Nails

April 6, 2011 3 comments

Nails. Illustration by Andrea and Ale.

I’m good looking enough but nothing special. I’d give myself a seven on a scale of one to ten, though I’ve been told I deserve better. I have short brown hair, I’m not comfortable dressing sexy or wearing a lot of makeup, and I’m not outgoing, which isn’t surprising, since I’m a software engineer. I’m kind of nerdy, but at least my figure is attractive. It gets me attention, but it’s not always the kind of attention I want.

By contrast there’s this girl in accounting. Her name is Tina, and she’s hot. Her hair is long and blond, and she keeps it in a ponytail that she swishes from side to side as she sashays down the halls. She wears bright red lipstick, blushes her cheeks, darkens her eyelashes, and she’s talkative and vivacious, which makes it seem like she’s flirting even when she’s not. Her figure is wonderful—smaller and bigger than mine in all the right places, and she has great legs, though I don’t like the way she shows them off, with fuck-me skirts and high heels. If I was a guy I’d want to fuck her for sure.

I was going to say that I don’t like Tina, but she’s really not that bad. When it’s just us girls she’s pretty nice, and she’s smart and works hard. It’s just that she’s insecure, especially about her looks—go figure. When she’s with a guy she needs his approval, which translates into showing off her body—the fuck-me skirt thing—and shameless sucking up.

Besides designing product software I’m in charge of IT, so my cube is near Administration. And since I’m a girl, and with the way Tina dresses, they put me in the cube that looks into hers. I think they figured a guy wouldn’t get any work done, and I’m sure that’s true. Tina keeps her modesty when the boss is in her cube, but when she’s just working she often lifts one leg and pushes off with the other to swivel around in her chair and get at her file cabinet. This causes her legs to spread, which, with her short skirts, exposes her between her legs. I’ve fantasized about keeping a spreadsheet that tracks her panty collection and which ones she wears on which days—Monday’s tend to be ordinary—Friday’s are always special except when she’s having her period. I guess I could keep track of her cycle in my spreadsheet too.

It was the end of our fiscal year, and a crew of auditors came in to check our books. There were five of them—two older guys, a guy in his forties, and two younger guys. The five of them, our CFO, and Tina had a get acquainted meeting. I could see them through the glass of our conference room as I walked by to go to the ladies room, and the new guys checked me out, though with Tina there I don’t know why they bothered. After the meeting the bigwigs left, leaving the middle-aged guy, the two younger guys, and Tina to do all the work.

Audits are a pain in the ass. The job of the auditors is to poke into everything (preferably Tina, they must have thinking) and find mistakes, and they can ask for pretty much any document. It was Tina’s job to give them everything they asked for and to insure they were satisfied, figuratively speaking.

The middle-aged guy was a slave driver and had his two underlings hopping. They, in turn, took their frustrations out on Tina, whom they ran ragged. All day long they sent her into the back room to retrieve piles of paper that she had to put away when they were finished. By the end of the day her ponytail was undone, her makeup needed refreshing, and her blouse was no longer tucked into her skirt. She looked like her mother just caught her in bed making out with a boy she wasn’t supposed to be with.

I caught Tina’s eye and mopped my hand across my forehead.

She nodded yes, tough day.

After the second day the auditors had the situation in hand—they would have preferred to have Tina in hand—and the middle-aged guy left. That’s when the fun really began. The two young guys had gotten to know Tina, had spent two days ogling her legs and looking down her blouse (she’d been wearing her best bras, and I knew, matching panties), and now they were in charge and had the authority to give Tina orders of their own.

The problem was they had to compete for her, and being guys, that’s what they did. While one was adding figures the other was sitting on Tina’s desk flirting. When he had to do some work, the other guy came to tell Tina what a good job she was doing and how helpful she was.

The first guy got it got it wrong—he assumed Tina was a dumb sexy blond who’d respond to innuendo and jock humor. It is true she was sexy, very much so, but she wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t coarse.

The second guy got it right. Tina desired to please, and his praise touched her where she wanted to be touched most, at least as a starting point. To be fair, his praise wasn’t wholly manipulative. Sure, he wanted to get into her pants, and Tina knew that, but Tina had done a good job and had put out extra effort to make the work of the auditors easier.

After awhile Tina’s signals became clear, and guy number one licked his wounds and left. Guy number two hung around to see if his tomcatting was going to pay off. Even I wondered how lucky he’d get.

They stayed in Tina’s cube where I watched them while I pretended to work. They sat side by side, looking at Tina’s PC. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the body language was clear—they were touching shoulders, touching hands, making eye contact, and smiling. Also, Tina’s skirt had ridden up immodestly, and she wasn’t pulling it down.

Tina went to the ladies room and came back and sat. Her skirt was way up, and her friend couldn’t take his eyes from between her legs. My guess was that she had taken off her panties, an outrageous thing to do, and was giving him a look. He put his hand down, I couldn’t see where, but I saw Tina open her legs. She started squirming, and she grabbed his hand and removed it. She looked toward me, but I pretended to be engrossed in my monitor.

His hand must have had the desired effect, for Tina whispered something to the guy, and then she got up and walked out back. He gave her a moment and then followed.

I waited exactly three minutes and followed too, and using my key to the server room, which also opened the door to the financial records room, I let myself in.

Tina was already moaning, and I tiptoed to see what she was doing, or, more accurately, see what was being done to her.

Tina was standing on one leg. Her other leg was raised and resting on guy number two’s hip. Her legs were spread, his hand was under her ass, and his fingers were exploring her pussy.

One of her arms was holding his ass. Her other arm was behind her, holding onto a shelf for balance. Tina was rubbing her breasts on his chest.

“Take off your shirt,” he told her.

Tina shook her head and mumbled something negative, but the guy wasn’t taking no for an answer, and he took his fingers out of Tina’s pussy and began unbuttoning her shirt.

She tried to stop him, but it was a halfhearted attempt. When he got her shirt open and began teasing her nipples her reserve melted away, and she allowed him to push her shirt down her arms and take it off completely.

Tina was nearly naked, only dressed in a miniskirt and heels, and his hands were all over her. She moaned as he felt her up and gasped each time he hit a sweet spot, and she frantically began trying to get his belt open, which he finally did himself. He lowered his trousers and underwear.

His cock wasn’t the biggest I’d ever seen, but it was big enough and hard as any I’d had inside me. And though I’m not in Tina’s class, looks-wise, I do know how to make a man hard.

Tina was in his arms and in heat, squirming and pleading for him to “put it in,” but he was a cool customer and wouldn’t let her have it. Instead he teased her mercilessly, until she slid down and took his cock in her mouth and sucked it.

That didn’t last long, for her tease was better than his, and Tina quickly got him to where she wanted him. She was smart enough not to keep at it, for sucking a man is dangerous when you want to get fucked.

He lowered her to the cold floor (girls usually get the worst of it in that department), and he stepped out of his trousers.

Tina opened her legs. She was more than ready with milky fluid was pooled at her entrance.

He got on his knees, between hers, and played with her thighs with his fingertips. Then he took his cock and positioned it, with his hand, just inside the lips of her pussy.

Again he teased Tina, this time with his cock, pushing in and out, in and out of just her opening, until she would have no more of that, and she grabbed two hunks of his ass with ten fingernails and dug in hard.

“Ahhh,” he screamed. “You Bitch!” as she pulled him in.

Those were the only sounds he made, but Tina was making enough sounds for the both of them, and her sounds and his anger drove him wild. He pulled his cock all the way out, sneered sadistically, and he rammed into her depths, sinking to the hilt with a brutal thrust meant to hurt her.

But Tina didn’t seem to care or notice, or maybe it’s what she wanted. Her fingers tightened, her nails dug deeper, and she yanked him in and out, fucking herself in rhythms to suit her needs as she moaned, gasped, and squealed in a rut of lust.

I was seeing a different side of Tina—I’d always thought of her as unsure of herself, prudish, a tease who wouldn’t put out, but it was clear that she was in charge, at least at first. After a while the balance of power shifted, and it was hard to determine who was in charge—both were thrusting in a fury of madness in a tempo they’d negotiated for their coupling.

With a great grunt of release he came first, but to his credit he kept going, going at her, going at her until he flung Tina over a cliff, and with eyes tightly shut, her face twisted in agony, and a mighty “ohhhhh” of relief she fell headlong into an orgasm that she kept fucking to prolong.

Tina released her grip of Mr. Auditor’s buttocks, and he calmed down and became complacent. He was polite enough to stay in Tina for a long time, kissing her with kisses she didn’t return, until she gave him permission to pull out.

The last thing I noticed was Tina’s fingernail marks, deep crescents welling blood that dripped down his thighs; his cock, now limp, wet with Tina’s fluids; and Tina’s pussy, bright red, dripping with girl juice and cum. I sneaked back to my desk.

***

He was gone when Tina got back from the ladies room. She looked in on me, trying to gauge how much I knew or guessed.

I motioned her inside my cube, and I clicked my mouse and showed her my monitor on which there was a full screen picture of Tina with her legs spread, her face contorted with anguish, and the auditor’s cock buried deep inside her.

Tina was shocked and then angry, but I quickly told her not to worry, and I deleted the picture and emptied my Recycle Bin.

