Hot & Throbbing
by Unknown
(AB-143)


Note: The hardcopy pocketbook did not contain any chapters labeled as 
"Chapter Eight" or "Chapter Nine." The numbering skipped from Chapter Seven 
to Chapter Ten. However, it does not appear any text was left out.... 


FOREWORD 

Dora had a background for wanton sexuality that would amaze a psychologist. 
At the tender age of nine she had lost her cherry and gained an insatiable 
lust for sex. Dora could think of nothing else but lovemaking. Her mind was 
full of fantasies, and before her life was over she was to carry out every 
one of them. 

She led a wild life in high school and then when she went to college it 
became even wilder. She started to copulate with every male that she could 
get her hands on. There were times when she didn't understand her own lust; 
she knew only that she had to have it constantly. She was a full-fledged 
nymphomaniac, unaware of her mental imbalance. 

She had her body violated in every manner that would appease her. There was 
regular intercourse for a start, and then it led to oral and finally anal 
sex. There were other things that she did, too. In Dora's mind, if it felt 
good, then there was no reason not to do it. That was the reason she took on 
the fraternity one night. She was gang raped by over a hundred men in one 
evening, and she loved every minute of it. 

She was still eager for more when the last man had dropped. Then something 
happened that began to change her life, or at least she hoped it would. She 
met Donald. Donald was a brilliant student. He was highly respected in the 
physics department. Here was a man with a future, a man who would surely 
provide Dora with all the material pleasures she could ever want. Donald 
seemed like the kind of man who would make a good father and husband, and 
so, for those reasons, all of which she considered, Dora married him. 

There was only one thing that bothered her, and that was the fact that Don 
seemed to have no real sex interest in her, and in fact, not until three 
months after the marriage did they consummate it. The waiting and the hoping 
for some form of satisfaction was nearly unbearable for her. She couldn't 
wait, but she did. For three months she remained faithful to her husband, 
and then he was able to have sex with her. After that, things seemed to get 
better. 

Gradually, though, things slowed down again, and this time Dora thought of 
nothing but her body and its need for gratification. She went on a sexual 
rampage and did everything and everyone that she wanted to. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

I guess by now it wouldn't be out of the way to call me notorious. True, my 
escapades haven't been written up in a sizzling novel, nor have my 
indiscretions hit the headlines. But in my own small way, I have become at 
least a neighborhood scandal, and it is kind of fun to sit and talk to the 
curious gossips who come in ostensibly to share a cup of morning coffee and 
to chat about this, that, and the other thing. 

I always used to hate that the "other thing" usually turned out to be sex. 
Not that I mind talking about sex, you see, but it did get to be a hardship 
when the only sex life under discussion was mine. It reached the point where 
fielding questions about being an unfaithful wife became tiresome, so I 
simply started telling the truth, and that's when the visits from the 
neighborhood biddies started to pick up steam. 

Don't get the wrong idea about me, though. It's not as if I were running a 
cathouse, or was an out-and-out whore myself. It's just that I enjoy sex, 
and have never let my husband stand in my way, before or after he left me. 
From time to time, the milk truck that's always out front gets on my nerves, 
but if Don (he's my husband) wants to spend all that money to find out who 
I'm balling with, that's his problem, because he hasn't got the guts to 
divorce me, or the balls to beat me. 

I honestly think he enjoys torturing himself over the guys who come to 
visit. Anyway, backtracking a bit, those broads who are so interested in how 
I got this way gave me the idea, and now I think it would be kind of a 
giggle to write it all down. 

So here it goes, the whole story. All of it, with no holds barred. Of 
course, it's only fair to warn you that this is not for the squeamish or 
prudish. 

I can hardly remember when I was a virgin, because somebody busted my thing 
when there wasn't even any fuzz on the peach. To my way of thinking, taking 
a nine-year-old's cherry couldn't have been much fun, but my uncle always 
was pretty sick. I had just gotten to the point where my mother was 
explaining what it meant to be a woman, through some of the loveliest 
blushes ever, and though my breasts weren't quite in bloom, I had two of the 
biggest nipples you would have wanted to see. I started growing up pretty 
early. My mother's , younger brother was nineteen or so at the time, closer 
to my age in fact than to my mother's (Grandma must have been a pretty 
swinging broad herself), and he was stuck with babysitting with me for quite 
a while. 

One night we were watching television, and I was sitting on his lap, playing 
with his hair, you know, kind of trying to make braids, and like that. We 
were laughing and having a good time, and Uncle Leo was being a really good 
sport about everything. It wasn't too long before I felt something in the 
middle of his lap turn hard and move. I really didn't know what it was, but 
you've got to remember that I wasn't even ten yet. Those coy books about 
eighteen-year-old virgins not knowing what's up when they've got a man in 
bed with them, stark naked, are just too funny. I mean, after all, I ask 
you, if I knew when I was only nine, no matter what the circumstances, after 
Uncle Leo taught me that is, how can I believe a girl twice my age could be 
so naive? Anyway, that's not telling the story. 

I asked him what the lump in his pants was, and he asked me if I wanted to 
see for myself. I said yes, and he shoved me off his lap, and unzipped his 
fly and took his meat out. I hadn't ever seen anything like it before, 
because my father had been very careful never to expose himself in front of 
me. So had my mother, as a matter-of-fact. Being an only child, and too 
young to babysit for anyone myself, I hadn't even seen a baby's prick. Let 
me tell you, it was quite an experience. I don't know if girls who see their 
first one when they're older get the same kick out of it that I did, but for 
me it was the beginning of literally a whole new world. 

Uncle Leo's rod stood up, out from the opening, with a bush of curly black 
hair surrounding it, and the shaft was all covered with nice knotty veins, 
popping out from under the skin as if they wanted to escape. The head was 
sort of heart-shaped and purplish, and there was a hole at the tip that I 
could have gotten my pinky into. I didn't realize it then, but few men are 
hung quite so nicely as Uncle Leo was. It's really a shame that they finally 
caught up with him and put him away. I often think of the fun we could be 
having now, the three of us: Uncle Leo, me, and that beautiful piece of 
meat. 

He asked me if I wanted to play a game with it, and I told him yes. First, 
he made me kiss it, and I liked that, because that huge hard piece of 
gristle was warm, and the skin on the outside was, to my surprise, soft and 
pliable to the touch. After a bit of that, he asked me to show him mine, and 
though at first I was a little timid, I finally figured that it would not be 
fair if I didn't. After all, Uncle Leo had been nice enough to show me his. 

I undid my pinafore and took it off. I was in my undershirt and panties. I 
was still wearing undershirts, at that time, because even though my nipples 
were large for their age, they hardly needed any support from a brassiere. 
Uncle Leo took my panties off, and my slit, as I said before, didn't even 
have any hair on it. The lips were kind of large and fleshy, and they hadn't 
started quite to turn in on themselves, the way they do when you get older. 
The crack was well defined, and I must say that, undeveloped as I was, my 
little crack did indeed excite good old Uncle Leo even more. I knew he was 
excited, because he was breathing hard. At the age of nine, I could hardly 
be expected to put the right interpretation on the increase in size and 
movement that was taking place. 

All he did at first was diddle my thing with his finger, and I must admit it 
felt good. But after a while, he tired of that, and sort of kissed it and 
tickled it with his tongue. 

As I say, it did feel good, but that was all. At that point, excitement 
wasn't even part of the picture, except for Uncle Leo that is. He was making 
noises that sounded quite a bit like "Yum-yum," and his good old cock was 
bobbing up and down to beat the band. I reached down and touched it again, 
and it was hotter than it had been before, and I just couldn't resist the 
urge to kiss it again. This time I planted a big sloppy teddy bear kiss 
right on the tip, and licked at it a little, and Uncle Leo groaned. 

"Oh, come on, Dora," he crooned in a voice I could hardly recognize, "eat my 
cock, come on sweetie, suck on it like a lollipop." 

"But, Uncle Leo, it's not a lollipop, and I don't wanna kiss it anymore," I. 
said. 

"I know it's not a lollipop, sweetie, but Uncle Leo likes it when you lick 
it that way. Besides, honey, don't you want to have a secret game with Uncle 
Leo, just between the two of us?" There was a gleam in his eye, and I've got 
to tell you, it was quite a long time before I understood what fucking 
around can do to a man. 

At that time though, I guess I just thought that good old Uncle Leo looked 
awfully funny. He was still breathing kind of hard. 

I hesitated. "I don't know. What would Mommy think, Uncle Leo?" 

Is it too easy to say twenty years after, that I think I had read Uncle 
Leo's desperation? I really think that even at nine I realized what kind of 
power I could hold over him, with the magic words "Mommy and Daddy." Either 
one would do, I soon found out, and when I mentioned, or rather hinted at, 
telling my mother, Uncle Leo turned pale. That's when he game started to 
become really interesting. 

Uncle Leo didn't answer my question, he just begged me to please kiss his 
weenie a little more, and I really got down to business. Remember now, I was 
only nine, so I couldn't get my mouth on the thing easily but, opening wide, 
and with Uncle Leo shoving a lot, I finally managed and, coughing and 
sputtering, I managed to give Uncle Leo the first blow job of my life. He 
grabbed my hair, and jerked my head back and forth furiously, and I felt my 
teeth scrape the skin as I went. Uncle Leo didn't seem to mind, though, and 
afterwards, when I saw the actual marks, red and raised like welts gleaming 
cruelly on his velvety white skin, I took a secret pleasure of my own. 
However, as Uncle Leo's excitement increased and he began to moan more 
regularly, sobbing encouragement to me in a raspy, barely human voice, the 
slick salty taste of his come dripped, slowly at first, onto my tongue. Not 
liking the taste, I drew back and watched, once I was free of the massive 
tool, as Uncle Leo beat himself off in a kind of animal frenzy. The drip 
became a gush, and I sat amazed at how far the milky-white liquid shot. As 
he relaxed and kind of collapsed in a heap on the sofa, senseless for the 
moment, I got up and put my panties and pinafore back on, and started 
upstairs. 

"I think I'd better get ready for bed now, Uncle Leo," I said as I walked, 
"maybe we can play the game again sometime, but I've got school tomorrow. 
You'd better clean your gunk off the rug before they get home. Mommy doesn't 
even let me have cookies and milk in front of the TV." 

Uncle Leo just continued to lie there, dazed, on the sofa as I made my way 
upstairs, but I guess he finally managed to pull himself together and hide, 
or remove, any traces of the night's activities. Neither my mother nor my 
father ever said anything about that night. 

Before I continue with what happened with Uncle Leo, I've got to explain a 
little. I wasn't a Lolita type, nor do I think that poor, sweet Uncle Leo 
was a Humbert Humbert. He was just another horny son-of-a-bitch who got 
sidetracked somewhere along the line, probably because he wasn't getting 
laid steadily. If you ask me, half of the trouble in the world, including 
war and poverty, wouldn't be such a problem if more of the men got their 
pipes cleaned more often. I'm one hundred and ten per cent in favor of 
legalizing prostitution. I mean, what's a little vice in the world compared 
to poverty, pain, and death? 

Anyway, what I really think was wrong with Uncle Leo was that he was a 
little retarded. I found out that I wasn't the only little girl whose thing 
he was diddling and, after all, if he wasn't retarded, wouldn't he have 
played with girls his own age? 

After that first experience with Uncle Leo I still had my cherry, even 
though I didn't know it. Uncle Leo knew it and, with what amounted to 
cunning for him, he tried again and again to maneuver it so that we'd be 
alone together once more. It was quite a long time before he was successful, 
and I guess by the time it happened, he was extra eager because of the long 
wait. 

That same summer, my parents took an apartment down the shore during the 
month of July, and the four of us spent an awful lot of time together, 
mainly on the beach and at amusement parks and movies, things like that. One 
night, Mommy and Daddy wanted to go out to a movie that I guess I was too 
young to see, and they left me with Uncle Leo, to stroll up and down the 
boardwalk. It was kind of fun, especially because Uncle Leo seemed to enjoy 
the same kind of things that I did. That's another thing that makes me 
think, now, that he was a little retarded-but you never know. They tell me 
that I get along with kids because I can relate to them on their own , 
level. Maybe that was what he was doing, and it didn't mean that he was 
retarded at all. 

We spent a lot of time at one particular amusement pier that night, going on 
all the rides. I felt too grown up to be completely comfortable on the 
merry-go-round, but it was one of the few left that still had a brass ring 
to catch, and with his long arms and all, Uncle Leo was awfully good at 
catching the ring for free rides. We went up in a thing they called the salt 
and pepper shaker, and when we were high in the sky, Uncle Leo put his hand 
underneath my dress, and sort of pulled my panties down, so he could get his 
finger into my hole. He didn't even ask permission, but I didn't really 
mind, because we had played the game once before. I let him push his finger 
all the way in, and when he pulled it out again he smelled it, and licked 
it. 

"Sweet little pussy," he gasped, "it isn't even old enough to smell like a 
herring yet." He licked his finger again, and left it wet with a lot of 
spit, and put it into my hole again. This time he hurt a little, but we were 
whirling around and around, going up and down, and as he probed around, with 
his long, broad finger into me up to the second knuckle, he was beginning to 
start some sensation down there for me. He took my hand and put it on the 
lump in his pants. This time I knew just what it was. 

"Take it out," I said. 

"Not here." 

"Can't we play our game here, Uncle Leo? Nobody can see us." I really wanted 
to see his meat again? I really did! 

"The ride's almost over, Dora, we've got to wait until we get home." 

I knew that Uncle Leo was busting his buttons ready to go, and so was I. For 
a nine-year-old, I really had a hot little body. Uncle Leo to this very day 
probably doesn't know what all he started with his little games twenty years 
ago. When the ride was over, we started out for the apartment. When we got 
there, Uncle Leo checked out the time, as if to make sure that we'd be safe 
enough for a while. Apparently, he thought that we would be, because he took 
me straight back to his bedroom, and started to strip off completely. This 
time, he was going to do the whole bit. I didn't know it just then, but so 
was I. To coin a phrase: Yum yum. 

I shucked out of my clothes with amazing speed. After all, I had been 
getting dressed and undressed by myself for three or four years by that 
time, and if Uncle Leo expected me to be slow, he probably thought of me as 
younger than I actually was. But as I had matched his own speed, he smiled 
and said, "Good girl, Dora, you really are a big girl for your age." 

"Gee, Uncle Leo, I've been doing it all by myself for long enough," I said, 
a bit annoyed. "Do you think I'm a baby or something?" 

"Almost, but not quite. You're big enough for me any old day. What do you 
want to do first?" he asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and 
patted a spot next to him, indicating where he wanted me to sit. 

"I don't know, Uncle Leo. It's your game, so you show me." I did know what I 
wanted to do: I wanted to kiss his huge piece of meat, but I knew that we'd 
get around to that anyway, most likely. It didn't hurt to let Uncle Leo 
think he was running the whole show, did it? 

Uncle Leo picked me up, and put me in the middle of the bed, kind of 
crouching over me all the while. He tongued me like he'd done the first 
time, only this time it felt much better. Anyway, it was more exciting. Then 
he fingered me but, again, only up to the second knuckle. I didn't know then 
why he stopped there, and even now I can only guess that he was saving the 
best for last. He wanted to bust my cherry with his outsize cock, and though 
I didn't know that then, and as I say I don't really know that for sure now, 
it seems the most likely reason for his not pushing his frigging finger 
right up into my uterus. I didn't know that I had anything to lose, because 
my mother hadn't gotten that far in explaining sex to me. She was still 
bogged down on the importance and beauty of being a woman and having babies, 
I suppose so that when I did start to bleed, the curse wouldn't bother me 
any more than it should. After all, if it was so important and beautiful to 
be a woman, what was a little bit of pain? To this day, I practically need 
morphine to help me through that time of the month, but if I had to believe 
my mother's fairy tales, it would be like blowing my nose too hard. Anyway, 
I knew from borscht about cherries, or hymens, or whatever you want to call 
them, and I wouldn't have stopped Uncle Leo from shoving his finger in all 
the way up. What you don't know won't hurt you, right? 

Anyway, after he got tired of playing with my thing with his finger (he 
might have been trying to find my untapped clit, for all I know, but that's 
something else I knew but nothing, absolutely nothing, about, and I never 
had the nerve to ask my own kid to spread her legs so I could see whether 
she had one yet or not, I mean, after all, a mother does have some sense of 
responsibility and decency), he started to give it a cleaning with his 
tongue. Oh boy, he really got in there and sucked and blew and kissed and 
fiddled with all he had! Each time he went in, he left more and more spit, 
until, I now think, that he could probably have gotten his whole fucking 
fist into me with no trouble at all, no matter how young I was. Either Uncle 
Leo had never heard of K-Y or he figured it would be more fun to lubricate 
me with his good old tongue. That's what they call Yankee ingenuity I guess. 
Anyway, by that time I was ready for anything, and Uncle Leo was hot to 
trot. He put a pillow under the cheeks of my ass, and spread my legs wide. 
I'm thankful, now, that I was tall for my age, then. Otherwise it really 
would have been murder. Anyhow, he had me spread open, and propped up, and 
his target was in clear, easy view, and his good old meat was ready, and 
when I say ready, I really mean ready. If I had put a bridle and bit on that 
thing of his, I could have taken the triple crown, you know, the Kentucky 
Derby, the Belmont Stakes, and whatever in hell the third race is. 

He got on top of me and covered me completely. Worried, I guess, that he 
might be too heavy, he propped himself up on his knees and one hand. The 
other hand, the right, he used to guide the monster head of his tool between 
the sides of my well-juiced little crack. Slowly but, I must say, not really 
gently, he forced his way in. I was tight then, and I still am now. Anyway 
he managed to get it in, just the head, and came to a stop. That was for the 
moment as far as he could go. He was just inside the lips and was, though I 
didn't know it, nowhere near the hole. He drew out and explored me with 
first just his index finger, and then with the middle finger also, and 
dilated the hole quite a bit. At the risk of becoming repetitive, you've got 
to remember that I was only nine. Keeping his fingers down there and keeping 
me as open as he could with them, he again attacked the objective with his 
rod, guiding it in between his fingers. This worked and, though the first 
inch or 'so hurt a bit, that was nothing compared to the spasm of pain, the 
excruciating wrench of agony when, slowly and a bit too surely, he passed 
the opening and hit up against a brief barrier, which he rent asunder. He 
nearly killed me is what he did. Finally in, oh, I would say two or three 
inches, certainly no more than that, he began to stroke in and out, paying 
absolutely no attention whatever to my piteous whimpering. All through the 
rest of it, I cried. That is, I cried through the first time. Smoothly and 
concentrating right on the tip, he stroked in and out, and came very 
quickly. Without withdrawing, he stayed there for just a moment and, after a 
while, he began to shove in a bit more and, lubricated by his own come, the 
way was quite a bit easier. In to the hilt now, his monster cock felt sort 
of good, while at the same time, it felt like I had an elephant's trunk 
inside me. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry or what, I tried to relax, 
and lay back trying not to think of what was happening. For a little while I 
did the multiplication tables in my head, and then I mentally recited the 
Pledge of Allegiance to the flag. I had decided to go on to the Gettysburg 
Address and had even gotten to "Fourscore and seven years ago...." when I 
noticed that the whole thing really felt marvelous, I mean, really 
marvelous. 

He was going in and out of me at full clip, the head of his cock, the ridge 
of it actually distinguishable from the rest of it, was massaging my little 
cunt and doing a good job of it, while the shaft following the head finished 
the strokes nicely. My box was really getting a good workout. I was working 
up quite a bit of friction and heat. I didn't know what an orgasm was, so I 
really didn't expect much of anything else and, for starters, what was 
happening was quite enough. Good old Uncle Leo came again, and though his 
come was steaming hot, it was considerably cooler than my twitching little 
pussy was, and the flow felt wonderful. 

He was about to start in again, a third time, when I heard the door. 

"Uncle Leo, they're home I think. What are we going to do?" Uncle Leo looked 
just as confused as I felt, and the few seconds we had before my mother and 
father came in and found us there on the bed wouldn't have been enough 
anyway. 

