, just under his tail, pulling him closer and deeper. He is too far-gone to last very long; she doesn’t care.

Her cunt squeezes him tight. He is fucking her as slowly as he can stand, and it isn’t slow enough. He is going to explode.

She starts to huff and puff. “Oh, oh, oh, oooh, yes! Oh yes Wolfy! Yessss!”

The Wolf stops fucking, curls his tail and clenches his toes to keep from popping off. He bares his teeth and snarls. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t you dare fake it! Not with me!” He is still an alpha predator. His hair bristles angrily.

Ridinghood quiets down, knocks off the moaning and sighing, kisses him on the snout. “Just come inside me then Wolfy. Just come for me” He is happy to oblige.

He cups her ass in both paws, lifts her up, slides one finger from each hand up her asshole, and fucks her hard and deep. He lasts longer than he imagined he might. She keeps quiet, biting down hard on her lower lip, watching him fuck her. She almost comes, she tells him later. She could feel it. She didn’t quite get there, but almost.

After he comes, he keeps his cock inside her, and she rubs her clitoris for him. This time she really does come, and it is beautiful to watch. When she finally orgasms, holding her breath and flexing her abdominal muscles spasmodically, her face is a mask of silent ecstasy. Her pussy twitches on his cock. You can’t fake that shit.

They kiss some more, and he extracts his wilting, condom-enclosed cock from her still-drooling pussy. She sits on his chest and masturbates to another orgasm, this one just as beautiful as the first. He helps by slipping a finger up her pussy and tickling her asshole. They will fuck again after they’ve had coffee.

“Wolfy, did you know you’re my best friend?”

“You’re my best friend too, Red.”

“I’m crazy about you Wolfy.”

He squeezes her tight. Maybe next time they fuck he will make her come. Or the time after that. Maybe she’ll come rubbing her clit with his cock wedged in her ass; maybe she’ll come all over his long and slurping tongue, or on his probing insistent fingers. The truth is, it doesn’t really matter. It will be a long journey, and they will both have a lot of fun.

And they live happily ever after.

END

I wake up with a start, suddenly shockingly, lucidly conscious. I’d been having a disturbing dream that I don’t quite remember now, but which lingers on the edge of my memory like an unpleasant taste. I look over at the glowing red digits of our alarm clock. It is 2:22 a.m.

What woke me up? I have no idea. Certainly not Dennis, my husband. He is lying next to me. I can hear him quietly breathing.

The bed is shaking, trembling oh so softly. It takes me a moment to figure out what just what is going on. Dennis is jerking off, right there beside me in our bed. He has the sheet flipped back, so that his cock is exposed to the darkness of the night, and he is slowly, softly masturbating.

I almost reached over and grabbed his dick from him, finished the job myself. Maybe I should have. But I didn’t.

I wish I could tell you how long it’s been, but I can’t. Dennis and I get it on once ever couple, three months. It usually seems adequate. We’ve been together twenty years now, nearly ten of those years married. I guess I always assumed that he jerks off from time to time, but the reality of it stabs me in the gut.

I think back to Kristov, my very first. I was in my mid-teens, too smart for my own good, and horny beyond description. Kristov was my tennis instructor, and if my mom ever found out, even today, it would kill her. He was ten, fifteen years my senior, easy. He should have known better. He did know better. I blatantly seduced him.

We’d been flirting all the way through the lesson. Kristov seemed to be flirting back There was a lump in the front of his white tennis shorts that hadn’t been there earlier. I was gratified to see that my newly minted powers of seduction were working. I stuck my hand down his shorts and told him I wanted him to fuck me cross-eyed. The poor guy didn’t know what to say. But his dick answered loud and clear.

With that established, we progressed rapidly through tongue-kissing and dry-humping to the art of furtive handjobs and finger-banging (a joy in and of itself!); with a brief pause for refreshment; and then straight to the main event, which occurred in the passenger seat of his little black Miata on the bottom floor of a parking garage. The ambience wasn’t what I’d call exactly romantic, and his sports car was only slightly more cramped than a Soyuz capsule.

I thought his dick looked beautiful, crowned with an explosion of blonde pubic hair, and I wanted it inside me, like yesterday. He didn’t want to wear a condom, but I insisted. I was horny, not stupid. He had some in the glove compartment. By this point I was beyond excited; my pussy was quite literally drooling, leaving slime trails all over his black leather bucket seat. Safely wrapped, he climbed on top and kissed me some more and played with my tits a little before skewering my cunt. I won’t say it didn’t hurt when he penetrated me, but I didn’t really mind. I’d expected it. And once he was well inside and thrusting, I knew that I’d hit jackpot.

I wrapped my legs around his white little butt, kicking the rearview mirror right off the windshield, grabbed the headrest with both hands, and screamed like a howler monkey. He shot off inside me about two seconds later, his cock pulsating and spasming like a dying animal, thrusting like mad and filling the condom to overflowing with his hot semen.

In retrospect, I know that Kristov had a fairly small penis. Not that I’m complaining; on the contrary, for my purposes it was perfect. I couldn’t get enough of it either. He taught me to suck it for him. He was uncircumcised, which was kind of exotic, though I didn’t know it at the time. He was no mini, but definitely on the petite size. It fit inside me perfectly. Possibly a little too perfectly. I could feel myself starting to get addicted.

Kristov fucked me three times, and each time was a little better than the time before. He lasted a little longer each time; the last time he did it to me, I even had an orgasm on him.

I broke it off after that. Quit tennis, never played again. I was in danger of falling in love with Kristov and his scandalous dick, and I wanted to nip it in the bud. I hope I didn’t do him any damage. All in all, he was a pretty good guy.

Next to me in bed, Dennis’ rhythm has changed. He is doing it a little faster, a little more insistently now. I wish I could see, but I can barely make out his profile in the darkness, and I don’t want to move and let him know I am awake.

I don’t know why it should bother me that he is masturbating now, in our dark bedroom, but it does. I could never get enough. Even back in the day, when me and Dennis were crazy about each other and screwing like weasels, I used to whack off behind his back, look at pornography, fantasize about fucking different guys, teasing and flirting and generally pushing my luck.

Oh, I’ve strayed a couple times. I even paid for it once. Yes I did. It wasn’t so long ago, last summer. Our regular receptionist called in sick (Hung-over, most likely. Ricky was a pale and anorexic-looking tight-jeaned young raver. Not my type at all. And yes, I would probably fuck him given half a chance.) The temp that they sent over was exactly my cup of tea though. He looked just like Teddy Ruxpin. He might have been twenty-one. He was a little chunky; he had curly brown hair and hairy forearms and a bit of a belly, and the biggest, most adorable brown eyes.

I flirted with him shamelessly all morning, and he seemed to be flirting back. I am well aware that I am no supermodel, especially since I’ve gained some weight, so as he responded to my playful innuendo, I just got bolder and bolder.

I sat down on the counter next to his swivel chair. “What are you having for lunch?” I asked. If he looked, he could see straight up my shirt, black panties framed by fat white thighs.

“I brought a sandwich,” he said, holding up a paper bag as evidence. “What are you going to eat?”

“For a nickel,” I informed him, licking my lips lasciviously, “I’d eat you.”

He turned bright tomato red. “I have a girlfriend,” he sputtered. I don’t think he would have said that if I was skinny.

“Doesn’t bother me,” I said. My panties were distinctly moist, my hands trembling. “I’ll give you sixty bucks, but you have to go down on me first.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

I gave him three twenties, and we retreated to my boss’ office. Sharon was out for a lunch meeting, and I knew she wouldn’t be back until after three. We did it right there on her desk. I’ve never told her, but I’m pretty sure she would approve.

I peeled off my panties and sat back, and he went to town. God, he was good! His girlfriend was one lucky gal. Dennis eats pussy too, but not like that! His tongue was busy, restless, dancing up and down my slit, darting here and there, circling my clit and then moving on, teasing me mercilessly, intentionally or not. It was sweet, sweet torture. I was wet like Lake Michigan. When I finally did come, I pretty much suffocated him between my thighs. Not one word of complaint though.

As much as I enjoyed him going down on me, I relished sucking his dick even more. It had been ages since I had sucked a cock—Dennis and I usually just skip straight to the main act—and I relished it. I relished every inch of it. He was pretty hung; nice and thick, slightly bent, hairy and circumcised. I would have happily taken it in my pussy, climbed on board and ridden him, bouncing up and down until he filled my pussy with his juice, girlfriend be damned. But I restrained myself. I sucked him like a gobstopper. The head got more and more purple and swollen the more I licked. He tasted delicious. I love the taste of man, sweaty and clean. I loved playing with his fat balls. He squealed out loud when I stuck a wet finger up his asshole. I think he may have been a virgin to that. I kept my finger lodged up there while I jerked him off, my lips wrapped tightly around his over-inflated glans, and shortly thereafter he came in my mouth, grunting like a bear and pumping out what seemed like about a gallon and a half of sticky, salty semen. I was pretty much in heaven. I swallowed every drop and licked his wilting member clean before gently extracting my finger, a process that made him giggle.

“I’d have done it for free,” he said.

“Yeah, but this way you made sixty bucks,” I told him. “Take your girlfriend out to dinner.”

She’s a lucky girl. I kind of wish I had fucked him.

There is this girl at the gym I am dying to fuck. I don’t even know her name. We have roughly the same workout schedule. I’ve been watching her get undressed, shower, and put on her street clothes for the last couple months. I’m pretty sure she knows I’ve been watching too. She always picks a locker close by mine, and she has dropped all pretensions of modesty with her towel.

She has short hair, black with a blue streak. She’s probably half my age. She shaves her pussy, the way all the kids do these days, I guess. She has these enormous, round boobs that I am absolutely dying to touch. And to suck on. And I don’t even like big tits!

This girl has the sexiest ass ever. I would love to fuck her little asshole. I wonder if she likes it that way. Dennis used to butt-fuck me from time to time. He was always a little hesitant, like he wasn’t sure I was really into it. I’m not sure when we stopped doing that. It always made me come. It feels so intimate! There is nothing like coming with a cock in your ass, your clit bulging out and on fire, your pussy drooling and grasping at air while your man abandons restraint, thrusting deep inside you, fucking your harder, pummeling and brutalizing your wide-stretched anus.

I’d love to fuck her that way. I’d take her right there in the locker room. Bend her over the bench and lick her from clit to asshole and back again, making her pretty little pussy all wet and wide open, sticking my tongue in her ass until she is positively begging for it. I’d start with one finger, wet with my own pussy juice, work it gently inside. Damn, she’d be tight! The sound of her moaning would change, get softer and more intense. I’d keep my tongue busy, kissing and licking her backside while I worked my finger deeper into her anus. I’d add a second finger, and she’d growl with pleasure, humping back up against me. My other hand would find her clitoris, her tiny, needy button, and I’d pet it, just barely stroking, drawing little circles, while I sodomized her deeper and deeper. And then she’d come, her whole body flailing and bucking and twisting, while my invading fingers stretched her to her absolute limit.

She’d kiss me shyly, and get dressed and leave, leaving me there to masturbate shamelessly right there in the showers, where just anyone could walk in and see.

Next to me, Dennis’ hand is moving faster and faster. The bed is making tiny squeaking noises now, like a hamster wheel. Suddenly he freezes. His hand stops and his whole body goes rigid, and I know he is coming. I hold perfectly still, waiting for his breathing to resume.

He gropes by the side of the bed for a dirty sock to wipe up with. What is it with guys and dirty socks? Maybe I should reach over, dip my finger in the puddle spread it around his belly before bringing my wet finger to my lips and tasting his salty essence. I could lick him clean, kiss him on the lips, whisper in his ear that I still love him.

It is 2:26 in the morning. My pussy is drenched. My clit is hard and erect, throbbing urgently with every heartbeat. I am making a little wet spot on our clean sheets. I can hear Dennis breathing again, the slower, deeper sound of sleep. I wonder what it would feel like to be divorced.

END

I arrived at college a virgin. I would stay that way for the next four years and then some, all the way through undergrad school and beyond, out into the big bad world; but I did have some interesting times along the way.

I took a taxi from the airport. It was August, and I remember being oppressed by the unfamiliar heat and humidity. The cab driver dropped me and my luggage off in front of the dorms. The campus seemed huge and aloof, and I didn’t know anybody there. I was determined not to be intimidated. I took a slow, creaky elevator to the sixth floor (even floor were for girls, odd-numbered floors housed guys) and located my room.

I opened the door, and that was when I met Carla for the first time. At that moment all I could think was that I was so glad that my mother hadn’t accompanied me to help me get settled in, as she had threatened.

My roommate was perched on the bottom bunk of her bed, naked except for a scarlet pair of panties, the kind that my mother was convinced was the Devil’s own handiwork. She had fairly enormous breasts, and a mouth full of cock. There was a guy, a naked guy, reclining on her mattress, and Carla was busy sucking his dick. She looked up at me, the livid red crown of his cock captured between her teeth like a small animal in a snare, and she fluttered her fingers in an ‘Oh, hi there!’ gesture. I stood in the doorway and gaped.

Another, more prudish virgin might have run away screaming, gone weeping to the RA. Someone more discreet than me might have gone for a long walk around campus, and come back in half an hour or so. I may have been a virgin, but I was neither prudish nor especially discreet. I walked into the room, trailing my suitcases behind me, and sat down on my own bed to watch the show.

Inexperienced as I was, I figured out pretty quickly that this wasn’t standard blowjob procedure. For one thing, Carla was certainly taking her time about it! The whole event lasted well over two hours: it was about 3 o’clock when I blithely walked into our dorm room; it was after 5 when she finally let him shoot off. And I don’t know how long she’d been working on him before I showed up.

Sometimes she actually sucked his dick, but most of the time she just toyed with it, like a big lazy cat with a wounded mouse. She would lick it, slowly savoring it, as if she were licking a popsicle on a hot summer day; she would stroke his length with her fingertips, up and down, back and forth; she would play with his balls, kissing and slurping at his wrinkly scrotum; sometimes she would slap his cock around, making it sproing from side to side; sometimes she would drag her tits all the way from his balls up to his chin; and sometimes she would pull back, purse her lips, and simply blow on his cock.

Even I knew that a blowjob wasn’t really supposed to include actual blowing.

The guy, whoever he was (I never saw him again and never heard his name) may have taken all this lying down, but he sure didn’t take it quietly. I’m not sure two coherent words come out of his mouth the whole time Carla was blowing him, but that didn’t mean he was silent. On the contrary, he never shut up; hissing and spitting and sputtering like a tea pot boiling over. About the only time he was quiet was when Carla jammed one of her big round boobs into his mouth. That shut him up.

He had a pretty big dick. Later that semester I would see even bigger ones, but his was plenty big. And it was fat and swollen and slick with saliva and over-excited and angry-looking. It was the first one I had ever seen, up close and personal. I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was supposed to make of my roommate: at one point she had a finger up inside the guy’s asshole, and was vigorously butt-fucking him, which made her large breasts shake like wrecking balls. What I did know was that my pussy was soaking wet.

