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Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category

Higher Education

Friday, November 16th, 2018

Jerry, twenty years old, is just under six feet tall and has the lean sinewy body of a long distance runner. His fair complexion gives him a clean-cut all-American look. He keeps his dusty-blond hair short to decrease wind resistance. Jerry lives to run. He is a star on the track team at a small university. Not long ago, his athletic scholarship was in jeopardy when his grades fell. His piercing blue eyes flash as he tells about how that incident led to the best sex he ever had.

To me, the most important thing about college is the track team. I know it doesn’t sound very academic, but let’s face it, I’m not really an academic guy. I’ve been a runner ever since I can remember. When I was a little kid, I would run miles and miles for the thrill of it. In high school, I joined the track team just for fun. It never occurred to me that running might pay off in some way.

By the time I was a junior, I started getting letters from colleges, making me all kinds of offers. I never planned to go to college, but I jumped at the chance to continue running and not have to think about finding a job. Now I’m pretty close to graduating from college and I still haven’t started thinking about a job. Coach says there’s a living to be made in long distance running, but not much of one. My dad says it’s a shame I didn’t pick baseball or basketball or football. Now, that’s where the money is. But I don’t care. Running is my life.

About a year ago, it started to look like I was going to lose everything. I’ve never been much of a student. Let’s face it, I never wanted to be. I’m no brain. No matter how hard I study, I still come out with lousy grades. Coach always says not to worry about it as long as I maintain the mandatory C grade average. For my first couple of quarters, I did keep a C aver age, even though it was by the skin of my teeth.

Then I took math to complete my general ed requirements, and that was almost the end of the line. I really tried. I even got a tutor. But I just couldn’t cut it. Oh, I can add and subtract, but when it comes to algebra and geometry, there’s just nothing I can do. It’s like a foreign language to me.

I flunked it the first time, and they said I’d have to take it again. So I did, but it looked like I was heading for the second F. I knew it was hopeless. The trouble was that all my other grades were borderline, and flunking math again would pull me down below the C average I needed to stay on the team. I went to Coach and told him the problem, but he just said that if I worked a little harder everything would be all right.

I didn’t know what I was going to do. Then on top of all that, I get this letter from Dean Smith telling me to make an appointment to see her as soon as possible. I was scared shitless that she was going to kick me out.

When I went to her office, I was real nervous. But she turned out to be a very nice lady. Even though I never met her before, she greeted me like an old friend. “Hi, Jerry,” she said. “You sure have turned our track team around.”

“Thank you, Dean,” I mumbled. Man, was I uncomfortable about being there.

“Sit down, please,” she invited, gesturing to one of her guest chairs.

“Am I in some trouble, ma’am?” I asked, perching nervously in the seat.

Dean Smith’s warm, feminine laugh made me take a good look at her for the first time. She was maybe fifty years old, but she must really have been a knockout when she was young. For a woman her age, she was still very attractive.

She had short blond hair and great blue eyes that kind of sparkled when she smiled. The thing I noticed most was her body. She was curvy ·in all the right places, and firm, like she took good care of herself. She had real nice tits and a terrific ass, and wore clothes that showed it. Her tight-fitting skirt hugged those buns, and her low-cut silk blouse showed enough cleavage to be distracting. When I caught myself studying her figure, I quickly looked away. The last thing I needed right then was to piss the dean off.

“You’re not in trouble yet,” she said. Her voice was kind of husky and sexy. “But you’ve got to pass math. Coach Riley is a good friend of mine. He tells me our track team hasn’t been this good in twenty years, which, for a lot of reasons, is wonderful for the school. The coach says he can’t afford to lose you So I promised I’d try to help you through it.”

I looked at her in confusion.

“I used to be a math teacher, you know,” she said with a . trace of pride. “In fact, I was chair of the math department before I became dean.”

I couldn’t figure out what she was getting at until she held a package of worksheets out to me and said, “I want you to do your best with the problems in Chapter One of this study packet. Then come back to see me on Thursday right after track practice. And bring the problems with you.”