Mother simply shrieked that she was going to faint, and sat down heavily in 
the lounge chair. She didn't really faint, but then Mother never did what 
she said she was going to do, anyway. My father turned a gorgeous shade of 
purple, which has always been my favorite color, and Uncle Leo just looked 
embarrassed. You've got to give Uncle Leo credit for at least having a sense 
of the appropriate. I mean, what else do you do in a situation like that but 
look embarrassed? He could have managed a look of contrition but I think, 
under the circumstances, it would have been a. bit much and, anyway, with 
Mother so busy swooning, and Daddy so busy turning purple, it would have 
been wasted. After all, enough is enough. Even the best actor doesn't use 
more than the role needs. But Uncle Leo wasn't an actor, although I'm sure 
he's doing fine in psychodrama, wherever he is, and the look of embarrassed 
confusion was quite genuine. But my father began to bellow. 

"Oh, damn you, Feinstein. You're a real pig. I give you the best vacation in 
Atlantic City that money can buy, and you pay me back by fucking my only 
daughter." At this point, Daddy blushed at his language and turned to me. 
"Excuse me, baby, words like that you shouldn't hear." It made no difference 
to my poor old-fashioned father that I'd just done it, or had had it done to 
me, whichever view you take. His only concern was that words like that I 
shouldn't hear. He should only know! 

"Listen, you son-of-a-gun," Daddy choked, "you get yourself off of," and 
then he looked more closely, and amended, "I mean out of, my daughter. Then 
you get dressed, and take the first bus out of the city, and just go away." 
He stopped and looked at my mother, who was so absorbed in what was going on 
that she almost forgot to concentrate on swooning for the moment. When she 
noticed Daddy looking, she arranged herself in a position more suitable to a 
fainting, aghast matron than rapt attention. 

"Maude, you want I should give him money to get where he's going? After all, 
Maude dolly, he's your baby brother." 

"Baby brother! Hah! No, I have no brother. Just a maniac who rapes babies. 
Look, Andrew, I want you to look. Is that," Mother asked, pointing at good 
old Uncle Leo, "the face of a brother? I ask you, is it? It is not, you 
should answer, I can tell you. It's the face of a maniac who rapes babies. 
Money? Poison you should give him better. Poison, a dagger, threaten him 
with the police, but money? Feh! Let him walk." 

"But Maude, I haven't got a dime," Uncle Leo said, still mounted upon me. 

"To you I'm not Maude. I'm Mrs. Wiener. To a brother, I'm Maude, to a maniac 
who rapes babies I'm Mrs. Wiener." 

"Listen, Maude, this settles nothing. A hundred dollars I'll give him, he 
should go as far from here as possible. I don't want to hear from him, or 
see him. I don't even want a card for New Year." For my father that was 
pretty drastic. 

"A hundred dollars? Look, Andrew, what an animal did to your only daughter, 
and to this animal you want to give a hundred dollars? Better he should send 
a New Year's card, and you don't give him anything." 

In the midst of their bickering, Uncle Leo got up from the bed, and got 
dressed quickly. Not bothering to pack, he simply left, and none of us ever 
saw him again. 

Except in the newspapers, when he got arrested for some morals charge or 
other. He was put in the State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and since 
both Grandpa and Gramma were dead at the time and are, needless to say, 
still dead, and since Mother and Daddy won't have him, there's no one into 
whose custody he could be released. After all if your own family won't trust 
you, who will? Actually, I don't think he's still in the State Hospital, 
although he might be. It's more likely that they found out that he wasn't 
insane, just a little weird sexually, and put him in prison. I haven't 
concerned myself much with Uncle Leo, however. I've got hangups of my own. 

A while ago, a psychiatrist I told my life story to at a cocktail party was 
especially interested in the episodes with Uncle Leo. He tried to tell me 
that I was traumatized, and that I probably didn't enjoy sex. 

"Don't be silly," I told him. "It's fuck, fuck, fuck. All the time. FUCK 
FUCK FUCK. And I love every minute of it." 

"Well then, my dear, there's no need to get hysterical about it, is there?" 

"Who's hysterical?" I asked, and, to tell the truth, I was dangerously close 
to tears. However, I don't really believe that Uncle Leo has scarred me for 
life, although I must admit that I'm sexually a little weird. But I'll leave 
that for you to judge. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

To tell the truth, nothing exciting happened again until I was thirteen, or 
rather just before I was thirteen. My birthday is the third of January, 
which makes me a Capricorn. In my last year of junior high school, my best 
girl friend, Shirley, managed to get me a date with a dreamboat named Robin, 
who was seventeen. Shirley and I managed to convince my father that it would 
be all right because it was a special occasion, New Year's Eve, and we would 
be going double. And besides, Shirley argued, I was going to be thirteen two 
days afterwards anyway. Actually, Shirley was using the double date as an 
excuse, and she was also using my father, unbeknownst to him, as an alibi. 
She was also using me as an alibi, but of course that was fully unbeknownst 
to me. 

The plan was this: Shirley, who was more than a whole year older than I (I 
was good in school so I got skipped a grade) and more than a little fast, 
was going to use New Year's Eve as an excuse to get laid in a motel for the 
first time. Knowing what I know now, I don't think I would have found the 
whole thing as glamorous as I did then, and I don't think I would have 
helped her. For the privilege of using my father as an excuse, or rather 
alibi, Shirley was to get me a date with Robin, who was a friend of her 
date's, whose name I've forgotten. What Robin and I did, according to her, 
was none of her business, as long as I kept her from getting in trouble with 
her parents. 

I had never told Shirley about my experience with Uncle Leo, and she kind of 
stupidly assumed that although I listened with great interest to all of her 
stories about her necking, petting, and all-out fucking sessions, I was 
still a virgin myself. I never took the trouble to change the impression. 

She thought, it seemed, that going to a motel was the most daring and adult 
thing to do, as opposed to the juvenile and uncomfortable way of doing 
things in the back seat of a car. 

If things went right, her parents wouldn't ever know the difference, what 
with a whole neighborhood of kids having browbeaten their parents into 
giving them permission to stay out until three or four o'clock in the 
morning. We all thought we were so grown-up. I guess my father didn't want 
me to feel left out of a "peer group" that was older and more sophisticated 
than I was, through no fault of my own. 

Anyway, the whole thing was arranged, and on New Year's Eve Robin came to 
pick me up, about nine o'clock, and the pretense was that we would go 
straight to Shirley's to pick her and her date up. 

We didn't, of course, never realizing the discrepancy. They, we assumed, 
simply told her parents, the same way we told my father, that they were 
going to pick us up. If they had checked, we all would have been in deep 
trouble. 

The evening was the standard New Year's Eve thing that has become such a 
drag that this past year, when I had a few friends in, we got started 
talking and never noticed when midnight came. We didn't even have Guy 
Lombardo on the television. But then it was different because it was my 
first, and going to a movie, and afterwards to a nightclub to throw confetti 
and blow horns and kiss at the stroke of midnight was rather exciting, in a 
way. At least it was the standard thing until we left the nightclub. 

In the car, aglow with a couple of illegal drinks (Oh hell, I wasn't aglow, 
I was just plain lit), I moved over close to Robin and cuddled. He was a bit 
taken aback, but that didn't stop me. I just cuddled right in there, hanging 
on his arm. 

"You know you're making it hard for me to drive," Robin said. 

"If you want," I said, "I'll move to the other side of the car." 

"No. Just let go of my arm so I can steer," he replied. "You're cutting off 
the circulation." 

I let go of his arm and started playing with the zipper on his pants. 

"Hey, what're you doing?" Robin asked in shock. 

"Playing with your zipper. What did you think I was doing?" I countered. 

"Do you really think you ought to? You might get me all excited, and then 
what will you do?" Robin sounded confused. 

"I think I'll know how to handle that when it happens, if it happens." 

"Don't worry. You get in far enough and it'll happen. I'm human like 
everyone else." His voice had an edge of defense in it, as if I had 
challenged his manhood. 

I finished opening his zipper and fiddled around with the fly on his 
undershorts, until I pulled his prick free of its prison. He certainly 
wasn't expecting to be interfered with, or else he would have worn 
undershorts with a looser fly. I don't know why I was doing it, on my first 
date and all, but it just seemed like the thing to do. It was New Year's 
Eve, after all. 

"Hey! You're getting me all excited," he exclaimed. "I'm not a little kid, 
ya know. If you're not going to do anything about it, stop now. I don't want 
to get blue balls." 

"What's that?" 

Robin stopped for a red light and took the opportunity to turn to me. "I 
thought you said you knew what to do if I got excited." 

"I do," I insisted, "I just don't know what blue balls are." 

"That's what happens to a guy when he gets excited and doesn't come," he 
explained patiently. "You know what coming is, don't you?" 

"Sort of," I replied, and when the car was moving again, and he was paying 
more attention to the road than to me, I buried my head in his crotch and 
started to lick his throbbing, hot dick. 

"What in hell are you doing now?" Robin wanted to know. 

I looked up at him and smiled. "I'm licking your thing like a lollipop. I 
thought you would like that." 

"Well, it's not a lollipop, and you can't have anymore," he said petulantly. 

I guess he was annoyed at the coy way I said it. Even though I was older and 
knew all the right expressions, thanks to Shirley, I still liked the cute 
way Uncle Leo had of putting everything. I thought Robin would find it cute. 
Evidently, I was wrong. 

After we rode along for a little while, Robin, who had tucked his prick back 
into his pants by now, turned to me, sort of halfway, trying to keep his eye 
on the road. 

"Do you really want to screw around?" he asked. 

"Yes." 

"But you're only thirteen," he said, surprised. 

"Twelve, really," I corrected. "But it still doesn't make much difference. I 
haven't been a virgin since Uncle Leo." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" he wanted to know. I simply replied that I'd 
tell him some day, maybe. 

"Are you sure that you want to, now?" he pressed. 

"I told you yes once. Isn't that enough?" 

He floored the gas pedal and we sped down the road. He drove like a maniac, 
and instead of cuddling next to him, I braced myself with my hands flat on 
the car seat, waiting breathlessly to see what damn fool stunt he was going 
to pull next. 

We stopped, about fifteen minutes later, after a ride that seemed more like 
a bout with a roller coaster than anything else. 

"This is where I live," Robin announced. "My parents are away for the 
holidays. Come on in." 

"I don't know if we should. I mean, what if they should come back all of a 
sudden?" I was thinking back to that time with Uncle Leo. 

"It's really safe. 

They're in Puerto Rico. I doubt that they'll just barge right in. I'm 
telling you, it's safe." I was skeptical. Uncle Leo thought it would be 
safe, too. 

Without too much need to be convinced further, I gathered myself together 
and we went in. The house was spacious, and I was impressed with the 
elegance of the decor, which, even in the half-light from the foyer, was 
quite beautiful. 

Robin didn't bother to put on any lights downstairs. He just led me to a 
bedroom upstairs to the left of the large staircase and took me in. I 
thought for a moment that it was a pretty grand room for a 
seventeen-year-old boy, even if his parents were rich, but Robin told me 
that it was his parents' room. 

"I have a single bed, and it wouldn't be very comfortable for the two of 
us," he explained. 

He started getting undressed quickly, with no preliminary discussion, and I 
knew he expected me to do the same. As I watched him take off his dark dress 
suit, and all of the very obviously expensive trappings that went with it, I 
slipped out of my cocktail dress, my first, which was nice, and would have 
been a bigger thrill for me to have if it had cost me more than twenty-five 
dollars, or if Robin came from a less obviously well-to-do family. 

I was sort of shy to take off my underclothes, because my bra had some 
padding in it, and I thought sure that Robin would feel cheated or 
disappointed. I just kept on undressing, though, and when I was down to my 
skin, Robin just looked for a long moment. 

"You're a pretty nice handful," he said. "You don't look like you're only 
twelve or thirteen. Even undressed you could pass for fifteen, at least." He 
was practically licking his lips. 

He was no slouch himself. His body was lean and taut, and even in the middle 
of winter he still had a tan, probably from a sun lamp, I thought, but it 
wasn't important. 

He was good to look at, and though his meat was nowhere near as big and firm 
as good old Uncle Leo's (it's not an unfair comparison, you realize. Uncle 
Leo was barely nineteen, and Robin was seventeen), it was quite big enough. 
It was smooth and white, and nicely shaped, and the head was much bigger 
than I thought it would be from the way it felt to me in the car. It was 
much bigger than the shaft as well. 

We got into bed, and Robin kissed me, opening his mouth widely, to the point 
where it felt as if he was going to devour me. He put his hand between my 
legs, and explored tenderly, gingerly down there for a moment. By now I was 
fully matured, and the lips were hanging down, and my clit was well-formed 
and in complete evidence whenever I got excited. 

This time I was not a child, I was a woman. Robin realized it too, and got 
more and more excited as I returned his kisses. I spread my legs wide apart, 
and taking hold of his cock, which had swelled to its full size, and was 
respectably hard and throbbing, I guided it into my twat. 

My pussy was still kind of hot and dry because there really hadn't been much 
messing around beforehand, but as I thrust my hips up, and opened my legs 
wider to give him clearer entrance, and as he poked and prodded with the 
tip, my juices began to flow. 

He slid in easily, and the delicious tingles that went through my body, and 
with little stabs of pain from his inadvertent force now and then, were 
driving me crazy. I rotated my hips and Robin's eyes became glazed. 

"Hold still, will ya, and let me do the work." 

"But Robin," I tried to explain, "I won't feel anything if I don't move, 
too." 

"Okay, but don't be so wild. It turns me off. Just a little bit." 

He concentrated hard on moving in and out, and the pleasure was only mild 
because I restricted my motions, and couldn't force him into contact with my 
most sensitive areas. He seemed to be having a good time, though. 

He stopped. "Aren't you kind of young to be wearing a diaphragm?" he asked. 

"What's that?" 

"That's so you won't get pregnant. You wear it so my come won't get all the 
way inside." He paused. "You mean you're not wearing one?" 

"How can I when I don't know what it is?" 

"Does that mean I'm going to have to wear a rubber?" he asked with a 
disgusted look. "Shirley never makes a guy wear one." 

"How would you know?" I asked, convinced that Shirley had never gone to bed 
with him. She would have told me if she had. 

"I've heard, that's all." 

He got up and went to the dresser and fished something out of the top 
drawer. He came back to bed and sat on the edge. He was unwrapping 
something, and at first I couldn't see what it was. When he started 
unrolling the rubber thing, it looked like a long balloon to me, and I 
watched him put it on over his cock. He got on top of me, and started to put 
his prick back into me. 

"Hey, take that thing off, will you? It feels like I'm getting fucked 
through a rubber sheet." It did, too. 

"But you're liable to get pregnant if I don't wear it. You want that to 
happen?" he asked. 

"I don't think that's likely. I'm only just starting to menstruate 
regularly. I don't see how I can get pregnant when I'm not even regular 
yet." Well, it seemed like good logic at the time. 

"Okay, doll, it's your funeral. Just remember, even if you do, I can't do 
anything about it. There's no state in the union where we can get married. I 
may be seventeen, but you're barely thirteen. Or not even quite thirteen, as 
you keep reminding me." He was being more serious than the situation called 
for, I think. 

"Listen, you just let me worry about that. I'll douche with vinegar 
afterwards, if that'll make you feel better." Shirley told me about that. 
She's never been pregnant. 

"My father told me that Queen Cleopatra used a lemon slice as a diaphragm. 
If you're willing to douche with vinegar, you must be willing to use a lemon 
slice as a diaphragm. Dad told me that the acid kills off the sperm." Robin 
continued to be serious. I, however, was trying to keep from busting out 
laughing. I had this funny image passing through my mind of Marc Anthony 
going down on Cleopatra and puckering his lips from the lemon taste and 
saying something like, "I know, dear, but the taste, consider the taste!" 

Robin pulled a blanket off the bed, and draping it around himself like a 
toga, he wasn't downstairs. I presumed, to get a lemon slice. I was right, 
for just a few minutes after, he returned with a whole lemon on a small 
cutting board and a paring knife. 

"We'll take a slice from the widest part, across the middle. That ought to 
cover the cervix nicely," he said, performing minor surgery on the lemon. He 
held up a firm slice for me to see. "I wonder if it matters whether you 
leave the seeds in or not." 

"Maybe," I said, "they have something to do with the whole thing. I vote we 
leave the seeds in." 

He nodded in agreement. "Do you want me to put it in, or do you want to put 
it in yourself?" 

"You put it in. I wouldn't know how." 

He looked at me with a grin. "You think I know anymore about it than you?" 

I got on the bed, with my legs spread wide, and my knees slightly up. It 
seemed logical to me that it would be easier that way. On second thought I 
placed a pillow under my buttocks, and satisfied that he would have a pretty 
clear view of my pussy, I just lay there, waiting for him to do something.. 

When he was finished fiddling with the lemon, he turned and just looked for 
a minute. I thought he was going to start putting the lemon in, when he 
started to play with my twat, and throwing off the blanket, he leaned 
forward on the bed, with his legs dangling over the end of it. He put his 
tongue into my hole and started to lick. 

"Oh, you're going to drive me out of my mind if you keep that up," I gasped. 

He stopped. 

"Don't stop!" I screamed. "I didn't mean for you to stop. Suck my pussy, 
damn it. Eat me out, I love it." 

He really threw himself into it, and the more he lapped at my box, the wider 
I threw my legs. He had his mouth and his nose up me, and was sniffing as 
well as licking, and I was going crazy. I threw my legs around his head, 
trying vainly to make him stop, and had him practically in a headlock, but 
the harder I squeezed, the more he sucked. He really went crazy. My juice 
was flowing like a faucet, and he was lapping and drinking and moaning. 

"Mmm," he purred, contented. "Mmm." 

I gripped him with my knees, and pulled him closer, forcing his tongue 
deeper into me. His animal noises were getting more and more wild, and so 
was I. 

After a while, I remembered why we were not still screwing, and how we'd 
gotten sidetracked. 

"Hey Robin," I yelled, releasing his head from between my knees. "What about 
the lemon?" 

He continued eating out my hole. I suppose the grunts he made meant 
something like, "Okay, in a minute." His attempt to talk while he was still 
hard on my crotch tickled and excited me more, but I grabbed his head and 
pulled it away just the same. 

"The lemon," I reminded him. "It's heaven to have my pussy sucked, but I 
want to get screwed. Get the lemon." 

He reached for the lemon, and I got back into my lemon-placing position, 
with my ass on the pillow, and my legs spread wide, slightly bent at the 
knees, Robin approached, lemon in hand, his four fingers and thumb grasping 
it by its perimeter. He looked over my hole, and tried to find the most 
strategic approach. He decided to put it straight in, with his hand guiding 
the way. He started slowly, and to my surprise, as he went in further and 
further, my cunt stretched to accommodate his whole hand, with no pain, and 
a great deal of pleasure. 

Probing around inside of me, he found the right place, apparently, and 
slammed the lemon slice on and was about to withdraw, but I clamped my 
hungry pussy around his hand and wrist, and contracted. It was the first 
time I'd had anything that large inside me. I tried candles, coke bottles, 
milk bottles, even the narrow end of a baseball bat that one of the 
neighborhood boys left at my house, but nothing I'd ever used to make myself 
come had half of the quality of good old Robin's fist. I was going to take 
advantage of it while it was there. Who knew when I'd ever get a chance like 
that again. 

I bore down hard, and squeezed, moving back and forth, and was almost ready 
to have a banging, clanging orgasm, when I suddenly bore down a little too 
hard. 

"Hey! Do you want to break it off?" Robin yelped. 

I released his arm, and he drew it out, quickly, causing me to explode as it 
scraped against the sides of my gaping cunt. My climax made me drip and 
foam, and he dove down to lap every bit of my effusion up. 

Either the lemon slice didn't add much taste of its own, or it didn't matter 
to Robin because he lapped and licked, shoving his tongue deep in from time 
to time, and I was in ecstasy. 

Finally, excited beyond the point of any endurance, he got on top of me and 
slammed his hot, pulsating cock home. The ridge of it, where the head joined 
the shaft, left little electric sensations in its path of motion, and 
already having reached one orgasm, I continued to move from one peak to 
another, contracting in spasms, and making Robin reach the point of coming 
himself. 

As soon as I felt him tense up to plow in to me and spray, I relaxed, and 
did that over and over again until, having nearly come six or seven times, 
he finally couldn't stand anymore of that because if I had done it once 
more, it looked as if he would have gone clean out of his gourd. 