She withdrew her index finger from the guy’s butthole. He grunted. She pushed his hairy thighs apart and dropped her open mouth onto his erection. She bobbed her head up and down five or six times in rapid succession, then sat up straight, leaving his cock wet and waggling, pointed at the ceiling. He made a strange little noise deep in the back of his throat, kind of like the mewing of a kitten but more guttural. Then his cock twitched, and he shot off. It was beautiful to watch. There was a shockingly large amount of semen, white and pearlescent, and it squirted up in a ballistic arc, splashing down all over his flat, furry tummy.

He got dressed, looking a lot like a wilted flower, and left without a word. He must have known I was in the room, but he never acknowledged me. That proved to be pretty standard behavior.

“Hi, I’m Carla, I’m your roommate!” This I knew already. She made no move to cover up. Her boobs were fairly huge—she made me look positively flat-chested. They weren’t porn star boobies though. They were a little saggy, and had enormous brown areolae, and thick nipples with stray hairs around them.

“Hi,” I said. “It’s, um, nice to meet you.” My panties were drenched and squelchy inside my jeans. I was all sweaty, and it wasn’t just the southern heat of late summer.

“I’m going to masturbate now,” Carla informed me, sitting back down on her bed, facing me. The part she left unspoken was ‘If you don’t mind…’ Fortunately I didn’t mind.

I was curious to see her pussy, but I didn’t get to, not that time. Carla produced a small, silver bullet-shaped vibrator from somewhere, and pressed it against the front of her sinful panties. The little toy hummed with an obnoxiously loud whine, like a dying air-conditioner. Carla pressed it hard against her crotch, and bit down on her lower lip.

“I think I’m going to masturbate too,” I said hesitantly. I had been furtively and guiltily whacking off since middle school, once a day if not more, but I had never ever admitted the fact that I did such a thing. And I’d certainly never done it with someone else in the room. Never mind with someone watching.

And Carla was watching. She didn’t even pretend not to. She grinned and stared, and worked her noisy little toy even harder up and down the front of her scandalous red panties. Dark hairs peeked out to either side of those panties, and I was dying with curiosity to see what was going on inside them.

Feeling equal parts deeply self-conscious and molar-gnashingly horny, I stepped out of my jeans and pulled down my own boring white panties.

I didn’t think I was anything special to watch. I had my technique down. I almost always did it the same way: on my knees, head down, two fingers up inside me, and my hand scrunched up so that the heel of my hand was pressed up against my clitoris. I was already ridiculously excited, and knowing that Carla was watching just made it all that much more intense. I came quick, and God I came hard! Then I turned my head, fingers still buried in my juicy twat, and watched Carla grind her way through a big fat orgasm of her own. College, I decided, was going to be pretty interesting.

We never talked about this stuff, you understand. Carla and I got along pretty well as roommates—neither of us was too slovenly, too neat, or too loud. We respected each other’s things and hung out sometimes, but we never became best friends or anything. The only weird thing was the boys: Carla brought home at least two or three a week. It was never the same guy twice, and I rarely caught his name. I, on the other hand, never brought any boys home.

I still don’t know how Carla did it. She wasn’t really all that attractive. She had kind of a pear-shaped build, and she wore too much makeup. Maybe it was her big tits. Or maybe she was just brazen. Either way, it worked, and I got to reap the voyeuristic benefits.

She wanted to fuck me. She made that clear, from day two. She even told me so.

I slept late that next morning, and when I woke up her bed was empty. Carla came back an hour or so later. I was still wearing my pajamas, drinking orange juice, checking my email, and browsing my morning pornography. She startled me when she walked in through the door, and I quickly snapped closed my laptop.

“I’d really like to fuck you,” she said.

I didn’t know what to say to that. “Thank you,” I said. She said the same thing two or three times over the course of the semester, and I never really knew how to respond.

Carla only very rarely fucked the boys she brought home. Actually, they could consider themselves lucky if they even got to come at all.

She had another guy over a few days later. He was pretty cute; not really my cup of tea, but then again at the time I wasn’t sure I even had a cup of tea. Anyway, they came stumbling and laughing into the room, both of them quite drunk. They were kissing, and the clothes quickly went flying off.

He had a lovely body, and I stared unabashedly. I wasn’t yet used to the sight of naked male flesh right there in my dorm room. It was also the first time, and one of the rare times, that I actually got to see Carla naked. I think she may have been self-conscious about her pussy: she had prominent, meaty labia that hung down below her plump outer lips. Hers did not look like a porn star pussy. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t think it was beautiful.

Anyway, this afternoon she was too drunk and/or horny to care, so off came the panties, and Carla lay down on her back on the cold hard tiles of our dorm room floor. Her guy promptly got down between her thighs, lying on his belly, and started noisily and enthusiastically licking.

I thought this was way hot. Having a guy, a cute, hot, naked guy go down on me was my #2, maybe my #3 fantasy at the time. Watching this dude, his tight naked butt wiggling, his shoulders flexing, slurping away at Carla’s pussy made me instantly, insanely horny.  I got down on my knees, making sure to position myself so I had a good view of the action. I hiked up my skirt, pulled down my panties, and let my fingers do the walking. Already, I was losing any inhibitions about masturbating in front of other people.

It was really sexy to watch. And to listen to. Dude was really into it. He made Clara come at least twice, maybe three times. The sweat beaded up on his back and ran down his spine. Clara pulled his hair viciously, and when she came, she squeezed his head tight between her thick thighs, letting the whole dorm know, loud and clear, that she was enjoying the ride.

Finally, she pushed him away. He was breathing hard, and his face was red and flushed and slick with her juices. His cock jutted eagerly out, quiveringly hard. I never ever got sick of seeing hard dicks bouncing around our dorm room.

“That’ll be all. Get lost,” Carla told him as she tugged her panties back on.

“What?!”

“Did I stutter? Get dressed and get the hell out of here.” I couldn’t believe it either.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I don’t care. Jerk off, I suppose. In the privacy of your own room.”

I was flabbergasted. What a waste! The guy sullenly got dressed and slunk out of our dorm, and I never stopped masturbating. At that moment, if Carla had offered, I almost certainly would have let her fuck me. But she didn’t pounce. She was already getting dressed; headed off, I suppose, in search of new prey.

Carla was mean to her boys. She loved to torture and torment them. She would pull their nipples like she was trying to rip them straight off their chest. She would yank their hair mercilessly, grind herself all over their faces, not caring whether they could breathe, or if they ever got to get off. I once watched her piss on a guys face while he was in the middle of eating her out; she howled with laughter, and he stayed with her all the way. She loved to have sex with guys while she was menstruating, just to see the expression on the guy’s face when she reached into her panties and pulled out a bloody tampon. “Dive in!” she’d command him with a smirk.  And usually they would.

I never understood her proclivities; I certainly never adopted them myself. Actually, later on when I was out of college and had a sex life all my own, I was just the opposite. I liked it when a guy was a little aggressive, when he’d take control, get caught up in his own desires, use me for his pleasure. But watching Carla do her thing definitely turned my crank, something fierce.

Carla bought me a vibrator. It was a beautiful, expensive one: baby blue silicone with interesting ridges and a saucy arching curve. I took the hint, but I didn’t take her up on it. I did take the vibrator though. It was a revelation, the best thing since I’d first discovered pornography! From that day on, I was never without at least one.

Along with her silver bullet, Carla owned a big black dildo. I was never tempted to borrow it; it was scary big, a parody of a real cock. If she masturbated with it, I never caught her doing so. I did, however, get to watch her fuck a boy with it.

Possibly to Carla’s consternation, he didn’t seem to mind one bit. The harder she fucked him with it, the harder he humped back against her, balls jiggling, and his erect cock smacking audibly against his own tummy like a jib flapping in a gale. They sounded like a pair of jaguars going at it, snarling and hissing and snapping and yowling. When he came, it was one of the most intense male orgasms I’ve ever witnessed.

By the time Carla removed her oversized dildo from the guy’s poor, tired asshole, I had already given myself one orgasm, and was working on a second. I had three fingers crammed up my twat, and my vibrator was humming away pressed against my clitoris. They watched me masturbate, the guy curled up naked on the bottom half of my roommate’s bunk bed, and Carla loitering sardonically next to my own bed,  still wearing the dildo strapped on over her purple panties.

“I could do it to you too, you know.” she said, and that was all it took to push me over the edge into another wailing, toe-curling orgasm. I never seriously considered taking her up on her offer; maybe if her dildo hadn’t been the size of my forearm… maybe. In any event, it would be another ten years before I sampled anal sex, and discovered to my surprise that under the right circumstances, and with plenty of lube, I absolutely adored it.

Carla was a beast. She brought home a guy I recognized from my History survey class, a bit of a jock I thought, a football player wanna-be. They made out for a while on Carla’s bottom bunk while I watched, by this time completely unfazed. I just wanted to see his dick.

Then Carla broke off the kiss. She asked the guy if he wanted a blowjob. Of course he said ‘Yes’. She informed him that she’d be happy to suck his dick, but that if she was going to do that, she got to whip him first. He agreed, a little hesitantly.

Carla had him strip out of his shirt, and handcuffed his wrists together. She snatched a pair of her dirty panties out of her laundry bag, and stuffed them into his mouth, and tied the bundle shut with a bandanna. His eyes were big and brown and wide and full of fear. “What have I gotten myself into?” It was hot. Carla stood him up and turned him around so that he was facing away from me. She tied his handcuffs to the top of her bunk bed. He had nice muscular shoulders and a cute little butt, and I couldn’t wait to see it naked. Then she produced a length of thick hemp rope she’d pillaged from the theatre department, and proceeded to whip him something awful.

I didn’t count, but I’m certain she gave him upwards of twenty lashes. Maybe fifty, I don’t know. By the time she was done, the rope was frayed and stained red, he was hanging limply from the handcuffs, which were cutting cruelly into his wrists, and his back was a bloody mess. It looked like raw hamburger. Carla uncuffed him, and removed her panties from his mouth. He spat dryly. Carla was breathing hard. She had worked up quite a sweat. She tittered and asked if he still wanted that blowjob.

“No thanks.” He gingerly pulled his t-shirt back on. “You rancid fucking cunt,” he said conversationally. Then he left.

The really fucked-up thing was that I was sopping wet.

Another guy she brought home, she fucked cowgirl-style, him flat on his back, right there on her bed, with no preliminaries. She tugged his pants and underwear down, pulled her own panties to one side, rolled a condom on, and rode him while I watched. She punched him while she bounced up and down on his cock, wailing on him like he was a punching bag, her clenched fists pummeling his face, chest, and stomach. She busted his nose, and blood sprayed everywhere. Eventually, he just squirmed out from under her and left, still naked, his clothes in a bundle under one arm, holding a hand to his face, his cock still erect and condom-wrapped.

Once she brought a guy home, and started in with her marathon-blowjob treatment, teasing and tormenting his cock while I watched and lazily touched myself. I knew that this was likely to last for hours, and I was pacing myself. He kept begging her, incessantly whining and wheedling to let him fuck her. Finally Carla had had enough.

“Stand up,” she said, “I want to do something special for you.”

He stood up, wet dick pointing eagerly at the ceiling. “Spread you legs,” Carla said, “put your hands behind your head. Now close your eyes…”

I watched from my kneeling position on my bed, running my fingers up and down my slippery slit, knowing what was coming and not even believing what I was about to see.

Carla didn’t even hesitate. In one smooth motion, as if she were attempting a field goal from the 35 yard line, she kicked him hard in the balls.

It made a sound like a baseball bat hitting a watermelon. He went down, hard, like all his bones had come unstrung. He lay on the floor, curled up in a fetal ball, dry-heaving and weeping.

That was the closest Carla and I ever came to getting it on. The guy was still curled up on the floor, making noises like a sow in labor. “Fuuuuck… God-Damnit… Fuuuuck…” he moaned in between retching. Carla tittered. I got up, stepping gingerly around the guy’s prone and twitching body, crawled into Carla’s bed and lay down on top of her. Carla felt big and soft and warm underneath me. Her large breasts were pressed up against my own. My pussy was soaking wet. I slipped my fingers into my cunt and rubbed my tits against Carla’s breasts. She had one hand inside her own panties, and one hand on my ass, pulling me closer to her. We kissed as we masturbated. I had never kissed a girl before—I had barely even kissed a guy before—and I thought it was super hot. I wished I was a guy, and I could squirt all over the expanse of her belly. I wished her panties were off and it was my hand on her pussy. I wished it was her tongue on my clitoris. I kept picturing the triumphant look on Carla’s face as she smashed that poor guy’s testicles, and I kept getting hotter and more turned on.

We both came at about the same time. As I orgasmed, Carla twisted my tit like she was wringing out a dish towel, and bit down my lip hard enough to draw blood. That seemed to set her off. She threw her head back and howled, tearing at my lip. Later on I had to go to the emergency room and get three stitches; I still have a tiny scar.

By the time we had both settled down, the guy was gone. I don’t know when he had left, or whether Carla had done permanent damage to his testicles, and I can’t really say that I cared. Carla took a shower while I held an icepack to my lip, which wouldn’t stop bleeding.

The next day I went to the RA and requested a new roommate, and I ended up with Michelle, who was quiet and inoffensive. We got along fine. She was a little too neat and tidy for my taste, and rather boring, but that was OK. If Michelle had any sexual thoughts whatsoever, she kept them strictly to herself. Carla and I remained smile-and-wave friendly around campus, but that was all. We didn’t talk or hang out or anything, and by and large I was OK with that too.

I graduated from college, virginity dented but still intact, and moved to New York City, where I pursued my literary career with a vengeance. I lost that pesky virginity of mine to a very sweet Guatemalan boy who had incredible stamina and no idea that he was plucking my cherry.

Shortly after that, I got involved with a pair of brothers, twins actually. Adam picked me up in a bookstore. I was flipping through the erotica section, and he came boldly up to me and asked if I could recommend anything sexy. He was beautiful; tall and winsome with sad brown eyes and unruly hair and strong, clever hands. I was feeling brave and saucy.

“How about me?” I said, “I’m an open book.”

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” he said.

“Neither am I,” I told him.

So I had my first ever one-night stand with Adam, and it was awesome. He was kind and smart and funny, and a wildcat in bed. And he was hung. I went back to his place, a claustrophobic two-bedroom apartment deep in Queens, strewn with sketch pads, drawings, and art supplies. We went straight to bed. I sucked him, he ate me out, we fucked; we slept a few hours, and did it all over again. I woke up in his bed the next morning, feeling sore, a little groggy, slightly disoriented, and very very satisfied. He had gotten up early and had already made coffee.

Adam asked me if I’d be interested in having a threesome with him and his twin brother. I surprised myself by answering “Yes!” without even hesitating. I guess that was Bryan’s cue: he came out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of striped boxers with a delightful-looking lump in the front of them. They were identical twins: I already knew exactly what those boxer shorts contained.