I couldn’t believe it. The dean was going to tutor me in math. None of my teammates could believe it, either. It just didn’t make sense. Artie, a senior on the team, had a theory. “I’ve heard rumors that the dean likes to screw young jocks,” he said. “Maybe she just wants to get into your pants.” Every body in the locker room laughed and hooted when he said it. The idea was just so ridiculous.

I worked on the math problems and went back to see her on Thursday as she instructed. Her secretary kept me waiting in the outer office for a minute. Then the dean came to get me herself. She led me to her office and gestured toward the couch, closing the door behind us. “Sit down,” she said.

She was wearing a dress with a wide skirt and a plunging neckline. When she sat down on the couch beside m~, she crossed her legs carelessly, causing the skirt to ride high enough to give me a long view of her shapely thighs. For a dean, she was one good-looking woman.

As she slid closer to me, I was aware of the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her leg against mine. “Where are the worksheets I gave you?” she asked. She seemed to be looking into my eyes in a very un-deanlike manner. I got a little flustered.

“I’ve got them right here,” I answered, patting all my pockets before realizing that I was holding them in my hand. “Uh, right here, I mean.” I spread the papers out in my lap.

She laughed musically, touching my shoulder lightly. “Don’t be nervous,” she said. “This won’t hurt a bit. Now, let’s see what you’ve got here.” She took one of the sheets from my lap and held it up in front of her face. “Hmmm,” she murmured, studying my work. “This doesn’t look totally hopeless.” She put the worksheet back on my lap, her hand accidentally brushing across my bare thigh. My skin tingled where she had touched me.

I’ve had some experience with sex. I mean, you know how the girls like athletes. I’ve had my share. But there was something especially sexy about this fifty .. year-old woman. Maybe it was the fact that she was the dean of the college, which made her just about as off-limits as a person can be. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, I realized that I was getting a little turned on just sitting next to her on the couch. When she had touched my leg, my cock stirred. I hoped she hadn’t noticed.

“One mistake you’re making is that you keep inverting the equations,” she said. Or some such bullshit. The truth is I’m not really sure what the hell she was saying, because as she said it, she was pointing to my mistakes on the worksheet resting in my lap.

Each time she tapped her manicured finger against the paper, I felt an electric shock go straight through to my dick, which was right under it. She kept touching the paper to make her point, and I was starting to get embarrassingly stiff. I wanted to move the worksheet away before I got busted, but if I had, my hard-on would have been obvious.

Now she started underlining the equations on the worksheet with her fingertip, drawing imaginary circles around the numbers. Although I was sure she didn’t mean to, she was tickling and stroking my cock. It felt good, even though I was dying of fright. It never occurred to me that she was doing it on purpose.

I noticed that her other hand seemed to be fidgeting with the buttons at the front of her dress, opening and closing them without even seeming to know it. Each time she undid one of the buttons, I got a little glimpse of the smooth white skin of her tittles. I hoped I wasn’t staring, but I just couldn’t look away. When she suddenly took her hand from the buttons, I was sure I’d been busted. Then, to my surprise, she moved her hand to my leg and rested it lightly on my thigh where it was bare below the hem of my shorts.

I was beginning to wonder whether or not she was conscious of what she was doing. She kept talking about the math problems, but her words were totally meaningless to me. As she droned on, the hand that touched my leg seemed to move slightly. At the same moment, she laid her other hand fiat on the worksheet to emphasize some point she was making. By ·now, my cock was at full erection.

”Dean Smith,” I started, thinking I had to find some excuse to break away from there before I got myself in big trouble. She looked right into my eyes. “Yes, Jerry?” she almost cooed. She was openly stroking my leg now, her fingers running lightly up and down the inside of my thigh and stopping every now and then to give it a gentle squeeze. “Do you like the way this feels?”