The next time he plowed in, ready to come, I thrust my hips up and squeezed 
hard, and he poured into me. The gush and flow was amazing. It was a 
continuous flow, and I kept pumping to meet every spasm. When he finally 
stopped gushing into me, he rolled over on the bed exhausted. 

"Hey, don't fall asleep. You've got to get the dumb lemon slice out of me." 

"No. You're supposed to leave it in until the sperm is dead. Even I know 
that," he told me. 

"How long will that be?" I asked. 

"Just until tomorrow, I guess. It wouldn't hurt to douche with vinegar when 
you get home, just in case." 

"Okay. Let's get dressed so you can take me home." 

"What time do you have to be home?" he asked. 

"That's not really important. I'm tired and we have a long ride ahead of us. 
We'd better start now." I looked at him, drinking his good looks in. 
"Besides, I want to see the Mummer's Day parade tomorrow." 

"You mean today, don't you?" he corrected. 

"Have it your way. I just want to see the parade, and I want to get some 
sleep first. It's been a-lovely evening, really, but now I want to go home, 
and I'm not just about to wait for a bus." 

"Nobody said you would have to wait for a bus, damn it, Dora. I just wanted 
to know what time you had to be home, that's all." 

"To tell the truth, I don't really think they care at all. Ever since I was 
nine, my father pretty much let me have my own way, whether I deserved it or 
not, and my mother hardly ever talks to me. How many thirteen-year-old girls 
do you know who are allowed out until three or four in the morning on New 
Year's?" 

"You're pretty sophisticated for thirteen, though, and maybe they realize 
it. But you're not really thirteen yet, and that makes you even more 
sophisticated for your age." 

"If it's after midnight, and I know it is, then I'll be thirteen day after 
tomorrow. And besides, I got sophisticated because I had to figure 
everything out for myself. They didn't let me figure everything out for 
myself because I was sophisticated." 

"If they really don't care when you come home, let's screw again." 

"I thought you'd be too tired." 

"Are you?" he asked. 

"Not really." I wasn't either. "But still," I said, after a small pause, "I 
think I'd better get home some time soon. I do want to see the parade 
tomorrow." 

"Fuck the parade," Robin said. 

"But we're talking about fucking each other, and I think we ought to wait 
until another...." 

But the whole issue was lost. He was diddling my pussy again, and I just 
couldn't resist. He got down on top of me, and rolled us over so that he was 
on top, and then he crawled out from under me. 

He lifted me onto all fours, and slammed into me from the back and reached 
around and played with my nipples in the meantime. He squeezed and 
manipulated them, while he slammed into my box with his hot, hard piece of 
gristle from the back, doggie style. 

The top of his prick reached all the way into me, almost touching the lemon 
peel, and the bottom of his thing stroked my clit, which was as hard as his 
cock, and believe me, just as hot. He was going at me full clip, and I 
started to vibrate inside, and the lips of my pussy grabbed and contracted, 
and my clit had little spasms all of its own. Seventh heaven! 

My nipples were throbbing, raw almost to the point of pain from his rubbing, 
the only trouble was that I couldn't kiss him. As he got closer to orgasm, 
he would draw his thing out, all the way to the tip, leaving it to rest just 
on the outer lips, and then slam it back into my pussy, dragging the outer 
lips, the inner lips, and practically everything else into the deepest part 
of my hole with the stroke, and just at the moment he was going to come, he 
let go of my tits, and slammed me down on the bed, hard. 

He jammed his rod up into me, right up to the hilt, and he turned my head, 
just at the right moment, to jam his tongue so far into my mouth, I almost 
choked. But that was all right. As he shot his thick load into me, and 
gnawed on my tongue, I filled with a hot glow that was being extinguished by 
his hose. It was perfect. Robin had it all over Uncle Leo's game, even if he 
couldn't match Uncle Leo's meat. 

Eventually, I did get home, some time before dawn, but needless to say, I 
didn't even watch the parade on television. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

High school was really just a constant parade of luscious boys with stiff, 
willing cocks for me. I read the Kama Sutra in my freshman year, and found a 
book of erotic engravings in my father's library. I was determined to try 
every position in those two books by the time I graduated from high school. 
I didn't quite make it, but with the boys' help, I did a reasonable job 
anyway. I remember two boys who wouldn't do anything with me unless the 
other was along. That was kind of interesting. Sometimes, we'd end up at my 
house, in the recreation room, with Jerry screwing me, and Hy getting 
sucked. Or one would lick my pussy and jerk off while the other screwed him. 
It wasn't that they were really queer, or anything like that, it was just 
that they found it more exciting to have little parties, instead of the same 
dull routine over and over again. It was Hy who first stuck his hot tongue 
up my ass. 

I was afraid at first that he would try to screw me that way, but all he did 
was stick his finger up, and probe around, and that didn't hurt at all. It 
didn't feel quite like having my pussy diddled, but you can't have 
everything, now, can you? 

It did add quite a bit when Jerry got on his knees and started chewing 
gently on my clit. Hy jerked his finger back and forth, and Jerry ate and 
sucked, and then Hy got down on his knees and sucked and chewed my asshole 
with great vigor. I wanted to try it on them. It would be the closest I 
would come to finding out how it felt to go down on a girl. 

While I stood there thinking, and enjoying myself, Jerry slipped his 
joy-stick into me and pumped me full of come, and kept on fucking, while Hy 
continued to chomp at my backside. Jerry was working up to coming again, 
when Hy stood up suddenly, and slammed his rod up my ass. I yelped with the 
pain at first, but having them both inside me nearly drove me out of my mind 
with pleasure. To judge by the look on Jerry's face, they liked it pretty 
good themselves. I couldn't see Hy's face, but I assume he liked it, because 
he kept ramming me good and hard, and Jerry and Hy came into me, both ends 
at once, causing deep hot waves of passion to start at the very center of my 
being and work out. 

We got into the bed exhausted, and though they were finished for the night, 
I was still ready for just about anything. As they lay there on their 
stomachs, I went from one to the other, licking at the cracks in their 
asses, and seeing their excitement, I forgot all shame, shyness, or disgust. 
I rammed my tongue home into their holes, one alternating with the other, 
while I diddled myself, rolling my clit over and over in my fingers, and 
fucking myself at the same time with my middle finger. 

The smell of their asses, mixed with the sexy musk of their balls, and the 
smell of my twat, still reeking on them drugged me insensible. The feel of 
my cunt, wet with the spew of Jerry's two orgasms, was absolute heaven. It 
wasn't too long, after an insanity of motion that I started to heat and 
radiate inside, with huge spasms racking my body. Jerry and Hy were a high 
point indeed in my high school career. 

There was another boy, Fritz, who was just as good, if a little more 
conventional. He preferred what he called the missionary position. Face to 
face, with him on top, with not too much variation, except that he was the 
only one I ever slept with who was a match in size for Leo. He was bigger. I 
have no gauge, and I never had the nerve to measure a guy, but his goddamn 
prick must have been fifteen inches long. It always made me wonder whether 
poor Fritz thought it was worth the trouble it took to get inside of me, but 
after a half an hour or so of intense struggling, he managed, and though I 
was always afraid that he would tear the diaphragm I finally got myself 
fitted for with his sheer force, he felt marvelous inside me. The slightest 
movement he made would give me an orgasm, and because it took him 
invariably, at least another half hour or so to come, by the time he did 
come, I was as limp as a dishrag. 

When he did come, the gush of liquid was so hot, so intense, and racked with 
such spasms, that we could only lie there, spent and gasping for at least 
another half hour before we'd gather enough strength back to separate and 
resume our clothes. By that time, my little pussy was so stretched that I 
could have fit enough luggage for a long weekend trip into it. Some chicks 
call their gash their pocketbooks, but I'm the only one at Woodmere High who 
could call hers an overnight case. Well, at least I could after Fritz fucked 
me. 

There were some minor things, you know, interim affairs, that filled gaps 
between the high spots, and all I can say about them was that I saw more 
cock than the urinal at the Y. There were two boys who stuck out from all 
the rest like giants among midgets. The first one was in my junior year, and 
I remember him because he was so shy. His name was Alfred. Alf was in my art 
class, and he said so little, and painted so well, that everyone was either 
jealous of him, or charmed by him. 

He had curly blond hair, and wasn't more than an inch or two taller than I 
was. He had a deep, round chest, and muscular arms, and the best legs I've 
ever seen on a man outside of the ballet. I was sure that he was a virgin, 
but that only made me want him all the more. 

I conspired with Shirley to get him to parties, and like all teenage 
parties, they almost always ended up in necking sessions on the floor. 
Alfred however, would kiss a girl a few times, chastely, without even 
opening his mouth, and then discover that what he really wanted was another 
Pepsi, and rush off to the bar, or he got hungry for another sandwich, and 
would run upstairs to the kitchen. I found out from each of the girls in 
turn, that if they bothered to follow him, hoping to comer him somewhere 
else in the house, that, he would conceive of a most urgent desire to go to 
the bathroom, and lock himself in for the rest of the night. It was most 
disconcerting. 

If Shirley and I got him to go with us to sketch or paint in the woods, he 
wouldn't let us invite another boy along, knowing full well that it would 
likely end up in a necking session in the car, at the very least, and he 
avoided that. As far as Alfred was concerned, there was safety in numbers. 

We fooled him one day though. It was towards June, and the senior 
scholarship competition was going full swing. Alfred depended on getting a 
scholarship to be able to go to art school, and because he was so good, the 
head of the art department at school gave him the advantage of starting to 
collect his senior year portfolio in his junior year. We had gone out with 
him, and he was determined to do at least four good water-color landscapes 
that day. Well, as usual, he knocked off his work quickly and surely, four 
pieces that were good enough for anyone to be proud of, student or 
professional, and then he helped us while we struggled to finish our first 
before we had to go home for dinner. 

"I'm tired, I can't work anymore," Shirley announced, miles away from 
anything worth talking about. "Let's put the stuff in the car and take a 
walk." 

"That's a good idea," I agreed, but then my output for the afternoon, though 
not quite up to Alfred's was a bit more of a respectable showing than 
Shirley's. Alfred agreed, and we packed up the car with our gear, and 
started to walk along the stream, deeper into the woods. We were far from 
any paths by the time we decided to stop to sit down. With the light still 
bright, but filtered through the dense trees, we felt safe. Shirley got to 
her feet after a few minutes of just sitting around talking, and proceeded 
to strip. Not too long after, I followed suit. Poor Alfred! He really looked 
as if he wanted to run away, but fascinated, he sat and watched us as we 
made a spectacle of ourselves, undressing and trying to excite him by 
offering him our tits and cunts in a mad pantomime. 

He just sat there dumbfounded. Before he knew what was happening to him, we 
were pulling his clothes off and piling them in a heap along with our own. 
The look on his face was absolutely priceless. I've never in my life seen 
anyone look so absolutely bewildered in my entire life, before Alfred or 
since. It didn't take him too long to get the idea that we were raping him, 
and the same as if her were a woman, it would be better for him to simply 
lie back and submit. Not that it was going to be hard on him. Even if I must 
say so myself, Shirley and I were pretty nice looking girls. It could have 
been worse. I mean, we could have decided not to rape him after all. Poor 
dear, Alfred enjoyed every minute of what we did to him. 

After we got him undressed, we cleared away the twigs and leaves from a 
patch of ground large enough for the three of us to screw around on. We 
coaxed Alfred into the middle of the clearing, and started to go to town on 
him. Shirley sucked his cock and balls, and I kissed him gently, slithering 
my tongue into his mouth, between his teeth and down his throat insistently. 

Shirley shifted her position, and threw her snatch right into Alfred's face. 
I had seen her coming towards us, out of the corner of my eye, and I had 
moved just in time. I must say that for all the trepidation, he had 
approached the situation with he certainly got the idea fast enough. 

It drove me near crazy to watch Alfred lap out Shirley's hot oozing cunt. 
Hot damn, he really dove in, rolling his eyes, and groaning, and sighing and 
cooing satisfaction to himself. True to form Shirley started to hog the 
whole scene, and threw her mouth down on Alfred's cock, and sucked like a 
champ, shoving his rod down her throat, until she could swallow no more, and 
bobbing up to nibble delicately at his balls. 

With nothing left to do, I lay down next to them, and threw Alfred's legs 
back and went to town on his asshole. Ever since Hy had showed me this 
trick, I sort of developed a taste for it, and besides, doing that was 
better than just sitting around watching and going off my head, imagining 
how his champion tongue would feel if it were inside of me. Good old Alfred 
was still going to town on Shirley's juicy cunt, and when I shoved my tongue 
up his hot, fetid asshole, pulling at the hairs with my teeth and nibbling 
on the pink skin around the opening, he let out a pleasant crazed shriek, 
and bucked so that all three of us moved two and a half feet. I maneuvered 
my hot twitching pussy onto Alfred's limp, hand, was lying inactive at the 
side of his body. Why waste it? I wriggled the thing half way into my womb 
(I hadn't worn the damn diaphragm that day, and so I couldn't get fucked, 
damnit) and though his hand had been limp, it stiffened, and his fingers 
started to explore as if I had excited every last one of his fingers as if 
they were all cocks. 

I guess Shirley had gotten so hot that she couldn't stand it any more, 
because she got up, and straddled his cock, and started to ride good old 
Alfred like a bucking bronco. He really threw himself into her. I saw my 
opportunity. After sticking around at his asshole for a while, licking here 
and there at them both, I gave up on that and moved to put my pussy on 
Alfred's tongue. 

He chomped down, and swished my clit around his mouth like mouthwash and 
sucked on it as hard as he' could, as if it were a cock. When I started to 
come, he lapped and gobbled;-and shoved his tongue in and out, flattening it 
and changing the shape of it using it like a french tickler. I looked 
around, over my shoulder, and saw a look of animal frenzy on Shirley's face 
that told me that she too must be coming. Alfred was still bucking furiously 
into her, so I knew he had yet to come. He stocked my pussy more fiercely 
and made deliciously pig-like noises of excitement. The thrust of his tongue 
became more violent, and I knew he must be coming. I turned around, and 
covered his whole face with my creaming twat, and watched Shirley as Alfred 
came into her, with wild jerking thrusts, and as she contracted her hungry 
pussy, getting every last drop of his sticky love juice as if her damn hole 
could taste it. 

She got off of Alfred's cock, which still was half-stiff, bobbed up and 
down, while he kept gnawing frantically at my twat. His hand went straight 
down to his cock, and lubricated by his own come and the juice of Shirley's 
orgasm he worked himself back and forth until he was stiff again, chewing on 
my crotch all the while. 

I mean this boy was fantastic! I motioned for Shirley to come to me and 
excited by the moment I lapped Alfred's come from her gaping hole. After 
all, it was really no different from shoving my tongue up a guy's asshole. I 
stopped for a minute, and stuck my finger into her pussy, and lubricated it, 
and then shoved it up her ass. All the while Alfred kept on chewing at my 
crotch. The light in the clearing was getting dimmer and dimmer all the 
time, and I could just about see Alfred's cock out of the comer of my eye as 
I lapped at Shirley's crotch and finger fucked her in the ass. 

He was starting to reach his last convulsions before coming, and unable to 
resist, I took a chance, diaphragm or no diaphragm. I pulled my cunt off of 
his face and jammed it down onto his cock, just as he started to come. Like 
Shirley, I contracted and squeezed the walls of my pussy, eager to get every 
last drop of juice out of Alfred. I shoved up and down a few last times, 
giving myself an orgasm on his cock, and when I got off, the poor thing was 
chafed raw. 

Actually, I guess that that's what he was afraid of, poor dear. He must have 
known that he was so good that no matter how much he gave to some dumb cunt 
or the other, that we'd always want more. 

What makes Alfred stick in my mind is that for the rest of the semester, and 
all that summer, he serviced Shirley and me, both together and separately. 
All through the hot nights and steaming days, he sucked our pussies and 
fucked us and chomped on our tits, and after that first time, no matter 
whether we were alone or together, neither Shirley nor I remembered him 
coming fewer than four times. He was always so considerate besides. He 
always managed to make us have at least one orgasm apiece. 

Alfred is indeed a happy and potent memory, but even he can't compare with 
Rickey. Rickey was on the tumbling team in school and had a nice piece of 
meat, though it was uncircumcised. At first I was a little leery of letting 
him screw me because of it. His meat wasn't his major attraction though. 
Unlike Fritz who was all meat and no technique (with that much meat who 
needs technique?), Rickey was all technique, even with his quite respectable 
size. 

No matter how hard you tried to make Rickey tired, you couldn't. He would 
seldom if ever come more than once, but damn, he could hold it all back 
until you were so limp from having multiple orgasms that you would beg him 
to come, and then, on split second notice, he would release his pent-up load 
into you, and you would feel like kissing his feet. He was that good, and 
unless he's dead of a heart attack from overexertion, he's probably still 
that good. What was even better was that I never had to share him with 
Shirley, because I found him and caught him all by myself. 

I walked into the gym one day after school to see a demonstration of 
tumbling and gymnastics and there he was, with his dark auburn hair, clipped 
into a crewcut so close you could see most of his scalp. The hairs on his 
chest were bushy, though, and the same color as his hair on his head. You 
could see that through the thin skivvy shirt he wore and over the top and 
around the sides. His muscles didn't exactly bulge. They were long and 
supple and he moved with the loose grace of a panther. His feet were small 
for a boy his size, like a ballet dancer's, with high insteps, and deeply 
curved arches. His hands were like huge hams, real destroyers. When my eyes 
finally got around to noticing the bulge in his crotch, I knew I wanted him. 
He was one helluva guy! A real animal. 

I watched him tumble, and do some stunts on the parallel bars and could 
hardly keep from sticking my hand up my skirt and masturbating. After the 
demonstration, I waited outside the boy's locker rooms and when he came out 
alone, I was thankful to see him. I simply started walking along the halls 
with him. 

"My name's Dora Wiener." I told him, smiling, and shaking my freshly done 
blonde hair so that it would look loose and sexy. 

He started to tell me his name, but I stopped him. 

"I know your name. Everybody does. You're famous around school." It wasn't 
quite the truth. I had only found out his name when I asked a girl sitting 
next to me at the demonstration, that very afternoon. His name was Rickey 
Stephenson. It was a very nice name indeed. He believed me, and was kind of 
flattered in that dumb way that all athletes are flattered when you 
recognize who they are. We also had an infuriating way of accepting the 
recognition as being only what was due him, no matter how flattered he was. 

"Hey, you want a ride home?" he asked me. "I've got my convertible right on 
the lot and it's a nice enough day to take a ride, with the top down, if 
you've got the time. How about it, huh?" 

"All right, I guess," I said, trying to look doubtful. I guess I succeeded, 
because he spent the next five minutes or so trying to convince me that it 
would be all right. Just like a man, thinking that it was all his very own 
idea. We walked out to the parking lot and his car was a very jaunty little 
Metropolitan, with a canary-yellow paint job. I wondered for a moment how he 
could fit all of himself into it, but when we were in, I saw that the seats 
were tracked all the way back as far as they could go, and that the pedals 
were tracked forward the same way. 

I toyed with the idea of taking him to the same forest glade where Shirley 
and I raped Alfred, but rejected the idea. I also thought of directing him 
onto some of the lonelier roads so that he'd get the urge to neck, and maybe 
more, but it was fall, and even though it was nice, the weather was at best 
unreliable, and the car was too small for that kind of carrying on. I would 
wait patiently for another opportunity. We had a rather pleasant ride and 
the afternoon was a good one. We ended up having cokes at one of the 
sandwich shops near my house and he dropped me off at the front door. Just 
before I went in, he asked me, very respectfully I might add, if he could 
have my phone number, and I gave it to him. On impulse, I gave him a peck on 
the cheek besides and he actually blushed! Not even Alfred blushed. 

We had several dates, after that-things like going to the movies and school 
dances. It was our senior year and there was never any lack for something to 
do. It was not until our fourth date that he actually even made his first 
attempt to even kiss me, with his mouth wide open, and his tongue probing 
the inner reaches of my mouth. Despite myself, I had desperate images of 
that same rigid tongue not in my mouth, but in my sloshing twitching 
jelly-roll, and reaming out .my steaming ass. Shit, I wanted that beautiful 
stud, but he was taking his own sweet time about it. I wonder even now, if 
it was because he was afraid of shocking me. Not very likely, but still, a 
possibility. 