“I deleted the picture from my phone, too,” I told her, “but what if it hadn’t been me? You’d best be more careful in the future.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Tina begged.

“I won’t,” I said, and to assure her I confessed to the one time I fucked our boss at a hotel during a three-day convention.

Girls will be girls, and we had a good talk that we didn’t want to end. “Would you like to come over to my house?” Tina asked. “We could pick up some take-out.”

“Sounds like fun,” I replied. “You know, you’re very pretty. It’s no wonder all the guys go for you. And you really do a great job here. You’re one of the most competent people in the company.”

Tina smiled with pleasure. We left together, but I wondered what I was going to do about her nails. Tie her hands behind her back, I thought. It was going to be a fun evening.

Making the Grade

April 4, 2011 6 comments

Making the Grade. Illustration by Andrea and Ale.

Once I got stopped for speeding and showed my boobs to a cop to get out of a ticket. He didn’t ask. I just unbuttoned my shirt as he was looking at my license. He seemed torn between arresting me and letting me strip, but he didn’t say anything, so I kept on going and unclipped my bra and took it off my breasts. He glanced around to see if anyone could see, and then he helped himself to a feel. He felt both breasts. It made me wet. It wasn’t his touch—he was rough, but the whole situation that turned me on. It was risky, but after I got out of the speeding ticket I went home and masturbated thinking about him violating me.

He ordered me out of the car… made me assume the position while he frisked me… lifted my skirt and pulled down my panties to make sure I wasn’t concealing anything… fucked me with a metal rod he took off his belt then fucked me with his cock, right there, in broad daylight, bent over the hood of my car.

That’s not what happened, but that’s what I fantasized about while I worked myself over with my vibrator. I wonder what would have happened if he did do that and what would have happened if someone drove by while he was doing it. What if he had his way with me then stuck my head in my car window and cuffed me to the steering wheel, leaving me for passing motorists to enjoy, however they wished, and then came back at nightfall to release me with a slap on the wrist for the speeding. Or should that be a slap on the ass? If I were him I’d give me a major spanking.

I really did show my breasts to a cop, and he really did feel me up and let me get out of a speeding ticket, but this week I did something much worse. It’s something that goes on all the time, at my college, in a big university. I know other girls who did it, but I swore I never would.

It’s the end of summer school after my sophomore year, which is the hardest year, because the college busts the most people out, so it can weed out the duds before they let you start concentrating on your major.

I’m a good student, but my mind just isn’t capable of complicated math. It’s not that I don’t try, but I just can’t do it, and I was going to get another F on my second try at elementary calculus. I wouldn’t have been able to continue on, and my career, my whole life, would have been ruined. My father would have killed me.

You know what I’m talking about, but what other choice did I have? I was going to offer sex to my professor for a passing grade. It’s not like I was going to give anything away that I couldn’t keep—I mean my pussy wasn’t going to wear out or anything. I was just going to share what I had for what I needed.

The problem was, I don’t like the asshole. He’s an arrogant middle-aged horndog who’s always eyeing the girls and making suggestive remarks that make us uncomfortable. I also don’t like the way he smells, and I was deathly afraid he wouldn’t agree to use a condom. I was also afraid of what he would do to me if I went someplace alone with him and put myself in his hands. Despite my misgivings, I made an appointment to meet him after my final.

I wasn’t going to be subtle, so I dressed in a see-through nightgown. That was all I wore, except for sandals and a thigh-high jacket, so I could walk across campus without being raped. Before I left my dorm room I pulled my nightgown up, twisted the cloth into a roll, and tucked it into itself at the waist. That way the nightgown wouldn’t fall below the hem of my jacket, and no one would know that I was essentially naked, underneath.

My professor was aware that I was a failing student, and he leaned back with his feet on his desk and his hands clasped behind his neck, like he was king of the world and I was some kind of slug. He kept his guest chair across the room, so students can’t sit, and I was forced to stand in front of him while he looked me over, especially at my bare legs, wondering what I had on under my jacket.

I’ve got to do this, I thought for the thousandth time, and I said the magic words. “What do I have to do to get a passing grade?”

He knew what I was talking about, but he wasn’t going to say it first. “What are you willing to do?” he asked.

I kept my legs tightly closed, and I opened my jacket and lowered my nightgown before he had a chance to catch more than a glimpse of the strip of hair I kept above my slit. I took off my jacket and dropped it on the floor. My breasts were teasingly visible, and my nipples tingled, advertising my arousal. I hung my head in embarrassment and shame.

He licked his lips. “Put your jacket on, and we’ll go over to my house,” he said.

“Please,” I begged. Then, in a small voice I said, “I can’t do that. It’s too dangerous.” I shrugged apologetically. “But I really, really need to pass,” I implored.

He kept insisting, and I started crying. I hated myself.

Finally, he got up and came toward me. I shrank from him, but he walked past me and locked the door. “Take it off, and bend over the desk,” he said.

I kneeled and got a condom out of my jacket and held it up, pleadingly.

He sighed and shook his head. “You’re hopeless,” he said disgustedly. He took off his trousers and shorts, cleared his desk, lay on it, and he fished my breasts out of my nightgown, so he could see and maul them. He lay down with his legs spread. “Suck me off!” he ordered. “And you’d better do a good job or you’ll be getting the F you deserve. And that’s for sure! And don’t take my cock out until I come in your mouth and let you go,” he added.

I bent over him and took his penis in my hand. It got firm, and then it got hard. I licked it. It didn’t taste that bad, so I put it in my mouth, surrounded it with my cheeks and tongue, and began sucking him.

He let me play with him until he couldn’t take it any more, and then he held my head and fucked my mouth, making me gag. It don’t think it took that long, though it seemed like forever, and he tightened up and gushed cum into my mouth. Some of it escaped out the corners of my lips and dribbled down my chin. His spurts died down, but he kept fucking my mouth until he got soft. Then he let me go.

I spit his come into my hand and shook what I could into his waste basket. I wiped the rest on my nightgown.

He laughed. Then he said, “A minus for the blow job, C for the course.”

With self-loathing I whimpered, “It’s more than I deserve.”

He kept his word and gave me a C. Now, every time I see him he touches his crotch. He tells me he’s sorry he let me off without a good fucking.

Candi Coating

March 31, 2011 4 comments

Candi Coating - Illustration by Andrea and Ale

Brandi saw her aunt on the street, ran past with a breathless “Hi,” ran up the walk to her cousin’s house, and entered without a knock. She took the stairs quickly, burst into her cousin’s room, and found Candi lying on her back, in bed, her face flushed, her dress pulled up her legs, and her nipples impudently poking peaks in the soft cloth of her top.

“What are you doing?” Brandi asked, knowing full well what Candi had been doing.

“Nothing,” Candi gasped, having difficulty coming back from the brink of an orgasm and not in any condition to formulate a convincing lie. She was achingly aroused and terribly frustrated, and she wished her cousin hadn’t come in when she did. Fuck, I need to come so bad, Candi thought, and she cast about, without hope, for an excuse to get her cousin out of the room so Candi could lift her dress all the way again and rub her clit to the explosive climax she had been about to have. Not only was she dying to come, but she had had a hard week in school and was looking forward to whiling away the afternoon with her legs spread, masturbating repeatedly.

“Guess who’s coming to visit?” Brandi blurted, ignoring her cousin’s obvious need for privacy.

Candi resigned herself to frustration and wondered if delayed gratification might add to her arousal and the satisfaction of an even greater climax after her cousin left. “Who?” Candi asked.

“Alessandro, our cousin from Argentina, the guy I once told you about.” Brandi couldn’t stop thinking about her trip to South America with her mom and dad, when she was fifteen, and particularly about Alessandro, her Dad’s relative’s stepson.

“Cousin?”

“Yeah, well, sort of. He’s a God—at lease he would be if he wasn’t such a Bad Boy. I wanted to fuck him more than anything. If only he could have been my first instead of stupid Clint Fengler.”

“You’re such a slut. Clint’s a pig.”

“Yeah, I know, but… He’s coming over now.”

“Clint?” Candi asked with horror.

“No, Alessandro, you idiot.”

“Here? Now? What do you mean?”

“He’s in town, and he called me up.” The only reason he called is because he wants to fuck me,” Brandi thought. “I gave him your address. I knew your Mom would be out, and I figured…” Brandi shrugged.

“I’ll get in trouble,” Candi said immediately. “I’m not allowed to have boys over when my parents aren’t home.”

“They’ll never know,” Brandi said.

Candi calculated the odds of being discovered, the thrill of having a Bad Boy in her bedroom, and the consequences if it was discovered he’d been there. The throbbing need between her legs tended to push her in the direction of saying yes, but what would I let him do? Candi wondered. She wasn’t going to let some strange boy fuck her. She knew that for sure. That’s what Brandi does, Candi thought. She wondered if she had the courage to show herself naked to the boy and then even let him rub her where she wanted to be rubbed most. She clenched her legs tightly and had a mini-orgasm at the thought.

The doorbell rang, but before Candi could protest Brandi ran downstairs and brought back the most delicious hunk of young manhood that Candi ever imagined. In no time at all and with barely a hello he had his shoes and shirt off and was sliding his trousers down his legs.