I couldn’t say anything, but my cock started pulsating uncontrollably. With a swift movement of her hand, she pushed the worksheets from my lap, exposing the front of my shorts where my boner was straining against it. I thought I heard a soft sigh whisk from her throat.

“Nice,” she murmured, closing her hand over the fabric. Her other hand slid boldly inside the leg of my shorts, ‘her fingertips creeping closer and closer to the bulge my nuts . made in the jock I was wearing. Involuntarily, I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes.

I was scared to death, but I couldn’t help surrendering to the wonderful sensations she was giving me with her talented touch. The dean! The dean of the whole fucking college! Here I was on her couch while she rubbed my cock and balls like a horny young co-ed. I didn’t know what to make of it. I decided to just ride with the wave.

“I’ll bet you’ve got a great big strong young cock,” she whispered. “I want to see it.” Her fingers worked at the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down along with my jock. I helped her a little by lifting my ass off the couch. The next thing I knew,. she tossed them to the floor with the worksheets.

My cock was free now, standing up like a flagpole. I could feel her hungry eyes devouring it while her hands worked eagerly to make it even harder and stiffer. She circled the shaft · of my pecker lightly with her thumb and fingers, stroking gently up toward the head and down against the hairy jungle at the base. Her other hand cupped and cradled my balls, treating them like valuable jewels.

She might have been a math teacher and she might have been a dean, but she could have taught a great class in Handjob 101. I’ve had quite a few girls pull my dick, but none with the style and skill of that middle-aged lady. Maybe it comes with experience.

She seemed to know all the places where a cock was especially sensitive. Those she didn’t already know about, she discovered. Her hands were soft and loving, her fingers gliding over the smooth skin of my shaft. She obviously liked what she was doing. Her eyes were glazed and half closed. A seductive smile played around her lips. Her touch sent chills up my spine. It felt like I died and went to heaven.

From the comer of my eye, I happened to see her nameplate on the edge of her desk. It reminded me of where I was and who I was with. I knew that I was playing with 6.re, but desire had me by the balls, and as always, it was lust over logic. Besides, in a way it was probably the danger of the situation that made it so exciting. Can you imagine what would happen to a bonehead who got caught with his pants down in the dean’s office?

She continued stroking my cock and balls with one hand, while the other slowly unbuttoned the front of her dress and unhooked her black lace bra. When it opened, her tits popped into view. They were medium .. sized and pointed, with nipples so dark they were practically brown. I wanted to touch them, but I didn’t know if that was allowed. She must have sensed my indecision, because she took my hand in hers and placed it on her tits. Then she went back to rubbing and stroking me.

When I got those boobs in my hands, I almost forgot whose tits I was feeling. They were as 6.rm as a cheerleader’s. I cupped them and stroked them and rolled the erect nipples between my fingers, making her groan with pleasure.

All the time, I was praying silently that her door was locked. If it wasn’t, I hoped nobody would hear the sounds she was making and come in to investigate. This was probably the craziest thing I ever did. But all I could think about was how good it felt. Her hands playing with my cock and my fingers twirling her nipples were sending waves of excited pleasure through both of us at the same time. The thought of who she was and where we were doing it was making me even hotter.

Pressing gently against the back of my head, she pushed my face into the soft flesh of her bosom. At first, I just kept it there, holding her tits against it and inhaling deeply to smell
the sweet perfume of her cleavage. Grabbing my hair, she moved my face until one of her brown nipples was pressed against my lips. It didn’t take me long to get the point. I started sucking and nibbling it, hearing her moans reverberate against the walls of her office.

When I had thoroughly mouthed both of her titties, she pulled back and rose to her feet. I looked up in horror, certain that she had finally regained her senses and was about to call the campus police to have me locked up and the key melted down. Instead, she took a few shuffling steps backward toward her desk, keeping her eyes fastened on my throbbing erection.

Without tearing her glance away from me, she bent forward and reached under the hem of her skirt. For an instant, a fleeting expression of concentration passed across her face. A moment later, she was sliding a wispy pair of black lace panties down over her ankles.