We did it the first time right there in the middle of breakfast. The boys sat on the edge of their coffee table, and I sucked them off, alternating one cock and then the other, and sometimes both at the same time, until they both shot off all over my tits. My pussy was too sore for more fucking right away, but Bryan ate me out while I lay on top of Adam, feeling his cock get hard all over again nestled in between my buttocks. After that I was treated to the sight of the twin brothers kissing and jerking each other off, and I knew that I had hit jackpot.

We were together for over a year. I won’t say I dated them, because there was never any pretense that it was about anything but sex; but they were both very sweet, and the sex was fantastic

What they both really wanted was to make a sandwich out of me; one twin taking me anally while the other one fucked my pussy. I was deeply intrigued, but they weren’t pushy about it, and I was too chicken to give them the green light. In retrospect, I kick myself for passing up on that action, and now I wish they’d been just a tinier bit pushier.

But aside from that, we did just about everything else that three horny people can do together. We experimented freely. I loved to suck them both off, alternating dicks or taking both erections into my mouth. I drank their urine straight from the source, which I was surprised to find neither degrading nor disgusting, but rather shockingly intimate. I got to watch them fuck other girls (one of them at a time—taking both twins at once was a pleasure I reserved for myself). They loved to eat me out, and they’d do so for hours on end; one twin licking my pussy and clit, while the other one tongued and probed my anus. Once I got over being self-conscious about that, it was heaven.  I really enjoyed watching the two of them fool around with each other too; I loved watching them suck each other’s dicks and how loud and excited they’d get before they came. They were beautiful to watch.

One jagged, psychedelic night when we were all three tripping on mescaline, I got to watch Bryan fuck Adam up the ass. He greased up his cock, wrapped his belt around his brother’s neck, and crammed his dick right up Adam’s anus. Bryan yanked on the belt, choking Adam until his eyes bulged out and he choked and retched, and sodomized him like he was driving nails, howling like a cowboy the whole time. I had my mouth on Adam’s dick, and I sucked him through the whole ride, and both brothers came at the same time, Adam filling my mouth with his sweet, sticky jizz just as Bryan snarled and cursed and came in his asshole. That may have been the single hottest event I’ve ever witnessed.

Our standard operating procedure however was more pedestrian. I would suck one brother’s cock while the other one fucked me from behind; and then they would switch places, and then switch again, until all three of us had come at least once. Life was good. I couldn’t believe my luck. It only ended because Bryan went and fell in love and got himself a fiancé and declared himself off limits. Me and Adam continued fucking for a little while after that, but the dynamic had shifted, and it just wasn’t the same. I cried when it was all over, even though I had promised myself that I wouldn’t.

I had a couple of same-sex experiences too. The first was a banal craigslist hookup; an awkward and utterly forgettable drunken grope-fest. We were both really horny and really nervous, but aside from that we had absolutely nothing in common. I felt no attraction toward her whatsoever, but I fucked her anyway, and felt like a dirty ashtray the next morning and had a belly ache and pangs of regret for days after. I swore I’d never do anything of the sort ever again.

My second experience with a girl rocked me to the core, and almost convinced me to switch teams for good.

Sue was a co-worker, nominally my supervisor, but we worked together like partners. We always had good chemistry, but what transpired was completely unplanned, and unfolded organically. We were working late in the office together, and the sexual electricity was crackling between us like static on flannel sheets. A look turned into a touch, and suddenly we were kissing.

“I’d really like to fuck you,” I said.

We took a taxi back to her place, a doorman building on the Upper West Side.

Sue’s place made mine look like a broom closet, a messy broom closet at that. As soon as the door closed behind us, we started kissing again. Clothes came off like falling leaves as we tumbled into her bed. Sweet smelling, freshly washed high-thread count sheets! I got my hand inside her black slack, and found her sopping wet. The last of our clothes were soon piled on the floor, and we were kissing and touching on her bed.

“I want to taste you,” I said. Sue rolled over on her back and spread her legs wide. Her pussy was shaved, as I suppose is fashionable these days. I thought of Carla and her furry muff and thick, pouting lips. Sue’s pussy was petite, and her clitoris was pink and eager. I dived on in.

It wasn’t my first time going down on a girl; ms. craigslist had taken care of that for me. As uninspiring as that first experience had been, I’m glad I had it: this time I had a modicum of a clue what to do while I was down there. I thoroughly enjoyed licking Sue’s pussy, and from the sound of things, and all the wetness, she enjoyed having her kitty licked. I made her come, which made me absolutely glow.

I came up for air, and we kissed a while more. Then Sue’s fingers found my pussy, and then she went down on me, and then we maneuvered into a 69.

In my post-collegiate explorations with guys, I had tried 69 a few times, and decided I didn’t like it. Too distracting, kind of awkward. Somebody inevitably got shortchanged, usually me. 69ing with a girl, or at least with Sue, was a different experience entirely. It was a long, slow, sultry journey, a sexual conversation, a game of give-and-take that seemed to last for hours, bring us both repeatedly to the brink before backing off, tiptoeing away from climax. It felt like we were dancing. I was covered in Sue’s juices, positively soaked. She was on top of me, and when I slipped a finger up her tiny asshole, my thumb into her pussy, and pressed my tongue against her clit, she finally came for me, burying her face in my own cunt, which sent me off like TNT.

It was late. Or rather, early. We kissed and cuddled a little more. I wanted to spend the remainder of the night there, but she seemed uncomfortable, so I left, wired and tired on a four a.m. train to Brooklyn.

At the office the next day, things were palpably awkward. We were both exquisitely polite to each other, like a pair of prizefighters tiptoeing through a tchotchke shop.

I made a bit of an ass of myself over the next week or two, trying to turn a one-night stand into a relationship. Sue clearly wasn’t interested, but couldn’t quite come right out and say so, and I wasn’t in any state to take a hint. Some things are best left alone.

Fortunately I was a freelancer, and my work situation moved on, and Sue and I left things with an empty hug and a promise to keep in touch.

For a while I was obsessed with Sue. Whenever I’d masturbate, I would think of her. I’d imagine her beating my ass raw; yanking my hair; cruelly twisting my nipples; pissing into my mouth; fucking my ass with a big black strap-on; shoving her whole fist up my cunt, and I’d come, howling into the pillow, my vibrator humming its long monotone against my frustrated clit. After a while I moved on, but I still use Sue for some of my kinkier masturbatory imaginings.

I still think of Carla from time to time, usually when I’m home in bed and feeling restless and horny and all alone. I wonder where she is now, how she turned out. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I’d let her fuck me, back in the Wonderland of my early twenties, when everything was a possibility. I think, once in a while, about looking her up. And then I think of that boy, writhing and puking in pain on our dorm room floor, clutching his bruised and damaged testicles, and I think about how wet it made me. And then I masturbate myself to sleep and let it go.

END

1.

It was the first night that our marriage was officially open for business, and I just couldn’t seem to stop making an ass of myself. We were at a party–our friends Ted and Jackie’s house–and we had given each other permission to go home with whomever we pleased. I had been hitting on everything with tits; and every time I opened my mouth, I stuck my size 10 ½ foot right in.

Malinda Straus, formerly Ted and Jackie’s babysitter, now honors college student, was showing off about a mile of cleavage. I had her backed into a corner, and I was flirting shamelessly. My dick was hard in my pants. I placed my hand on her curvaceous hip. She didn’t flinch or pull away.

“Shall we get out of here?” I asked. “Wanna go for a drive?” Malinda was almost exactly half my age.

“Um, isn’t that your wife over there?”

“Yes, but…” I started to explain, but the moment was gone. With all the skill and agility of an NFL running back, she twisted and squirmed past me, and was gone. I felt like a douche, and my cock advertised that fact to the room, projecting obnoxiously out from the front of my pants. I got myself another drink, and tried to pretend that I didn’t care.

My wife, Lorraine, ended up going home with Chip and Skip, two gay friends of ours. I don’t know if they’re actually married, but if not, they might as well be. Lorraine asked me if I wanted to tag along, and I said ‘Sure’. I certainly didn’t have anything better to do. The three of them took their minivan; I followed them in our car. Alone.

Chip and Skip couldn’t possibly have been more mild-mannered and middle-of-the-road if they tried. Chip was an accountant and Skip worked in marketing. Or the other way around. They looked like they belonged in a Land’s End catalogue. And Chip, at least, was bisexual.

Chip wasn’t especially buff, but he had a pretty big dick, and he waxed off all his body hair, so it looked even bigger. He had a bellybutton ring. Lorraine, still fully dressed in her brown slacks and beige blouse, got down on her knees and started sucking his cock with a gusto and enthusiasm that made me, just an instant, a little bit jealous.

“I could do that for you too,” Skip said. The gay boys’ living room might have been decorated by PeeWee Herman. Skip and I were seated on what looked very much like the flayed hide of Fozzie Bear.

“No, thanks.” I told him.

“OK,” he said.

We watched as Chip undressed my wife, carefully and painstakingly removing each and every article of clothing and folding it neatly and stacking it on a chair before moving on to the next one. It was a strangely, powerfully erotic scene, and hypnotic to watch. By the time she stood nude in front of him, and they started to kiss and make out and touch each other, I was uncomfortably hard.

Chip’s dick just seemed to keep getting longer and harder, the more they fooled around. I wondered just how wet Lorraine was by now. Sopping wet, I was willing to bet.

“You can jerk off if you feel like it,” Skip told me. “I’m going to.”

He was already peeling off his clothes: casual-Friday blue jeans and a button-down shirt, with happy-face boxers underneath. His gear was more reasonable; about the size of my own, with a pronounced upward curve and a tidy patch of closely-trimmed pubic hair.

I was the only one left in the room with clothes on. Feeling more than a little bit self-conscious, I stripped down. My poor long-confined dick gratefully flopped free of my boxer-briefs. Skip waggled his eyebrows, possibly seductively.

Lorraine was on her hands and knees on their black leather couch, her rump thrust up, her tits hanging down. “You can put it anywhere you like baby,” she told Chip.

“I want to fuck that pretty little pussy,” Chip said, rolling on a condom.

“Oh goody,” Lorraine said, wiggling her ass. “Lucky me!”

I heard the squelch as he entered her. It was really pretty hot to watch them fuck. Skip was already jerking off, reclining next to me on the brown faux-bearskin rug, so I quickly got over my lingering vestiges of homophobia and joined him. He reached over and started playing with one of my nipples, gently rolling it around between his thumb and forefinger. It felt pretty nice, so I returned the favor, pinching and tweaking his hard little nipple while I masturbated.

Things were getting pretty hot and heavy on the couch. Lorraine and Chip were fucking hard and fast. He had a thumb planted up inside her butthole. “I’m gonna fucking come!” he grunted through clenched teeth.

“Oh yeah baby,” Lorraine moaned back, “come in my fucking cunt baby, fill me up!”

With a series of grunts like he was power-lifting, Chip came. I actually saw his balls twitch as he shot off. That did it for Lorraine. Hunched over, scrubbing desperately at her clit, she came to a whining, whimpering orgasm as he continued fucking her.

It was really sexy. And then Skip turned his head so his face was close to mine, and I could feel his breath on my lips, and then he kissed me, and I totally surprised myself by kissing him back. We jerked off side by side like that, kissing open-mouthed with tongues and all, and playing with each other’s nipples while we masturbated and our partners watched. It felt weird to be kissing a guy, but I didn’t really mind at all, and my cock was super-excited.

“Oh Dude, please come in my mouth!” Skip begged, and I obliged him, scooting up onto my knees and jerking myself off onto his extended tongue. Lorraine clapped her hands, and Chip looked on complacently as Skip licked the last few drops of semen from the tip of my cock. I thought it would bother me, but it didn’t, not at all.

Then Lorraine and I cuddled up on the big soft fake bear skin while Skip fucked Chip in the ass. He didn’t last long, he was way too excited, but it was pretty intense to watch. Chip could take just as well as he could give, and he sure seemed to enjoy being penetrated like that. Lorraine masturbated while they fucked; I slipped a finger up inside her warm, wet, freshly-fucked pussy while she played with her clit. She and Skip came at the same time.

Later on, in the car, Lorraine asked me what I’d made of it all.

“Meh,” I said, “it was OK.”

“This was your idea,” she reminded me.

“I know, I know”.

2.

We were at Emma and Joe’s, a couple we’d met off the internet. They looked mismatched to me: she was a big girl, and he was a string bean. They seemed nice enough anyway.

“He’s very well-trained,” Emma told us. “Joe: strip!”

With a meek “Yes, ma’am,” Joe stripped naked. His nipples were pierced with thick steel rings, and his cock hung down fat and semi-hard between his legs.

“Joey is a world-champion pussy eater,” Emma informed us. “Want to try him out?”

“But of course,” Lorraine said, hiking up her skirt and kicking her panties aside. Joe crawled in between her spread thighs, and started nuzzling and licking. I wished I had a better view of what was going on down there.

“Oh baby,” Lorraine told me, “it feels so good! I wish you could feel what he’s doing to my clit!”

“He’ll suck your husband’s cock too, if you want him to,” Emma said.

“What do you think, babe?” Lorraine asked me. “Do you want him to?”

“No thanks,” I said.

Emma had her own breasts out, which were almost disturbingly big, and she was playing with the large, pink nipples. “I can get three fingers up his ass,” she bragged, “with just spit for lube.”

She then proceeded to prove it to us, sticking her fingers into her mouth, and then roughly cramming them right up Joe’s anus. “Look how hard he’s getting!” she gloated.

Joe kept on licking under Lorraine’s skirt while Emma finger-banged his asshole. His cock was really hard. He was really getting off on this.

“Oh shit, I’m going to come!” Lorraine was chewing hard on her bottom lip. “He’s going to make me fucking come!”

She did too, and I felt that little twinge of jealousy again as she wiggled and whinnied and shook, squeezing Joe’s head between her thighs. He stayed with her the whole way through.

“He’s such a nasty little slut,” Emma told me as Lorraine lolled and stretched in post-orgasmic ecstasy. “You can spank his ass if you want.” She withdrew her fingers from Joe’s asshole and he grunted softly.

I did want to spank his ass. His head was still hidden under my wife’s skirt. From the sound of things, he was going to be giving her a second orgasm pretty soon. I slapped him hard across the butt. It made a sharp smack and left a nice red handprint on his pale butt cheek. I hit him again and again, as hard as I could, until my shoulder ached and my hand was swollen and sore. Emma looked on approvingly. She had somehow managed to strip down to her panties without me even noticing. She was wearing a tiny purple thong that looked faintly ridiculous on her bulky body.

Lorraine came again, louder and more abruptly than the first time. She pushed Joe away. His face was pink with the effort, and totally covered in her wetness.

“Why don’t you try this on for size?” Emma asked Lorraine. She was dangling a convoluted black harness in front of us, complete with a bright red translucent dildo.