Candi’s eyes opened wide at the sight of his stiff cock pointing at her, bobbing and waving back and forth as he moved.

“Oh No,” Candi protested. It was happening too fast and was frightening. She wanted to slow down and get control of the situation, but Brandi was behind her and Brandi’s arms reached around and opening the front of Candi’s dress. “Wait!” Candi screeched, but before she knew it she was sandwiched between Brandi and the naked Alessandro. And then Brandi had Candi’s breasts in her hands and was pulling Candi’s nipples and running fingers all over them.

“Ohhhh,” Candi screamed in delight, raising her mouth, which Alessandro took as permission to kiss. He put his tongue deep inside her. Then he positioned himself in front of Candi, while Brandi locked her arms around her girl cousin, imprisoning her against the new boy.

Candi felt Alessandro’s hard penis searching for her prize, coming closer with each probe, and then he found her wet opening and pushed in—not all the way in—just enough not to be dislodged.

It wasn’t that Candi was unwilling—she had even moved to help Alessandro find her wetness, but she felt that feminine modesty demanded at least a show or resistance to being taken so quickly and without so much as tacit permission. Candi tried to rise up, tried to dismount the overwhelming demands of the stallion partly in her, but he followed her up, staying just inside until she could rise no more and had to come down, burying the stiff hot rod all the way into herself.

“Ahhhh,” Candi screamed. The rubbing, pulling, and twisting of her nipples; the tongue swishing wetness all around the insides of her mouth; the hands of a young man she didn’t know holding her buttocks, spreading her cheeks, and stretching her anus as he pulled her tightly to him; and the arousal she felt even before either of her cousins laid a hand on her: it was all too much, and Candi couldn’t help but commence madly fucking the pole inside her.

Before long, Alessandro took pity on the poor girl—he didn’t want her to have to do all the work, and he carried her, still on his cock, and laid her on her on her bed and took over. He drove Candi, and she screamed herself into an orgasm, and Alessandro, holding her pinned with his muscular hands on her shoulders and his rod buried deep inside her, let her writhe.

Candi gasped for breath as she had her first climax, but Alessandro did not let up. He picked up the pace and fucked her fast and furiously, driving her into another and another orgasm, until she was panting, drenched with sweat, and more than overly satisfied.

Alessandro fell on Candi and rested, and then he pulled out. He hadn’t yet come, and his cock glistened with wetness and was stiffer than ever as he turned toward Brandi.

Brandi licked her lips and began unbuttoning her dress.

Best of Both Worlds–a story

March 29, 2011 5 comments

Best of Both Worlds. Illustration by Andrea and Ale.

Best of Both Worlds

by Matthew Dyne

“Surprise!” Ginny yelled.

Sally startled awake from her nap in the sunshine, outside the pool house of her multimillion dollar mansion. She looked up, but her gaze drifted downward. I must be having a wet-dream, she thought.

“I brought two friends,” Ginny said. “I thought you might need cheering up.”

The cheering up referred to Sally’s husband dying. It wasn’t a tragedy—the man had been in his nineties, but he had been good to Sally, taking her in and becoming a bit of the father she never had and then, for the last two years of his life, her husband.

Sally didn’t regret trading two years of faithfulness for his fortune, and she didn’t do it out of greed. She could have cheated—he never would have known. He even expected that she would need to satisfy a young woman’s cravings he could no longer take care of. But he didn’t want her in bed with others. He would have been terribly jealous, and Sally knew that. So she was honorable and kept her part of the unspoken agreement inherent in their nuptial vows by taking care of her own needs, as best she could.

But Sally was a highly sexual young woman, and not having sex with anyone, except herself, made her terribly horny. Now that he was gone Sally’s desires no longer needed to be repressed, and they burst forth in full force.

Besides being highly sexual Sally was a bi-girl, but she had preferences of which Ginny was aware. That’s why when Ginny met her two friends, whom she hadn’t seen since high school, and when they came out to Ginny, confessing their secret and even asking Ginny to go to bed with them, Ginny realized they were perfect.

“I’d like you to meet Jill,” Ginny said, pulling on Jill’s penis, which caused her to rise on tiptoes and squeal. “And Jo,” Ginny said, pulling on Jo’s penis and getting a squeal from her, too. “Jo and Jill, meet my friend Sally.”

“Hi Sally,” the girls sang out.

Ginny pulled the girls along by their penises—she so enjoyed their feel—so hard and responsive. She was reluctant to let go.

Jo removed Ginny’s hand from her and Jill’s penises, for Jo wanted Sally, who was clearly fascinated, to see the two penises in their full glory.

“I’m sorry for staring,” Sally finally said, embarrassed by the two hard penises now close to and pointing at her. “I’ve heard about… but… I never…”

“It’s okay,” Jill said. “A friend of Ginny’s is a friend of ours, and we are, somewhat, unusual.”

“Somewhat?” Jo teased. Her penis bobbed as she turned toward Jill.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind throwing a party, just a little one, for the four of us,” Ginny said.

Jo and Jill looked at Sally and smiled demurely.

Sally couldn’t take her eyes from the stiff pokers—so masculine, yet, on the two beautiful young women, so inexplicably feminine, too.

“Sally hasn’t had sex in two years,” Ginny said.

Jo’s and Jill’s expressions turned to ones of concern. “Oh my,” Jo said.

Oh, you poor dear,” Jill gasped.

Sally blushed. She looked down again, and without thinking she blurted out, “You’re so big.”

“Thank you,” Jill and Jo said together.

“Mostly, Sally likes girls.” Ginny said.

“Yes,” Sally interrupted, “but I’m weak for a hard cock inside me. There’s nothing like the real thing, is there?” She looked longingly at the man sized tools jutting from just above the legs of the two most feminine creatures standing before her.

The three other girls agreed that there was nothing like the real thing, but Jill and Jo didn’t mean the same thing Sally meant. “That’s why we’re here” Jo said excitedly. Then, she said sadly, “We’ve never had the real thing. We’ve only had each other. We don’t own a vagina between us, and we’ve never tried one.”

“We’re virgins,” Jill said and giggled. “We asked Ginny to let us try hers, but she insisted you needed us more, and, well, if you wouldn’t mind, we were hoping…”

“Mind?” Sally exclaimed. She scooted over on hands and knees and rained kisses all over the two erect penises before her, and then she took each penis in her mouth and gave it a good sucking, which elicited gasps and made the girlish rods stand even more vertically.

“That feels great,” Jo said, “not that we’re inexperienced in that department.”

Amidst much gossip and laughter the four girls took off their clothing. They were all curves and waves, hills and dales—breasts, buttocks, hips, and thighs. There wasn’t a manly feature among them except for those two beautifully sculpted pokers standing at attention, waiting to perform their duty and take their pleasure.

“Sally and Jo first,” Ginny directed.

Sally assumed the doggie position and spread her legs. “Hurry,” she begged, thrusting her pelvis unambiguously, signaling that her needs had long been unsatisfied.

“I’ve never done this,” Jo said. “So, if I’m a little clumsy…”

“Just do what comes naturally,” Sally encouraged. “Vaginas are sensitive, but they don’t mind a bit of punishment.”

Sally was as wet as a rainforest, and Jo had no trouble finding her way in. “Ohhhh,” she screamed. “That feels soooo good.”

Sally gave Jo a couple of love squeezes, the kind that only a woman can give, and Jo took off like a mare pretending to be a stallion. She fucked Sally quickly. She fucked slowly. Sometimes she barely pushed in. Sometimes she probed deeply. She pumped hard, and she caressed, too, experimenting to find all the ways she could to give and get pleasure from Sally, her new girl-toy.

After awhile Jo took her penis out and asked Sally to turn over. Jo wanted to experience the missionary position, too. Sally turned over, and Jo was quick to put her penis back in. She tried different strokes and angles and listened to Sally’s sounds, paying attention to Sally’s feelings, and with kisses, nibbles, and words expressing love and contentment she teased, tickled, and thanked Sally for sharing her vagina that was freely flowing. A rivulet trickled between her buttocks.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Jo repeated in a rhythm set to the tempo of her fucking Sally.

Sally was in heaven—a nirvana of no consciousness—a realm of joy and abandon she wanted to stay in forever. She tried to hug Jo. She tried to touch Jo’s breasts and stroke her skin, but Sally couldn’t concentrate on anything but the flush of her arousal and her approaching orgasm. All was feeling—distilled, concentrated, throbbing and burning between her legs, high up in her, high behind, within, and around her clitoris that was so swollen it was about to burst…

And then it did burst, and Sally screamed her way into the best orgasm of her young life, her best orgasm ever, and Jo stopped pumping, her penis inserted as far as it could get into Sally. And then Jo rose up, rose up high, lifting Sally, lifting then lowering then lifting her again using the penis that was deep inside her, so that all the pressure of Sally’s weight concentrated behind her throbbing clit.

Sally never imagined an orgasm the likes of that which ripped through her—more than not a continuation of her previous climax. She shook from head to toe. Contractions vibrated through her body. And Jo, sensitive as ever, waited, her penis still lifting but not moving, while Sally’s orgasm ran its course.

***

Jo lowered Sally and lay on her softness and rested, her penis, still bone hard, still inside.

Sally moaned, and Jo, her face buried in Sally’s neck, kissed her new friend repeatedly.