“Come here, Jerry,” she said in a hoarse, husky whisper. As she spoke, she lifted the skirt of her flowing dress dramatically, exposing the blond curling hair of her bush. I could see pink lips peeking out at me. I remember being surprised to see that a dean’s pussy looked just like anybody else’s. I was terrified. But I was so turned on I thought my cock would explode. The combination of fear and sexual excitement was driving me wild.

Perching on the edge of her desk, she raised her skirt around her waist and spread her thighs wantonly. ”Come here and fuck me, Jerry,” she said. Her voice was firm and controlled.

I hesitated for a moment, knowing that once my cock was inside her there would be no turning back. Up until now, we had just been fooling around. She would always be able to tell herself that nothing really happened between us. But if I did what she was demanding, there would be no question about it. Getting fucked leaves no doubts.

”Fuck me,” she said again.

What could I do? It was a command from the dean. I walked slowly toward her, my cock pointing straight at her open pussy. I was nervous, but I wanted her more than I ever wanted any of the girls I had screwed before. With the young girls, it was fun. But with her, it was urgent business.

The thought of doing it with a woman of her age and experience was super exciting. I guess the best part was that she was the dean and she was spreading her legs for me right there in her office. On the other side of the door, they were running a school. But in here, it was serious sex time. I wanted to say something, but I was afraid of breaking the spell. At last I blurted, “Yes, I want to fuck you.”

She groaned and beckoned with her hands. When I stood between her legs, she wrapped them around my waist, drawing me toward her. She leaned back on the desk and closed her eyes as I guided my cock into her opening with my fingers. The thrill as I actually felt it slipping inside her was indescribable. It was like the first time I ever got laid. I just couldn’t believe it was actually happening. But the throbbing sensation in my dick was very real.

I wanted to stretch out the penetration so that each second would be a separate experience for me to remember and gloat over later, but her opening just seemed to swallow me up. Her legs tightened around me as she pulled me all the way into her with a single driving thrust. Her pussy gripped my throbbing cock snugly, holding me prisoner in the velvety depths of her body. I froze for a moment, giving her sex muscles a chance to adjust to my thickness. Then I began to move rhythmically in and out.

The movements of our bodies were perfectly synchronized, but I can’t take credit for that. Her hips and thighs were choreographing the entire fuck. Her pelvis rocked up and down, controlling the way my cock pleasured her inside. With each rolling motion, her tits bobbed erotically.

I had to struggle to keep from popping my load right then and there. I wanted to be sure that she came before I did. I concentrated on the possibility that we might get caught any minute, hoping that the fear would slow me down. But all it did was get me hotter. I knew I was going to lose it. I didn’t know what to do.

Then she started to sob, and I knew that everything was going to be all right. “Oh, you strong young jock,” she moaned. “Oh, fuck me hard with your strong young dick. Oh, give it to me. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Oh, God, I’m going to come. Oh, yes, I’m going to come.”

At that moment, she stopped being the dean and turned into a sexy she-animal in heat. I knew that she was going to unload her orgasm, and that freed me to let my own come flow. My moans mingled with her cries as I began to pump my spunk into her pussy. Her eyes were tightly shut, and her head was rolling from side to side, telling me that her climax was upon her. I continued driving into her until there was nothing left in me.

By the time my cock softened, it was clear that she was satisfied, too. Her legs relaxed their grip on my waist, and then let go all together. I stepped back. She smiled and stood up, buttoning the front of her dress and slipping back into her panties.

“Thank you, Jerry,” she said. “That was wonderful.” Then the satisfied smile vanished from her face, and she became businesslike once more. “But I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to see each other again.”

I realized that I was being put back in my place. I guess I felt _better about it that way, too. As I was putting my jock and shorts back on, she said, “I’ll talk to Dr. Hoffman. He’s chair of the math department. I’m sure that he can help you pass your course.”