It took a couple minutes for Lorraine to get the harness all sorted out. Emma passed the time by playing with Joe’s cock and balls. She traced her fingers all over his scrotum, up and down the shaft of his cock, round about the bulbous rim of the crown. Whenever he appeared to be getting the tiniest bit over-excited, she’d give his nipple rings a sharp tug. I watched, utterly fascinated, and not the least bit turned-on. My dick wasn’t even hard.

Finally, Lorraine had the strap-on adjusted correctly. Emma grinned wickedly, and poured what seemed like half a bottle of lube down Joe’s butt-crack. “Have at,” she said.

Lorraine had at, with a gusto and sense of urgency that lurked halfway between scary and deeply erotic. With her hands gripping his skinny hips, she fucked poor Joe’s ass hard, fast, and deep. Her lips were twisted into a grimace and her face was all red with the effort. Her tits bounced and jiggled, and Joe grunted raspily with each thrust. Emma held his erection balanced on her outstretched hand, so that as he got fucked, his cock rubbed lightly against her palm.

With a noise like a deflating balloon, Joe suddenly came, squirting pearlescent semen in a magnificent arc all over the hardwood floor. Slowly and reluctantly, with a wicked smirk plastered all over her face, Lorraine withdrew her cherry-red phallus.

“You could take a piss on him,” Emma told me, “if you want to.”

I fished out my penis and took aim, but nothing would come out. Apparently my bladder was feeling shy. So we all got dressed and thanked each other for a good time, and then we left. I felt like I had just attended a Tupperware party.

“So what’d you think of that?”

“Interesting,” I said.

“Would you like to try that at home sometime? Just you and me?”

“Which part? The golden shower?”

“No, silly. The strap-on sex.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.”

3.

Gabby and Susan were a good ten years older than us, cowgirl lesbians of the dirty dungarees and rusty pickup truck variety. We were over at their house, we had smoked a lot of pot together, and that was when Gabby proposed that we all get in the hot tub, and we had all gotten naked, but somehow we hadn’t made it any closer to the Jacuzzi.

Neither one of them shaved at all, and they both had bodies more reminiscent of construction workers than ballerinas, so I was moderately surprised to discover that didn’t make it one iota less sexy as they ganged up on Lorraine and started molesting my wife right in front of me. My cock swelled and stood up. Susan leered over at me.

The women were splayed out all over the flagstone floor of the sun-porch. I lounged on the wicker couch, stroked myself, and watched.

They had Lorraine sandwiched in between their bodies, a mouth on each one of her breasts, suckling her nipples. Each woman had one hand between Lorraine’s legs, playing with her pussy.

She cooed, giggled, squirmed. Her pale, slender body contrasted nicely with Gabby and Susan, who were thick and sunburned, with utilitarian breasts and generous patches of hair between their legs and under their armpits.

The two older women slid down Lorraine’s body like a pair of serpents. Gabby landed square in Lorraine’s wide-open, pink and drooling pussy; Susan planted herself between Lorraine’s ass cheeks. Both women started licking. I stretched out across the couch and watched and masturbated.

Lorraine was biting down hard on her lower lip. Her hair was mussed up, her chest was blotchy and red, and she was playing with her own nipples as the women ate her out fore and aft. I knew she was really close to orgasm. Our eyes locked for a moment, and I knew. We would both come at the exact same moment.

Gabby and Susan must have known too. As if upon a prearranged signal, they suddenly broke off, pulling away from Lorraine and leaving her writhing like a tall tree in a windstorm.

Her pussy was drooling wet and wide open. I could see her fat pink clit from where I lay on the couch. She moaned softly, a plaintive mewing sound like a baby owl.

Gabby pulled on an elbow-length yellow rubber glove, the kind a plumber might don to explore the inner reaches of a clogged-up toilet. Susan slathered the glove and Lorraine’s pussy with what look like an entire container of lube.

“Sister,” Susan said, “you’d better get ready, because my girlfriend is going to fuck you up.”

Lorraine whimpered in response. Her legs were spread wide, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Gabby snickered.

Slowly and methodically, like a freight train starting up, one of those hundred boxcar jobs that thunder across the Midwest, Gabby began fucking Lorraine with her glove-covered fingers. First just one finger probed up inside, then two, then three. Susan dribbled on more lube; Lorraine’s moans became a constant keening whine; Gabby worked a fourth finger up inside my wife’s juicy, distended cunt.

“Come on baby, come on!” Gabby’s back was dripping rivulets of sweat. She was fucking Lorraine like a powerful hydraulic piston: slow, rhythmic, and utterly unstoppable.

“Take it, bitch!” Susan had Lorraine’s wrists pinned down. The muscles in her thick forearms bulged, and the veins stood out.

I swear I heard the slurp as the widest part of Gabby’s fist slid up inside Lorraine’s cunt, and her hand disappeared up to the wrist in my wife’s pussy.

Lorraine arched her back, and every muscle in her body tensed. “Holy shit!” she cried aloud, “Holy fucking shit!” Gabby leaned in and flicked Lorraine’s clit with the tip of her tongue. That was all it took. Lorraine came, shaking and wailing, sobbing like a baby.

When it was all over, the three women lay tangled together, covered in sweat and panting with exhaustion.

My dick was painfully hard, red and swollen, drooling with pent-up lust.

Gabby glanced over my way. “Oh you poor thing,” she said. “You really need to get off, don’t you? Susan would give you a blowjob if she wasn’t such a big fat prude.”

Susan made a face. “He could fuck Petunia. She’s rutting anyway.”

As if she’d been waiting to hear her name, Petunia came trotting into the room. Petunia was Gabby and Susan’s pet warthog; 300 pounds of hairy, bristly porcine flesh. She had wicked sharp tusks that she liked to sharpen in the front yard, digging unsightly gashes through the lawn, and she wore a little pink collar with bells dangling from the front. She seemed to size me up, looking me up and down with her little bloodshot red eyes. Sure enough, her requisite bits, under the stubby little tail, were swollen and pink.

“Go ahead,” Susan said, “Mount up. Come on, you know she wants it.”

At that moment, I just wanted to come. More than anything in the world, I wanted my cock to be someplace hot and wet and slippery, and to empty my poor aching balls right into that someplace. Petunia flicked her tail and tossed her head, making the bells on her collar tinkle. Her tusks gleamed white as bone. I looked to Lorraine for guidance, and got an unreadable expression in return.

Fuck it. With six eyes riveted to me, I nuzzled up behind Petunia, stroking her coarse, hairy flanks. I nudged my erection against her puffy warthog labia. She was wet. I nudged forward, slipping inside.

It was a tight fit, but Petunia didn’t seem to mind. She grunted agreeably as I started fucking her. I reached around her belly, feeling her girth and her warmth, and humped away, oblivious to my audience.

“Stick a finger up her ass!” Susan advised, and Gabby hooted. I ignored them. It felt too good, and I wasn’t about to stop. Petunia flattened her ears against her head as I squelched in and out of her. She took it stolidly, like a hairy, four-legged Fleshlight.

It didn’t take me very long. With an orgasmic rush of pleasure that curled my toes, I emptied my balls into her patient warthog vagina. It felt absolutely amazing. I filled her to overflowing, and kept on humping. When I was all done, and my soft, slippery cock slid out of her passage with a pop, Petunia tossed her head again, snorted, and amiably ambled away. I hoped it had been good for her too.

On the drive home, I asked Lorraine how she felt.

“A little sore,” she said. “How about you?”

“I feel like a pig fucker.”

“That was wild,” she said, and squeezed my hand.

4.

I ran into Malinda again while I was out on a run, early in the morning before the heat of the day came rolling in like the high tide. Or, to be more accurate, she ran into me. She caught up with me struggling up the long, slow grade of Heartbreak Hill, and she fell into step with me as we crossed over the apex and began the sweet relief of the descent.

“Is it true that you’re in an open marriage?” she asked.

I was completely out of breath. It was all I could do to gulp “Yeah”.

“So she lets you sleep with other women?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t mind if she sleeps with other men?”

“Yeah.” My eloquence-o-meter had dropped off the bottom of the chart.

“Weird,” Malinda said, jogging matter-of-factly along beside me, “Weird. But cool.”

She didn’t look like much of a runner. She was plump and soft and curvy. But she was also kicking my ass, and not even breathing hard. I liked the way she looked as she floated along effortlessly beside me, in short-short pink shorts and a black jog-bra. Her breasts bounced along like cartoons, and one little rivulet of sweat ran down between her collar bones and disappeared into her cleavage. I puffed and huffed and clomped along, trying to keep up without looking like it was killing me. I’m not sure how successful I was.

I’d thought I was following her, but Malinda was following me. All the way home. When we breezed in the door, sweaty and winded and already grateful for the air conditioning, Lorraine was sitting in front of the computer, cup of coffee close at hand, playing Hack and Slash. She waved a hand distractedly in our direction, “Have fun!”

We went into the bathroom and closed the door behind us. Malinda sat down on the toilet and watched me undress. I already had a jutting hard-on. I felt oddly self-conscious under her half-amused gaze. I kept picturing myself fucking the warthog in front of two-and-a-half lesbians. What on earth had I been thinking? Why hadn’t I just let Skip suck my dick at the beginning of this debacle; a mouth is just a mouth, and he was probably really good at it. I had a bad feeling that I’d been behaving like a douche from the very beginning. Malinda caught me blushing, and smiled.

I turned on the shower. My dick was standing straight up, bobbing eagerly at a 45 degree angle. Malinda stood up and peeled off her running clothes. Now it was her turn to blush.

“You’re sure your wife doesn’t mind?”

“I’m sure.”

Naked, she looked even younger than she did dressed. Her skin was soft and flushed pink with exercise and excitement. Her boobs seemed impossibly big. There was a fluffy tuft of blondish pubic hair nestled between her legs, which were thick and curvaceous. She stepped hesitantly into the shower with me.

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” she said.

“It’s OK,” I told her.

We kissed for a while, rubbing our soapy wet bodies up against each other. It had been a long, long time since I had kissed like that. It felt fantastic. So did the way my cock kept rubbing up against her belly.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of bliss, Malinda dropped down onto her knees in front of me, and eagerly started sucking my dick.

Malinda may not have had a lot of experience—she couldn’t seem to get a good rhythm going, and kept switching around between techniques in a way that threatened my sanity—but she had enthusiasm by the boatload. She licked and kissed her way up and down my cock and balls, even straying down my perineum and perilously close to my asshole before chickening out. She tried—and failed—to swallow me whole. She rubbed her big soft tits up and down my erection. One hand kept straying down between her own thighs to stroke her own kitty. She bobbed her head up and down on my cock, her teeth grazing against my glans, then looked up at me, like a puppy-dog searching for approval.

“I’ve gotta come,” I told her. My whole being ached with the need.

“Masturbate for me,” she said. Her own hand was busy down between her legs.

I wrapped my own familiar hand around my dick, pointing my cock at her like a loaded gun. “Can I come on your tits?”

“Go for it,” she said, her finger darting up and down her furry pussy like a sewing machine needle. She arched her back, presenting her sizeable rack to me.

God I came hard! My calf cramped up just as I came, and my orgasm was a shrill battle cry of equal parts ecstasy and agonizing pain. Gob after gob of pearly white semen splattered all over Malinda’s proffered breasts.

She scooped some of my ejaculate tentatively up with one finger and brought it up to her lips. “It’s not bad,” she pronounced after she had licked her finger clean. “I was afraid it would be gross, but it’s really not too bad.”

“It takes a little getting used to,” Lorraine said. She was standing in the open bathroom doorway. “I happen to like it quite a lot, but I guess it’s an acquired taste.”

A little while later, when Malinda had gotten dried off and dress and jogged off in the direction of her house, Lorraine wrapped her arms around my naked body, batting at my soft penis like a cat with a toy.

“That was hot,” she told me. “It was really hot watching that.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Better than watching you make out with make out with Skip. Better than watching you spank that Joey kid. Even better than watching you fuck a wild pig. God, that was raunchy! So… do you think Malinda does girls?”

I could feel an insistent nagging in my dick that told me it wouldn’t be soft too much longer. “You’ll just have to ask her,” I said.

“Mmm,” Lorraine said, squeezing my now not-especially flaccid cock and pressing herself up against my backside, “You know what I’d like even better than just fucking her?”

“What?” I asked. My dick was definitely erect now. I hadn’t had that kind of turn-around time since I was in my twenties.

“Making a Malinda sandwich: me fucking her while you fuck her at the same time. That would be hot!”

Yes it would.

“I want to feel you inside me,” Lorraine said. “Let’s go back to bed. Right now.”

And we did.

END

I won’t make it through the night. I can feel it, deep inside. It won’t be the cancer that kills me, though that’s what the doctors are all in a tizzy about; it’ll be old age, plain and simple. I’m old, my body is falling apart, the parts are worn out, and nothing works right anymore. Not hardly.

It won’t be long now. I hear the night nurse come on. She told me her name, ages and ages ago, when they first put me in this ward; but I don’t remember it.

“How are you tonight Mr. Holder?”

“I’m fine,” I croak. It is an old man’s voice, and it’s a lie. I’m not fine, I’m dying, and we both know it. But there are appearances that have to be kept up, the little untruths that make conversation work.

She looks over my chart and tut-tuts. She gives me a sponge bath, quick and efficient. I can feel myself getting hard, and despite everything, I am self-conscious about it. She rolls me over, changes the sheets, adjusts the electrodes, puts in a new IV.

I hear her taking off the latex gloves, and I really am hard now, rigid with anticipation and desire. Is it ironic that this part of me still works, when all the other systems are failing? I don’t mind, no not really at all.

I’ve never seen her. I lost my vision when I had the stroke that landed me here in the first place. Not long ago, I’ve lost track; a couple, three weeks, I suppose. She’s a black girl, I can tell that from her voice. Just a trace of an accent. Her parents were from the deep south, she was born in Chicago. She’s young enough to be my daughter, my grand-daughter even. I wonder if she’s got children of her own. She’s a big woman, though I wouldn’t call her fat. Solid, no-nonsense. Christ, I wish I could remember her name.

She wraps her soft, firm hand around the shaft of my cock. “That’s right Mr. Holder, just relax. It feels good, doesn’t it?”

It does feel good, and despite myself I moan and squirm under her touch. She starts off slowly, like she always does, and it always makes me want it more and more, harder and faster. It is that same old hunger, now nearly a century old, the same old hunger that made me follow Susie Pearson up into the hayloft, hoping against hope that it wasn’t really hide-and-seek that she wanted to play.

Susie had a reputation already, not a good thing for a girl to have, back in those days. Susie didn’t have a dad: Mr. Pearson went away to the war—the Great War, the war to end all wars—and when he came back, Mrs. Pearson had a little baby. They got by, I guess, but people talked. Susie was smart though, smarter than any boy I knew, and damn she looked good. She was nothing but curves, busting out all over, and a wicked, hungry gleam in her eyes.