Time passed. Sally recovered. “You come now,” she whispered to Jo, and she felt Jo shake her head Yes.

Jo rose again, and slowly and steadily, and then more quickly, demandingly, she built to a fever pitch, and thrusting deeply, moaning and gasping, sweat glistening to sheen her skin, she burst into an orgasm of her own. A flood of girl-juice pumped out of her and joined the liquids Sally had so generously supplied.

Then the girls, still joined, rolled over, and Sally rested on Jo as the girls touched each other and whispered their appreciation—Sally for the first love making she’d enjoyed in two years and the best ever, and Jo for the first vagina she had ever had the pleasure of entering.

***

“My turn,” Jill said.

“You be on the bottom,” Ginny said. “I’ll put you in me and show you some of the things I like.”

That sounds like fun,” Jill said, and she lay down.

Ginny straddled Jill and sank Jill’s extra hard penis deep inside. “Ahhhh,” Ginny gasped.

“Ohhhh,” Jill moaned.

“Ride ‘em cowgirl,” Ginny yelled and proceeded to fuck Jill wildly, milking the girl cum right out of her. Jill thrashed and screamed in ecstasy, while Ginny hung on for dear life, not for a second letting Jill’s engorged rod slip out.

When Jill was done the girls turned over and Jill, not to be outdone, pounded Ginny into a fine orgasm of her own, but she didn’t stop. Jill kept fucking Ginny hard and fast, and the girls travelled their second and third orgasms together, coming as if they were one hot girl in the throes of her own bliss. Ginny marveled at the ability of Jill and her girl penis to match Jill’s own insatiable appetite yet never get soft.

***

Jill and Jo were still hard as the four girls drank iced wine in a hot tub. “Multiple orgasms are as easy for us as for you,” Jill explained. “And we don’t get soft until we want to. I love my penis.”

“I love it too,” Ginny said. “Together we’ve got the best of both worlds.”

Sally and Jo agreed and decided to sleep together. Ginny and Jill decided to sleep together too.

A hot tub, my own wine cellar, a girl with a penis that’s always hard, sleeping in my bed… Life is perfect, Sally thought.

Jill and Jo thought, Vaginas are awesome.

Ginny thought, I love it when friends get together.

Breast Size Counts

March 12, 2011 12 comments

The site VoyeurWeb.com has been in operation for years. It allows people to submit nude photos of women, these photos are published, and viewers can vote on the pictures: poor, fair, good, very good, or superb.

The site also runs contests, such as INSTANT Tit Flash Photos, and the results are tabulated in a manner I’ll discuss.

I’ve look at porn from time to time, and occasionally on a video I hear a young woman lament that her breasts are too small. This always makes me sad, not just because I am especially turned on by small breasts, but because these women think they have to be big–something they are not–to be sexy.

An example of Extremely Big Breasts--from Voyeurweb.com.

I’ve known lots of men who prefer smaller breasts, and I’ve often wondered what the statistics really are. I realized that using VoueurWeb.com I might be able to quantify the appeal of, meaning being aroused by, breasts of different sizes. I performed an analysis, and the results are shown in the table below.

Very Small Small Medium Big Very Big Extremely Big
In top 42 by number of views 5 4 7 9 7 10
Million Views/pic 5.0 4.4 5.9 4.3 4.8 3.7
In top 63 by ranking 1 4 12 24 13 9
Top ranking 4.65 4.75

In VoyeurWeb’s tit flash photo section, pictures are categorized in different ways. One way is by number of views. Another is by ranking–1 to 5 corresponding to poor to superb. The above table lists breast size across the top and methods of analysis on the left.

First row: In the first row I took the top 42 pictures rated by number of views, and I list how many of these top number-of-views photos there were of each breast size. Based on this information one might be tempted to conclude that viewers were most attracted  to Extremely Big breasts. It might be, however, that curiosity, rather than interest, skewed these numbers. Similarly, the number for Very Small breasts might also not be an accurate representation of viewer arousal. Excluding Extremely Big and Very Small breasts, it seems that Big, Very Big, and Medium breasts are more appealing than Small breasts. However, using the method of the first row seems to be problematic.

Think the problem this way: Let’s imagine that there are many more women with large rather than small breasts. An extreme example would be 99 large breast photos for each small breast photo. Imagine that viewers are looking at photos randomly and selecting something that they like other than breast size, for example skin color. Assuming that large and small breasts have, on average, the same skin color, there would be 99 large breast selections for each small breast selection. Total number of selections (views), therefore, does not accurately reflect interest. It could reflect distribution of breast sizes in the population.

An example of Very Big Breasts--from Voyeurweb.com.

Second row: Instead of looking at breast appeal as characterized by the total number of views, I tabulate the average number of views per picture of a given breast size. In other words, if there are ten small breast pictures in the top 42 by number of views, then I add the numbers of views of these ten pictures and divide by ten to get an average.

The second row of my table shows that Medium Breasts are preferred. The average number of views of a medium breast photo (in the top 42) is 5.0 million. Very Small is second. Extremely Big is sixth.

An example of Big Breasts--from Voyeurweb.com.

Third row: For the third row I looked at ranking–Poor=1, Fair=2, Good=3, Very Good=4, and Superb=5. I took the top 63 photos, rated by ranking, and I list how many of each of these photos falls into each breast size category. Big, Very Big, and Medium breasts are ranked highest, but when I looked at the actual ranking number I found little difference. The highest ranked Big Breast photo had a ranking of 4.75, while the highest ranked Very Small Breast photo had a ranking of 4.65.

An example of Small Breasts--from Voyeurweb.com.

Conclusion: Medium breasts seem to be slightly more appealing, on average, but other than that there isn’t much difference. And anyway, we all have to play the hands we’re dealt. Use the tools you have and play well.

An example of Very Small Breasts--from Voyeurweb.com.

This analysis is offered with respect for all women, regardless of appearance. Good looking is a bonus. It’s nice that counts.

Girls Sleeping–Perchance to Dream

March 1, 2011 6 comments

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep—
No more—and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep—
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil…


To Sleep Perchance to Dream

By Matthew Dyne

I come upon her, sleeping be,
Immersed in dreams of revelry
Her limbs are still, her eyelids twitch
She might be beggar, queen, or witch

I look high—look low—all around
Her raiment’s nowhere to be found
I did not seek to find her thus
My blessings, are they fate or luck?

Her breasts they rise as breaths she breathes
Her form’s as pretty as you please
Of all her gifts I would partake
Yet she’s too precious, for to wake

A Package

by Matthew Dyne

The postman knocked upon my door to say,
“I have a package, 8 stone plus it weighs.”
“But,” I said, “I did not order any.”
“Insured, fragile, worth a pretty penny.”

I frowned but helped him take it off his lorry
Wondering all the while, What’s the story?
I dragged it in to see what gifts I’d reaped
And found within a small girl fast asleep

Surely you can see me in a quandary
I double checked the package, it was for me
I did not to my common sense defer
Instead, shrug, I decided I would keep her

She would not wake but seemed to be at ease
Her cuddly form unclothed it sure did tease
I put her in my bedroom for safekeeping
In case she woke while I was deeply sleeping

I startled in the night and found her near
Her warmth upon me, breath against my ear
In time she did encourage me into her
And, made love as if I always knew her

When morning came she curled up in a chair
And slept again as if she’d ever be there
I washed and cared for her in every way
And through the years she did not age a day

Many girls I’d watched while deep in slumber

Alone…

In pairs…

In groups of many numbers

And though I’d watched them when perhaps I shouldn’t
I never touched a girl who said I couldn’t

The years have come and gone and I do fear
When I’m gone what happens to my dear?
I know a man he’s young, strong, and sweet hearted
And my love and I must soon be parted

I placed her in a new box, I was grim
And sadly I prepared to sneak her to him
But just before I was to see her never
She woke and whispered, “I love you forever.”

How to Have the Best Sex You Could Ever Have — not for the faint of heart

February 22, 2011 8 comments

Massage -- sex not allowed

Men want to have sex to feel loved. Women want to feel loved to have sex.

There is a formula for having the best sex, amazing sex, sex in which the conscious mind disappears and only the purest form of feeling is left. If you follow the instructions the method always works. It is used by sex therapists to help men or women with inhibitions, such as the inability to have an orgasm with a partner.

I say if you follow the instructions the method always works, but I should say if you can follow the instructions, for the method isn’t easy. It takes partners who are committed to opening themselves to the point of vulnerability. If you are willing to give up your self, your privacy, your hidden thoughts, you may be able to attain heaven on earth.

I met Evie, short for Evelyn, through her husband who is an engineer, as I am. I and they weren’t real close, but we’d get together for dinner every once in a while, and I was happy to go, mostly because Evie was so God awful cute. I had to be careful not to let my feelings show.

I hadn’t seen them for over a year when I met Evie in the local Whole Foods. It was summer, and she was underdressed, at least that’s the way it seemed to me, but it was probably just that I found her body so sexy.

We made small talk, and I asked how her husband was doing, and she told me they had divorced and that the final papers had just come through. She didn’t seem too happy about it. I smiled and jokingly asked, “Can I be the first to ask you out?” Then I added, “Just kidding.” I did want to ask her out, but I didn’t know how she felt about relationships at this point, and I didn’t want to alienate her. She smiled, but she did not directly respond to my jest.