I never have seen her again, not even walking around the campus. It’s just as well, of course. I think about her all the time, though, and about that hot fuck we had on the desk in her office. She was better at sex than any girl I ever had before or since. Maybe it was her experience that made every move seem perfectly planned yet spontaneous at the same time. A lot of it had to do with the situation. Students aren’t supposed to fuck the dean, especially in her office, especially on her desk. All of that played a role in making it so different and exciting.

My dad thought that baseball, football, and basketball were the only sports that would pay off. He’ll never know how wrong he was. There might not be much money in track, but one thing I know for sure: It was my running that got me the best sex I ever had.

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    A dream cum true

    Tuesday, November 13th, 2018

    Many people become grouchy if they don’t get enough sleep. Recent experiments indicate, however, that it might not ·be sleep deprivation that makes a person tense the next morning. The real root of the problem may lie in an insufficient opportunity to dream.

    In these experiments, two groups slept under controlled conditions every night for a period of several weeks. The members of one group were interrupted whenever their rapid eye movements, or REM, indicated that they were beginning to dream. Members of the other group were woken up as often, but only when they were not dreaming. As a result, the two groups got approximately the same amount of sleep, but one was permitted to dream and the other was not.

    Those allowed to dream experienced no significant change in attitude or behavior. In a relatively short time, however, those who had been prevented from dreaming began to show signs of tension and irritability. Some developed symptoms of severe mental illness and had to be eliminated from the program. These people recovered shortly after returning to their normal dream patterns.

    The obvious conclusion is that we need to dream. Dreams allow our unconscious minds to give expression to secrets that we hide even from ourselves. When these secrets are happy ones, our dreams are pleasant. When the secrets are not happy ones, we have nightmares.

    The dreams we have while awake are called daydreams or fantasies. Unlike those that come to us in our sleep, they are usually subject to our conscious control. This is why we do not have “daymares”.

    Daydreams are also important. They provide us with escape from a reality that, at times, can seem overpoweringly oppressive. They allow us to be what otherwise we might not ever be able to be. They allow us to do what, otherwise, we might not ever be able to do. In daydreams we can fulfill our most impossible wishes.

    The things we wish for and daydream about are not always impossible, though. Sometimes life surprises us with experiences that we imagined but never really believed could happen. When this occurs, we have the sense of a dream coming true. The people whose stories are told in this blog had sexual contacts that they had fantasized about without ever expecting to experience. The unanticipated fulfillment of their secret wishes led them to regard their dreams-come-true as the best sex they ever had.

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      THE WEDDING FEAST

      Sunday, November 4th, 2018

      Michael is thirty-nine years old and has been a successful New York theater musician for more than.half his life. He sports· a sixty-dollar haircut, his shoulder-length hair carefully layered to preserve a well-groomed appearance. Its shiny black color contrasts dramatically with the steel gray of his eyes. He is lean and agile at a height of six foot-two. A one-carat diamond stud flashes in his left earlobe to call attention to his masculine good looks. When we ask about the best sex he ever had, he wistfully recalls his wedding night, ten years ago.

      I started playing the drums kind of late in life. I was eleven. Most pros start before they’re seven. I learned fast, though, and was playing in a neighborhood rock band by the time I was fifteen. At nineteen, I got my first job on Broadway, in the orchestra for a hit musical. The show ran four years and I worked the whole time. When it closed, I got a gig with another musical right away. Since then, I’ve worked steadily, one show after another, with never more than a week or two between gigs. That’s how I met Sandy. It was about eleven years ago. I was twenty-eight, and she was twenty seven. A friend of mine who was playing sax in a new show invited me to a party to celebrate the opening of rehearsals. It was at somebody’s posh Park Avenue apartment, one of those open house kind of affairs with people drifting in and out all night. I noticed Sandy the minute she entered the room. You might say it was a case of lust at first sight. She had long, straight blond hair, the softest I’ve ever seen, and eyes the color of sapphires. She was tall and thin, with small breasts and tight little buns. Her curvy muscular legs tipped me off to her occupation.