I still remember the smell of that hayloft. I can’t bring her face to mind, but I remember the way she tasted. Her kisses, not that. Later on Susie taught me other, more esoteric, less socially acceptable uses for my tongue, but on that first afternoon I just kissed her mouth, which was plenty exciting enough for me. She fished my dick out of my dungarees. I was hard as ironwood. “This is happening,” I remember thinking. “This is actually happening to me.”

She told me I had a real nice one. She said it was the biggest she’d ever seen, which may or may not have been the truth. She said, licking her lips like a cat, that it would win first prize at the county fair. She let me play with her boobies while she sucked me off, and I spent right into her mouth, and she swallowed it all down like I was feeding her candy, and I knew what heaven was right then and there.

I wonder what ever happened to Susie. The last I heard, she was going to law school. She had to sue them just to get in. She was the smartest girl I ever knew. She got old, I suppose, just like we all do, if we don’t die trying.

The nurse—God I wish I could remember her name: Mary-Ann? Sue-Beth? Something hyphenated—is gently jacking me off. Her hand is strong and warm and professional, and it is moving up and down my cock just slowly enough to make me beg for more, just fast enough to keep the desire building. I grunt something, and she squeezes the shaft playfully before backing off to just a feather-grip. She wants to draw this out, make it last.

Mary, my wife, used to do this for me, back before we were even married. We did everything before we were married, of course. You had to be more careful back in those days, but nobody really was. Even so, we mostly just used our hands on each other. I wasn’t her first lay, but I was the first to ever bring her off, which always made me proud. She never liked to suck my cock, though I would go down on her for hours; and fucking was fun but routine, an old habit; but man that woman could give a handjob! Right there in church, or when I was driving us to town. ‘What’s that old man so happy about, driving down the road with a big fat smile on his face?’

Nurse is moving her hand faster now, deliberately. I can feel it coming, building up inside me. My heart is thumping in my chest. I wonder what the doctors would say. They found a tumor, a malignant growth on my pancreas, the size of the battleship Missouri. Inoperable, they said, as if I couldn’t have told them myself. Terminal. Tell me, what isn’t, when it all comes down to it?

She is playing with my balls, which never really did it for me, but I can’t bring myself to tell her that. Her hand is moving up and down my cock in a steady, sewing-machine rhythm. One finger explores down behind my ball sac, squirreling up in between my cheeks, pressing softly, questioningly up against my bunghole.

There was a boy in our unit who liked to take it up the ass. Fredrick, it was, or maybe Simon, I forget. It was supposed to be a secret, but we all gave it a go, deep down in the belly of the troop ship. It wasn’t like fucking a pussy; not better, not worse. Just different. In the dark it didn’t make no nevermind anyway. I was always curious to try it myself once, to trade places with him, but I never worked up the nerve to ask, and he bought his ticket home at Caen, courtesy of a sniper’s bullet. Now and again, Mary would ask me to do it to her that way, and when I did it I always thought of that poor kid; and how he always insisted he wasn’t really queer, and used to volunteer to walk point just to prove it; and I wondered who he left behind waiting for him.

The nurse is moving her hand fast now, steadily pushing me over the edge. “Let go, Mr. Holder, let it go…” For a fleeting moment I wonder if she does this for all the dying old men in her ward, or if I am somehow special, but then I do let it go and surrender to the rising tide of bliss.

It always feels, in some strange way, just like the first time. I finally give in to the insistent pumping of her hand, her finger worming its way up my ass, and at last I come, groaning and gasping like a horny teenage, squirting warm, sticky semen halfway up my belly. She prolongs it expertly, like she always does, milking every last drop of pleasure that’s left in my withered old body, making the moment seem like forever.

I wonder if she’s wet. I wonder if doing this turns her on, or if it’s merely an act of charity. I wish I could reciprocate, pull her to me, make her breath come in little gasps, make her whole body go rigid and then relax, but that is no longer my place. It would be presumptuous, unseemly. My breathing slowly returns to what passes for normal as she efficiently wipes up the mess with a wet warm towel.

I want to tell her ‘Thank you’. I want to ask her to tell my wife I love her, but Mary’s dead and gone now, isn’t she? Aren’t the women supposed to outlive the men? I never had the strength to be a widower. I don’t think she’d begrudge me this small pleasure, anyhow.

I wonder where my son is, and then I remember that he hasn’t spoken to me, for reasons I don’t understand, in decades. I want to see my granddaughter again, but she is dead too, torn to pieces by a roadside bomb in Iraq, my daughter-in-law phoning me up in the middle of the night to tell me the news in a low, shaky voice. Christ how I wept that night! I cursed George Bush up and down, swore I’d never vote Republican again as long as I lived. I never did, neither, for whatever that’s worth.

“Good night Mr. Holder,” the nurse says softly. “If you need anything, just buzz for me. Otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

I want to reach out and touch her, ask her to stay just a minute, tell her all these things before it’s too late, but I can already feel the sleep coming, washing over me like a tide, and before my mouth can form the words, I am gone.

END

My best friend Amy’s divorce was bitter, protracted, acrimonious, and complicated by the fact that she and her girlfriend weren’t actually married or anything of the sort. They had, however, been together ten years; and they owned a car, and a house, and a houseful of stuff together, and Alice fought her every inch of the way.

My own divorce was a sedate, banal, relatively amicable affair. John and I simply threw in the towel, calling it quits after eight years of marriage, six of them really quite pleasant. We let the lease on our apartment expire; divided up our junk; gave away or threw away the stuff neither of us wanted; split the security deposit, and went our separate ways.

John promptly got a new girlfriend, and I couldn’t even bring myself to hate her. As a matter of fact, I would have done a threesome with them, if John had asked, just for old times’ sake. But he didn’t ask.

Amy rented herself a Ryder truck headed east, packed full of books, furniture, and garbage bags full of clothing. I took an Amtrak train west, carrying a backpack stuffed full of my laptop, a couple changes of clothes, extra underwear, and my running shoes. We met up in Chicago.

We got ourselves apartment, a medium-small two bedroom place in Lakeside East, not too cheap, not too sketchy. We unpacked and moved in. We got jobs, we drank too much, we cried a lot. We’d been best friends since college, but we’d never lived together. It actually worked out surprisingly well.

I belatedly discovered internet porn, and re-learned how to masturbate. I hadn’t had sex in over a year, and I craved it, in mind and in body.

I hooked up with some guy off the internet. There was never any pretense that it was about anything more or less than sex. It was a one-night-stand; my first attempt at such a thing, and I wasn’t sure how I’d react.

He wasn’t particularly attractive, but he was attractive enough. Conversation was awkward, adolescent. I had the impression, though I didn’t bother asking, that he hadn’t done this before either. I brought him back to my place. Amy, thank God, wasn’t home.

In my bedroom, we got down to business. He didn’t want to kiss me, which made me feel weird. I hadn’t seen another penis (in person) since John and I had first gotten together, over a decade ago. I discovered that, while I’m not especially picky about penis size; apparently I am quite particular about penis aesthetics. This guy did not have an attractive dick: it was reasonably long, but the shaft was pale and skinny, and the crown was an unpleasant shade of pink and shaped like an English bobby’s helmet. He shaved his pubes, which I found oddly disturbing, in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

He did, however, eat pussy; and I had no complaints about that! He was nearly bald on top, and his head looked really sexy down between my thighs, and the things he was doing with his tongue were simply amazing. It wasn’t like John had never gone down on me; he used to before our sex life had dried up completley; but this guy’s style was completely different. Not better, definitely not worse. Just different.

He ended up sucking my clit between his lips like a strand of spaghetti, humming an AC/DC tune, and finger banging me to the loudest, most intense orgasm I’d had in ages.

I sucked his dick a little bit, an activity that I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed; and then he pulled away, wet dick bobbing merrily and pointing up at the ceiling. We were ready for the main event.

He didn’t want to wear a condom. He didn’t exactly fight me on it, but he was obviously reluctant, and disappointed when I insisted.

I wasn’t going to get another orgasm out of the deal, but it did feel really nice to have a real, honest-to-God penis inside of me. He fucked me hard, deep, and selfishly, which was just fine. It didn’t take that long, which was OK too. I thought it was really sexy when he came, and I could feel his cock twitching all the way through the condom. I grabbed his balls and held him deep inside me until he finally stopped moving.

The after-sex conversation was painfully stilted, awkward, and mercifully brief. As he got dressed, I lay naked on my bed, feeling kind of horny, kind of dirty and gross, and deeply discombobulated.

He thanked me for my time–whatever that meant—and went to shake my hand, then thought better of it. He said goodbye and left. I got up and took a shower.

I started whacking off under the hot spray of water, and about halfway through I realized I was crying. I couldn’t stop masturbating, and I couldn’t stop crying. I was in the shower for a long time.

When I finally did get out, out of tears and unsatisfied, Amy was home. She asked me how my date went. I shrugged. She asked me if I was OK and I said ‘I guess so’.

*

I woke up to the sound of screaming. There was a clatter and clunk of furniture being violently knocked over, and then the cry again. It was Amy. “No! No! Please no! Don’t! No!”

“Shut up, cunt!” That was another voice, low and deep and guttural, and it seemed to resonate up and down the walls of the apartment. I heard a WHUMP that sounded an awful lot like a body being thrown across a room.

I grabbed an umbrella—I don’t know why, it was the closest thing to a weapon that came to mind—and burst into Amy’s bedroom, my adrenal glands cranking away on afterburner.

Amy was sprawled out, completely naked, half-on and half-off her bed. A little trickle of red was leaking from her nose, and a small vise-grip dangling from one breast, clamped onto a nipple. Her legs were splayed apart and I could see everything. Her pussy was almost bald. There was a single puff of soft hair down there, crowning her vulva like a cowlick. She had prominent, pink labia that peeked and curled out.

A woman I didn’t recognize, the size and shape of a dump truck, was towering threateningly over her. She was wearing black granny panties, a black sports bra, and she had an impressive-looking black dildo strapped to one of her thick, meaty thighs.

They both stopped what they were doing, frozen like bunny rabbits, and looked at me.

I felt small and ridiculous in my baby-blue pajamas, wielding a short green umbrella.

“It’s OK,” Amy said, “We’re just playing.”

I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.

*

Amy told me later that the woman’s name was Phoebe; that they’d met in a bar; that it had just been a one-night stand; and the sex wasn’t really all that great. Apparently Phoebe had a reputation for picking up new girls on the scene, chewing them up, and spitting them back out again. We had a pretty good laugh about it, but I just couldn’t get that image out of my head: Amy, naked, eyes glazed and legs spread, and pussy ready and wet.

*

A number of people (many of them horny girls on the make) have told me that everybody is bisexual to one degree or another. I’m not sure I agree. I like guys, I always have. I like their bodies. I like their dicks. I’ve never been attracted to women in general, or to Amy in particular.

So I still have no idea what I was doing when I traversed our apartment in the middle of the night, quietly opened her bedroom door, and slipped into bed with her. I think I was just horny.

I was wearing my pajamas; Amy always slept naked except for panties. I don’t know whether she was asleep or not when I climbed into her bed; but when I snuggled tightly up against her backside, like two spoons in a drawer, she slithered her underwear right on down, kicking her panties off and pressing her naked butt against me.

We kissed for a long time like that. She was looking back over her shoulder at me, craning her neck, her long hair falling all over her face and getting in our mouths. It felt weird to kiss a girl. Her lips were really soft.

I cupped her breasts in my hands. They were smaller than mine, but beautiful, soft and warm, like half-melted butter. The nipples were achingly hard. I squeezed one and she very softly moaned, and squirmed her ass against my pajama-covered crotch.

My cunt was on fire, my clitoris bulging and straining.

We kicked the blankets aside. It was very dark in the room; I could only barely see her naked body. I slid down between her legs, which parted for me like an automatic door.

She was incredibly, shockingly wet, a floodplain of hot and slippery joy juice. I started licking. The taste was powerful, almost overwhelming, but not necessarily bad. I was immediately lost, bewildered, overwhelmed in her folds. I felt a sudden rush of sympathy for every guy who’d ever gone down on me and fumbled it: these pussy things are complicated—they should come with a road map! I settled on slurping, dragging the flat of my tongue up and down her pussy, and occasionally swirling it around what I was pretty sure was her clit.

I must have been doing something right because she kept getting wetter and wetter, and she wrapped her legs around the back of my head, and grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my face deeper into her, until I thought I might drown in her pussy.

Finally, her whole body went rigid, tight as a drawn bow, and she made an ‘ah-ah-ah’ sound like someone who has just jumped into a freezing cold swimming pool, and I knew she was coming, and I felt a rush of pride and pleasure all my own, and kept my tongue jammed up against the squirming little knob of her clit.

Then she sighed and relaxed and unclenched, and she was done, and I disengaged myself from her damp pussy and kissed her one more time on the lips, and slipped back into my own room and my own bed, where I whacked off to the memory of eating her out, her juices still fresh on my own lips.

*

The next morning, over coffee, Amy asked me if we were OK. “Yeah,” I said, not meeting her eyes. “We’re OK.”

*

Amy came to my bed that night. I was halfway expecting her, lying on top of my sheets with one hand down my pajama bottoms, idly masturbating.

She wasn’t wearing anything. That is to say, she was naked except for a black nylon harness. A formidable neon-yellow dildo jutted out from her crotch, with spiraling ridges like a unicorn’s ivory horn, and a fat, mushroom-shaped crown at the end.

“I want to fuck you,” she said, standing at the foot of my bed.

“Alright,” I whispered.

“I want to fuck your sweet little ass.”

My entire body shivered with a secret thrill. “Yes,” I said softly, “do it.”

John and I had tried anal sex once, mostly I guess because we felt like we should try it at least once. It had been OK. I think it had kind of weirded John out; he had never tried or asked for it again. It hadn’t exactly rocked my world either, but I remember thinking, ‘This has potential…’

Amy climbed up onto my bed, took my pajama bottoms by the ankles, and yanked them right off. She looked powerfully sexy like that, sexy in a way I never would have imagined, with her petite boobs hanging down, and that big day-glo phallus projecting out from her crotch. She clambered on top of me, kissing me hard and biting my lips and neck, and I strained to rub my pussy against her dick.

She flipped me over onto my hands and knees. My tits hung down, feeling heavy and vulnerable inside my cotton pajama top. Amy caressed me through the soft fabric, pinching and tweaking my nipples. I shivered.

I wanted her. I wanted it viscerally, in a way I could taste, in a way that made my molars ache. I wanted her to take me, pound me, skewer me, sodomize me. I wanted her to fuck my ass until I couldn’t take any more. And then some.

She kissed the back of my neck, and her dildo brushed against the backs of my thighs. I shivered again, savoring the anticipation, wanting her.

Amy took her time about it, kissing her way down my spine, agonizingly stretching my anticipation out to the breaking point. I could feel my cunt drooling away between my legs. God, I wanted this.

Her kissing lips finally made it down past my tailbone, down between my cheeks. It was like a floodgate had been opened up. I could feel my own wetness, hot and slick on my thighs; my clit was swollen and super-sensitive. I squirmed, mashing my labia together, as she kissed and licked her way up and down the cleft of my ass.