We separated and did our shopping, and we met again at the checkout. I must confess, I kept half an eye on her and timed my exit to correspond with hers. Now that she was on her own I wanted to get to know her better, but I didn’t want to seem too obvious. She was lonely, I found out later, and she asked me if I wanted to go across the street to the Starbucks for a cappuccino. Of course I said yes.

We got our coffees and sat outside in the shade. “I don’t want to be inappropriate, but I’ve always been attracted to you,” I said and shrugged, being self deprecating as if I was admitting a sin.

“I’m not ready for that, yet,” she said. I took her to mean sex. “It’s not that I don’t like you,” she added, trying to soften the blow.

“No offense taken—we’re not kids,” I said. After a moment I said, “Still, I’d like to know you better, some time, if you’d like that.”

She nodded, and we moved on to less dangerous subjects, but the conversation came back around to sex, eventually, if obliquely.

“Was the divorce hard on you?” I asked.

“Yeah, pretty much,” she said. “Money, the house… we had a lot of stuff in common, and Joe wanted it all. He said he paid for it. His salary was a lot bigger than mine. You know, the usual stuff.”

“No, I don’t really know, not first hand. If I was married I’d be loyal as a dog.”

“Joe wasn’t.”

“Loyal? Oh?” I wanted her to know more, but she didn’t volunteer anything. “Did he cheat?”

“Yeah,” Evie said.

“I’m sorry,” I offered sincerely.

She shrugged as if it was water over the dam. Then she said, “It wouldn’t have been as bad if he’d have paid attention to me, too.”

I took her to mean that Joe hadn’t had sex with Evie for a long time. “Maybe it would have been worse,” I offered. “I mean, if he paid attention to you and cheated.”

Evie shrugged again. “Maybe,” she said.

I lowered my eyes, glanced at her body, and then raised my eyes again. “He’s a foolish man,” I said.

Evie gave me an angry look because of my inappropriate appraisal, as brief as it was. “It shouldn’t be about that,” she said. “That’s all Joe wanted… until he didn’t even want that, anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “You’re right. It shouldn’t be about that, though you’ve got to admit…” I briefly glanced down again.

She gave me a disgusted look. I sighed, sorry that I had taken the wrong approach, again, and didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. But then I figured, as long as she broached the subject of sex I might as well dive in. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. “I know a woman who’s a sex therapist,” I said. “Want to hear her approach to it shouldn’t be about that?

“Sure,” Evie said.

“Imagine two people who know each other pretty well. Not like us,” I qualified. “They’re having trouble with their sex lives. Maybe their interest has waned, or maybe one or the other of them has trouble having an orgasm.”

She nodded to tell me to go on.

“The classic therapy for this is to make a nice environment, light candles, pour a little wine, things like that, and go to bed together and talk. You have to be brave and open up to each other, tell each other what bothers you and what you want, sexually and otherwise. You have to be honest, even if it turns out your desires are not compatible. You are allowed to hug and kiss, but you’re not allowed to touch each other any more than that.

“The next time you go to bed together, maybe you take you shirts off, but you still aren’t allowed to touch intimately.

“The next time, maybe you don’t take off any more clothing, but you can touch bare skin but not breasts or anything overtly sexual. You still talk and open up to each other more and more, tell each other your fears and begin to talk about things like how often you each want to have sex, what kind of sexual experiences you want, the broad outlines the kinds of fantasies you like, and things like that. The idea is to build arousal, and arousal is not what goes on in your bodies. It’s what goes on in your minds. Being aroused but not being able to touch each other builds arousal further.”

“I can imagine,” Evie said.

“Then the next time, maybe you take your shirts and her bra off, and you trade massages, but you are still not allowed to touch breasts or buttocks or anything like that.

Then, the next session, maybe you undress down to your underwear, and you begin to touch intimate areas. But no matter how aroused you get you are absolutely not allowed to have intercourse. That’s the big No-No. It’s prohibited.”

“What if you can’t help yourselves?” Evie asked.

“I asked that, and the woman I know said that if you really, really can’t stop then go ahead, but you’ve got to try not to, or you might fail in your ultimate goal, which is to know each other, build arousal to a crescendo, and then and only then reward yourselves with sex.

“Eventually you decide that you are ready to go all the way, and you plan a special time and go ahead. It seems to me it’s got to be amazing.”

“It’s the getting to know each other that does it, not just the building arousal,” Evie said.

“True. I’ve never opened up to anyone to that extent,” I said. “It’s supposed to be scary, but I think I’d like it.”

It was obvious to Evie that I was imagining, maybe even suggesting, that she and I get to know each other in this intimate way. She said, “You may not like what you find.”

I nodded in agreement, but it seemed that she was considering the idea. I was thrilled. “We don’t know each other very well,” I said. “I expect I would find out things about you that I don’t care for and vice versa. But what I know I like. You’re hardworking and honest, and you seem to be open.”

I like you too,” she said. “ I always have.”

“Do you like me that way?” I asked.

“I never let myself consider it. I’m very repressed.”

“Do you like sex?” I asked.

“Sure, who doesn’t?”

“Some people don’t, I understand, or at least not much. Ideally, if you had your choice, how often would you have sex?”

“How often would you?”

“Mmm, yeah. This might not be so easy. Okay, I’ll go first. If I had my choice I’d have sex… at least once a day, two or three times a day on weekends. I shrugged apologetically.”

Evie didn’t say anything. I prompted her. “What about you?”

“Well… maybe once a week, or a couple of times a month,” she said. “Depends. I need someone to put me in the mood.”

I nodded again. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for being honest. I guess that means we shouldn’t get married, not that you’re in the market.”

“No, I’m not. Why, are you?”

I chuckled. “I want to have a committed relationship, but marriage scares me. It’s too hard to get out of.”

“You got that right,” she said and laughed. “Is the committed relationship you want monogamous? Or would you need to cheat to get your ten times a week.”

“Monogamous,” I answered without hesitation and sincerely. “It’s a sacrifice I might have to accept, not that I’m talking about you and me,” I added.

“No, of course not,” she said wryly.

We both smiled.

“I’m not ready for a relationship,” Evie said.

I nodded.

“But if you’re sincere about being honest with me…”

I waited.

“I like talking with you. You could come over to my house, late this afternoon or this evening, and we can talk some more. I’d like that.”

“Talk in bed?” I asked.

“No. At least not at first. And no touching.”

I was disappointed, and it showed.

“You can give me a friendly hug, but if you pressure me you’ll have to leave.”

“I won’t,” I said. “I’m not like that. Sure, let’s get together and talk, but not today.”

She looked disappointed. “Why, do you have a date or something?”

“I don’t know… maybe we should just wait awhile.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she agreed.

“But, on the other hand…” I said playfully.

We both laughed.

It was Saturday, and we agreed to get together at her house, but in the spirit of the technique we decided to wait one day and meet Sunday afternoon.

***

We sat on her couch, drinks in hand, Evie with Chardonnay and me with a wine glass of Joe’s vintage port. Ironic, I thought, drinking the port Joe used to hoard and maybe drinking in his wife too. Ex wife, I reminded myself.

“Can I put my arm around you?” I asked.

Evie nodded yes.

I put my arm around Evie’s shoulders, and when she put her drink down she put her arm behind my waist. It felt good, especially because we had tacitly agreed we were going to find out how much we might care for each other, and sex being off the table took the pressure off. We became more like friends than potential lovers, at least in the short term, and it freed us to show we cared without being afraid touching might be too suggestive.

We talked about concerns—hers about getting into another relationship that would turn sour—mine about maybe never being able to get into a relationship at all. We talked about how we felt about each other. I told her I found her physically attractive and that I thought that in many ways she would make an ideal partner, but I confessed I was worried that I might find her intellectually superior to me and that my fundamental nature was to want a woman over whom I could be master. I admitted that I understood this was not politically correct, but I wanted to be honest.

Evie accepted my admission and admitted she was concerned that men just wanted her for her looks, not her intelligence—she’s got a medical degree and is a researcher.

We discussed many other things—family, friends, finances—but I’ll just give the highlights.

***

We had to skip the next weekend, but the weekend after that we went to bed. We drank wine and port again, and we lay together and took turns reading Annie Proulx’s Brokeback Mountain to each other. It’s a great story, even better than the movie.

We put the book down and hugged. I rubbed her back, while we kissed, and she pressed her breasts against my chest, but we kept my penis, which was plump but not erect, from touching her. It felt wonderful having a friend to hug, and not having to have sex was more a relief than a frustration.

***

The next weekend we took our shirts off and went to bed. She ran her fingers over my chest, and I touched her bare skin but avoided her breasts that were teasingly inviting within her bra.

She took a deep breath, and then she said,“I was raped.”

I stopped touching her with my fingers, but I continued to hold her. “It was in college—a date rape in a guy’s room at a fraternity,” she said. “Maybe I could have gotten away. But I didn’t know how to say No. I was too ashamed to make a fuss, and I was scared that other guys might come into the room. So I let him do it. I hate myself.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I can understand how that can happen. Please try not to hate yourself. You were young and inexperienced… with men.”