When Thanksgiving rolled around, my parents went away. It was a relief, 
because the more time that passed, the less I could communicate with my 
mother, who went deeper over the edge into weirdness by the hour. Daddy 
wasn't bad, and he's been the only comfort and refuge in the way of parents 
I could depend on, but he was wrapped up in my mother. On an unselfish 
level, it was good that they had an opportunity to have even a tiny 
vacation, but on the selfish one, I was overjoyed that I would finally be 
able to get Rickey alone. 

We had Thanksgiving dinner at his parents house, and when I suggested that 
he take me home early, he didn't protest. He never protested anything. Good 
boy, that Rickey. When we got to my place, I asked him in, and like the 
little lamb being lead to slaughter, he followed. 

We talked about this and that and the other for a minute or two, and he 
missed every opportunity S gave him to grab me and kiss me. I guess that he 
thought that it was off-limits in my parents' home. 

I decided to precipitate matters a bit. I would be discreet, subtle, and 
above all, I would let him think it was his own idea. 

"I want you to fuck me, Rickey. Do you want to fuck me?" I was so subtle 
that I could hardly breathe. 

"Gee, yeah," he replied, employing his usual conversational brilliance. 
"That would be keen." Mens sano in corpore sanis. 

He waited for a cue from me, I guess, and we went, with me slightly in the 
lead, up to my room, where, without having to be told, and with no help in 
untying his shoelaces (he may have been wearing loafers) he undressed. I got 
down to my panties quickly enough, and flopped onto the bed. He wasted no 
time whatever in getting my panties off, and when I noticed that he was 
uncircumcised, it almost ruined my whole evening. After all, swinger or no, 
I was still a good Jewish girl. I played with his cock, and drew the loose 
hanging skin back and forth a few times, pleased to see that he wasn't 
dirty, like I thought he'd be, or even vaguely smelly. With fewer qualms 
than I'd had, I let him get down to business. There was little 
pussy-lapping, or cocksucking that night, because, Ricky did indeed get 
right down to business. He wet his cock with spit, and eased into my 
waiting, palpitating cunt, and when I felt the delicate thrill of his thick 
foreskin moving back and forth inside of me, creating a causeway, so to 
speak, for his cock to travel, I decided that if I'd ever have any sons that 
they couldn't possibly be good Jews. Ritual circumcision became barbarism in 
my book. 

Rickey flung my legs back, and gentled me into my first orgasm that night, 
by even steady strokes. Then, standing, and holding my legs as if I were a 
wheel barrow, he pile drove me into a second. Without pause, or losing the 
connection, he turned me around, supporting me with his glorious arms, and 
positioned me on all fours, and slammed me home to a third orgasm, doggie 
style. By the time he got around to my fourth, fifth and sixth orgasms I was 
inflamed and raw inside, from the friction, and the furious pace drying up 
any accretion of fluid as fast as my creaming cunt dripped it. I was 
screaming from the pleasure, glad that my parents were nowhere even vaguely 
in the vicinity. His last position before coming nearly blew my mind. He got 
on my back, and ramming his cock all the way into me, he straddled me, 
raising his torso up off the bed, and placing his legs around me. Then, 
slowly, he lowered back, until he was bent almost double, which raised his 
thing in me until it arched, parabolic, inside me, hitting every sensitive 
spot along its line, and mashing my poor clit so that it was so busy having 
orgasms all by itself that I hardly noticed the fact that he really didn't 
move. He just pulsed, with control that came from where, I don't know, and 
after who only knows how many consecutive orgasms, starting way inside me, 
and radiating in ruinous heat to the very perimeter of my being, accompanied 
by the staccato convulsions and spasms of my aching, spent, clit I screamed 
in ecstasy. 

"Come, motherfucker, come! Why in hell won't you come?" I gasped. 

"You want me to come now?" he asked. 

"Hell, yes, what are you waiting for?" 

He didn't answer. He simply let go, and bathed my insides with more come 
than I had ever believed existed. The cooling balm of it, and the pulsating 
gush, caused me to have a last orgasm, this time, this last time, calming 
and diminishing my frenzy instead of building it. 

That night was the first of many such nights with Rickey. But if I say that 
Rickey was the high point of my high school sex life, I must add that even I 
didn't know that the best was yet to come. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

I was still only seventeen when I went to college for my freshman year. 
Nothing exciting happened because I was too busy rehearsing stupid plays 
with the drama club, and far too concerned with qualifying for the freshman 
math prize to fuck around much. After the drama club's season was over, 
though, and I was sure that I had the math prize in the palm of my hand, I 
let myself in to the most hectic round of party-going I've ever known. 

Pre-Easter festivities at the University of Pennsylvania are something, 
really something. Each fraternity had hired dozens of rock bands to play at 
a series of five parties for each house. The bands would play upstairs and 
down in a constant blare of competing sound, and with the windows of every 
house along fraternity row wide open, the whole campus shook, from top to 
bottom. 

The first four parties I went to were fairly mild, but the last one was a 
real corker. My date was an innocuous but presentably preppy looking lad 
from Maryland, dressed in the obligatory madras, brown penny loafers and 
faded blue jeans. His blond forelock gave him as much trouble as my own, 
falling into his eyes constantly, but he was my ticket to the most exclusive 
gentile fraternity on campus. 

It was harder for a Jewish girl to get to see the inside of it because there 
was always a token Jewish pledge, just to please the campus officials, but 
once these pledges made it into the inner circle, they hardly, if ever, 
dated Jewish girls. It would be sort of like breaking trust with all the 
marvelous guys who let them into the house in the first place. 

Anyway, Bernie was a nice guy and he probably didn't even know I was Jewish, 
and he invited me. The party was a swinging enough affair to start with, but 
around midnight all hell broke loose. 

One of the girls had had too much to drink and got very sick, and although 
it was strictly against the rules, I dragged her upstairs to one of the 
johns. I held her head over the commode while she retched and puked into the 
bowl, and afterwards, I took her to one of the bedrooms, where I lay her 
down on the bed, and mopped up her sweaty forehead with a cool, damp 
washcloth. 

It was about twenty past twelve when one of the guys in the house discovered 
us and announced to the house at large that there were a couple of dumb 
cunts upstairs in no-woman's land. 

The sound of the resultant stampede was absolutely deafening. There must 
have been one hundred guys trampling up those stairs to see the pigs who had 
violated one of their most cherished rules. 

One of them, obviously a figure of command and leadership, yelled, "Let's 
punish the pigs!" and there was an avalanche of voices raised in agreement. 

They tried to strip the other girl, but she was so out of it that I guess 
they decided she would be no fun. They ganged up on me instead. My party 
dress wasn't very sturdy to begin with, and it ripped in their hands easily. 
The bra and panties weren't too difficult either. I was helping them. 
Offering no resistance whatsoever, I watched them mount me one by one, and 
like the bunch of amateurs they were, they got on, pumped a few times, and 
got off. 

Inundated with come from about a dozen guys, but as yet to have one single 
orgasm, when the next guy mounted me I wrapped my legs around him, and 
slammed him hard into my drowned pussy, and kept him at it until I had at 
least one good orgasm. 

Seeing that I didn't really mind, the others took their time. Some, who I 
suspect were a little queerer than the others, lapped at the come in my twat 
first until they got hot enough to lay me. By then, I was so hot that I was 
twitching and groaning, and slamming them home to a mutual orgasm, which 
seemed like a matter of seconds. 

Punishment? Those schmucks should live to get that kind of punishment. 
They'd never recover from the pleasure. Reinforcements came up from the 
party and the line kept forming to the left, and the boys kept on fucking 
and coming. 

It almost turned into a nightmare when I had discovered that either by 
accident, or design, all the monster cocks were at the end of the line. I 
really don't have any concept of how many guys diddled me that night, but I 
thank my lucky stars that I had my diaphragm on. It's one thing to get 
yourself pregnant by someone you know, but to get pregnant by one guy in the 
midst of dozens of strangers is something else entirely. 

Anyway, I was close to fainting when they brought on the last five, or was 
it six? Every one of them with a cock at least as big as Fritz's had been. I 
was close to fainting from tiredness. I nearly fainted when I saw the size 
of what was going to fuck me next. They had saved the worst for last. But it 
turned out all right really because I had so much come inside me that I was 
overflowing, and every last sonuvabitch, mother-humping one of them slipped 
in so easy, and came so fast in his fraternity brother's slosh, that I had 
to laugh afterwards. Talk about sloppy seconds! 

When they were finished with me, they let me go into the bathroom to get 
cleaned up, and even gave me a towel. 

I sneaked a shower, thinking that that was the best way to clean off the 
accumulation of come and sweat. 

When I came back into the room, the head man (all he was missing was a white 
robe and hood and the KKK insignia in blood across his chest) warned me that 
it would be futile to tell anyone of the "little" incident because it would 
be denied by everyone involved. 

I told him that I had no intention of telling anyone. Someone brought me a 
pair of jeans that were small enough and a shirt to wear with Them because 
my dress was ripped to shreds. Well, practically to shreds. 

My social life at the university had started with a bang. 

I stuck around and did a semester's work during the summer sessions, and 
again, I had little time for screwing around. It was at the beginning of the 
fall semester that I met Donald. He was a nice, ordinary boy, who has grown 
into a nice, ordinary man, except for the fact that he's got a brilliant 
mind, and uses it. 

He's the type who goes to sleep at eleven o'clock and wakes up, with no 
trouble at ail, at seven, begins his day efficiently, and ends it happily. 
Why I ever married him I don't know. The whole thing was duller than cotton 
stockings. I continued to sleep around promiscuously, and have sex with 
wholesale job-lots of young men. 

Donald and! dated each other, and had a lot of fun, but he never asked me to 
go to bed with him, and to tell the truth, I didn't press the point, or his 
either. 

He asked me to marry him during the second semester, just after I turned 
nineteen, at the start of my junior year. The plan we figured out was to get 
married during Labor Day weekend, after I had done my second semester, 
during the summer sessions. Meanwhile, we would date once a week, so as not 
to interfere with our studies. 

What that did was to give me plenty of time to sleep with anyone else who 
took my fancy, or who wanted to try, anyway. Donald never questioned what I 
did with my time when I was not with him. He was very trusting: As I said 
before, I continued to sleep with as many young men as possible, and there 
were some incidents that stuck out in my mind. 

Lawrence Soames was an English exchange student, and though he was all 
proper English manners on the outside, he was a seething mass of passion on 
the inside. I was surprised to learn, among other things, that he smoked 
hashish, and that was back when it was neither as popular nor as available 
as it tends to be now. 

It was funny to watch him, his lantern jaw set, sticking out a mile, 
smoking, not a well-aged meerschaum, but an Oriental water pipe with the 
benign smile of a well-fucked potentate. 

Relaxed enough after smoking for a bit, he would make gentle love to me, for 
a long, long time. As he came down from his high, his lovemaking would get 
wilder and more violent, and at last, straight, he would be brutal. 

His orgasms would crash into me with the force of crashing waves, and the 
morning after, I would invariably find myself covered with hickeys. 

He was divine, but our fling didn't last long. My skin couldn't take it, and 
after a while there was no room for new black and blue marks from his huge 
hickeys. It was either a break-up or skin cancer, and so with regret I moved 
on to the next one. Through it all, Donald was a faithful friend as well as 
fiance. And through it all our Friday night dates remained standard. 

There was another one, a musician, who was something special. His name was 
Eric, and he played a trumpet. He was fond of group sex. Small friendly 
orgies, you know. 

One month or so after Donald and I became engaged, I went to a small party 
at Eric's place. It was destined to end up, as usual, on a huge blanket on 
the floor, with all the furniture moved back. Why he bothered with furniture 
at all always confused me. He might just as well have installed wall-to-wall 
mattresses for all the use the furniture got. 

We had been drinking and nibbling ridiculous little snack things, and Eric 
went around replacing one light at a time with a candle. It wasn't too long 
before the only light in the room was a group of flickering candles. It had 
happened gradually though, or at least more gradually than if he had simply 
turned out the lights and lit the candles. 

As we sat there, getting a little drunker, Eric went around blowing out 
candles one by one, until the only light left was one flickering candle. 
That was the way his mind worked. 

He sat down next to me and kissed me delicately on the back of my neck, and 
then, nibbled on my ear, and worked his way around to my chin. I assumed 
that everyone else in the room was similarly occupied. 

Eric and I took our clothes off and made our claim on a small comer of the 
blanket. We lay down and held each other close, and kissed for a long, long 
time. 

We weren't quite ready to make love, so we watched the others. There were 
two other couples in the room, and they had decided to join forces. It was a 
display, let me tell you. 

The two girls were lying side by side on the floor, and one guy was spread 
across the two of them, fucking one cunt and eating the other, and the other 
guy was lying across the girls the other way around at the top, kissing one 
girl, and getting sucked off by the other. 

I was fascinated by the inventiveness with which the four of them solved the 
problem of boredom. Eric was fascinated as well, and he held me close and 
played with my nipples as we watched. When it seemed everyone had come, we 
halfway expected them to get up and take a bow. 

"Quite a performance. They should do it to music." 

"You think everyone should do everything to music, Eric?" I asked. 

We were surprised, after the strenuous performance that had finished seconds 
before when without hesitation they started up again. But it wasn't mixed 
doubles this time. For a brief time, the two boys sucked on each other's 
cocks, and the two girls sucked each other's pussies. It lasted for only a 
few seconds, when the two guys separated. 

Lubricated with spit, the guys sat face to face, and jerked each other off 
for awhile, and then one of them took both cocks in his hands and rubbed 
them both off until they came, and then he slathered the resultant effusion 
as further lubrication up and 'down their cocks. This seemed to be the 
moment that the girls were waiting for. They split ranks, and the first 
girl, lubricated from spit, from the other girl's having gone down on her, 
and from having been fucked once already, straddled the two guys, facing one 
of them, and gobbled the two cocks into what must have been a monster pussy. 
I, winced as I watched her lower down onto two cocks at once, but the grin 
she had on her face told me that it couldn't have been all that painful. 

"Oh shit, that's good," she moaned, "come on you frigging bastards fuck me, 
ream out my pussy with your cocks, I want to feel you all the way up inside 
me." 

"Hey,-I can still feel your cock rubbing up and. down on mine," the first 
boy said, apparently pleased with the sensation. 

"A prick and a pussy at the same time," said the other, "it's the greatest." 

The other girl just stood there watching, but that didn't last for too long. 
The boys licked their fingers and each one inserted a finger into her, one 
fore, one aft. Finger-fucking her for all they were worth, keeping both her 
holes happy at the same time, while she had plenty of visual stimulation as 
well. Eric' and I couldn't take it any more. I was just at the point of 
masturbating and so was he when he fell on me, and licked me all over my 
body. His cock was fat, and his balls were huge, and he got around to 
sucking my cunt just as he jammed his cock into my mouth. I tried to force 
it all the way down my throat as he worked at my pussy, but although it was 
fat, it wasn't really long. Instead, I took his balls into my mouth, one at 
a time, with his prick. 

"Mmmmm," he said, into my snatch, vibrating the clit. 

He got off of me, and standing up, he lifted me to his eye level. He lowered 
me onto his cock, and filled me completely. I wrapped my legs around him and 
held on for dear life. With him inside me, I moved as much as I could, 
trying to stimulate him. His cock seemed to grow larger in me, and my cunt 
tightened and grew smaller. We started to gasp and heave, and my head 
started to spin. Eric's arms were giving out, and so he lowered me to the 
floor and followed me down, without missing a stroke. He slammed into my 
pussy, harder and harder, and I started to heat and convulse with multiple 
orgasms as he sprayed his gism into me. Eric emptied the very essence of his 
being into me, and lay back afterward, exhausted. I looked around to see 
what the other couples were doing, and they were collapsed in a heap, their 
arms and legs ail tangled together, in the same spot on the floor where they 
started. I got dressed, not stopping to thank my host for the lovely 
evening, and let myself out. I had work to do for tomorrow's classes and now 
that I felt satisfied, it was a perfect time to take care of it. 

As summer approached, my schedule became hard to keep up with, but somehow I 
managed to stay well-fucked, get all my schoolwork done, and still see 
Donald every Friday. Donald wasn't much of a reality to me, and the only 
kind of marriage I could envision with him, was the same as the courtship. I 
couldn't see the words some rabbi said over us making any difference. As far 
as I was concerned, I would continue to get myself fucked by everyone I 
found appealing, and see Donald once a week on Friday nights. It never 
occurred to me that there would be meals to cook, and clothes to wash, and 
perhaps babies to raise. More than that, it never occurred to me that Don 
would want to make love to me. It hadn't been an issue between us so far, 
and I just didn't have enough foresight to envision it becoming one. 

One Friday night, when he came to pick me up at the dormitory, he was more 
dressed up than usual. 

"What's the special occasion?" I asked him. 

"I thought you might want to go to the theater. There's a show trying out 
here, or touring or something, and it's supposed to be kind of good," Donald 
explained. "Do you want to?" 

"I have nothing to wear!" I shrieked, which wasn't the truth, but I didn't 
relish going back upstairs to change. 

"Wear what you've got on; it's just fine." which just goes to show you how 
far out from reality he actually was. I was wearing a sweater and blouse, 
which may have been just fine for a standard Friday evening at Smokey Joe's, 
but was just about the worst thing possible for the theater. 

"I can't wear this; give me five minutes, and I'll go upstairs and change." 
He nodded to indicate that it was fine with him, so I went up to the second 
floor and put on a black sleeveless thing, with a nice gold circle pin at 
the neckline. I never could remember which side said you were a virgin, and 
which advertised that you were available, so I always equivocated and put it 
in the middle. Maybe that meant something. I never did find out. I put 
heavier makeup on, and did something quick to my hair to make it look more 
formal. I ran downstairs, breathless, and rejoined Donald. 

"You look just great," he approved, "but I still don't see why you had to 
change." 

"Just forget about it," I told him. "I'll feel more comfortable at the 
theater in this. Come on, let's go. Do you have tickets?" 

"I have reservations at the box office. They said they'd hold them until 
eight-fifteen." 

"My goodness, Donald," I screamed, "it's nearly five after now. How do you 
plan to be there by eight-fifteen?" 

"I've got a cab waiting outside," he said. Donald always did think the 
shortest distance between two points was a straight line, but I didn't 
realize just how extravagant he was willing to be to keep that line 
straight. 

The cab managed to get us to the theater in six minutes fiat, with Donald 
coaching from the back seat as to which streets to take to cut minutes off 
the trip. His efficiency is still staggering. 

We picked up the tickets, and went inside. The show was nothing to write 
home about, but it was the most expensive evening Donald had ever planned 
for us, so far, and so I couldn't complain. 

Afterwards, we went to the Hunt Room at the Bellevue Stratford for drinks, 
and I nearly fainted when I recognized one of the boys from the "little 
incident" at the fraternity house during my freshman year. Donald didn't 
know any of the boys who had been involved, and so the face didn't mean 
anything to him. He kept pretty much to himself on campus anyway. There was 
no need to wonder why he had never heard stories about me, or at least made 
no indications to me of having heard any stories. Either he had not heard 
them, or was too much of a gentleman to bring it up if he had, or the third 
possibility, he knew all about them, but didn't give a damn. 

We passed by the boy and his date, and I breathed a sigh of relief when he 
didn't shout "Whore!" or something like it on the way. Donald and I went 
right to the bar, not planning to eat anything, we saw no reason to get a 
table, and the boy and his date got a table in full view of us. 

The evening progressed nicely, and Donald even managed a pun or two, and a 
couple of mild jokes. It was evident that he was trying hard to be an 
exciting amusing date that evening, and though he didn't quite make it, I 
was touched by his attempt. 

Good intentions count for a lot with me, and I don't give a good goddamn 
where they lead. 