Then her tongue found its way inside my anus, and I moaned aloud, arching my back like a horny cat and pressing back toward her. She gurgled something and pressed her tongue even further inside me. I couldn’t believe how good it felt, how raunchy and nasty and deliciously exquisite. My clit felt like a dong, fat and thick, jutting out from my pussy like my very own cock. Amy shifted position, removing her tongue from my asshole, and nudged her dildo against the sphincter.

“I’ll be gentle,” she said.

“Fuck me!” I said, pushing back hard against her.

The bulbous head of Amy’s neon dildo nudged its way through my sphincter muscle, making me gasp involuntarily. The invasion felt weird. Weird but good. Really good.

True to her word, she fucked me gently. Too gently even. Long before she had the whole shaft buried in my asshole, I was begging with her, pleading with her to fuck me, fuck my ass harder.

Finally she obliged. Her hands on my hips, she started fucking me in earnest, sliding her silicone cock in and out of my asshole, making a sweet little grunting noise with each thrust.

I was totally out of control, howling like a monkey, grinding my ass back against her humps. Amy slapped my ass hard, alternating cheeks, making it sting; once, twice, three, four times: Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! She slipped a finger into my already distended asshole, alongside the dildo, and that was just enough to set me off.

I came, and I came hard, like a motherfucking avalanche rolling down the mountain. It was the first and so far only time I’ve orgasmed without any vaginal or clitoral stimulation, and it was one of the most intense ones I’ve ever experienced.

I think Amy came too, at the same time, but I was kind of wrapped up in my own spasms of pleasure, so I’m not sure.

She gently disengaged from me, which if anything felt stranger than the insertion, and kissed me: the top of my head, the back of my neck, the small of my back, each tingling ass cheek, the backs of my knees, my toes. Then she padded off out of my room, back to her own bed.

*

Things were a little weird between us after that. Not exactly bad weird, but our relationship was definitely a little bit tangibly off. Our friendship felt strained. We never did fuck again, though I certainly contemplated it. I still don’t think I’m bisexual; maybe I’m an amphibian.

We ended up getting separate apartments, which suited us both better anyway.

I talked with John on the phone sometimes. We danced around the topic, without ever actually mentioning the idea, of getting back together. One time we had webcam sex, which was strange and kind of one-sidedly intense. It wasn’t bad exactly; I got an orgasm out of the deal, for sure, and it was kind of cool and a little sexy to watch him jerk off. In all the years we’d been married I’d never gotten to see him masturbate. With someone else, I might have been interested in making a habit out of it; it’s just that John was so intensely into it that it was a little off-putting. After that, I kept him at more than an arm’s length.

Me and Amy went back to being best friends. We’d meet up periodically for coffee or drinks, and bitch about our sex lives, and the lack thereof. I got a tattoo, a small blue salamander crawling up my ankle. Getting it done hurt a lot, but it was a good kind of hurt.

I downgraded my job situation, and went back to school to get a degree that would be actually useful. I loved it: I loved the challenge and the engagement, and the fact that I was surrounded by young guys who were smart, attractive, and more-or-less single.

I shocked myself, and this string-bean of a twenty-year old math savant named Mitch, by asking him out. He shocked me even more by saying “Yes”, and then by kissing me, right then and there in the math lab.

When I got home, there were two new emails in my inbox, both from Amy. The subject line of the first one read ‘Thinking of you…’ The subject of the second was ‘OPEN THIS FIRST’.

It said she had clicked the ‘send’ button without really thinking through the consequences, and asked me to please delete the previous email without reading the contents.

I deleted them both, and then emptied out the ‘trash’ folder, just to be sure I didn’t succumb to temptation later on.

And speaking of temptation, I had a date to get ready for.

END

It’s been well over ten years now, a fourth of my life gone by, and I think I can finally talk about it.

The car crash that took Jeremy and little Misha by all rights should have killed me too. I wasn’t even wearing my seatbelt. I was thrown clear, straight through the windshield, while they burned.

The surgeons did a commendable job stitching me back together. You can still see the scars, but you really have to look. The broken bones knit up, the lacerations healed, but my insides were a mess. My therapist tried hard, but I just stared right through her. I moved back in with my parents in Chicago. I don’t think I even cried very much. I was completely devastated.

Over the course of a long grey winter, I pulled myself back together, a little bit, just enough. I moved to New York City. This was back in ’98. I didn’t really have to worry about money; there was enough of that from the insurance settlement. More or less at random, I got an apartment and a roommate, in nosebleed country, upstate Manhattan, on 207^th street. I decided to go back to school to be a nurse. The idea of helping others appealed to me.

Slowly, I got better. I graduated, and got a job working in the burn unit at Columbia-Presbyterian. I liked it there. I rode my bicycle to work, and shopped for groceries at Dominican bodegas, cooked my meals at home, and slowly found myself starting over. Some days I even felt whole again.

I met Sam when he helped me fix a flat tire, which is kind of ironic because before the accident I had done a stint as a bike messenger, and I still prided myself in my ability to change my own damn flat, thank you very much. But that required carrying a pump and a patch kit, and I’d stopped carrying those because my commute was so short, and because they kept getting stolen.

It was a beautiful summer morning, and I was riding down the West Side bike path when my steering went all mushy and didn’t sound right, and sure enough I looked down and had a motherfucking flat tire.

So I was pushing my bike along the path, wondering where the nearest bike shop was, and what I was going to tell my boss (I was still the most junior nurse on the ward, and Amanda, the charge nurse, did not countenance tardiness), when Sam rode up like some kind of latter-day knight in shining armor, and asked if I needed a hand.

He changed my flat for me, slower and clumsier than I would have, but I knew better than to step in and bruise his male ego, and when he was done he flashed me a smile that pretty much melted my heart. And certain other regions of my anatomy. Sam was good looking, in a thirty-something, slightly chunky, understated sort of way. He was an EMT; he usually worked the night shift, seven at night to seven in the morning, which I couldn’t help but notice complimented my own work schedule quite nicely. He was soft-spoken, he was sweet, he was funny, he had a bit of a belly and thinning sandy hair, and before he pedaled wobbly away, I managed to wrangle his phone number out of him.

I surprised myself by actually dialing that number after my shift was through. I surprised myself even further by asking him out on a date. An actual date. I hadn’t been on one of those in years and years, not since I had first gotten together with Jeremy.

It was fun. We went to the Natural History museum. We ate pizza together, and then went for a stroll in Central Park. Where I was pleased to discover that my guy Sam was an awfully good kisser. I hadn’t been kissed – or anything else – in over three years, not since before Chicago and the accident.

I don’t know if it was my accumulated horniness bursting through the crack that he had made in my defenses, or if we just had great chemistry, but I was shocked to hear myself inviting him over to my apartment. We pedaled uptown together, the seat of my bike stimulating my already erect clitoris through my jeans all the way.

My panties were more than a little moist. Clara, my roommate was home, so we went directly up to the roof of our building (where someone had long-ago installed a couple Adirondack chairs and potted plants and called it a ‘roof garden’) which, thank God, was unoccupied. You could see the whole city from up there, all the way down to the skyscrapers of midtown and the financial district away to the south. At the time we only had eyes for each other.

He was good. Damn, he was good! And I felt really comfortable with him. So comfortable, in fact, that my jeans and panties slipped right off onto the asphalt rooftop.

Before Jeremy, nobody had ever really gone down on me. Not for real. A few guys I’d dated had given my pussy a symbolic, perfunctory lick or two before moving on to the main event, but Jeremy was the first guy who actually ate me out and meant it. He was also the first guy to actually give me an orgasm. Not that I hadn’t gotten off during sex before; but I’d always had do some self-stimulating in order to get there.

Sam had no qualms whatsoever. He dove straight in, relishing the task at hand. He grabbed a thigh in each hand, and lifted me up to his face, devouring me like a starving man at a buffet table. And he was fucking amazing! I was already sopping wet, and he quickly got me even wetter. I kicked my legs, I squirmed and writhed, I shook my head like an epileptic and screamed up at the clear blue urban sky, and still he kept on licking until I orgasmed all over his face. It was a startlingly intense climax, one that seemed to go on for hours and left me weak and shaky. Still he kept on licking, until I pushed him away. My parts get super-sensitive for a while after I come. And anyway, now I wanted it to be my turn. I wanted to eat him alive!

“Thank you!” I gasped, kissing his slippery, wet mouth, tangy with my juices, “Thank you! Thank you!” I kept on kissing him, aggressively attacking him with my tongue, while I stuck my hand straight down his pants. I found exactly what I was looking for. His cock was hard as titanium, hot, thick, and juicy.

Never removing my mouth from his lips, I managed to tug his slacks and undies down. I started jerking him off fast and furiously. I wanted him to come in my mouth, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go of his dick. It felt so good to have him in my hand while we kissed.

“Stop! Please stop! You’re going to make me come.”

Well yes, that was certainly my intention. I had planned on pushing him past the point of no return before finally breaking that delicious kiss and dropping down on my knees and swallowing him whole. But he pushed me firmly away, his cock bobbing and straining, bright red and swollen and frustrated. “I can’t.”

“For real? Why not?”

“Bad things happen when I come.” He was already buttoning his pants. “I should go.”

But by now my lady parts were sufficiently recovered, and Sam didn’t seem to be in any real hurry to leave, so I managed to persuade him to stay for a little while. My tank top joined my panties and jeans, strewn across the rooftop, and I sat on his lap, feeling his erection straining through his slacks like an erotic speed bump.

Like a true gentleman, he fingered me to one more very nice orgasm, while he traced the spider’s web of scars all over my chest, and fondled my breasts, and kissed up and down my neck and ears, while I slid my naked ass up and down his frustratingly fabric-covered crotch.

And then he really did go, leaving me in a dazed and confused state. I had just had the best sex in…well, possibly ever. Sam was a sweetheart, a nice guy, and an amazingly skilled and generous lover. But could I really date a guy who I couldn’t reciprocate on?

I got dressed and went back down to the apartment, still reeling. Clara smirked at me. I flopped down onto our couch, a big goofy grin plastered to my face. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. Yes, apparently I could.

*

We were up on the rooftop again. It had quickly become our favorite place; no-one else ever seemed to go up there. We were intertwined on one of the wooden lounge chairs, my skirt was piled up around my waist, and I wasn’t wearing any panties. Sam was letting his fingers do the walking, and I was looking longingly at the prominent bulge in the front of his khaki pants.

Sam had this incredible/infuriating way of bringing right to the edge with his fingertips, and then keeping me there indefinitely, for what seemed like hours on end, until I quite literally couldn’t stand it anymore. And then, responding to my verbal or not-so-verbal clues, he would shift his technique ever so slightly and bring me to a ginormous orgasm. It was delicious and excruciating, and I could not get enough.

“Tell me again why you can’t come?” I asked.

“I just can’t. When I do, bad things happen.” My clit felt like it had swollen to the size of the planet Jupiter.

“What kind of bad things?”

He sighed, his fingers never pausing in their eternal complex weaving pattern up, down, in, out, and all around my squishy, soaking, swollen wet vulva. “Terrible things. It started when I was just a kid.”

“Don’t stop,” I told him.

“I still remember the first time. I was fourteen years old, home sick from school, and I was in the bathtub.” His fingers hovered just nanometers from my aching clitoris. “I guess I was kind of a late bloomer. I knew about masturbation, and I know I had experimented with playing with myself before, but this was the first time it had all come together.

“So I was lying there in the sudsy warm water, my dick pointing up at the ceiling, and I had finally hit on it. I was stroking myself and just loving it. The sensations kept getting better and better!” I knew exactly what he meant. I remembered my own discovery of masturbation; at a slightly earlier age, but also in the bathtub.

“I was making splish-splashing noises with my fist. I was incredibly turned-on, and I knew that I’d somehow slipped past the point of no return. The closer I got to the edge, the smaller the movements of my hand became, until I just had my thumb and forefinger wrapped around my cock, just below the head, and my hand was quivering like I had Parkinson’s.

“I remember almost passing out from the intensity of the moment. My back arched, my toes curled, I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood, and I shot off. Big gobs of come shot out the end of my dick, spewing up like a geyser and splashing down into the warm tub water. More and more kept on oozing out, like it was never going to stop. It felt great. I was high with the sensation, playing with my semen, spreading it all over my dick, which was still erect, and I was just wondering whether I could do it all over again, when my mother tapped on the bathroom door.

“She told me that the space shuttle Challenger had just exploded. That pretty much killed my hard-on. I got out of the tub, toweled off, got dressed, and watched the explosion over and over again on TV. I knew it was all my fault. I felt sick.

“I didn’t masturbate again for over a year. The next time I was over at my friend Shelly’s. We were just friends, nothing more. We were hanging out at her house, down in the game room, and we started talking about sex; about guys and girls and porn and who and what we were both attracted to, and then out of the blue she asked me if I’d ever seen a chick whack off.

“I hadn’t, and she asked if I wanted to, and of course I said yes. She produced a VHS tape from a hiding place under the couch and stuck it, blushing mottled pink, into the VCR, with the sound turned way down.

“In retrospect, it was probably embarrassingly bad, but at the time it was the hottest thing I had ever seen, hands down. It was one of those low-budget ‘amateur’ pornos, shot in some aseptic L.A. apartment with a consumer-grade video camera. There were two girls, probably only a few years older than me and Shelly, with really bad hairsprayed hair, and they were getting it on. One was blonde, one was brunette, they both had big tits, and they were both naked, except that the blonde one was wearing a double strand of huge fake pearls, and the brunette had on these fingerless black lace gloves that went all the way up to her elbows. They proceeded to have sex, fairly enthusiastically, all over a big, brown leather couch.

“I’d never seen real porn before, just furtive glimpses of my dad’s old Playboys; and this was pretty thrilling; but that was nothing to what happened next. Shelly shimmied off her jeans and her underwear, and spread her legs, turning to give me a good view of what she was doing, and started fingering her pussy right in front of me.

“I was so turned on I almost couldn’t breath. Her pussy was furry, and I could see the wetness on her labia and even her clitoris. She would slide one finger all the way inside, and then pull it out and rub it all over the outside, spreading her lips apart and making her little pink clit stand up. “Go on,” she said, “I want to see you do it too.”

‘Well, I could hardly say no to that! My dick was about to burst through my zipper anyway. I pulled off my pants and started jerking off for her. We were sitting on opposite ends of her ratty old sofa, and our eyes were glued to each other’s crotches, the porno on the TV totally forgotten. We tried to match each other’s pace, tried to draw it out and delay the inevitable, but I don’t think we really lasted very long. We were both too excited. Shelly started to come first, throwing back her head and scrubbing at her clit furiously and breathing in sharp little gasps, her boobs shaking like Jell-O under her t-shirt. I had just the tip of my forefinger petting just below the head of my cock, and I was squeezing my balls hard with my other hand. When I saw her coming, it set me off. I ground my teeth so hard I was afraid I would break them, and shot off all over the beige fabric of the couch.