Evie hugged me and buried her face against my neck. “I never told anyone that before. Not even Joe,” she said. I felt her tears.

“I’m honored. Thank you for confiding in me,” I responded. I took a deep breath. “When I was twelve…” I said. “I hadn’t reached puberty, but I had a friend who was a big kid who matured early. We used to go to the basement of our apartment building and look at ‘dirty’ magazines. He coerced me into giving him oral sex. I succumbed to peer pressure. It happened two or three times, before I wouldn’t go with him anymore.”

“How does that make you feel now?” she asked.

“I don’t know… like I let myself down. I was weak. A little of me died.”

“Me too,” she said.

***

The next weekend we took our shirts off, and Evie took off her bra. I tried not to stare, but her nipples were prominent, a blatant advertisement, and I had lust written all over my face. “Don’t look so smug,” she said.

“I’m not smug. I’m happy,” I replied with a huge grin.

“No touching,” she warned me.

“Oh, come on,” I begged and licked my lips. “Just a little taste?”

“Taste?” she said with horror. “You know what will happen if I let you touch my breasts, let alone taste them?”

“I wouldn’t let it happen.”

“Oh sure. Sorry, it’s not time for that, yet.”

“Yeah, right,” I said with disgust. “Who’s idea was this, anyway?”

“Yours,” she said with certainty and covered her breasts with her hands.

We got into bed together, and she let me look. After awhile I could breathe normally, and though my arousal was very high, after we began talking and time passed the shock of pure sexual stimulation abated, and I began to appreciate the intimacy of lying together with our arms around each other without having to fuck. Pardon my crudeness.

“When we go all the way, how do you want to do it?” I asked. “Would you like me to be on top? Would you like to be on top? Would you like oral sex first? I’m not experienced with that—I tried it once, and I wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t feel like I knew what I was doing. You’d have to teach me.”

“I’ve never had a man do that to me.”

“Really? Have you had a woman do it to you?”

“No, not a woman either. I guess I’m kind of inhibited about stuff like that. Do you want me to give you oral sex?”

“Not necessarily. Why? How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t really like it, though I’ve done it, at times, to please Joe.”

“That’s okay. It’s not a requirement.”

“I just want you to be nice to me—to be gentle and kind and considerate. That’s what turns me on. I don’t want to do anything kinky. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you said you liked to be the master in a way that’s not politically correct. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to play those kinds of games.”

“Oh, maybe I wasn’t being clear. I think I was talking about what kind of woman I fantasized about. But that’s a boy’s dream—having a woman he can order about and have sex with whenever he wants.”

“You weren’t talking about fantasy. You said that’s what you want in a relationship.”

“I have those kinds of fantasies, but I know they aren’t realistic.”

“There are women like that. Maybe you should look for one.”

“I’d rather be with you,” I said.

Evie gave me a look of disbelief.

“It’s complicated,” I said. I thought for a moment. “In my fantasies, I want to control women and make them do what I want. Sometimes I punish them. I decided this might comes from sexual frustration I had as a youth, or maybe it’s nature rather than nurture. I don’t know. But that’s all fantasy. In real life I want to be nice to women. I like to make women feel good. I never abused a woman in real life, and I never wanted to. But my fantasies do translate to real life in an interesting way.”

“Do tell,” Evie said.

“What I like to do best is to have a woman be passive, not in the sense that she doesn’t respond to me, but in the sense that I get turned on by doing things to her. I don’t need her to touch me, not that that’s objectionable. It just doesn’t get me going the same way as me touching her. There would be nothing I’d like better than to have you lie passively while I undress you, while I turn you over, and while I rub your back with warm oil to make you feel good. Giving you pleasure is what I like and what will get me most hard. In a sense it’s a desire to control you, but it’s nice control.”

Evie’s face lit up. Her eyes opened wide. “That works for me,” she said.

***

We progressed to taking off all our clothes and trading massages, and we continued to confide in each other as intimately as we touched. On some level we fell in love, but that aside, there was no denying that our arousal and desire to culminate our experiment had reached a feverish pitch. Our massages went into sexual areas. I worked on her legs all the way to her vulva, and I would rub oil into her breasts. The only thing I didn’t dare do was linger on her vulva or enter within it, and she only brushed my penis in passing, but I knew she was plenty wet—I could smell her—and my erection was obvious.

I found it interesting that though arousal was high, frustration, both before and after we parted, was not. It was as if the reward of intimacy compensated for the lack of orgasms and ejaculation.

***

We decided it was time to go all the way, and we arranged a vacation together. We flew from Boston to San Francisco, touching side-to-side on the plane, excited in anticipation of what we were going to do. We picked up our rental car and drove to the Russian River area where we had reserved a hotel room on the river. It was off season, and the place was mostly empty, which suited us.

We had an early dinner and went to our room. It had a big bathroom with a huge tub, easily big enough for two, and we filled it with water and got in. We faced each other, one of us at each end of the tub, with one of my legs between hers and one of her legs between mine. She played with my erection with her foot, and then she washed my foot and put it between her thighs and clenched it tightly.

We washed each other with wash cloths, and we relaxed in the water, not saying much but knowing that soon we would go to bed together, and we would join, I inside her and she tightly around me.

We dried each other, and holding hands we walked to our bed and got in. We wrapped each other in our arms and snuggled. Then, as we had practiced many times, I turned her, face down, and with no need to rush I rubbed warm oil into her skin from her fingertips to the tips of her toes. I paid special attention to her neck and shoulders, the sides of her breasts, the dip at her waist, her hips, her buttocks, and her thighs, first behind and then between them up to her vulva.

Evie spread her legs to allow me access, and my fingers entered a little ways into her vagina. And then I took my fingers out and I pushed my hand deep beneath her and caressed her, repeatedly, from abdomen, over her mons, over her clitoral shaft and clitoris, and back to her vaginal opening. Her moans, soft and feminine, encouraged me.

After awhile Evie whispered, “You can turn me over now.” She sounded as if she was pleading.

I turned Evie over, poured more oil onto my palm, rubbed my hands together, and spread oil over her breasts. I touched them the way she taught me, being gentle, at first, when touching her overly sensitive nipples, and being firmer, later, as her breasts got used to being manhandled.

She spread her legs, and I kneeled between them, nudging them wider with my knees, because she told me she liked to have her legs spread wide. I placed my penis, rampant with permission to enter, at the opening to her vagina, ready to receive me, and I pushed on in. She took all of me.

It was hard to believe, after months of getting to know each other and denying ourselves orgasms until we really knew each other, how good it felt. The physical pleasure alone was exquisite to a degree I had never experienced, but our emotional coupling was greater. If I was a man who came easily I would have come right then, but now I must confess.

I had trouble making love, at times. I did not come easily, and sometimes, when with a partner, I could not come at all. I never had trouble when pleasuring myself, so my issue was psychological. If I did not have rapport, my ejaculations might be inhibited, as therapists term this condition. That is what led me to know the sex therapist who instructed me in the techniques of building intimacy, while denying orgasms, to create arousal. Until now I hadn’t had an opportunity to practice her lessons, but now, under ideal circumstances, my condition worked to my advantage.

Never have I been able to come quickly, and I find it easy to delay orgasm indefinitely. Evie knew this, neither of us felt rushed, and we shared pleasure, until, as we had planned, she was ready to turn over.

The myth of simultaneous multiple orgasms is just that—a myth. Sure, it can happen, but most of the time sex isn’t like that. We had decided that taking turns would work best for each of us, and now, Evie on top, in control, pleasuring herself on the hard penis within her, slowly but surely worked herself to the orgasm she wanted, needed, and surely earned. She came with moans, a brief crying out, and spasms of contractions followed by more moans, until she collapsed on my chest. I hugged her as she enjoyed her orgasm and follow on spasms of pleasure, until they abated.

When she was ready she told me so, and we turned over, I still hard within her. I had her close her legs, and I put mine outside hers and squeezed, a position we had also discussed and arranged in advance. This squeezed my penis delightfully, and I took my pleasure and had a powerful orgasm inside her.

Though we both had orgasms that were as satisfying as any we could ever imagine, I can’t emphasize enough that the pleasure we shared was more, much more than physical. We had attained rare intimacy, and that and mostly that is what rewarded us with the best sex anyone could ever had.

Men want to have sex to feel loved. Women want to feel loved to have sex.

 

There is a formula for having the best sex, amazing sex, sex in which the conscious mind disappears and only the purest form of feeling is left. If you follow the instructions the method always works. It is used by sex therapists to help men or women with inhibitions, such as the inability to have an orgasm with a partner.

 

I say if you follow the instructions the method always works, but I should say if you can follow the instructions, for the method isn’t easy. It takes partners who are committed to opening themselves to the point of vulnerability. If you are willing to give up your self, your privacy, your hidden thoughts, you may be able to attain heaven on earth.

 

I met Evie, short for Evelyn, through her husband who is an engineer, as I am. I and they weren’t real close, but we’d get together for dinner every once in a while, and I was happy to go, mostly because Evie was so God awful cute. I had to be careful not to let my feelings show.

 

I hadn’t seen them for over a year when I met Evie in the local Whole Foods. It was summer, and she was underdressed, at least that’s the way it seemed to me, but it was probably just that I found her body so sexy.