It was a pleasant evening, and both Donald and I felt more relaxed than we 
had ever felt in each other's company before. I was starting to feel my 
liquor, and I; wondered where in hell Donald was putting all of his. He had 
at least three more drinks than I had had, and I never thought that having a 
hollow leg was one of the major requirements of a future nuclear physicist. 
It never occurred to me that Donald had had a normal rake-hell type of 
youth, and then it also occurred to me that there were almost too many 
things about Donald, like his capacity for liquor, only more important, that 
had never occurred to me. Was I marrying a stranger? Well, I knew that I 
was, so the answer to that was easy, but the hard question was what kind of 
stranger? Was I in for a few nasty shocks? 

As the evening mellowed, and me along with it, I started to have a sneaking 
suspicion that Donald was fattening the calf for the. kill so to speak. He 
was deliberately trying to get me drunk enough to seduce. If only he knew, I 
thought to myself, he could save himself a hell of a lot of money; all he 
has to do is ask. 

We were about ready to pay the bar bill,, when the boy from the fraternity 
house, who had been getting-drunker and more noisy as the evening 
progressed, staggered up to us. He leered at me. 

"Hey, baby, are you ready for action tonight. He's not much of a stud, 
baby." He reeled forward. "Now me, I'm choice. Only, it must be hard for you 
to remember, I was so far back in line." 

"Get out of here, and behave yourself," I begged, almost frantic. 

"Why don't you introduce me to your friend here," he sneered, "once we're 
properly introduced, I can tell him what a good lay his girlfriend is. But 
he probably already knows that." 

Donald got off his bar stool, and drew himself up to his full height, which 
the guy from the fraternity had either not noticed or forgotten in his 
drunken stupor. Donald at full height is six three and a half, in stocking 
feet, with shoes on, it's more like six four. And he's got the build of a 
fullback besides. I mean he's really impressive. One would never guess to 
look at him that he's not only a pacifist, but that he's never lifted his 
hands to anyone. Or hadn't at that point anyway. 

"My name is Donald Cohen, and I'm this young lady's fiance. Since you seem 
to be on such intimate terms with this young lady," Donald continued with 
curious emphasis, "you ought to remember that her name is Dora Wiener. You 
also ought to remember, that since she's a young lady, she doesn't get 
talked to that way, in a public place or anywhere else, for that matter. She 
doesn't get talked to that way, or I get very upset. Do you think that 
you're sober enough to understand that?" 

"Uh-I think I can manage that," said the boy from the fraternity, slurring 
his words a little less. 

"Now why don't you introduce yourself to the young lady, so that she can 
avoid you in the future." Donald's neck was getting awfully red in the back. 

"Jody, uh-Jody Duffield Evoy," he said, embarrassed, and also quite 
obviously scared. 

"Now why don't you go back to your table like a good boy, before I drag you 
there and slam you through the seat?" It was then that I realized that 
Donald was doing a perfect imitation of Gary Cooper! 

He paid the bar bill, and we walked out into the night. 

"No reason to waste any money on a cab," he said, "We can take our time 
getting back to campus." 

"You mean we're going back to the campus, now?" I was surprised to say the 
least. I was counting on him to spring a borrowed apartment, or something 
like that on me at the last moment. No luck. I'd just have to wait until our 
wedding night. Rats. 

"Donald, you were wonderful in the bar, but what if the boy was telling the 
truth? What if I was that kind of tramp?" 

He looked straight into my eyes, with the same straight and steady stare he 
always had. Clear-eyed, he said: "Even considering the possibility that it's 
not an academic question. That still doesn't mean that he should behave like 
that in public. A gentlemen doesn't kiss and tell." 

"So much for handy little platitudes," I snapped, "I want to know what your 
attitude is." 

Donald thought it over for a minute or two. 

"My attitude is that you are one person as Miss Dora Wiener, and you will be 
an entirely different person as Mrs. Donald Cohen. If by virtue of the name 
change alone. What you do now is your business, and I consider that I have 
no right to question or pry." 

"But, Donald," I protested, "what if I think that you have a right? Doesn't 
that make it different?" 

"I do not choose to use that right," he said, stiffly, "and that's for me to 
decide. And don't you go making all sorts of confessions to me, either. They 
may be good for your soul, but they give me heartburn." 

"Then the matter is closed?" I asked. 

"Yes." He simply didn't want to discuss it. 

We went back to the campus, and he waited until I had signed in. He kissed 
me goodnight, telling me that he'd call Monday night, if it was all right 
with me, and left. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

The last week before the wedding was hectic to say the least. After grade 
reports were issued, I had a million and one things to take care of. The 
last fitting of my wedding dress, which was simple and short, because we 
were only going to have a simple chapel ceremony with the immediate family. 
My mother wanted to invite everybody and it would have given her something 
to do, but Don and I didn't want to end up with the immediate world 
attending. Poor Mama, her touch with reality slipping away with increasing 
speed, I could have given her at least that much, perhaps, but I didn't want 
my wedding to be her therapy. I know it sounds selfish, but I had been to 
too many Jewish weddings that turned out to be the world's worst farces. 
Nowadays, all you have to do is go to the neighborhood movies to see Jewish 
weddings satirized from here to hell and back again. No thank you. 

And then, there was getting my trousseau packed, which was also a simple 
chore, because we were only taking a Friday till Monday Labor Day weekend 
honeymoon, in Atlantic City, after getting married by Rabbi Haas at his 
private chapel. We were going to go to Bermuda for the long holiday vacation 
between terms, starting the week before Christmas, and ending the week after 
New Year's, because it would be better that way. Don and I figured that by 
that time, we would not only appreciate it more, but we would need it more 
as well. Anyway, four days in Atlantic City can be fun, and besides, in a 
honeymoon, who can tell the difference between one beach and another. 

The finishing touches had to be put on our campus apartment, because we 
would both start classes only a week after the honeymoon, and there would be 
little enough time to take care of registration without having to worry 
about the apartment besides. The more rushing around I did that week, the 
more second thoughts I had about getting married before my senior year was 
finished. It was all right for Don, because he was going to be a Ph.D. and 
didn't have to worry about senior years, or any of that other jazz. He was 
working on some very advanced and highly technical research for the school, 
in conjunction with the government, and at the end of it, he would submit 
the collected data as his thesis. He had finished all his course work long 
ago, having cut through almost three whole years of work by advanced 
examinations. But after all, it wasn't going to be bad, provided of course 
that my cavalier was as good in bed as he was in class. 

The night before the wedding rolled around before I had a chance to realize 
it, and I found myself alone at home with nothing to do, and no place to go. 
At least in the dorms, I could always find a girl to talk to, or if things 
were really bad, I'd just go over to the library and bother some boy until 
he propositioned me. At home, the night before my wedding, and I didn't even 
have Don to keep me company. Some of his buddies in the physics fraternity 
were giving him a bachelor's party, and of course that was off limits to me. 

Out of sheer perversity, I looked up Jody Duffied Evoy in the phone book. I 
dialed his number, which seemed to be in the campus vicinity, and waited. 
Three, four, five rings, and then finally, someone answered. 

"Hello," the voice said. 

"Hello. This is Dora Wiener. Is Jody there?" 

"No, this is Brad Schinn, his roommate. Can I take a message?" 

"It all depends," I replied. "Do you know when he'll be back?" 

"About eight, maybe eight-thirty." 

"Well, then, have him call me as soon as he gets in." 

"Does he have your number?" the boy named Brad asked. 

Does he ever have my number, I thought to myself. Aloud, I simply told Brad 
my name and number, pausing appropriately to make sure he got it all down. 

I waited for an hour or so, and was just to give up on Mr. Jody Evoy 
entirely, when the phone started to ring insistently. 

"Hello." 

"May I speak to Dora Wiener?" the voice at the other end asked in a husky 
voice. "Speaking," I replied. 

"Listen, chickie, you've got to be kidding," Jody said. "If your bruiser 
boyfriend ever found out he'd have my head. I think I'd better hang up now, 
before we both get into deep, deep trouble." 

"Listen, Jody," I confided, "Don wouldn't hurt a flea. He was doing an 
imitation of Gary Cooper that night. Who knows from what movie he picked it 
up, but that wasn't Don. He talks kind of funny and pompous mostly. He's 
going to be a nuclear physicist." 

"So what does that have to do with the price of eggs?" Jody wanted to know. 
He sounded decidedly hostile. 

"All I want to know is, Jody, boy, was it the liquor talking that night, or 
would you like to show me what kind of stud you are?" 

"When?" His voice was still hostile, but now, there was a note of interest 
as well. 

"Tonight, if you're up to it." I tried not to sound too hard, meanwhile 
keeping just the right note of trampiness in my voice. 

"My place or yours?" he asked. 

"Yours, mine is impossible. I don't think my mother would appreciate it." 

"Okay, but you'll have to give me until ten or ten-thirty to get rid of my 
roommate." He had an "it's settled" note in his voice now, and indeed it was 
settled. 

I rang off, and looked at the clock. It was eight-forty, and that gave me 
just short of two hours to shower, get ready, and drive downtown. 

You may be wondering just what in hell I was up to, making arrangements to 
get laid the night before my wedding. But actually, when you stop to 
consider, it wasn't too out of the way. Remember, that very night, Don was 
off at his own bachelor party, and everyone knows what they're like. The 
last one I heard about, every man there got his cock sucked. Why shouldn't a 
girl have an intimate private little bachelor party all of her very own, and 
get laid as well while she's at it. Thinking about the disaster that my 
wedding night portended to be, I thought that I deserved at least a good lay 
the night before. This Jody Duffield Evoy character, I thought snugly to 
myself, had better live up to his self-advertisement. I toyed with ideas of 
what to do if he turned out to be a dud, and decided that it wouldn't be 
maidenly at all if I were to humiliate him. If his image of himself wasn't 
quite true, and he couldn't quite cut the mustard, I decided that I would 
simply thank him sweetly with a big kiss, and do something subtle, like 
twist his fucking prick off by its roots. The more I thought about Jody, the 
homier I got. 

I showered, and got into some clothes, and went to the garage to get the 
car. Daddy had given me a used convertible as a pre-wedding present, and I 
was glad, believe me, that it was in running condition. It didn't take me 
long to get the top down, and once that was done, I was on my way. 

Jody lived in the fifties, on Osage Street, which was one of the last good 
streets left in that area of West Philadelphia. When I say good, I mean it 
was elegant to the very last degree, with houses of mansion proportions and 
pretensions, and only a few of them had been divided into floor-through 
flats. Those that had been divided, still maintained their air of 
super-refinement, and the street was filled mainly with well-paid full 
professors, and a few University officials. They were the only ones who 
could both afford it and find it convenient. Anybody but University people 
would have avoided the neighborhood, good street or no, like the bubonic 
plague. There had been too many murders, not to mention the rapes, within 
the six block radius of the street that Jody lived on. For me, it only added 
to the adventure. I drove like a maniac, and skidded up to his front drive. 
Without slowing down, I careened into the drive and parked right beside the 
side entrance. I looked at my watch. It was twenty-five past ten. 

When I rang the bell, Jody answered through an intercom, and assured that it 
was I, and not some raving maniac who wanted to murder him in his sleep, he 
rang me into the downstairs reception hall with the relay buzzer. The hall 
itself was very narrow, and I imagine that there were apartments on either 
side of it. Leading up from the rear of the hall there was a stairway, and I 
climbed up. When I got to the second floor, Jody was sticking his head out 
the door waiting for me. 

"So you found the place all right. I really didn't think you were serious to 
begin with," he said, amused, "and when you said my place I was convinced 
that you were just getting even with me." 

"Don't be so paranoid." 

"Hey, that's good. I never learned that word, and I'm majoring in-" 

"Don't tell me," I cut him off, "psychology." 

"Yeah." He grinned. 

"You'll do anything for a laugh, won't you?" I tried to-look as if I were 
displeased, but I'm sure that I couldn't. I was having too much fun. 

"Listen, it's late and! haven't got too much time. Why don't we eliminate 
the social amenities and go straight to bed." I wasn't trying to shock him, 
but he certainly did look shocked. 

"My, you are business-like, aren't you?" he asked. 

"I try hard." 

"You don't have to try too hard with me, baby, I've waited more than a year 
to get a piece of your pussy all to myself." He practically licked his 
chops. "One little taste, and not even sloppy seconds. I love a sweet little 
snatch, and if you were that tight after who knows how many guys fucked you, 
think of what you'll be like when I've got you all to myself." 

Suddenly I remembered who he was. He was one of the monster cocks at the end 
of the line. He certainly would live up to self-advertisement. He was a 
small stallion in size, and his balls hung loose, huge, inviting from a 
scrotum that was like the brown paper sack you carry lunch in. Yum yum. 

We went straight into the bedroom, and got undressed quickly. I hadn't 
remembered inaccurately, there he was, Little Caesar in all his glory. He 
was one of the few who was not at a disadvantage in a crowd of other men, 
but he was by no means disappointing all by himself. He was huge no matter 
how you looked at him. 

We went to bed, and sort of prowled around looking each other over. We 
finally settled down in one place, and started to suck on my left tit. I 
watched as his rod grew and stretched its skin taut. With a maniacal gleam 
in his eye he sucked on the other tit, so hard that I let out a little yelp. 

"No marks. Do anything you like, but please don't leave any marks," I 
pleaded. "I'm getting married tomorrow." 

He roared with laughter. "Listen, chickie, I won't leave any marks. I'm an 
expert, and I've never left any marks yet." 

He licked my belly, and pulled me down flat onto the bed. He jammed his 
tongue into my crack, and sort of slobbered all over it, and licked at my 
clit. He reversed his body, and hung his cock and balls over my face, hoping 
that I'd get the idea. I did. On thing you've got to hand me, I'm not slow. 
Not when it comes to sex, anyway. I licked at his huge balls, and watched 
them move in their sac as if they had a mind of their own. The skin where my 
tongue had been reddened, and I kept on licking. I tried to get the hard red 
head of his cock into my mouth, but it was too big, so Jody clenched my head 
between his knees and thrust his cock down my throat. I gagged at first, but 
it didn't take me long to really get the hang of it. He had finesse. He knew 
just where to thrust so that he didn't rip my throat apart. He was like a 
combination Fritz and Rickey. Size and technique. After a while, I got tired 
of sucking on his cock, and disengaged myself, to reach up and stuck my 
tongue into his asshole, which was clean and hairless, like an unfolding 
rosebud. That'll throw him, I thought gleefully. 

He stopped sucking on my pussy. "So that's the way you want to play, huh, 
chickie. Well, I can play that game, too." Overshooting my pussy a few 
inches, he buried his tongue in my ass, sending electric shocks of sensation 
through my body. We rolled over and over in bed in that position, writhing 
and sucking at each other's asses. 

His cock kept bobbing and beating against his stomach, and soon, I longed to 
have him deep inside me. I stopped sucking, and pulled myself away from him 
and lay back on the bed. 

"Come on stud, screw me. Give me your meat. Shove it in and fuck me." He 
didn't take much convincing. 

He knelt between my spread legs, and started to ease into me. It didn't go 
very far in; he was just too thick. He paused, and reached over by the side 
of the bed. He got some vaseline out of the drawer. 

"It isn't the first time that this has happened," he explained, almost 
shyly. "Size had its disadvantages." 

"You don't have to apologize. I'm loving every minute of this." And I was. 

"You'll love every inch of it, too, once I get inside you. Funny, though, 
you were the only girl I never had this trouble with when I fucked you that 
night." 

"I had about two gallons of come in me to lubricate your way in, that 
night," I explained. He had a look of comprehension on his face that only 
matched his looks of anticipation. 

He greased his cock, and got in between my knees again. Slowly, he eased his 
head in, and kept going, pushing, with the help of the vaseline. It moved in 
smoothly this time, and when he was completely in, he rested for a minute. 
And then he really started. In and out, I could feel every ridge, every 
vein, stretching me, pulling me. His hugeness was filling every crevice of 
me, and he managed to make contact with every part of my hole, inside and 
out. Even my clit. He reached down into my crotch, and with his finger, he 
diddled my clit, and I started to have crashing orgasms right away. All the 
while he stroked me with his monster prick, he diddled my clit and I kept 
coming and coming. Soon, he drew out, almost all the way, and pulled my legs 
around his middle. He moved to the side of the bed, and sat up, and with my 
legs still around his middle, he eased me all the way back onto him. He 
braced his feet on the bureau, and moved me back and forth on him with his 
strong, capable arms. I was in ecstasy. I continued to have multiple 
orgasms, but strangely, they weren't the body-wracking, soul-exhausting 
kind, and I could have gone all night, impaled on his cock, but just as I 
had what must have been my thirteenth orgasm, he started to gush into me, 
wetting my pussy all the way in. He pulled out to the tip of his penis, and 
just as he was finishing coming, he slammed into me with all his might, and 
with one last spasm, he emptied his last drop of come into me. 

When we separated, he looked at me and said: 

"You're good. I want to fuck you again. I know you can take it. I've seen 
you do it before." 

"You're not too bad yourself, but I can't tonight. I told you I didn't have 
much time." 

"But I'm still hot!" he protested, pointing to his still-hard, throbbing 
cock. 

"How about if I suck you off?" I offered. "You jerk off until you're ready 
to come, and then I'll go down on you." 

"Can I eat your pussy while I'm jerking off?" he asked. 

"Sure, if you don't mind sucking your own come and vaseline besides," I told 
him. 

Without any hesitation to speak of, he dove for my pussy, and started to eat 
it out like a champ, while he jerked the skin of his cock raw. He got my 
clit between his teeth and started to gnaw on it. He slid his hand up and 
down furiously, and watching him masturbate while he was sucking on my clit, 
got me hot all over again. 

"I'm going to come," he cried, "I'm going to come!" 

Instead of sucking his prick, which was all I had intended to do, I slammed 
my pussy onto his cock, just as he was about to come, and we both came 
together. 

I was getting dressed, and Jody just lay there, his cock limp with 
exhaustion, just as he was, and before I left, I kissed him. Thrusting my 
tongue practically all the way down his throat, I remained for a long 
moment. 

"You know, if you hadn't taken such good care of me tonight, that would have 
started me all over again." I was still ready for anything myself, but after 
all, I was going to be married the next day. 

"You never did tell me why you were in such a hurry to get home, did you?" 
he asked, a curious look on his face. 

"Yes, I did," I replied. "I'm going to get married. Tomorrow." 

"I thought you were only kidding." 

The sound of his laughter followed me out of the apartment and all the way 
down the stairs. 

I got into the. car, and drove home, speeding all the way. I wanted to bathe 
before I went to bed, and lay out my wedding dress. I planned to stay in bed 
until it was time for me to get dressed for the ceremony. 

When I got home, my parents were asleep, with the door to their bedroom shut 
tight. There was a note on my dresser in my mother's handwriting, which I 
didn't even bother to read. I knew what it would say, and I just wasn't 
ready for it at that precise moment. 

I took a quick bath, and turned the air conditioner in my room up to its 
full force, and went to bed, after setting the alarm clock for twelve-thirty 
the next day. 

When the alarm clock went off, I was still tired, but I managed to draw my 
bath. I went over my checklist, and found that everything was in order. I 
calculated that I had four hours to get ready for the ceremony, and got into 
the tub, determined to stay for at least an hour. 

The photographer wasn't due for another hour and a half, and even allowing 
for a few minutes to keep him waiting downstairs, I had plenty of time to 
loll in the tub. Don was due at the same time with his parents and his two 
sisters, and after the photographer posed and took all the formal shots, we 
were to go to the chapel, and, I supposed, hear a homey little lecture on 
love and marriage from Rabbi Haas. 

Everything went off as planned and if I say so myself, I didn't look too bad 
in my wedding dress at all. It played up my small waist and gave great 
emphasis to my tits, which made my poor mother practically faint every time 
she looked at me. 

The pictures were taken, and the amenities observed. Don's father was 
half-plastered by the time we were ready to leave for Rabbi Haas' and so was 
my father. My mother only looked half-plastered. In truth, she was in a 
state bordering on hysteria. 

In a caravan of cars, most of which were entirely unnecessary, we proceeded 
to the chapel. We managed somehow to get through the ceremony, even though 
Don looked green at the gills, and I felt as if I was about to shit in my 
pants at any moment. Afterwards, the two families paraded by us, and hugged 
and kissed and Mazeltoved to their hearts' content, and way past mine. Don 
just looked numb and benign, and we ate and drank until it was time for me 
to go upstairs to the room that the Rabbi's wife had provided for me to 
change into my going-away outfit. 