“We were both panting hard, and the girls on the TV were still going at it. Shelly laughed, and then I laughed, and she said “That was awesome!” and turned off the video, and then we both got dressed and cleaned up and played some Nintendo.

“That night, on the news, I heard that a house had burned down, and a bunch of kids had died. They were the children of migrant workers, and the place had illegal apartments in the attic, and they couldn’t get out. One girl, an eleven-year, had burns over eighty percent of her body. She lingered for a week. That was the first and only time in my life I’ve actually prayed.

“That was when I swore off sex and orgasms for good. I’ve had girlfriends since then, but I’ve put all my energy into the giving of pleasure.” No kidding. Sam’s fingers were playing a concerto on my nether regions, and it felt so damn good I could barely stand it. “I guess now I just get off on getting other people off.

“There was one more time. It was my senior year in college – my dad wanted me to be an engineer – and it was about eight thirty in the morning. I had been working all night down in the drafting studio.

“At the time there was this girl who was really into me, and aside from all the practical aspects, I just wasn’t that into her. But anyway, she came wandering into the studio where I was finishing up my final project. She had brought me a big fat cup of coffee, and as I drank it, she stepped behind me, and started rubbing my shoulders. It felt really nice.

“Well, you know how it goes… she kept massaging me, and kind of pressed herself up against me, and it did feel really good… and then she reached around and started playing with my dick through my pants, which was, of course, hard as boron steel, and I didn’t do anything to stop her.

“She got my zipper down and fished my dick out, and by this time the train had totally left the station. I put down my drafting pencil and spun around on the stool, and she opened her mouth and swallowed me whole.

“She was one of those girls who could suppress her gag reflex or something; it was pretty impressive. She just opened wide, and started bobbing her head up and down on me. She’d lift up so that only the head was captured between her lips, and then she’d drop down until her face was pressed into my pubes and my cock was halfway down her throat. It felt amazing, and all the while she was softly tickling the area behind my balls, making little beckoning motions with her forefinger.

“I don’t think I lasted five minutes. I exploded into her mouth with a shout, and she took it all, sucking me dry, and coming up with a big fat feline smile on her face.

“Before we could even say anything to each other, the radio, which had been playing classical music, cut in with a news flash. There had been a big explosion in Oklahoma City. There were casualties. Nobody knew what had happened, but it kept getting worse and worse. At first they said it was Islamists, and then it turned out to be some asshole redneck with a Ryder truck full of fertilizer.

“I dropped out of college, a month before graduation, and moved here, and became an EMT. And that’s the story.”

It was a really messed-up story, and I really didn’t know what to make of it, and my brain wasn’t functioning very logically because I was right on the edge of a massive explosion of my own. Sam obliged me, his timing as perfect as ever, slipping two fingers up my ravenous cunt, and touching my clit in his patented way with his thumb, and bringing me off to an enormous, incredibly satisfying, window-rattling orgasm. Damn, he was good!

Afterward, we talked a little more. His dick was so obviously agonizingly hard inside his pants I had to physically restrain myself from tearing his clothes off and jumping him. More than anything in the world, right about then, I wanted to feel his hardness inside me, feel him shoot off inside my pussy.

“How do you do it?” I asked, “How can you stand to get excited like this and not get off?” Me, if I go more than two or three days without an orgasm, I get the girly equivalent of blue balls.

Sam looked bashful, which was awful darn fetching. “From time to time I do a prostate massage,” he said, “To relieve the pressure. It feels kind of nice, and it doesn’t seem to have the same… effect as an orgasm.”

“I’d do that for you!” I said. My mouth was literally salivating at the prospect.

“Really?”

“Oh, hell yes!” I had never touched a guy’s anus before. I’d had a couple dudes stick a finger in my butt; and Jeremy used to do this thing where he rubbed the outside of my asshole with his thumb while he was going down on me, which felt amazing; and I’d had anal sex twice; the first time sucked, the second time was OK. I’d never thought of that zone as being particularly erogenous for guys, but all of a sudden I was on fire to get my fingers up inside Sam’s butthole.

We didn’t waste a lot of time. He stripped out of his pants – I rarely got to see him naked, and it was a treat – and his dick was hugely erect and drooling precome. He crawled up on the wooden deck chair, facing backward with his cute little rump thrust out and his balls hanging down, his dick pointing straight out like a spear, and I proceeded to get my index finger nice and wet and slippery.

It was hot to do that to him. I felt like I should be gentle, but he made a cute little mewing noise when I pressed my finger against his puckered anus, and it slid right in. He was tight, and it was really sexy the way his asshole gripped my finger like a little fist. I found his prostate right away – it was practically the size of a walnut, and I started gently rubbing it, following his directions. I wished that I could grab his big fat hard cock at the same time, and jerk him off with my finger up his ass, but as the Rolling Stones once said, you can’t always get what you want.

It didn’t take very long at all. I felt his body tense up and then relax, and he made a strange guttural noise deep in his throat, and his balls tightened up and his cock twitched, and started leaking come, thick white pearlescent come, as if someone had turned on a spigot. A ton oozed out, before he was all done. His cock stayed hard as hard could be. And my pussy was all wet and ready for action all over again.

I removed my finger from his butt, and he kissed me all over, grinning like a maniac, and proceeded to eat me for lunch.

Our sex life sort of hit a plateau after that, a glorious, fabulous, sexy plateau. Sam and I got together all the time, whenever we weren’t working, which was a lot, and we’d go up to our little rooftop Eden and fool around.

I convinced Sam to let me touch him, to let me take him in my mouth, even to fuck me a little bit, as long as I made sure to let him pull away long before he felt the first tinglings of an orgasm. Then he’d pull out and roll over, or lift his legs up to the clear blue sky, and I’d finger his asshole until the come drooled out of his gorgeous cock. Which I’d usually lap right up like a cat with spilled milk, not so much because it tasted so great, as because it was just plain sexy. And then he’d flip me right over, and eat out my pussy and lick my clit until I came all over his face. It was a pretty awesome arrangement we had going on.

One time I mustered the nerve to ask him what he’d think about me fucking him in the ass with a strap-on, and he blushingly told me he thought that’d be pretty hot. I got as far as going shopping for dildos and harnesses before I chickened out.

It was a Tuesday morning, one of those glorious late summer/early fall days when the whole world seems just OK. Sam had just gotten off his night shift; I had the day off. We waved at Clara, my roommate, who rolled her eyes at us and blew me a kiss, and we headed up to the roof. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was a perfect morning for being naked.

We wasted no time losing our clothes. His dick was already nice and fat and hard; my pussy was hot and slick. We laid out the blanket that we’d started stashing up there for our own personal use, and got busy in a sort of 69 where Sam lavished oral affection on me, licking all over my pussy and clit and darting experimentally up to my asshole; and I carefully played with him, lazily tracing my fingertip up and down his hard cock, ticking his balls, drawing spirals on his tummy and inner thighs, and poking gently into his anus.

We did that for a little while, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I got up and turned around, and lowered myself carefully onto his waiting cock. It felt so good to have him inside me! We never bothered with condoms; I knew I was clean, and he sure wasn’t fooling around with anyone else. I loved the feeling of togetherness when his naked dick was nestled up inside my horny pussy.

I rocked back and forth, impaled atop him, savoring the sensations. I felt like I was oozing pussy juice all over him. His eyes were half-shut, his face a serene mask of bliss.

I felt something slip inside me, the beginnings of my own orgasm. I started to buck on top of him, grinding myself onto his dick, harder and harder. Sam halfheartedly tried to push me away, but I pinned his arms down. I rode him like a cowgirl, my tits bouncing wildly, my hair flying all over the place. He began to hump back at me, matching my rhythm. Our hands clasped, fingers intertwined, squeezing hard. I bent down and kissed his lips, and he kissed me back, hard, desperately. I started to come, wailing out loud into his open mouth, my cunt devouring his cock, and he fucked me back, fucking me straight to orgasm. Through the sound and the fury of my own climax, I felt him come, his cock twitching and trembling inside me, his hot semen flooding into my cunt, overflowing, and drooling out all over us both.

When it was all done, he stayed inside me, diminished. We were both panting, out of breath.

“I knew that would happen, sooner or later,” he said, “It was bound to happen. It’s not your fault.”

“Is it ok?” I asked him.

It seemed like every siren in the city had gone off at once. I could already see one huge column of black smoke away to the south, and even as I looked, I saw the fireball as the second plane hit.

Traffic had stopped in the streets. People were wandering around, bewildered. Radios chattered.

“I’ve got to get down there.” Sam said, pulling on his clothes. I got dressed too, and pedaled my ass down to the burn ward at Columbia-Presbyterian, where we were expecting massive casualties. The thing is, we didn’t actually see that many bad burn patients. It seems like people mostly either got out more or less OK, or they didn’t get out at all.

I never saw Sam again.

I called his phone obsessively. At first I called him hourly, then every day, then every week. I stopped leaving messages early on; I used to just listen to his voice on the outgoing message. Eventually the number stopped working.

END

The place used to be a knife factory, back before the recession and the new normal, back before the bottom fell out and all the jobs slunk away, first to Hong Kong and Taiwan, and then to poorer and more desperate places.

When they closed the factory, they erected a fence around the entire site; a twelve-foot tall hurricane fence topped with concertina wire. A fence, I reflected nervously, designed to keep out trespassers, delinquents, people like me.

They hadn’t kept up with it. Big holes were rent in the fence, and in places it had been knocked down entirely by fallen trees. The tall towers of security lights had long ago gone dark. The place was derelict.

I made my way through the darkness and litter, slipping through a hole under the fence tunneled out by a generation of trespassing teens. The night was full of mostly invisible, nearly silent figures making their way into the compound. Like a shadowy migration, the place was swarming with kids.

I found the entrance to the building without much problem. Behind a ragged sheet of plastic, dim battery-powered lanterns lit the way. A couple of burly guys were taking money. It cost twenty dollars to get in. There was a homemade poster taped to the wall with a list of rules written in black magic marker: respect for the performers; what happens here stays here; if your name is called you must abide by the luck of the draw; condoms mandatory for all penetrative sex. There were a pair of plastic buckets just inside the door, a red one labeled ‘Actions’, and a green one labeled ‘Actors’. For another twenty bucks a pop, you got to drop a slip of paper into a bucket.

Inside the building, I followed the trail of spotty lights and the growing crowd as we wound our way through a labyrinth, deeper and deeper into the abandoned factory.

The room we ended up in was fairly small, and it was already pretty packed. The seating was eclectic: plastic Adirondack chairs and cast-off choir risers as well as folding chairs and a few scattered lazy-boys lined the perimeter. In the center of the room was a large square of ratty blue shag carpet and in the center of the carpet was an ornate red velvet Victorian couch. Next to the couch was a little side table with a salad bowl full of condoms, a couple vibrators, and a big bottle of lube. Someone had rigged up a cluster of spotlights, strung together with orange extension cord, and the place was lit up like a stage.

I was surprised by the crowd: I hadn’t imagined that there would be so many people, and I guess I had expected it to be almost all male. The room was full to overflowing. I was lucky to get a seat. There were at least as many girls in there as there were guys. This thing was better attended than the freaking prep rallies at school.

Kim T, our thoroughly straight-laced and chronically over-achieving class president and presumptive valedictorian, strode confidently out into the arena. She was wearing a top hat, black slacks, and one of those novelty t-shirts with a tuxedo printed on the front. She carried a wireless microphone.

“Welcome back Friends and Lovers,” she said into the mic, and she was rewarded with an enthusiastic round of applause. With practiced patter, she quickly introduced herself, explained the rules of the game, and admonished us all to be quiet during the show. She had all the suave showmanship of a practiced emcee; I never imagined she had it in her. The crowd, unusual for a room packed full of teenagers, was dead silent.

The two buckets were brought out, and ceremoniously placed on a low table in front of the carpeted area. Kim made a big show of reaching into the green ‘Actors’ bucket and mixing up the pieces of paper inside. Then she drew out a folded slip and read it aloud:

“Donna S.”

A mousey, curly-haired, slightly overweight girl in a big purple t-shirt stood up and nervously made her way up onto the stage. She sat down on the scarlet couch, looking very nervous and self-conscious.

Kim drew a slip of paper from the other bucket, and held it up over her head.

“Goes down on”

On the couch, Donna smiled widely, caught herself, and then blushed furiously.

“Ricky O.”

A skinny kid in black jeans and a black t-shirt with a bad haircut and braces got up and came forward. There was an awkward pause as they sat next to each other on the couch for a moment, a couple geeky kids on their first date. The audience held its collective breath.

Then Donna leaned over and kissed Ricky on the mouth, and ran her hand clumsily up and down the front of his black jeans. That seemed to break the ice. Ricky stood up and unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall around his ankles. His penis jutted out from the front of his boxer shorts. He scooted the underwear down, and his naked cock protruded straight out from his crotch.

Donna seemed to take a deep breath, got on her hands and knees on the couch cushions, opened her mouth wide, and started doing her level best to swallow him whole, as if she were at some sort of perverted hotdog eating contest.

They fumbled around a little, and then they seemed to find a comfortable rhythm. There was a brief smattering of applause when she stopped in the middle of what she was doing, sat briefly up, and pulled her purple t-shirt and beige bra off over her head in one smooth motion. She had a beautiful set of tits. You never would have guessed.

When she went back to work, they both seemed more relaxed and focused on the task at hand. He felt up her boobs a little bit. She played with his balls. Then she sucked on the pink head of his long, skinny cock, while he guided her hand up and down the shaft. The room was quiet enough that I could hear the slurping sounds of her mouth on his dick.

Donna looked up at Ricky imploringly. They were both enjoying themselves immensely. This beat the hell out of any porn I had ever seen. Ricky started pumping his own cock, biting down hard on his lower lip. She lapped at the pink swollen crown intermittently, and then offering up her large soft breasts as a sort of target for him. He came with a high pitched yelp, squirting copious amounts of pearly-white semen all over Donna’s breasts. The crowd applauded as they grinned, bowed, mopped up and got dressed, and returned to their seats.

Kim came back to center stage, smiling and golf-clapping. With a flourish, she drew three more slips of paper out of the two buckets.

“Sean A.”

“Butt-Fucks”

“Brian G.”

I knew Sean, he was one of those quiet, really smart kids who sat in the front row of all his classes, wore slacks and button down shirts every day, didn’t really socialize, and, without making a big fuss about it, got straight ‘A’s. It had never occurred to me that he might be in any way a remotely sexual being.

I also knew Brian. Everyone did. He was on the football team; I’m not sure what position, but it was one of the important ones. Big, goofy, popular, not overly bright. And he did not want to get up. There was a muted commotion around where he sat in the improvised bleachers, catcalls and a little pushing. “Come on Man,” someone yelled, “Don’t be a pussy. You know the rules!” Sean just stood there on the stage, grinning and fidgeting absently.