      I grabbed two glasses of champagne and headed straight toward her. “Welcome,” I said, handing her a glass. “I bet you’re a dancer.” She flashed me a smile that could have melted steel and looked me over carefully from head to toe. “And you must be a drummer,” she answered, sipping the champagne. “Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “One look at those gorgeous legs told me that you’re a dancer. But how did you know that I play drums?” She smiled knowingly. “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime,” she said softly. “When we know each other better.” Her voice was deep and husky, making her words sound like sexy music. “Oh? Do you think we will?” I asked. My mind was racing, trying to remember whether I had ever met her before. I knew I couldn’t have, because I never would have forgotten some one like her.

      She wasn’t coy or cutesy, like a lot of women would have been in that situation. She just looked me in the eye and said, “Yes. I think we will.” She was right, of course. We talked and laughed together for an hour or so, only half aware that there was a crowded party going on around us. After what I thought was a decent interval, I suggested that we go somewhere for a drink, and she immediately agreed. We found a quiet comer in a cocktail lounge. When our drinks arrived, I said, “Well, do you think we know each other well enough yet? How could you tell I’m a drummer?” Sandy affected an expression of mystery. “It might ha ye been your hands,” she said. “Or it might have been the rhythm of your movements. But probably it was when I saw you coming toward me with those two glasses of champagne, I asked a friend who you were, and she told me.” I laughed heartily. What a great sense of humor. We stayed in the lounge for a while to continue our conversation. Although we played at courtship sparring, we both knew how the evening would end. Within hours we were writhing in bed together in her apartment.

      We went out again the next night and started seeing each other a few times a week from that point on. Sandy worked in the chorus of a musical a few blocks from where I played. We would meet for drinks and dinner after work and end up at her place, where we would make love until the wee hours. We started ·spending more and more time together. I found that when I wasn’t with her, I was thinking about her and longing for her. After only three months, I asked her to move in with me, and she accepted. Because her apartment was larger and more centrally located than mine, I actually ended up moving in with her. Everything was great, right from the start. We ate together, laughed together, slept together, and enjoyed life together. Every night after work at 10:30, we both rushed home to make passionate love.

      There was something about our sexual communication that made it clear that we were right for each other. I’d been with a lot of sexy women before that. You know how show business is. But no other woman ever satisfied me the way Sandy did. For one thing, I have a powerful appetite, always hungry for sex. Every night. Every morning. And in the middle of the day too, if I can get it. None of the other women I knew could keep up with me. Most of the time, after their first orgasm, they were ready to roll over and go to sleep. I always wanted more. Oh, some would try to accommodate me, but I could tell that their hearts weren’t really in it. With Sandy it was different. She had the same urgent sexual drive as I did. When she came back for seconds, I knew that it was because she wanted it as much as I. I didn’t usually go to work until evening, but she was rehearsing a new show and had to work all afternoon. Some .. times she’d call me from rehearsal to say that she was getting a break and heading home. When that happened, I’d wait for her, naked, in our apartment. As soon as she opened the door, I’d pounce on her, stripping off her clothes and scattering them around the room as I pulled her to the bed or dragged her to the floor. She didn’t usually get more than twenty or thirty minutes off, so we’d start making love immediately and keep it up until the last possible second.

      At night, we would have more time for leisure. Sometimes our foreplay would last for hours. We would take turns at massaging each other or kissing each other’s bodies, until the kisses turned to oral sex. We would bring each other right to the edge of orgasm before stopping to switch roles. She satisfied all my urges, all my wants, all my erotic desires. And I knew I was satisfying her. It wasn’t just sex, either. We were deeply in love with each other. We both knew that it was only a matter of time before we got married. I brought up the subject of marriage after we had been living together for eight months. Sandy agreed at once, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. We set the date, reserved a ballroom in a Midtown hotel, and started inviting friends and families.