Changed, I came down, and tossed my bouquet, which was really only a 
nosegay, but who's quibbling. Someone's maiden aunt, I'm not sure whose, 
Don's or mine, caught it, and a contented "AAAHH" was heard through the 
crowd. 

Don and I got into the convertible, which was decorated with the usual white 
streamers, and in no time flat we were on our way to Atlantic City. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Don's driving was even more erratic than mine, but we arrived in Atlantic 
City in one piece. How I don't know. On the way, it became obvious to me 
that Don's-capacity for liquor had failed him on his wedding night. 

The hotel clerk wasn't even mildly suspicious, which was a great 
disappointment, because I'd spent the whole ride down visualizing the grand 
scene that I'd play getting out my marriage certificate. I was even toying 
with the idea of going to the trouble of showing him the one in Hebrew, and 
having Don translate it for him with great pompous splendor. No luck. Don 
had made reservations weeks in advance, and had explained that we'd be 
newlyweds when we arrived. I guess they were expecting us. Nuts. To this day 
I regret not being able to flaunt my marriage certificate at the hotel 
clerk. It's too late now, and if I ever get married again, it won't be the 
same kind of fun. 

We got up to the room, and after the bellhop arranged the bed, turning down 
the pillow elaborately, and fiddled with the air-conditioner controls,, 
which didn't really work, Don broke down and gave him a dollar tip. 

He went out of the room satisfied, and alone at last, I thought that we 
would at least exchange kisses. But no, Don went into the bathroom and got 
into his pajamas. I went in after he was through, and got a shower, and 
fixed my hair, and arranged my nightgown until I thought everything was 
perfect. I stepped out into the bedroom, expecting Don to be sitting up in 
bed eagerly waiting for me. I must admit, I was pretty eager myself, because 
even though I'd been screwed before, it would be my first time with him. 
There was still a bit of the first time excitement I thought that virgin 
brides would feel, if only because of this. 

To my surprise, Don was sound asleep. 

The next night was no better. After a full day of swimming and playing on 
the beach, I was so sunburned that even the thought of being touched was 
repellent to me. The third night, Don had an attack of diarrhea, and so he 
didn't feel much like doing anything that night, either. The fourth night, I 
masturbated while I was in the shower, because I was so frustrated by that 
time I couldn't see straight, and I was lucky. Again, when I was all 
finished getting ready for bed, he was asleep. 

As strange as it may sound, we drove back from Atlantic City without having 
made even a vague move at consummating our marriage, and if I had known then 
what I know now, I probably would have had it annulled. Non-consummation 
being perfectly valid grounds for annulment. 

As it was though, I was pretty dumb, and I didn't bother, because I was hot 
only determined to make the marriage work, I was, at that point, determined 
to remain faithful as well. 

When we got back to the city, we went right to bed, exhausted from the 
drive, and to tell the truth I wasn't about to press the point. I didn't 
want Don to be embarrassed, and more than that, I felt so good just having 
him in bed next to me while I slept that it wasn't as frustrating as I 
thought it would be at first, thinking that it might go on like that for 
quite a while. As long as I masturbated two or three times a day, it didn't 
get on my nerves at all. 

Don and I were so wrapped up in registration at first, and then in our 
schoolwork that it really didn't seem to be an issue, any more than it had 
while we were dating. In between my studying, and writing papers for my 
senior seminar courses, I did the housework, and cooked a hot meal for Don 
every night. I even darned a few pairs of his socks, when I discovered that 
we didn't have enough extra money to get new ones after we had paid for my 
books and some special laboratory equipment that Don needed and that the 
University wouldn't supply for him. Every Friday night we went out, just 
like before, so I wasn't too far from wrong in my assessment of the 
situation. The one I'd formed before we got married, I mean. 

It went on like that for a while, and the only hard part of the whole thing 
was turning down those perfectly gorgeous men who would proposition me. It 
made no difference to them that I was married now, but it made a big 
difference to me. At least I worked hard so that it did. 

It went on that way until the Thanksgiving break. It was the first long 
weekend of the year, and thinking that we would have too much work, I turned 
down invitations for dinner all around. My mother was hurt, but then again, 
she couldn't really, have managed it, because she had just had a nervous 
breakdown, poor dear, and just days before had been released from the 
sanatorium. 

Don's mother invited us as well, but Don insisted that we couldn't very well 
accept an invitation from his mother when we had turned down one from mine. 
He was always fair that way, Don was, giving credit where credit was due. 
Invitations from friends were easier. We simply told them that finals were 
just around the corner for me, and that Don had reached a crucial stage in 
his research, and that neither one of us could afford to spend any 
appreciable amount of time away from our work. It wasn't any great wrench 
for me to say this, because I had never enjoyed social-type folderol in the 
first place, and in the second place, I thought I was telling the truth. 

Actually though, Don had other things on his mind. I found out later, and I 
shouldn't have been so surprised, but I was. After a simple dinner in the 
apartment (I had made a roast chicken instead of a turkey, because after 
all, the leftovers from a five-pound chicken were going to be hard enough to 
get rid of, and I had a lot of trouble finding a chicken that small, let me 
tell you. Everyone else was looking for the largest bird he could find; I 
must have been the only one searching for a skinny chicken that 
Thanksgiving, instead of a fat turkey.) Don and I sat listening to records 
because even though we refused invitations to go out, he convinced me that 
with the whole country stopping all of their normal business for four days, 
we could at least take a few hours off. 

He put on Ravel's Bolero, and after that, there was some very romantic and 
exciting music by Franck, We were both feeling mellow, and Don came over and 
sat next to me on the sofa, putting his arm around me. I think that was the 
first affection he had ever displayed towards me, and we had been married 
nearly three months! I snuggled up close to him, and he started to caress my 
nipples gently. At last we were getting someplace, even if it had taken us 
three months of marriage and more than a year of courtship to do it! 

I lifted my face up to his, and he kissed me, chastely, without opening his 
mouth. I insinuated my tongue between his lips, and explored the inside of 
his mouth. He was so big, that it surprised me that it took him no special 
effort to be gentle. I'm only five one, and with his height and bulk it 
wouldn't have been any trick at all for him to break me in half. 

He took my hands and led me to the bedroom, and for the first time since we 
were married he actually got undressed in front of me. I was pleased. This 
was real progress. At last he was feeling comfortable enough with me to 
share our bed, and to leave all childish modesty behind. I undressed as 
well, trying not to watch him too obviously for fear that it would turn him 
off. 

When he got into bed, I restrained myself from grabbing his cock, because I 
knew from experience that in the best of circumstances, that can have a 
prove-it-to-me connotation, which was the last thing I wanted to imply. We 
had just taken our first giant step forward together and I didn't want to 
take ten backward by losing control of myself. 

He took my face in his hands, and kissed me, breathing in and out, sharing 
the life's breath between us. I was deeply moved by the beauty of his first 
gestures of love. I hadn't made a mistake in marrying him after all. 

He reached down and caressed my breasts, and I started to get deeply excited 
as I had never been before. No one had ever treated me with such tenderness 
and respect. It was always, it would seem, screw and suck and be wild and 
animalistic, which had its place, and I wasn't knocking it, but no time 
before, with no one had I ever felt this deep warm glow of well-being rise 
from deep within me and suffuse my whole being so entirely. Here at last was 
a real human being, with real feelings and emotions. A big strong man who 
wasn't afraid of being tender and warm and gentle. His touch electrified me. 
My only confusion was why he had waited so long before. Maybe, I reasoned 
with myself, it was just that the timing was all wrong, what with school and 
all. And besides, I tried to convince myself, there's no rule that says you 
have to be fucked on the first night. 

This was absolute heaven. He was kissing me all over, and I was sure that 
the time was ripe for me to risk touching him. I started at his deep strong 
chest, hairy with an overgrowth that could have been a sweater it was so 
dense. I traveled my hand down to his groin, and discovered that he was 
still soft. 

He snarled at me. "Okay, so you've found out. I'm impotent. But not 
completely. I can get a hard-on." His face was contorted and ugly. "But if 
you want me to get hard, you'll have to tell me about the night you got 
gang-fucked by a whole fraternity." He looked at me. 

"You think that stories haven't gotten around? I waited for three months 
hoping that just having the most notorious body on campus would excite me 
enough. But nothing happened. I waited for three months, reading dirty books 
on the john at work, between experiments in the lab, trying to get hard 
enough to jerk off. I'd have blue balls otherwise." 

His face was crumpled in a pitiful look. I felt sorry for him. This man was 
my husband. 

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Dora," he explained, an amused look of 
self-contempt on his face, "you're sexy enough. I would get hard as nails, 
and jerk off three or four times when the guys talked about you at night in 
the dorms. You can do it for every other guy, but you haven't done it for 
me. There's something wrong with me. I'm a eunuch, Worse yet, maybe I'm 
queer." 

He looked as if he were going to cry, but he continued. "The night you and I 
ran into that guy from the fraternity, I got so excited thinking about it 
afterwards that I came as soon as I pulled on my meat the first couple of 
times. Thinking about the two of you together, screwing in front of all 
those other people made me hot again, so I jerked off using my own come as 
lubrication. I'm really a sick one, aren't I? I'd better just stick to my 
test tubes and centrifuges." 

This man, stripped so naked, so vulnerable in front of me was more than he 
had ever been before that night, my husband. I wanted to soothe his strafed 
nerve endings and tell him, softly, sincerely, that no matter how long it 
took, I'd wait until he was ready for me on his own terms, but I knew deep 
inside me that he needed me now, tonight, and that delay would be 
disastrous. 

"Give me your hand," I directed, and when he obeyed, I placed his fist into 
my cunt. "More men have fucked that and sucked it than I can count, starting 
when I was nine years old. Feel it, wet your fingers in the juice." I paused 
and shoved his hand up farther, causing me to palpitate and heat. "Do you 
like that?" I looked at him, and he averted his eyes. "Look at me," I 
commanded. "I asked you if you liked to feel my taut, my sweet pussy. Tell 
me, do you like it?" 

He swallowed hard and nodded his head. 

"Well, if you like it, play with it, diddle it." He explored for a while. 
"Do you know what a clit is?" I asked him. Again he only nodded. I took his 
hand, and directed it all the way up into the crevice where, almost hidden, 
my clit throbbed and begged to be played with. I took one finger of his hand 
at a time and diddled myself with each one of them. 

"Do you still want to hear me tell about the time I got gang-fucked?" He 
said yes, but I could barely hear his voice, it was so faint. 

I started to recite the details of the night. He listened impatiently until 
I got to the part where they tore of all of my clothes. His breathing got 
harder, and more labored. "And then one after the other, they got on top of 
me and plowed their huge, hot cocks into me, ripping me open, and 
lubricating me for the next one with their come. They saved all the monster 
cocks for last, and even they slithered in easily on top of all their 
fraternity brothers' come. I wrapped my legs around each newcomer," and 
here, I giggled at the unconscious pun. It is to Don's eternal credit that 
even considering the situation, he too was able to laugh a bit. I continued. 
"I wrapped my legs around them, and they plowed into me, with the lips of my 
pussy sucking them dry. One guy was queer I think, because he lapped my cunt 
out good before he mounted me, tasted all the mingled come before he got 
hard." 

Don was finger-fucking me like crazy by now, and I reached down to see if he 
was hard. Not quite, but enough. I pulled him by the cock and guided him 
into my waiting pussy and he expanded inside of me to proportions I wouldn't 
have believed possible from any man, let alone one who had told me not ten 
minutes ago that he was hopelessly impotent. He filled me like no one ever 
had, not one of the monster cocks at the fraternity house, not Eric, not 
Fritz, no one. He was a little clumsy, but with direction and patience I 
knew he would be a good lover. 

"Come on," I coaxed, "fuck the piss out of me. You're the best. Oh, little 
pussy's never had a cock like Don's. Come on plow it in, ram it home. Fuck, 
good-good fuck baby wants Daddy's fuck, come on, ram it. home." 

"I want to fuck you raw," he rasped, jamming his engine into me, driving me 
mad. "I want to rip the skin off your pussy. Daddy'll fuck you like you've 
never been fucked before," he moaned aping the words with his actions, 
carrying me away with transports of sheer ecstasy. 

Stroke after stroke, he pushed his ramrod into me, bouncing onto the 
diaphragm and tearing it to shreds. I was in such ecstasy that I didn't even 
care. He jammed and rammed, going all the way up inside me stretching my 
uterus, banging against its walls. I couldn't tell where the pleasure 
stopped and the pain began. He dug his fingernails into my flesh shooting 
searing stabs of pain through my body like electric shocks. His stroke was 
long and deliberate now, and he wasn't afraid to come almost all the way out 
before he rammed his prick all the way back into me. He was too big for me 
to wrap my legs around, but I just about was able to throw them back. 

He held them up that way, and started to whisper. 

"I love that pussy, sweet pussy, your pussy, love your pussy, suck pussy, 
I'm fucking your little pussy-gonna bang your pussy to shreds." He repeated 
it over and over again like a magic charm as he continued to ream me 
savagely. I was starting to contract, and have spasms, and the lips of my 
cunt grabbed hold of his stallion's cock and squeezed as if it had a mind 
all of its own. He quivered, and I could feel the skin of his scrotum as his 
balls beat a tattoo on my ass, and the skin started to contract and vibrate, 
and even in my ecstasy, I could feel his balls as they rotated wildly, and 
then-he came. Hot gushing spurts, filling me with an ocean of thick creamy 
white liquid, quenching fires, and starting new ones. I could feel the quick 
spasms jerking through my body, leaving waves of convulsive heat in their 
tracks, and soon it was over. He was spent, and so was I. We fell asleep in 
each other's arms. 

The next morning I awoke more refreshed than I can recall ever being before. 

As luck would have it, Don got me pregnant with the first try. I'm most 
fertile at the end of the month and thereabouts, and there's a good chance 
that even if the diaphragm had remained intact, I would have gotten pregnant 
anyway. That's what the gynecologist said to console me when I had explained 
what happened. He said that little or no effectiveness can be expected from 
any contraceptive technique in the most fertile five days. "Not anything," 
he explained with care, "not a condom, not a diaphragm, not even the old 
slice of lemon." I nearly laughed out loud when he told me that. Even with 
his informative little lecture the doctor didn't convince me that tearing 
the diaphragm helped matters any. 

I have no regrets though. Simone is a beautiful little girl, and I wouldn't 
trade her for all the money in the world. She's the only thing I have to 
show for my ten years of marriage, aside .from a thirty-five thousand dollar 
house, a full-length mink coat, a diamond necklace and two cars, and 
Carrying a baby is no picnic anyway, nine months of dragging another life 
around with you as if it were a permanently attached suitcase, but like 
everything else in my life I had to find an even harder way to do it. I 
started staining badly in my third month, and they thought I was going to 
lose the baby. When a month went by, and I was still carrying, three 
different doctors told me to go right to bed, and wait for a miscarriage 
that was going to be pretty messy. I told them it would have to be messy 
with me going to classes: business as usual. I was never one to let anyone 
stand in my way, even if it was my own unborn, or soon to be stillborn 
infant. 

Classes were rough, and careening around with my huge belly didn't make them 
any easier. I was a tiny girl then, and still am now, and every ounce of 
weight the baby gained showed on me, and how. The fact that the damn kid was 
supposed to be dead and rotting inside me, made the weight gain a bit scary. 
Well, if I was going to die of cancer, or a hydrated mole or whatever they 
called it, I was at least going to be buried with a college degree. 

I'd stomp upstairs to class, and practically roll down again afterwards, 
feeling every damn separate ounce the whatever weighed pulling on my 
sacroiliac one at a time,, each in its turn. I continued to do well in 
school, but the worry of what was going to happen with things there, really 
made it difficult. The continuing ordeal of "Dora Faces Life" was not easy. 

Don took a great load off my mind by not bothering me, and obsessed with 
guilt at what he'd done to me on our "maiden voyage" together, having to see 
the result day in and day out, he took refuge with an analyst whose name 
was, appropriately enough, Dr. Butcher. Dr. Butcher became Don's mother, 
father, wife and child to him, and I didn't complain about it a bit. Every 
time I felt the weight of my burden shift or heave, the thought of frivolous 
sex became more and more nauseating. 

I stuck it out until May, and then I heard, or rather, felt, a heartbeat, 
and rushed off to my doctor who listened to my thing with a stethoscope, and 
then he heard and confirmed my thing's heartbeat. I found out, just in time 
for graduation, in my sixth month, that I was going to have a baby, not a 
thing, after all. 

With Don and my father in the auditorium to cheer me on silently, I received 
my B.A. degree in English. I would have liked to have had my mother in the 
audience as well, but unfortunately, she took to bed practically the same 
moment she heard that I was great with child. I don't know whether it was 
sympathy, or envy, but there she went, and there she stayed for the whole 
nine months. 

As soon as graduation exercises were over, I took to bed myself, and prayed 
every day that I would have a baby and not a horrible monster. I read 
"Madame Bovary" again, and "Anna Karenina," along with some old comic books 
that Don managed to get in a swap for some perfectly good test tubes that he 
couldn't use. I preferred Little Lulu to Batman, myself, but beggars can't 
be choosers. 

The three months passed quickly, and I went into the hospital right on 
schedule, and dropped the baby, Simone, a five pound, seven ounce girl, with 
no trouble at all. Giving birth was the least troublesome part of the whole 
process. These guys who are working on test tube babies, babies born what 
they call "in vitro" have the right idea. Who wants to drag all that excess 
weight around with her. When the thing becomes optional, you just wait and 
see how many stupid broads still carry their babies around with them in 
their bellies. Zero per cent pal, absolutely zero. 

Simone was, and is completely normal in every way, except that she's a 
little bit too bright for my own good. The machine is completely sensitized. 

She was no trouble at all to take care of, and as a matter-of-fact, it was 
great fun to have her around, and just enjoy! It was nice to have an excuse 
not to have to read, or do papers for classes, and remember that I didn't 
even need an excuse, legitimate or otherwise. My interest in the baby didn't 
fade, but as my stitches healed and were removed, and my crotch didn't ache 
every time I moved in a chair, my sexual urges started to return. Don, 
however, was still deep in the throes of his therapy with Doctor Butcher, 
which I began to resent deeply. There was enough money from his scholarships 
and various stipends to support us nicely while he finished his research, 
but there was hardly enough to pay the breakneck fees that the doctor 
charged and still survive. 

His justification, Don told me, for charging his ludicrously high fees 
varied from session to session. One time it was the plaint that 
psychiatrists have to eat too, and my answer to that was "not caviar" while 
I was trying to stretch chili for three. Then, another time, he reminded Don 
that only if he paid dearly for his therapy would he take it seriously 
enough for it to do any good. My answer to that was the therapy would be 
fine, but my husband would die of exhaustion and malnutrition meanwhile, 
trying to keep the therapy going. 

His final argument was a corker. He told Don that he had a right to charge 
in accordance with the expense incurred getting his highly technical, expert 
knowledge. But why Don. I discovered that this same Doctor Butcher was 
treating patients at the clinic for free, and that some of them earned more 
than Don did! This really raised my hackles. I tried to convince Don that 
the best therapy he could get would be to fuck his wife every once in 
awhile, and he just ran to Butcher the next day to ask if it was all right. 

Having gotten the stamp of approval from the good doctor, Don managed to lay 
me once or twice a week, and it was better than masturbation, or better than 
nothing at the very least, but my depression kept increasing and towards 
spring, I found myself going out of my way to take Simone for walks on 
campus, or in the park. Sometimes, when the weather wasn't quite good 
enough, I took her to the music room of the University library, and dandled 
her on my knee while I listened to music through earphones. 

It was ridiculous, because I always listened to the same records I could 
hear at home, with better sound equipment and less inconvenience, but in the 
back of my mind the nebulous hope that maybe I'd meet a sexy-looking man was 
always lurking. 

I knew that I had sort of promised myself that I would be faithful to Don, 
but he wasn't making it easy. Any of you who always blame the wife when she 
cheats, listen to me. Half of the wives who cheat will do it eventually 
anyway, but of the half who were-determined never to cheat, no matter what 
their past was like, and end up cheating anyway, there's probably more to it 
than just being weak-willed. They probably aren't getting enough at home. I 
said before that I thought that insufficient sex was the cause of a lot of 
the problems that men have to suffer with. The same thing goes for women. 