 

We made small talk, and I asked how her husband was doing, and she told me they had divorced and that the final papers had just come through. She didn’t seem too happy about it. I smiled and jokingly asked, “Can I be the first to ask you out?” Then I added, “Just kidding.” I did want to ask her out, but I didn’t know how she felt about relationships at this point, and I didn’t want to alienate her. She smiled, but she did not directly respond to my jest.

 

We separated and did our shopping, and we met again at the checkout. I must confess, I kept half an eye on her and timed my exit to correspond with hers. Now that she was on her own I wanted to get to know her better, but I didn’t want to seem too obvious. She was lonely, I found out later, and she asked me if I wanted to go across the street to the Starbucks for a cappuccino. Of course I said yes.

 

We got our coffees and sat outside in the shade. “I don’t want to be inappropriate, but I’ve always been attracted to you,” I said and shrugged, being self deprecating as if I was admitting a sin.

 

“I’m not ready for that, yet,” she said. I took her to mean sex. “It’s not that I don’t like you,” she added, trying to soften the blow.

 

“No offense taken—we’re not kids,” I said. After a moment I said, “Still, I’d like to know you better, some time, if you’d like that.”

 

She nodded, and we moved on to less dangerous subjects, but the conversation came back around to sex, eventually, if obliquely.

 

“Was the divorce hard on you?” I asked.

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” she said. “Money, the house… we had a lot of stuff in common, and Joe wanted it all. He said he paid for it. His salary was a lot bigger than mine. You know, the usual stuff.”

“No, I don’t really know, not first hand. If I was married I’d be loyal as a dog.”

 

“Joe wasn’t.”

 

“Loyal? Oh.” I wanted her to know more, but she didn’t volunteer anything. “Did he cheat?”

 

“Yeah,” Evie said.

 

“I’m sorry,” I offered sincerely.

 

She shrugged as if it was water over the dam. Then she said, “It wouldn’t have been as bad if he’d have paid attention to me, too.”

 

I took her to mean that Joe hadn’t had sex with Evie for a long time. “Maybe it would have been worse,” I offered. “I mean if he paid attention to you and cheated.”

 

Evie shrugged again. “Maybe,” she said.

 

I lowered my eyes, glanced at her body, and then raised my eyes again. “He’s a foolish man,” I said.

 

Evie gave me an angry look because of my inappropriate appraisal, as brief as it was. “It shouldn’t be about that,” she said. “That’s all Joe wanted… until he didn’t even want that, anymore.”

 

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “You’re right. It shouldn’t be about that, though you’ve got to admit…” I briefly glanced down again.

 

She gave me a disgusted look. I sighed, sorry that I had taken the wrong approach, again, and didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. But then I figured, as long as she broached the subject of sex I might as well dive in. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. “I know a woman who’s a sex therapist,” I said. “Want to hear her approach to it shouldn’t be about that?

 

“Sure,” Evie said.

 

“Imagine two people who know each other pretty well, not like us,” I qualified, “are having trouble with their sex lives. Maybe their interest has waned, or maybe one or the other of them has trouble having an orgasm.”

 

She nodded to tell me to go on.

 

“The classic therapy for this is to make a nice environment, like light candles, pour a little wine, and go to bed together and talk. You have to be brave and open up to each other, tell each other what bothers you and what you want, sexually and otherwise. You have to be honest, even if it turns out your desires are not compatible. You are allowed to hug and kiss, if you’re moved to, but you’re not allowed to touch each other any more than that.

 

“The next time you go to bed together, maybe you take you shirts off, but you still aren’t allowed to touch intimately.

 

“The next time maybe you don’t take off any more clothing, but you can touch bare skin, but not breasts or anything overtly sexual. You still talk and open up to each other more and more, tell each other your fears and begin to talk about things like how often you each want to have sex, what kind of sexual experiences you want, the broad outlines the kinds of fantasies you like, and things like that. The idea is to build arousal, and arousal is not what goes on in your bodies. It’s what goes on in your minds. Being aroused but not being able to touch each other builds arousal further.”

“I can imagine,” Evie said.

 

“Then, the next time, maybe you take your shirts and her bra off, and you trade back massages, but you are still not allowed to touch breasts or buttocks or anything like that.

 

Then, the next session, maybe you undress down to your underwear, and you begin to touch intimate areas. But no matter how aroused you get you are absolutely not allowed to have intercourse. That’s the big No-No. It’s prohibited.”

 

“What if you can’t help yourselves?” Evie asked.

 

“I asked the woman I know that, and she said that if you really, really can’t stop then go ahead, but you’ve got to try not to, or you might fail in your ultimate goal, which is to know each other, build arousal to a peak, and then reward yourselves with sex.

 

“Eventually you decide that you are ready to go all the way, and you plan a special time and go ahead. It seems to me it’s got to be amazing.”

 

“It’s the getting to know each other that does it, not just the building arousal,” Evie said.

 

“True. I’ve never opened up to anyone to that extent,” I said. “It’s supposed to be scary, but I think I’d like it.”

 

It was obvious to Evie that I was imagining, maybe even suggesting, that she and I get to know each other in this intimate way: she said, “You may not like what you find.”

 

I nodded in agreement, but it seemed that she was considering the idea, and I was thrilled. “We don’t know each other very well,” I said. “I expect I would find out things about you that I don’t care for and vice versa. But what I know I like. You’re hardworking and honest, and you seem to be open.”

 

I like you too,” she said. “And I always have.”

 

“Do you like me that way?” I asked.

 

“I never let myself consider it. I’m very repressed.”

 

“Do you like sex?” I asked.

 

“Sure, who doesn’t?”

 

“Some people don’t, I understand, or at least not much. Ideally, if you had your choice, how often would you have sex?”

 

“How often would you?”

 

“Mmm, yeah, I see this might not be so easy. Okay, I’ll go first. If I had my choice I’d have sex… at least once a day, two or three times a day on weekends. I shrugged apologetically.”

 

Evie didn’t say anything. I prompted her. “What about you?”

 

“Well… maybe once a week, or a couple of times a month,” she said. “Depends. I need someone to put me in the mood.”

 

I nodded again. “Okay,” I said. “That’s fair. Thanks for being honest. I guess that means we shouldn’t get married, not that you’re in the market.”

 

“No, I’m not. Why, are you?”

 

I chuckled. “I want to have a committed relationship, but marriage scares me. It’s too hard to get out of.”

 

“You got that right,” she said and laughed. “Is the committed relationship you want monogamous? Or would you need to cheat to get your ten times a week.”

 

“Monogamous,” I answered without hesitation and sincerely. “It’s a sacrifice I might have to accept, not that I’m talking about you and me,” I added.

 

“No, of course not,” she said wryly.

 

We both smiled.

 

“I’m not ready for a relationship,” Evie said.

 

I nodded.

 

“But if you’re sincere about being honest with me…”

 

I waited.

 

“I like talking with you. You could come over to my house, late in the afternoon or this evening, and we can talk some more. I’d like that.”

 

“In bed?” I asked.

 

“No. At least not at first. And no touching.”

 

I was disappointed, and it showed.

 

“You can give me a friendly hug, but if you pressure me you’ll have to leave.”

 

“I won’t,” I said. “I’m not like that. Sure, let’s get together and talk, but not today.”

 

She looked disappointed. “Why, do you have a date or something?” she asked sarcastically.

 

“I don’t know… maybe we should just wait awhile.”

 

“Yeah, maybe,” she agreed.

 

“But, on the other hand…” I said playfully.

 

We both laughed.

 

It was Saturday, and we agreed to get together at her house, but in the spirit of the technique we decided to wait one day and meet Sunday afternoon.

 

***

 

We sat on her couch, drinks in hand, Evie with Chardonnay and me with a wine glass of Joe’s vintage port. Ironic, I thought, drinking the port Joe used to hoard, and maybe drinking in his wife too. Ex wife, I reminded myself.

 

“Can I put my arm around you?” I asked.

 

Evie nodded yes.

I put my arm around Evie’s shoulders, and when she put her drink down she put her arm behind my waist. It felt good, especially because we had tacitly agreed we were going to find out how much we might care for each other, and sex being off the table took the pressure off. We became more like friends than potential lovers, at least in the short term, and it freed us to show we cared without being afraid touching might be too suggestive.

 

We talked about concerns—hers about getting into another relationship that would turn sour—mine about maybe never being able to get into a relationship at all. We talked about how we felt about each other. I told her I found her physically attractive and that I thought that in many ways she would make an ideal partner, but I confessed I was worried that I might find her intellectually superior to me and that my fundamental nature was to want a woman over whom I could be master. I admitted that I understood this was not politically correct, but I wanted to be honest.

 

Evie accepted my admission and admitted she was concerned that men just wanted her for her looks, not her intelligence—she’s got a medical degree and is a researcher.

 

We discussed many other things—family, friends, finances—but I’ll just give the highlights.

 

***

 

We had to skip the next weekend, but the weekend after that we went to bed. We drank wine and port again, and we lay together and took turns reading Annie Proulx’s Brokeback Mountain to each other. It’s a great story, even better than the movie.

 

We put the book down and hugged. I rubbed her back, while we kissed, and she pressed her breasts against my chest, but we kept my penis, which was plump but not erect, from touching her. It felt wonderful having a friend to hug, and not having to have sex was more a relief than a frustration.