      One night, about two weeks before the wedding, Sandy surprised me. As usual, I hurried home right after work, looking forward to several hours of steamy sex. But my fiancee had other ideas. When I arrived, she Was still fully dressed. I noticed a suitcase in our apartment’s entrance hall.

      I was horrified. Was she leaving me? Had she changed her mind about the wedding? “Sandy,” I asked nervously. “What’s going on?” “Don’t worry, my love,” she said in a voice that calmed me. “I’ve been thinking about something and I want to tell you about it. “You see,” she continued. “Like every girl in the world, I always dreamed about my wedding night. I always wanted it to be something special. But the way we’re living, it won’t be special at all. We’ll wake up together, have breakfast together, and get dressed together just like we do every day. Then we’ll go to the wedding together and come home together afterward. Now what’s special about that?”

      I saw her point, but I couldn’t imagine how she intended to change things. “I guess you’re right,” I said. “But that’s life in the modem world. After all, we’ve been living together for almost a year. There’s nothing we can do about that now.” “Well, in a way there is,” she answered. “If we don’t live together between now and then, our wedding night can seem like something special.” Now I understood the suitcase that I had seen when I came in. In a strange way it made sense, but I didn’t like it. ”My friend Kathryn has a lovely apartment overlooking the river,” she continued. “She left for Europe this morning and gave me her key. I’ve arranged for you to house-sit for the next two weeks.” I was stunned. “What?” I stammered. “You mean you’re kicking me out?”

      “Don’t look at it that way, Michael,” she said in a soothing voice. ”Think of it as an investment in our future. After two weeks of not sleeping together, our wedding night will be so hot and sizzling that we’ll remember it for the rest of our lives.” As she spoke, she undid two of the buttons at the front of her blouse. I became hard at once. “I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound logical. “Maybe there’s a better way. I mean, two weeks seems kind of drastic.

      Suppose we just agree not to have sex for two or three nights before our wedding.” “No, no,” she said in the husky whisper that had helped hook me on her in the first place. “I promise you a night that’ll be worth waiting for. After two weeks without it, we’ll be so turned on that there isn’t anything we won’t be ready to do.” She undid another button and leaned over to lick my ear with the tip of her tongue. “Let me tell you some of the things I have in mind,” she whispered, reaching for my hand and placing it inside the open front of her blouse. I cupped her breasts, feeling her erect nipples poking against the inside of her bra. I was painfully hard, throbbing inside my pants.

      She started describing the most exciting sex acts I could imagine, promising me a night filled with bliss. She told me exactly where she would put her fingers and her tongue. She told me about an erotic dance she was creating especially for the occasion, a dance that would arouse me more than I had ever been aroused. She promised to do things I had always dreamed of, and some I had never dreamed of. She alluded to positions so unusual that we had never even tried them before. All the while, she was blowing her hot breath in my ear and nibbling it. I was so turned on that I would have gone along with anything. “Okay, my love,” I murmured. “It’s a crazy idea, but if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.” As I spoke, I slipped my fingers inside her bra to search for the glowing ember of her nipple. Before I found it, Sandy pulled away from me, leaving my empty hand poised in midair.

      “Quick,” I said. “Let’s go to bed right now. If it’s going to be the last time until the wedding, I want to get started right away. I’ll pack in the morning.” “No, my darling,” Sandy said, re buttoning her blouse. “This morning was the last time until the wedding. Your suitcase is already packed. Here’s the key to Kathryn’s place. The address is on this slip of paper.” “What?” I sputtered. “Why tonight? Why can’t we just sleep together once more before this prison sentence begins?” “No,” she repeated firmly, opening the door. “You’re out of here right now.” “But … ” Without quite knowing how it happened, I found myself standing outside the closed door of our apartment with a suitcase in one hand and her friend’s key in the other. I turned to ring the bell but stopped myself, realizing that her mind was made up and there was no chance of changing it. For the next two weeks, I went slowly crazy. We talked to each other on the phone two or three times a day, but never for more than a few minutes. She always managed to find some excuse when I asked her to meet me, saying that she was very busy at rehearsal or that she had too many other things to do. I missed her terribly and I was counting the days.