Anyway, one day a really nice-looking guy, about thirty or so, followed me 
from the music room to the park, and sat down next to Simone and me on the 
bench. 

"Hiya, cutie," he said to Simone. "Do you want to introduce me to your big 
sister." 

"I'm young enough not to need flattery like that," I told him. "I'm her 
mother. Simone, say hello to the man." She gurgled and showed him a tooth. 

"Hello, Simone, I'm Randy." 

"Hello, Randy," I cooed, "I'm Dora." 

"All right," he explained. "Now that we're all properly introduced, I can 
invite you out for coffee." 

"Simone doesn't drink coffee, thank you," I told him, suddenly wary of the 
speed with which he worked. 

He looked straight into my eyes, and said: 

"But Dora does, doesn't she?" 

I admitted that I would love a cup of coffee, but that it was a little 
dangerous to be seen together on campus, what with my husband working at the 
physics labs so close by. 

"Why, Dora," he said, in mock horror, "whatever can you think of me! What on 
earth do you think I have in mind?" 

"The same thing I do, if you're smart," I countered. 

He looked me straight in the eye. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue 
that goes deep into you. 

"All right then, my place or yours?" I could see that he was testing me for 
a reaction. I wanted to go with him right then and there, but I was having 
second thoughts about the whole thing. After all, I was a wife and a mother, 
for however little it was worth. 

"How about if I take a rain check?" I tried to return his direct gaze 
without flinching. I couldn't. "You give me your telephone number, and I'll 
call you." 

"You won't call, I know that," he said sadly. "But I'll give you the number 
anyway." He wrote it down on a piece of paper. 

"I guess it goes without saying that you won't give me yours." He looked at 
Simone, and then back at me. 

"You don't need it," I answered. "I'm going to call you tomorrow. I 
promise." 

"Okay, I'll wait and see. I'm a skeptic." 

"Listen, kiddo, you've got nothing to lose, absolutely zero, if I don't call 
you, and everything to gain if I do call you, so don't complain." I tried to 
make it sound light and flip, but I think it probably sounded hard and cold. 

"I won't hold that last comment against you; I still want you to call." 

He got up and walked away. I looked at the piece of paper. It said: 

Randy Lammett, Room 345, Hotel Brittany. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

I knew that it was no use kidding myself about Randy Lammett as I lay in bed 
next to Don's inert form. I hadn't been laid anything near like regularly 
since we were married nearly two years before, and if the depression got any 
deeper, I would fly out and never come back. I hated to do it to Don, and I 
tried to convince myself that it was all my fault, that if I were any decent 
kind of woman, I would wait until he was ready for me on his own terms, but 
it was no good. I couldn't think of a single normal woman who wouldn't stray 
from the path if her husband treated her the way Don treated me, or didn't 
treat me, which is closer to the truth. 

I didn't sleep all that night for arguing pros and cons with myself, as if 
that did any good. My mind was made up practically from the moment he 
followed us out of the library. I hated to admit it to myself, but the truth 
is the truth, no matter how painful it may be to face. I wanted to get 
fucked again, and Randy Lammett was the first decent-looking male who'd paid 
any attention at all to me since Simone was born. Except for Don, that is, 
and I had gotten to the point where I would rather go unfucked than be 
driven crazy by his half-hearted attempts to please me. The damned trouble 
was that I wouldn't mind it if he was perverse, or even perverted, just so 
long as he did it with all his energy, but he was so determined that he 
would have normal sex, in the normal "polite" way that it destroyed every 
possibility we could have had together, at least as long as he held on to 
that insane idea. Whenever we tried to make love, I would end up more 
frustrated than I'd been before. To taste what he could have been and never 
to have it again was not only a frustration to me, it was a real tragedy. 

And besides, the pitiful way he would go about it. He would lie there 
daydreaming about something or other, with his back to me, waiting, and 
praying for a hard-on. If by some miracle he got hard, he would roll over 
and ask: 

"Uh, Dora, do you want to-uh, put it `in'?" 

Now the reason he would wait like that, I imagine, was so that he wouldn't 
offend my sensibilities with what he thought were sick fantasies. His guilt 
was so pervasive that he refused to bother me unless he already had an 
erection. Now, me, I'm kind of adaptable, you might say. What some people 
call pragmatic. No fantasy you use is sick, if it helps you give pleasure to 
someone else and to get pleasure yourself. The first time Don fucked me the 
games we played might be considered absurd, or even sad, but by heaven, they 
got me fucked like I never had been by one man before, and hadn't been 
since. The trouble was that Don was too busy getting "healthy" to realize 
just what he was depriving me of. 

When Don just lay there, sleeping, and didn't even bother to peck me 
goodnight on the cheek, I was furious, but still, I knew that I was in my 
own way trying to find enough fuel, for a fire big enough, to justify my 
contemplated infidelity. 

All night long I rationalized it one way and the other, and finally, on 
towards morning, having resolved nothing, and worn out from the struggle, I 
fell asleep. In its way, sleep solves a lot of problems. I dreamed about 
Randy Lammett that morning, although the odd thing about the dream was that 
in the dream, Randy had no face. That's why I remembered it. I knew when I 
woke up, that I was going to call Randy. I had known it all along, of 
course, but still, I would have felt just a little cheap if I hadn't lost 
some sleep over it. 

Don was a dear. He always changed and fed Simone first thing in the morning 
and put her back into the crib to play until I woke up. That morning it was 
no different. Simone played quietly by herself in the crib until I got up, 
still tired, and changed her again. She gurgled and cooed at me, and I'm 
sure she said, "Mama," a couple of times. 

I had coffee, and talked to my daughter while she played little games in the 
playpen. I tried to gather my wits and courage about me to call Randy. It 
took a few minutes. 

I dialed the phone to get information, and got the number to the Hotel 
Brittany, and dialed again. 

"Room 345," I said when the hotel switchboard answered. I waited. 

"I'm ringing," she said nasally. A minute later she said, "I'm still 
ringing." Another minute went by, and she reassured me, "Still ringing, 
miss." I was just about to hang up and call it a lost cause when the 
operator told me, "Go ahead please." 

"Hello," Randy's voice came sleepily. "Who is it?" 

"The girl in the park. Do you remember me?" I asked. 

"Do you forget your own name once you learn it?" he fairly shouted into the 
phone. "Boy! Am I glad you called! You're wrong about one thing, though." 

"What's that?" I asked, curious. 

"You're not a girl, honey; you're a woman." 

"That's nice to know. I don't feel like one lately." 

"What's the matter, aren't you getting enough?" 

"You know, I wish I could say that that was an impertinent question, but I 
can't, not after yesterday." I was almost ashamed of myself, but I didn't 
quite manage it. 

"You still haven't answered my question," Randy said. 

"No," I said flatly, "I'm not getting enough. I want to come and see you. I 
feel like I've got a wild beast gnawing at my entrails." 

"That bad, huh?" 

"Yes." I was getting hot just thinking of the possibility of being with him. 

"Well, if you can find your way over here, bring Simone and we'll all have a 
good time." 

"Maybe I ought to leave the kid with a baby-sitter?" I wondered aloud. 

"Suit yourself, but won't your husband wonder about that?" he asked. 

"He might, but I'll tell him that I felt like going downtown to shop. I can 
call him at work and ask him to pick up the baby at Mrs. Hart's house and 
pick me up at Wanamaker's or something. I'll work it out." 

"You sound experienced at this kind of thing," Randy said. 

"That's a lousy thing to say. This is the first time since I got married, 
and I wouldn't do it now unless I were really desperate." 

"Okay, I believe you, but all this discussion isn't getting anything done 
about the situation. How long do I have to wait?" He sounded as impatient as 
I felt. 

"Give me an hour. I want to shower and dress, and I've got to drop Simone 
off at Mrs. Hart's, but that's all right. She's always home, and she lives 
two buildings down from us." 

"Okay, see you soon," he said, and rang off. An hour later, I was in the 
lobby of the Brittany Hotel, waiting for the switchboard operator to 
announce me. 

"It's all right miss, he's expecting you. You can go right on up." 

I took the elevator, and got off at the third floor. The elevator operator 
pointed out the direction I had to follow to find Randy's room, and I went 
down the hall. When I found the room, I rang the buzzer over a card slot 
with his name inserted. Apparently, he was' a permanent resident there. 

"Come on in, the door's open," he yelled from somewhere on the other side of 
the door. When I walked in, he was directly on the other side of the door, 
sitting naked facing me. He was playing with his cock, which was nice sized, 
and uncircumcised. He was hairy, almost as hairy as Don, but he was blonder, 
and smaller. I hadn't noticed the day before, but he had a cleft chin, and 
the dimple was so deep that it was practically a hole. He sat there, posing 
for me, and chafing his cock, displaying the most obvious attributes of his 
manhood for me in the most brazen manner he could. To follow suit, I closed 
the door behind me, and started taking off my clothes on my way across the 
room. With each article I stopped and spun around, and he started humming "A 
Pretty Girl is Like a Melody" in bump-and-grind time. I played the game too. 
As I walked I bumped, after each article of clothing I took off; when I got 
in front of his chair, I was completely naked. 

"C'mere, and let me get a taste of your snatch," he ordered, and I went Up 
to him, and let him eat my pussy. I got tired of that after not too long, 
and I knelt down between his legs and sucked his cock. His fingers twined in 
my hair and coaxed me down farther and farther, down all the way to the 
base. 

He pulled me up to my feet, and drew me to him, spreading his legs wide so 
that there was plenty of room for me to stand between them. His cock was 
standing straight up, and because I am so short, he was able to tease my 
cunt with the feel of its tip. With my two hands I spread my pussy apart, 
exposing the inner lips, and pushed the head of his cock slowly inward, 
gently downward, until he made contact with my hole. Moving forward, I eased 
his cock into me, and when he was all the way in, I had to stoop forward 
slightly to keep him from coming out again. I moved back and forth, ever so 
slightly, the slow and easy sensations of fucking being all I could handle 
at first, after so long. It felt good to have a cock inside me again after 
so long. 

He caressed my ass while we fucked, and insinuating his finger into the 
crack, he searched for my other hole. Gently, he probed on the outside, and 
finding no resistance, he continued to push inward with his finger until I 
was filled with him, front and back. I leaned over and took his lips to mine 
hungrily and sucked them, and gnawed at the tender flesh on the inside. I 
pushed my tongue deep inside his mouth and matched the movement of our 
bodies with it. It felt good to have him inside me, moving gently like that, 
but he was building no heat in me, and I longed for him to slam his cock 
home, ramming his balls up against my ass as he did. 

I leaned back, and fell to the floor and he followed me down, and then he 
tickled my pussy with his rod, rotating it just a little. The heat was 
beginning to build, and my juice was beginning to flow. He kissed me and 
played with my nipples which hardened and excited at his touch. So long 
without a fuck, I was beginning to go crazy. I rolled over, pushing him 
until he was on the bottom, and started to ride him like a horse, rocking 
back and forth, clenching his cock between the tight bps of my pussy, 
forcing every inch of him inside me, filling my wet throbbing cunt with his 
stick. The mingled smells of our bodies, and of our sweat filled the room, 
as I reached my first wet, aching orgasm, convulsing and contracting, 
Randy's face was contorted in ecstasy, but still he didn't come. He rolled 
over on top of me, and drawing his cock out to the tip, he began to go in 
and out in quick small motions, not moving very far, staying right next to 
my clit, and I thought that any minute, he would slam his cock into me and 
draw it out again, and slam back in, but no, he kept moving quickly right on 
the verge of the inside, not really out, not really in, either, and the heat 
and sensation began to build towards a fever pitch that I could hardly 
stand. He contracted, and I knew he was about to come. Fearful that he would 
fall out of me from the force of his orgasm, I lifted my hips and wrapped my 
legs around him. Forcing him in with my legs, and keeping him there, I 
rotated my hips wildly, and contracted fiercely, trying to make him come. I 
worked and worked, until at last the look of contorted pain mixed with 
pleasure changed and the unmistakable look of release pervaded him, as he 
unloaded into me. I had only one orgasm, but that was enough, because it was 
my first since that night with Don, three months after we were married. A 
year and a half is a long long time to go without a real orgasm. It just 
isn't the same when you masturbate. There is always the point, just before 
you reach the peak of excitement that you wish you had a cock jammed inside 
you all the way up to the throat, choking you, filling you, for your hungry 
twat to grab onto while it contracted and convulse in crazy spasms. 

We sort of crawled up on the bed, and lay down together, and rested. We must 
have fallen asleep, because when I looked at the clock, what seemed like 
moments afterward, it was quarter to one. I rolled lazily over in bed, and 
shook Randy. 

"I've got to go now," I told him. "If I'm going to get anything done, so 
that my husband doesn't suspect, I've got to leave now." 

"Do you really feel like leaving?" Randy asked. 

I told him no, but explained to him as best as I could that I had other 
things to consider. He waved all of my explanations away, as if they counted 
for nothing. 

"You must realize that I have other things to do beside getting fucked by 
you," I said to him, vastly annoyed. "What occupies your time that you're 
free during the day like this?" I was honestly curious. 

The hotel wasn't what you would call luxurious, but it did have a certain 
charm to it. An air about it. It couldn't have been cheap. And yet, there he 
was, in the middle of the day, with no job to go to, apparently, at least 
that day, anyway. But the day before, I had met him in the middle of the 
day, and he had spent at least as much time in the music room of the library 
as I had. Maybe he worked weekends. 

"I'm a composer," he said, cutting into my thoughts. "Or, if you prefer, I'm 
just a plain old songwriter. I do the music for cabaret shows and book 
revues." 

"That sounds interesting." Interesting, it was fascinating. 

"It isn't, really. It's just a job to get money to eat with. The market is 
unbelievably regular, and I get them produced as fast as I write them. Most 
of the stuff is crap, but it fills a gap in places where there are 
nightclubs but no regular theaters." 

"But that's marvelous," I gushed. "Think of all the musicians who write and 
have talent, but can't get their work heard. At least you have some kind of 
a showcase." 

"A showcase, yes, but it isn't my work. It just provides me with the money 
and time to work on what I really want to work on. These things are just 
musical rehashes of every corny thing that's been done, well or badly in the 
past fifty million years. They're the kind of thing you see on cabaret or 
theater night at Grossinger's and places like that. Background noise for 
drinkers." 

"You sound cynical." I looked at him questioningly. 

"I am. I've gotten used to a standard of living, and now I can't give it up. 
Producing these things fast enough to get as much money as I need to keep 
all this," he waved his arm at the room, "cuts into the time I should be 
using to write serious stuff." 

"Why don't you take the money you've saved and just devote all your time to 
your serious music for a while. When you run out of money, you can write 
another show for the nightclub market and go back to work on your serious 
stuff again when you're through." I thought I'd come up with the perfect 
solution. 

"Can you really be that naive?" he asked. "How old are you?" 

"Just past twenty-one," I replied. 

"Come dear, and let me show you why what you suggest is impossible." 

He led me to a door and opened it. What I had thought was just a closet 
turned out to be a very complete looking music room, with many different 
instruments and a vast library of what I thought were music books. I went in 
and looked at the titles, and found that they were music books. 

"This room is specially soundproofed. I can write its use and cost off as a 
tax deduction, which helps, but, you see, I'd need all this equipment to 
work anyway. How would I pay for a large enough apartment and still eat. 
There has to be room enough for the instruments and me, and it's got to be 
completely and effectively soundproofed so I can work whenever I want to. 
Music is the only creative profession that still really depends on patrons. 
You've either got to have one or be your own, and I'm my own." He looked 
deep into my eyes. "How do you propose I support my 'family' on my savings 
of, the last time I checked, exactly ten dollars and eighty-five cents?" 

He had me stumped there. 

"All of this is fascinating to me, Dora," Randy said. "I'm my own favorite 
topic of discussion. But you said you've got things to do, and this isn't 
getting them done." 

"Do you want to fuck me again? I'm starting to get horny all over now." 

He didn't answer me. He simply closed the door and led me back to the bed. I 
lay down on my back; waiting for him to mount me and plunge his hot cock 
into me, but he rolled me over on my stomach, instead. 

"I've already had your pussy. I want to screw your ass now." There was a 
harsh and demanding note to his voice and he wrenched my legs apart. He spit 
into his hand and wet my ass, and spit again, this time wetting his cock. He 
put the head of his prick onto the hole. 

"Lift your ass a little," he directed, and I did as he told me, which forced 
him in just past the opening. 

"Cross your legs at the ankles," he said, and again I followed his 
instructions, which moved his heavy, throbbing cock farther into me. It 
didn't hurt, but it did feel a little uncomfortable. He kept instructing me 
to cross my legs higher, until, when I couldn't cross them any more, he was 
all the way in. Then he told me to uncross my legs and squeeze out, as if I 
were going to the bathroom. I did what he told me, and gasped at the pain. 
It made no difference to him, and just as I was about to scream at the top 
of my lungs, he plunged into me, and out again, and kept up the rhythm so 
that I had no time to feel uncomfortable in any one place too long. 

It was starting to be exciting, and I met every thrust of his cock with my 
ass, and the heat was starting to collect in my groin, back to front. He 
reached down and grabbed my ankle, and stopping for a moment, he revolved my 
body, still stuck on his prick, using my leg as a lever. 

When I faced him, he threw my legs back, and pumped into my asshole with 
frightening force, and at the same time used his hands to play with my 
pussy. He fucked my ass, and shoved one hand up my cunt as far as it would x 
go, and squeezed my clit with the other. I wasn't as sensitive back there as 
I was in front, so I couldn't feel it when he was getting ready to come. The 
only indication of it that I had was that he played with my cunt more 
furiously at a faster and faster pace, causing me to come in crashing spasms 
several times before he emptied his load into me. 

"How do you feel?" he asked. 

"Like I've been split in two. But good," I replied. 

"That's not what I meant. Do you still feel like you've got a beast gnawing 
at your entrails?" 

"No." I grinned at him, "now I feel like one integrated beast." 

"You'd better shower before you get dressed again." 

I showered and got dressed, and kissed him one last time before I left. 

"Will I see you again?" he asked. 

"If you want to. Should I leave you my phone number?" 

"Only if you really want to," he told me. "Are you sure it's all right?" 

"As long as you don't use it before eleven, or after four, everything will 
be just fine." 

I wrote down the number and went on about my business. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

Randy and I saw an awful lot of each other for the next year and a half. 
There were no "incidents" to speak of, and we never fought. It was an 
interesting diversion, but the longer it went on the more boring it got. 

Donald began to make love to me more frequently, and though it still wasn't 
enough, my needs either diminished or his techniques improved to the point 
where he wasn't leaving me quite so frustrated. The closer I got to Donald 
the farther away I grew from Randy, which was just as well. He started to 
have a vogue as a composer and conductor, and he had less time for me as 
time went on. 

Donald moved towards the day of getting his Ph.D. and got some fabulous job 
offers that were more than just attractive financially. Each one of them 
would have made Donald just as happy, because for him, the work was as 
important and as interesting as the money. 

One job though was more interesting than the rest, purely because it had a 
forty thousand dollar bonus attached to a four year contract and that 
enabled us to buy a house. Donald eventually learned to hate the group 
leader on his research project, but it was only for four years, and having a 
grand house, fully and beautifully furnished was not to be sneezed at. By 
the time Simone was four, her father was moving up quite a ways in the 
world. Donald hit a point in his research for the company, which I can't 
name, where he not only got to work on his own, without the harassment of 
Porter, his group leader, but the work itself became more interesting. 

It was nearly fatal to our relationship, because he paid less attention to 
me than he had in the period right before the last few months of his Ph.D. I 
was starting to go crazy again, but the suburban neighborhood where we lived 
offered little or no opportunity to stray. The only men I saw were the 
delivery men, and I started toying with the idea of seducing them when I got 
involved with a phone repairman quite by accident. He was a Swede, and spoke 
with the peculiar cadence that you often hear burlesqued to a ludicrous 
point by tasteless comedians. 

I was alone with him in the reception room trying to explain what was wrong 
with the phone, and he bent down to see if it was the cord connection that 
was causing it. 

He bent from the waist, and the muscles of his behind stood out in beautiful 
relief, straining against the cloth of his levis. Almost unconsciously my 
hand rested on his ass, and liking the feel, and not quite realizing what I 
was doing, I let it rest there. 