 

***

 

The next weekend we took our shirts off and went to bed. She fingered the hairs on my chest, and I touched her bare skin but avoided her breasts that were teasingly inviting within her bra.

 

“I was raped,” she told me.

 

I stopped touching her with my fingers, but I continued to hold her. “It was in college—a date rape in a guy’s room at a fraternity,” she said. “Maybe I could have gotten away. But I didn’t know how to say No. I was too ashamed to make a fuss. I was scared that maybe other guys would come into the room. So I let him do it. I hate myself.”

 

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I can understand how that can happen. Please try not to hate yourself. You were young and inexperienced… with men.”

 

Evie hugged me and buried her face against my neck. “I never told anyone that before,” she said. I felt her tears.

 

“Thank you for confiding in me. I’m honored,” I responded. I took a deep breath. “When I was twelve…” I said. “I hadn’t reached puberty, but I had a friend who was a big kid who matured early. We used to go to the basement of our apartment building and look at ‘dirty’ magazines. He coerced me into giving him oral sex. I succumbed to peer pressure. It happened two or three times, before I wouldn’t go with him anymore.”

 

“How does that make you feel now?” she asked.

 

“I don’t know… like I let myself down. I was weak. A little of me died.”

 

“Me too,” she said.

 

***

 

The next weekend we took our shirts off, and Evie took off her bra. I tried not to stare, but her nipples were prominent, a blatant advertisement, and I had lust written all over my face. “Don’t look so smug,” she said.

 

“I’m not smug. I’m happy,” I replied with a huge grin.

 

“No touching,” she warned me.

 

“Oh, come on,” I begged. “Just a little taste?” I licked my lips.

 

“Taste?” she said with horror. “You know what will happen if I let you touch my breasts, let alone taste them?”

 

“I wouldn’t let it.”

 

“Oh sure. Sorry, it’s not time for that yet.”

 

“Yeah, right,” I said with disgust. “Who’s idea was this, anyway?”

 

“Yours,” she said with certainty and covered her breasts with her hands.

 

We got into bed together, and she let me look. After awhile I could breathe normally, and though my arousal was very high, after we began talking and time passed the shock of pure sexual stimulation abated, and I began to appreciate the intimacy of lying together with our arms around each other without having to fuck. Pardon my crudeness.

 

“When we go all the way, how do you want to do it?” I asked. “Would you like me to be on top? Would you like to be on top? Would you like oral sex first? I’m not experienced with that—I tried it once, and I wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t feel like I knew what I was doing. You’d have to teach me.”

 

“I’ve never had a man do that to me.”

 

“Really? Have you had a woman do it to you?”

 

“No, not a woman either. I guess I’m kind of inhibited about stuff like that. Do you want me to give you oral sex?”

 

“Not necessarily. Why? How do you feel about that?”

 

“I don’t really like it, though I’ve done it, at times, just to please Joe.”

 

“That’s okay. It’s not a requirement.”

 

“I just want you to be nice to me—to be gentle and kind and considerate. That’s what turns me on. I don’t want to do anything kinky. I hope that’s okay.”

 

“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

 

“Well, you said you liked to be the master in a way that’s not politically correct. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to play that kind of game.”

 

“Oh, maybe I wasn’t being clear. I think I was talking about what kind of woman I fantasized about, in a permanent relationship. But that’s a boy’s dream—having a woman he can order about and have sex with whenever he wants.”

 

“You weren’t talking about fantasy. You said that’s what you want.”

 

“I have those kinds of fantasies, but I know they aren’t realistic.”

“There are women like that. Maybe you should look for one.”

 

“I’d rather be with you,” I said.

 

Evie gave me a look of disbelief.

 

“It’s complicated,” I said. I thought for a moment. “In my fantasies, I want to control women and make them do what I want. Sometimes I punish them. I decided this might comes from sexual frustration I had as a youth, or maybe it’s nature rather than nurture. I don’t know. But this is all in fantasy. In reality I want to be nice to women. I like to make women feel good. I never abused a woman in real life, and I never wanted to. But my fantasies do translate to real life in an interesting way.”

 

“Do tell,” Evie said.

 

“What I like to do best is to have a woman be passive, not in the sense that she doesn’t respond to me, but in the sense that I get turned on by doing things to her. I don’t need her to touch me, not that that’s objectionable. It just doesn’t get me going the same way as me touching her. There would be nothing I’d like better than to have you lie passively while I undress you, while I turn you on you over, and while I rub your back with warm oil to make you feel good. Giving you pleasure is what I like and what will get me most hard. In a sense it’s a desire to control you, but it’s nice control.”

 

Evie’s face lit up, and her eyes opened wide. “That works for me,” she said.

 

***

 

We progressed to taking off all our clothes and trading massages, and we continued to confide in each other as intimately as we touched. On some level we fell in love, but that aside, there was no denying that our arousal and desire to culminate our experiment had reached a feverish heat. Our massages went into sexual areas. I worked on her legs all the way to her vulva, and I would rub oil into her breasts. The only thing I didn’t dare do was linger on her vulva or enter within it, and she only brushed my penis in passing, but I knew she was plenty wet—I could smell her—and my erection was obvious.

 

I found it interesting that though arousal was high, frustration, both before and after we parted, was not. It was as if the reward of intimacy compensated for the loss of orgasm and ejaculation.

 

***

 

We decided it was time to go all the way, and we arranged to a vacation together. We flew from Boston to San Francisco, touching side-to-side on the plane, excited in anticipation of what we were going to do. We picked up our rental car and drove to the Russian River area where we had reserved a hotel room on the river. It was off season, and the place was mostly empty, which suited us.

 

We had an early dinner and went to our room. It had a big bathroom with a huge tub, easily big enough for two, and we filled it with water and got in. We faced each other, one of us at each end of the tub, with one of my legs between hers and one of her legs between mine. She played with my erection with her foot, and then she washed my foot and put it between her thighs and clenched it tightly.

 

We washed each other with wash cloths, and we relaxed in the water, not saying much but knowing that soon we would go to bed together, and we would be joined, I inside her and she tightly grasping me.

 

We dried each other, and holding hands we walked to our bed and got in. We wrapped each other in our arms and snuggled. Then, as we had practiced many times, I turned her, face down, and with no need to rush I rubbed warm oil into her skin from her fingertips to the tips of her toes. I paid special attention to her neck and shoulders, the sides of her breasts, the dip at her waist, her hips, her buttocks, and her thighs, first behind and then between, up to her vulva.

 

Evie spread to allow me access, and my fingers entered a little ways, into her vagina. And then I took my fingers out and I pushed my hand deep beneath her and caressed her, from abdomen, over her mons, over her clitoral shaft and clitoris, and back to her vaginal opening. Her moans, soft and feminine, encouraged me.

 

After awhile Evie whispered, “You can turn me over now.” It sounded like pleading.

 

I turned Evie over, poured more oil onto my palm, rubbed my hands together, and spread oil over her breasts. I touched them the way she taught me, being gentle at first, when touching her overly sensitive nipples, and being firmer, later, as they got used to being manhandled.

 

She spread her legs, and I kneeled between them, nudging them wider with my knees, because she told me she liked to have her legs spread wide. I placed my penis, now rampant with permission to enter, to the opening to her vagina, now ready to receive me, and I pushed in. She took me all.

 

It was hard to believe, after months of getting to know each other and denying ourselves orgasms until we did know each other, how good it felt. The physical pleasure alone was exquisite to a degree I had never experienced, but our emotional coupling was greater. If I was a man who came easily I would have come right then, in an instant, but now I must confess.

 

I had trouble making love, at times. I did not come easily, and sometimes, when with a partner, I could not come at all. I never had trouble when pleasuring myself, so my issue was psychological. If I did not have rapport, my ejaculations might be inhibited, as therapists term this condition. That is what led me to know the sex therapist who instructed me in the techniques of building intimacy, while denying orgasms, to create arousal. Until now I hadn’t had an opportunity to practice her lessons, but now, under ideal circumstances, my condition worked to my advantage.

 

Never have I been able to come quickly, and I find it easy to delay orgasm indefinitely. Evie knew this, neither of us felt rushed, and we shared pleasure, until, as we had planned, she was ready to turn over.

 

The myth of simultaneous multiple orgasms is that—a myth. Sure, it can happen, but most of the time sex isn’t like that. We had decided that taking turns would work best for each of us, and now, Evie on top, in control, pleasuring herself on the hard penis within her, slowly but surely worked herself to the orgasm she wanted, needed, and surely earned. She came with moans, a brief crying out, and spasms of contractions followed by more moans, until she collapsed on my chest. I hugged her as she enjoyed her orgasm and follow on spasms of pleasure, until they abated.

 

When she was ready she told me so, and we turned over, I still hard within her. I had her close her legs, and I put mine outside hers, a position we had also discussed and arranged in advance. This squeezed my penis delightfully, and I took my pleasure and had a powerful orgasm inside her.

 

Though we both had orgasms that were as satisfying as any we could ever imagine, I can’t emphasize enough that the pleasure we shared was more, much more than physical. We had attained rare intimacy, and that and mostly that is what rewarded us with the best sex either of us ever had.