Brian sheepishly made his way up onto the stage. Kim winked broadly, mugging for the audience, and slapped him playfully on the backside. Sean was already undressing.

The kid had a big dick. I mean, holy shit. Who knew? I’m sure that more than one person made a mental note: there was more to quiet, studious Sean than anyone would have guessed. A lot more.

“Suck it” he said.

Brian gave him a murderous look, but he knew the rules, and he was committed to playing along. While skinny, naked Sean lounged on the couch, his oversized cock still flopping around half-hard, Brian shrugged eloquently as if he could really care less, got down on his knees, and started unenthusiastically licking the underside of Sean’s dick.

Sean wrapped one hand around the base of his cock – it was really obscenely big and uncircumcised – and smacked Brian across the face with it, the head peeking out from under its sheath, red and livid angry-looking. He pushed the bulging crown against Brian’s lips and fed it to him. Brian made a face like he was being forced to drink rancid milk. Poor thing. I don’t think I was the only person in that crowd who would have happily traded places with Brian at that moment. But that wasn’t an option.

Sean pulled his cock away from Brian’s half-hearted ministrations, and stood up. He was having his moment in the spotlight and loving it. On Monday morning, he’d be quietly back in class, head down, grinding away at his academics. His dick was fully hard now, jutting straight out from his crotch like a medieval battering ram, and it certainly was impressive. He whispered something in Brian’s ear, something none of us in the audience could hear, but we all saw Brian blush cherry red.

They traded places: Brian unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and underwear and knelt down in front of the couch, burying his face in the pillow. His dick was small and soft, hidden in a curly matt of dark pubes. He had a cute little white butt.

Sean sat down on the small of Brian’s back, facing us. His enormous dick jutted out like a totem pole, standing up past his navel. He began massaging Brian’s backside, gently tracing spirals with his fingertips all over Brian’s butt cheeks; rubbing the backs of his thighs, brushing up against his dangling scrotum, occasionally darting fitfully into the dark crevice between his buttocks. He was masturbating intermittently with one hand, keeping that ridiculous cock nice and hard. The whole audience was on the edge of its seat.

The foreplay seemed to go on forever. The tension was unbearable. After what seemed like an eternity, Sean scooted back so he was sitting on Brian’s muscular shoulders, bent over and stuck his face in between Brian’s butt cheeks, and started to lick. We heard a quite audible sigh, and Brian raised his rump, trying to giving Sean better access. His dick was dangling straight down, meaty and engorged if not exactly erect.

Sean seductively licked his fingers, one, two, three of them, and when they were glistening wet with his saliva, he started tracing them up and down Brian’s backside, traversing lazily up and down, starting at the dimple at the base of his spine, down his crack, along his fat testicles, and finishing at the pink head of his penis, which was now quite definitely hard.

The silence in the room was intense. I could hear Brian’s raspy breathing, the little gasp when Sean found his butthole, the sigh when he moved his attentions away from that sensitive spot, the sharp intake of breath when he came back to it, more aggressively this time, probing and penetrating with his wet fingers.

Abruptly, Sean stood up, and snatched up a condom from the salad bowl on the little side table. He tore the package open, and slowly and meticulously rolled the condom down his over-sized cock. Wrapped in beige latex, his penis looked faintly ridiculous, all out of proportion with his skinny body, as if he were goofing around, holding a salami between his legs.

He slathered lube all over his dick; and then poured what seemed like half the bottle down Brian’s butt crack. He pried the cheeks apart, and we caught a glimpse of Brian’s crinkled asshole; tiny, pink, vulnerable. “Fuck,” I thought to myself, “that thing’s never going to fit.” Brian whimpered softly as Sean violated his ass again, smearing lubricant up inside his anus with two fingers.

It took a little while, but Sean was patient and determined. He stood behind Brian, who now had his rump thrust up in the air like a cat in heat. He rubbed his condom-covered cock up and down Sean’s crack, eliciting and involuntary moan, before pressing it hard against his target. The two boys rocked together like kids on a seesaw; it was intensely erotic for everyone in the room. They seemed lost in a world all their own. Sean pulled away, got down and licked some more; tried again. This time, it slipped right in. Brian grunted like he’d just been tackled by a big lineman, and Sean threw his head back and let out a long, drawn-out quavering groan. He was inside.

Sean didn’t get the whole length in; that would have been ambitious! He kept the bulbous head of his dick lodged just up inside Brian’s anus, and fucked him with tiny, rapid humping motions, almost as if he were some bizarre wind-up toy. It only took a few moments. Both boys were breathing hard and fast, like they were running the hundred meter dash. Then Sean let out with a tortured, quavering whine, and squeezed his own ass, and we knew he had come.

He pulled his cock out, threw away the condom, and flashed us a smile as he put his clothes back on and went back to his seat in the bleachers.

Brian seemed dazed and confused. His own dick (regular sized, and not bad-looking at that!) was achingly erect, curving skyward, balls drawn up tight. He stumbled over the couch, picking up his scattered clothes into a bundle, and wandered blushing off the stage, his bobbing erection leading the way.

Kim the emcee took center stage again, clapping politely. “Well, that was really special,” she said, “I know that made my panties moist! How about you? Let’s have a big hand for Brian G for being such a good sport!”

When the applause died down, she pulled a fresh slip of paper out of the green bucket.

“Susanne S.”

Susanne was a dancer, a tall, quiet, elfin girl with long red hair and pale, almost translucent skin, an easy smile, delicate features, and the shoulder blades of a quarterback. She shyly stood up and walked up onto the stage.

Kim pulled a slip of paper out of the red bucket. This time it made her pause. She held it up for everyone to see. Someone had used a black magic marker to scratch out the list of verbs, and had written above it, in large block letters, “FISTS”

Susanne made an eloquent little shrug and sort of half-smiled, giving nothing away.

Kim pulled out another slip from the first bucket. “Kelly W.”

I didn’t know Kelly by name, but I recognized her from school. She was sort of a plain girl, the kind who easily blends in with the crowd: brown hair, neat and tidy, plump but not fat, neither short nor tall. She had, I noticed in my current state of advanced sexual excitement, nice big boobs, and pretty, naughty-looking lips.

“It’s not really According to Hoyle,” Kim said as Kelly joined them up on the stage, “What do you think?”

“I’m up for it if she is,” Kelly said. Her speaking voice was so soft it was hard to hear her words, but she didn’t seem particularly nervous.

Kim surrendered the stage to the two girls. Kelly sat on the couch, and Susanne sat on her lap. They started out kissing, softly and tentatively at first, then more and more urgently.

Susanne pulled Kelly’s black t-shirt off up and over her head, and unsnapped her bra. I was right, she did have beautiful big breasts, with thick pink nipples that pointed eagerly up and out. Susanne wasted no time kissing and sucking on them.

Kelly kept slipping her own hands inside Susanne’s leotard, and Susanne finally smilingly indulged her, shrugging off the spaghetti straps and pulling the top down, exposing her own breasts; small, pale, and perfect. They kissed some more, sprawling across the couch with Susanne on top, their boobs mashed together, hungry lips playing tag, Susanne seductively rubbing the crotch of her tights up and down Kelly’s thick, blue-jean clad thigh.

Susanne wiggled out of the rest of her leotard, kicking her tights aside. Her body was beautiful, lithe and trim. She wore skimpy, sapphire-blue panties that exactly matched her eyes and kept crawling up her ass in the most fetching way imaginable.

She tugged and wrangled Kelly’s jeans off. Underneath was a rather chaste and plain pair of white panties. These went flying, and Susanne gently but firmly pushed Kelly’s legs wide, wide apart.

Kelly had a light brown, fluffy, unruly muff; and her pussy was a prim, pursed vertical seam. Susanne flung her long red hair over one shoulder with a toss of her head, and buried her face in between Kelly’s thighs.

She licked; long, lingering slurps; once, twice, three times. We couldn’t see much: Susanne’s head was in the way; but I think we all felt it almost as intensely as Kelly did. “Oooooh, ah…” she sighed as the third and final lick trailed off and left her hanging. When Susanne removed her head, Kelly’s pussy was transformed. It had bloomed: the petite inner labia were peeking out, eager and moist and pink. The nipples on her big boobs were standing straight up, fat and erect.

Focused like a surgeon on the task at hand, Susanne sensually licked her middle finger until it was thoroughly wet (if every dick in the house wasn’t hard yet, I’m sure that did the trick!), and carefully inserted it into Kelly’s hungry little pussy. Kelly threw her head back, closing her eyes and sighing audibly. The finger came out again, shiny and slick, and was quickly replaced with a second digit.

Susanne finger fucked her gently at first, then less gently with two fingers. Then she added a third, which didn’t slip in as easily as the first two, but took a little work. Kelly was lolling her head from side to side, eyes shut tight, hands pulling her pussy open for Susanne’s invading fingers. Susanne took a moment to lap once or twice at Kelly’s over-excited clitoris, and then slathered lube onto her own fingers and all over Kelly’s horny little pussy. This time her three fingers slid easily up inside.

“More” Kelly grunted huskily. Susanne readily obliged, liberally pouring lube onto Kelly’s vulva. A fourth finger joined the first three. Now all that was left was the thumb.

The crowd held its breath, fascinated. I, for one, was wishing fervently that Susanne would shed her panties and let us all see what was hidden underneath, but she seemed completely focused on the task at hand. Oh so gently, she formed her hand into the shape of a duck’s beak, working it slowly, slowly into Kelly’s pretty little cunt.

Kelly was whining, a constant seesawing drone. It was hard to tell whether the noises she was making were an expression of pleasure or pain. Her eyes were scrunched tight, her lips curled in a grimace, her toes pointed skyward, her nipples were red and swollen.

Her cunt finally relented. Both the girls sighed as Susanne’s fist disappeared inside Kelly, swallowed whole up to the wrist. Susanne smiled wide. Kelly was visibly shaking. She whispered something inaudible to Susanne, which made her smile even wider. She started moving her hand inside of Kelly’s distended pussy.

Kelly’s moans and whines had become a wailing torrent. Her head lolled from side to side, and she kicked her feet. I don’t know if everyone saw this, but Susanne discretely slipped a hand down the front of her own panties for a moment.

At last Kelly gasped out “No… fuck… I can’t… no more!” And Susanne gently removed her fist, leaving poor Kelly’s pussy gaping and gasping. Susanne’s hand was totally covered in slick, glistening wetness. The girls kissed, long and sensuously, got dressed, took a bow, and sat back down.

Kim retook center stage. When the applause had died down, she spoke into the microphone, “Well, now THAT was different!”

She drew a slip of paper out of the green bucket.

“Darren McP”

“Fucks… Excellent, a good old fashioned fuck!”

“Julia McP… Oh dear.”

If you didn’t know, you would probably never guess the McP’s were twins; once you knew, it made perfect sense. It was like looking at two different architects’ conceptual renderings of the same building; two completely different expressions of the same set of specifications.

Julia was a skinny, triangular girl, with pale skin, long clever fingers, wide hips, no discernable breasts, a hooked nose, and the same thick, nearly black hair as her brother.

Darren was an ovoid, soft and rounded, with thoughtful, inset brown eyes, and neatly manicured fingernails at the ends of short, stubby-looking fingers. His skin was pale, like Julia’s, but he was prone to acne. She gave the impression of being the taller of the two, but when they stood next to each other up on the stage, it turned out that they were the exact same height.

“You don’t have to do this,” Kim said, holding her hand over the mic. Her words may not have been amplified, but every person in the audience heard them anyway. “I could draw two different names.”

“Meh. Why not?” Julia responded.

“Yeah, why not?” her brother echoed. Kim left them alone on the stage.

They stood facing the audience, straight-backed and expressionless, like soldiers on parade, about an arm’s length apart from each other, and stripped.

Julia had thick thighs; a curly triangle of shockingly black pubic hair; a flat belly, breasts that (while not non-existent) were little more than speed bumps on her torso; and a long graceful neck. She tossed her shoulder-length hair defiantly.

Darren had a big, bulging belly; a deep navel; thin, wispy black pubes; a fat set of testicles that reminded me of tennis balls; and a shy, flaccid, circumcised penis. He had large, dark pink nipples surrounded by sparse hair. He tugged nervously on one ear and rubbed his nose.

She stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his portly expanse. Julia lightly ran her fingertips up and down Darren’s body, from his nipples down to his scrotum and back again, tracing little spirals and curlicues as she went. We watched Darren’s cock rise and swell like a toadstool, until it was proudly erect and stood out at a forty-five degree angle from his crotch. He wasn’t absurdly well-hung, but he was certainly sizeable enough!

While he stood at attention, Julia moved around to his side, rubbing her furry pussy up and down his leg and fondling his penis and playing with his balls and his butt. She rubbed her small boobs up against his, smiled, nibbled on his earlobe, and whispered something to him.

They separated again. Darren sat down facing us on the red couch, his cock standing proudly up. Julia clambered up on the couch cushions, and stood unsteadily facing us, straddling Darren’s lap, her ass right at a level with his face. He steadied her with a hand on each hip, and started licking. She bent over to give him better access, and her thick black hair cascaded down, obscuring our view.

This lasted for a few minutes. We could hear their breathing, the wet sloshing and slurping of Darren’s busy tongue. Then Julia straightened back up.

Still facing us, she sat carefully down on Darren’s erection. In flagrant violation of the rules, they didn’t bother with a condom. Her pussy engulfed him easily, swallowing him whole. When his cock was buried all the way up inside her cunt so that his thick ball sac was pressed up against his sister’s jungle of black pubic hair, they started rocking back and forth together. She had her hands on his hips to control their movements. One of his hands reached down to find her clitoris; the other hand pinched and played with one of her tiny nipples. There was no sound in the room except for the squelching and squishing noises of Darren’s cock in his sister’s extremely wet cunt.

It didn’t take long. He came silently inside her, hugging her tight, his face turning bright red, and I think she may have come at the same time. They stayed conjoined, unmoving, squinting at the stage lights for a long moment before she stood up, releasing his spent cock with an audible *plop*. As Julia lifted herself up, their co-mingled come and juices drooled out of her pussy onto his lap, an image that struck me as almost intolerably sexy.

The applause was thunderous as the twins awkwardly pulled their clothes on and returned to their seats. Kim stepped up to the microphone.

“Well, that was certainly different! It’s been an unusual and exciting Saturday night. But then, isn’t every Saturday night exciting and unusual here? I hope to see you all again next week!”

The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd of horny teens dispersed quickly and efficiently, like rats evacuating a sinking ship. I made my own lonely way out of the old knife factory, slipping under the hole in the fence and making my blind way through a patch of woods, peripherally aware of other unseen figures making their not-quite-silent way through the dark. It was long after midnight and I wished I wasn’t going home alone. When I finally got to bed, I would masturbate, that much was a guarantee.

I was hooked, like I’d caught religion. I’d be back the next Saturday and the Saturday after that. And maybe, just maybe, this next time I’d shell out an extra twenty bucks and drop my own name into the bucket.

END