"Maybe the missus likes Steph's ass," he said, in that cadence which I dare 
not try to duplicate on paper. "Maybe the missus like, to see Steph's 
beautiful body. Steph's awfully proud of body you know." 

There was a peculiar charm to him. His tight curly blond hair, and the 
bulging muscles, and the smile with the space between the front teeth were 
all nearly irresistible. If this was a come-on his approach was at least 
novel. 

"Sure Steph," I told him, "the missus would just love to see Steph's 
beautiful body." 

He had nothing on under his flannel shirt and jeans and he was stripped down 
in two shakes of a lamb's tail. He was gorgeous. The muscles bulged all by 
themselves, twisting and turning with every slight movement of his body. 
There was no need for him to flex and pose. This was a body that got that 
way from being used and used well. It wasn't from weight lifting. From 
swimming, from boxing, from dancing from skiing, from all these things, but 
it had developed naturally with the right proportions everywhere. He was 
superb. 

"Maybe Steph like to see missus's body, hhmmm?" I asked. 

"Sure, missus. Steph like that." 

I got undressed. 

Steph sure did like that. His long fat cock swelled, the head moving out of 
its foreskin, wet at the tip. 

Without the nearly music hall accent, he .said: 

"Boy, I sure do like those tits of yours." 

"Hey!" I hollered. "Where'd the accent go?" 

"It's on the floor with the rest of the clothes I wear when I'm working. 
They fall for it every time." 

"You must get slapped a lot." 

"Yeah, lady, I also get laid a lot." 

I started to pound on his chest, but he grabbed my wrists and stopped me. 

"So, you're going to be a spitfire," he said. "Don't do that, lady. 

I'll just get into my clothes and we'll forget it." He looked at me as if he 
knew that I found that more horrible than the prospect of getting fucked by 
a total stranger. 

"Now you just be nice, ma'am, and let me look at your tits. You got nice 
ones for a little lady." 

He grabbed hold of my breasts and stroked them, following every curse from 
underneath to the nipple and back again. He played with the nipples, and 
they grew hard and erect, and the color deepened. 

"Sure do have nice tits. Get on the sofa so I can see your slit." I did as 
he asked. 

I opened my legs wide for him to see. 

"One helluva nice pussy you got there, ma'am. All pink and purple and hairy 
all over. Nice and sloppy and wet, too." He dabbed at it with his tongue. "I 
sure do like a nice sloppy wet pussy. MMMM," 

"Oh, don't stop!" 

"Just to catch my breath here and there ma'am. I sure do like a nice sloppy 
pussy to suck." He sucked on it, drawing the outer lips of my cunt into his 
warm wet mouth, and rolled them around on his tongue, stretching them and 
pulling them, inserting the tongue between them and driving it home. 

"Open your legs wider, please ma'am, I want to play with your clit." I 
opened my legs wider. "You sure do have one helluva nice clit," he said 
relishing the sight, "How does it feel when I do this?" he asked, jamming 
his finger all the way up into the crevice and twirling it around and around 
the clit. "Nice little clit, it surely is," he said as he continued to 
twiddle it, and I was speechless with pleasure. He alternated now, between 
sucking my pussy out, with all the force of a wet vacuum cleaner, and 
playing with my clit, teasing and rolling it giving it a playful pinch now 
and then. 

He gobbled at my cunt, and drawing my hand down, he put it on his cock, 
demonstrating to me with actions how he wanted it played with. I made 
circles around the moist head with my finger, running it between the 
foreskin and the glans. 

"Hot dog," he yelped, "that sure is fine." And to this day I don't know 
whether he was talking about the way I was jerking him off, or the taste of 
my cunt. 

He rose to his feet, and offered me his balls to suck while he jerked off 
watching me, and then the prick, which I couldn't quite fit into my mouth, 
but tried to manage anyhow. When he was lubricated, he lay on top of me, and 
plowed his prick all the way home. His rod got hotter and hotter inside me, 
and the fireworks that went off deep inside my belly were exploding 
throughout my whole body, little sparks shooting off into odd corners of my 
being. He sprayed his ocean of come into me, and rose up off me immediately. 
He sucked out my pussy, and jerked himself off, until we both came a second 
time. 

"That sure was good, and I thank you, ma'am." And then he laughed. I thought 
he might start a war whoop any minute, but thankfully he didn't. 

He got dressed, finished repairing the phone and left. 

This experience with a vaudeville sexual athlete left me with a question in 
my mind as to tactics. Whom would I trust. Did I rely on regular delivery 
men? Or did I just leave the selection to chance, trying to judge which of 
the various one-timers would be receptive, willing, able and discreet 
besides? It was a tall order, but random selection finally won out. It would 
be easier to avoid getting a bad reputation that way. I didn't count on the 
closed fraternity of delivery men with regular routes in my neighborhood 
telling each other about me. It got so that any new item I bought from a 
department store would automatically guarantee me a reasonably good fuck 
when it was delivered. I got fucked on the average of four times a week, two 
or three each as long as the house was being decorated. It took me almost 
eight months to get drapes, because every decorator that came to the house 
would lay me and forget to measure. Donald was beginning to get curious. 

"I'm damn sure, Dora," he would instruct, "that at least one of the stores 
of the city has at least one fabric and one drapery style to suit your 
fancy. It's not as if we can't afford something that you'd like. You don't 
have to wait until the sale you know, and besides, I'm sure there have been 
dozens of sales in the amount of time you've taken to look over samples." 

I knew he was right, and so one day, without telling him beforehand, in 
desperation, I called the home decorating services of the largest department 
store in town. They sent a man out, and I melted as soon as I saw him. I was 
determined however, to get the windows measured at least before I got myself 
fucked. 

He had dark eyes that snapped and sparkled and his smile was cruel and 
ironic. He had a pair of broad shoulders wide enough to hold track meets on, 
and his waist and hips were narrow to the point of being non-existent. 

He hardly looked at me as he walked in, but simply asked where the windows 
in question were. He went straight to the task, with great efficiency, and 
no nonsense at all. He measured and figured, and I was getting very nervous. 

He went from room to room, and continued measuring and figuring, and while 
he was happily occupied taking notes for required yardage so that he could 
figure costs when I finally chose the fabric, or fabrics, I went upstairs 
and slipped into a transparent negligee with nothing on underneath. He just 
continued measuring, and I continued to get more nervous. It was as if he 
couldn't have cared less. 

When he was finished measuring, I led him into the living room, and sat him 
down on the couch. 

There was a lot of talk about so many yards for this window, and so many for 
that, and sample upon sample of fabric, satins and nubs, and open-weave 
casements, and on and on and on. There were pictures of window treatments 
and suggestions he wanted considered, and still he didn't seem to notice me. 

I pulled the negligee slightly open at the breast, and still the talk went 
on and on and on. I decided on what to do with every room but the recreation 
room, and by then, I was completely exposed to the crotch, the triangle of 
hair showing provocatively, I thought. He continued talking. I was 
infuriated. He didn't sound queer, and he wore no wedding band, so unless I 
was deceived, there was absolutely no reason for this kind of thing to 
happen. 

I finally decided what to do with the recreation room, and was just at the 
point of masturbating to get the idea across, when he said: 

"As soon as you sign these contracts, and finalize everything, I'll take 
care of you. I don't want to go back to the store with nothing to show for 
my afternoon but a smelly prick. I need this sale, and if you'll pardon me 
for making so bold as to say so, Mrs. Cohen, you're somewhat notorious for 
fucking but not buying." 

I could have pulled his hair out by the roots. I almost yanked the contracts 
out of his hands and signed my name to all of them without even asking which 
was what. He continued to explain in great detail, just to make sure that I 
would understand everything, and when he was satisfied that I did 
understand, he handed over the papers to me, but left his hand resting on my 
crotch. 

While I signed the papers he diddled me with his fingers, and I nearly 
screwed up all the contracts because he was getting me so excited. 

When all the contracts were signed, he unzipped his fly, and leaned over me 
on the sofa, and simply slid his half hidden prick into me. He fucked and 
plowed and really did a marvelous job, all without changing the expression 
on his face. 

He came into me, and he was so bored it seemed, by everything but selling 
his goddamned curtains, that I was surprised he didn't yawn in my face. 

He stood up, and then stripped down in earnest. His body was no surprise to 
me, because the shape of it was quite obvious through his well-cut, 
well-tailored clothes. What was a surprise to me though was the fact that he 
had only fucked me with a little itty-bitty comer of his prick. The rest of 
it was twice as impressive as anything as I'd ever seen before. Just the 
rest of it. With the head and everything, all together, it was a wonder that 
he carried it around with him all the time without getting a hernia from the 
weight. It wasn't so much the length or circumference, but the bulk, and 
when I say bulk, I'm not merely talking about size or weight. I can't 
explain it I guess, but the best way to try is that it took up space. I 
wasn't just there, it seemed to be a living breathing entity all by itself. 
He threw me down on the floor, and plowed that thing into me, half splitting 
me open along the lines of the stitches that I had gotten after I gave birth 
to Simone. I was thankful Simone was at nursery school. 

He stroked my cunt, making it hungrier and hungrier,-and his smooth 
technique left my pussy eager for more with every stroke. The skin on the 
inside was pulling, and stretching and seemed to be coming off, ripping the 
delicate membranes, following the tremendous thing as it plowed into my 
uterus. By this time, I was on birth control pills, so that there was no 
danger of a ripped diaphragm. He could follow the stroke through, and force 
his prick up through my stomach and out through my throat, I wouldn't mind, 
and there was no danger. 

Again and again he plowed into me, not saying a word, not changing his 
expression, arid I had several orgasms. It felt to me as if he had an orgasm 
too, with all the convulsion and contractions that force the deliciously 
cooling soothing liquid into crevices straightened and rubber raw and 
excruciatingly sensitive by the thrust and pull of a cock, but there was no 
fluid, no flow. He matched convulsion for convulsion, contraction for 
contraction, and our bodies heating to fever pitch, matching strokes to each 
other, we moved from peak to peak, together in perfect synchronization, but 
still there was no fluid. 

Finally, he erupted like Vesuvius, and rammed his fuck-stick into me with 
all the force of a pile driver reaming the earth for oil, and when he was 
finished coming, he started in all over again. I was ecstatic. Again and 
again he fucked me, saving the ejaculation as the icing on the cake. I was 
erupting myself, and by the time he had come into me four times, I was ready 
for the rag-bin. I was as limp as a dish cloth. When he got off of me, I 
finally saw what they mean by walking like a woman who's just gotten laid. 
My legs didn't really want to support me. My whole center of gravity had 
shifted to another part of my body while I was lying on the floor. 

He pulled his clothes on, and without bothering to wash his hands even, he 
put all the samples and sketches back into his case, and arranged a folder 
for the contracts I had signed, and put them into a special compartment all 
by themselves. 

He started towards the door. Just as he was about to let himself out onto 
the street, he turned to me. 

"Those contracts are completely valid, you know, and you'll be expected to 
honor them. There's no way you can get out of it." 

"Of course I will," I said sweetly, in the glow of after-sex. "There's 
absolutely no reason why I wouldn't." 

Actually, when I sort of came to, I realized that I had ordered drapes for 
every single room in the house, when the original idea was to get drapes for 
one room at a time. I felt like running after him to tell him where to shove 
those contracts, but I knew that Donald would be pleased that I finally got 
it done at all, no matter how much it ended up costing him. 

My pussy was raw for a week and a half after that, and so I had to confine 
my activities to sucking and getting sucked for awhile. It wasn't too bad 
though, considering. You meet the most interesting people who like to 
sixty-nine. I got in a little rimming, and to tell the truth, I must be the 
only woman in Philadelphia who does it, because the looks I get, and the 
exclamations of shock and delight are really something. When you stick your 
hot wet tongue up a guy's asshole, you're doing something that he dreams 
about, and reads about, but usually has never done to him, unless, as I 
found out when I got a little more sophisticated that I had been when Hy did 
it to me the first time, what seemed like centuries before, he's been to bed 
with a lot of very liberal fags. It doesn't seem to be the province of a 
woman. But if a man likes something that a girl isn't doing, all he has to 
do is demonstrate, usually by doing it to her first if he can, and she gets 
the idea soon enough. It always works with me. I'm willing to try anything 
once. 

And that's how I learned one of my favorite tricks. When I was feeling a 
little bit better, and quite up to things again, I practically pounced on 
the next guy who delivered a piece of furniture to the house. It was a 
Damascus chair, and the man who brought it was a stocky, swarthy Greek, who 
probably faked the whole thing with his own two hands. He was beautiful in a 
savage way, and I couldn't wait to get him into bed-with me. 

He tried to roll me over and fuck me in the ass, and though it'd been done 
to me before, and even though I didn't let him do it, I understand that it 
is practically the only method of contraception used by Greek .Orthodox men. 
I didn't let him do it simply because now that it was back to normal again, 
my pussy was twitching to have a nice piece of meat inside it again. 

I told him that I couldn't do that, and he was very reasonable; all he did 
was shrug his shoulders and get on with it the usual way. There was no 
folderol about unusual positions, it was just beautiful, and very 
comfortable. He simply stuck his nice-sized cock into me and pumped. He 
kissed me quite a bit, and played with my tits, but that goes without 
saying. He was gentle, and considerate. What blew my mind was, that after 
about ten minutes of a really first-class fuck, he took my hand and placed 
it in very close proximity to his own asshole. Now, I had heard that with 
Greeks you can't tell, that they'd just as soon get fucked by a 
good-looking, well-hung man as fuck a nice tight pussy, but it surprised me 
when my particular Greek put my hand at his asshole. His prodded it a bit, 
and it seemed to me that he wanted me to put it in. I avoided the issue for 
a moment, and simply played with his balls, but then, I felt that space 
between his balls and his asshole where the shaft of his cock continued from 
the base of the scrotum, and on up into him, right past, I got a flash, his 
anus. 

I licked my finger, and through the contractions he was starting to have, I 
forced my finger into his asshole which was rather tight to say the least. I 
pulled it out again, and lubricated the second finger with my index finger, 
and tried again. To my surprise the two fingers went in more easily than the 
one alone, and when I was all the way in, I worked them up and down and in 
and out. For every spasm and contraction of his cock that I felt inside me, 
there was a corresponding one inside him that I felt with my fingers! Not 
only was he fucking me, but he was getting jerked off, from the inside. It 
didn't take him long to bring me over the brink, past the point of no 
return, and I contracted like mad, and the waves of passion washed over me 
again and again like the tide at the seashore. Soon he reached his own peak, 
and he started to come. Not only did I feel him coming in me, but I felt 
every motion every spasm of his spurt of come with my finger as I matched 
his rhythm inside of me, with mine inside of him. 

Of the whole period of time that I was sleeping with people who came to the 
door, there is one favorite ... He was a fourteen year old boy whose name 
was Joe. His name is probably, still Joe, but I haven't seen him in years, 
and so now to me he is away. 

The first time I saw Joe was when the doorbell rang and I answered it. He 
was standing there, with jeans and a sweatshirt, and since the weather 
hadn't really changed, I worried that he might be cold, or catch one, I 
asked him inside, and got a good look at him. He was small, but not puny, 
and blond. Very blond. He had green eyes, and I'm a sucker for any male, man 
or boy, with green eyes. Actually, I'm a sucker for any male, period, end of 
sentence, but you've probably gotten that idea plainly enough without my 
telling you. 

"Hi," I said, "you're new, aren't you?" 

He nodded. 

"What happened to the other boy?" 

"Dunno," he said. 

"What's your name?" 

"Joe." 

"Your not very talkative, ape you?" 

"Uh-uh." He shook his head. 

"Do you want some cookies and milk?" 

"I don't have the time." 

"Aren't you cold with just that sweatshirt?" 

"No, Miss. I do a lot of running around." 

"Okay, that seems fair enough. How much do I owe you?" 

"Seventy cents," he replied solemnly, "Forty-five for the dailies, and 
twenty five for the Sunday." 

I counted out the change and handed all of it right over to him. 

"Are you allowed to take something extra as a tip? Your service has been 
very good this week. I'm not used to getting the paper early enough in the 
afternoon to enjoy it before I make dinner." 

"Thank you miss, but I can't. I'll see you Saturday with the funnies. Bye 
now." 

He left, I presumed to. deliver his other papers. 

We had little conversations like that twice every week, once on Thursday 
when he collected, and once on Saturday when he personally delivered the 
first section of the paper into my hand. It went on like that all through 
the spring, and in the beginning of summer, I noticed that he would tarry a 
little longer than usual. I guessed that with vacation and all, he had more 
time to waste with each customer. But he was staring hard at me, and I 
noticed that he fidgeted a great deal while he was standing there. One 
Saturday morning, when Simone was outdoors playing with her cronies, he 
actually got a hard-on. He wasn't wearing underpants, and the left leg of 
his Bermuda shorts was sticking out a lot more than the right one. I told 
him to come in for a minute while I got some change, and I closed the door. 
He followed me past the foyer, which I hadn't asked him to do , but I didn't 
really mind. He watched me as I went upstairs, and out of the comer of my 
eye I saw that he was playing with himself. Already hard, and large for his 
age, he got harder, and grew larger. On the way downstairs, I accidentally 
on purpose let my housecoat fall open, showing him whatever he could see 
through the transparent nightgown. He blushed. I handed him the money, and 
he was about to start for the door, reluctantly, when I reached out and put 
my hand up the leg of his shorts. 

"That's quite a dot of meat you have for a boy your age, Joe. How old are 
you, exactly?" 

"Uh-fourteen," he stammered. 

"Have you ever fucked a girl?" I asked, still holding his cock. 

He shook his head in reply. 

"Would you like to?" 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

I took his hand, and put it up my nightdress. 

"You know what that is don't you?" 

He nodded. 

"Why don't you put your finger in and feel what its like?" 

He didn't need to be coaxed. He put his finger into my hole, and he trembled 
with excitement. 

"You want to do something with that?" I asked him. "Do you know what you'd 
like to do?" I continued when he nodded. 

He shook his head. I let go of his cock and led him upstairs to the bedroom. 
I took off my clothes, such as they were, and indicated to him that he 
should do the same. He did. 

I let him play with my pussy for awhile, and it was nice to watch him as he 
did. His body was clean of hair except for the groin, and golden tan. He was 
a real delight. I wanted him badly, and I had never had a fourteen-year-old, 
even when I was fourteen myself. I sat him down on the edge of the bed, and 
walked over to him, and clasped his head to my pussy. He put out his tongue 
and licked at my twat sort of shyly, tentatively and it was nice to have 
this inexperienced lad do things to me, awkwardly, perhaps, not the 
professional kind of attention I was used to getting from men, but then, the 
look of joy from discovering new things was worth all the professional 
snatch-sucking jobs this side of Madagascar. 

I got onto the bed, and drew him on top of me, and guided him in. There was 
a look of pleasure on his face and of concentration. The feeling was one of 
"Am I doing it right,?" and so I encouraged him by cooing "You're doing just 
fine," to him every once in awhile. It was his first time in, so I didn't 
worry too much about myself, and just concentrated on making him come. When 
he started to come, he grinned widely. 

"Hey! It's coming! It's coming!" he shouted gleefully, "What do you think of 
that?!" 

"A helluva lot sweetheart. And we'll do it again, a lot, if you want." 

He floated out of the house in a miasma of male musk, from having been 
excited, and from still being excited, and of woman smells that I had left 
on him. What the poor boy's mother would think, I could only speculate, but 
if she was hip, she would realize in an instant that her little boy was no 
longer quite so little, and that someone, some depraved old lady, namely me, 
was taking advantage of the fact. We had done well together. 

And we did well together often after that. He would come to the door, either 
on a Thursday or a Saturday, and if the time was right, we would have a nice 
long go at each other. He would wait expectantly for me to ask him in beyond 
the door, and if I did, he would wreathe his face in smiles, from the minute 
he walked in, until the minute he left, If, on the other hand, I didn't ask 
him in, his disappointment was painful to watch. 

It was fun while it lasted, but one day there was a new paper boy. In his 
way, he was just as cute as Joe, but it wouldn't have been the same. Ah, 
well, onward, ever onward. 


THE END