      To make matters worse, I was horny as hell. Without any warning, I had gone from feast to famine. Sandy and I had been having sex several times a day, and suddenly I was on a sexual starvation diet. I tried jerking off, but that just didn’t fill the bill. Once I even tried doing it while talking to her on the phone, figuring that it would be a little like making love. She knew instantly, though, from the sound of my breathing. ”Now, you cut that out,” she said. Embarrassed, I stopped. As soon as we were off the phone, I finished what I had started, but it just wasn’t enough. I was beginning to find it difficult to sleep at night, tossing and turning for hours between twenty- or thirty-minute snatches of slumber. My erection never seemed to go away, and when I rolled around restlessly in my solitary bed, it pressed painfully against the mattress. I lost my appetite and was losing weight as a result. I never realized how sexual starvation could gnaw at a person day after day, night after night.

      I couldn’t even concentrate on my work. I beat out my rhythms mechanically, relying on reflexes that I developed in the year or so that the show had been running. Instead of thinking about the music, I was thinking about my erotic needs. The worst part was knowing that they wouldn’t be fulfilled when work was finished or when the night was over. It seemed that I had been living like a monk for centuries, although it hadn’t been quite two weeks. It was sheer agony. By the time our wedding day rolled around, all I could think about was making love to Sandy. Never mind the ceremony. Never mind the reception. I wanted the honeymoon to start right away. I was obsessing. I was so hungry for sex that my body ached. I wasn’t at all sure that I’d be able to get the pants of my wedding suit on over my hard-on. I think I lost contact with reality for a while. In my mind, the wedding had turned into a night of lovemaking on a bed of passion. When I arrived at the hall and saw the room filled with guests, I realized that the consummation of our desires was still several eternal hours away. My brother, who was acting as my best man, thought I had the jitters because I was having second thoughts about getting married. Boy, was he mistaken. I wanted that ceremony more than anything I ever wanted before.

      I don’t remember much about it other than some hastily mumbled “I do’s” and a voice pronouncing us man and wife. I had reserved a room in that very hotel and wanted to rush up to it as soon as the ceremony ended. But there was still that endless dinner and reception to sit through. All the guests were eating and drinking and having a ball. Everyone but me. Food and dancing were the last things on my mind. All I wanted was to roll my bride in my arms, kiss her, and make wonderful love to her. When the band struck up “A Groovy Kind of Love,” everyone called for Sandy and me to dance alone. As we glided across the floor, I held my wife tightly against me, fearful that the bulge of my erection would embarrass me. “Let’s get out of here,” I murmured. “Everybody’s having a good time. No one will notice if we slip away. Isn’t that what newlyweds do?”

      “Oh, silly,” she said, giggling like a virgin. “We haven’t even cut the cake yet.” I could tell that she was enjoying the wait, pleased by my hunger for her. Later, as our friends took turns proposing toasts to the newly married couple, I asked her again if we could leave. She shook her head coquettishly, saying, “Our guests, Michael. We mustn’t forget our guests.” Finally, as the waiters were pouring coffee, she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Now, my darling husband. Take me to our room and make love to me.” My knees were shaking as I stood and took her hand. Trying to be unobtrusive, I led her through the double doors to the elevators. My heart was pounding. I held her and kissed her as the elevator whisked us to the honeymoon suite. Opening the door, I lifted her and carried her inside. “Oh, God,” I said. ”Those ·were the longest two weeks in my life. I never want to go through anything like that again.” Sandy just smiled. “It will be worth it, darling,” she said. “You’ll see.” With that, she stepped back and lifted the skirt and petticoats of her wedding gown, exhibiting the lacy garter belt that held up her stockings. I gasped. She was not wearing panties.

      “I’m yours now,” she said. “Come and take me.” I fell to my knees and pressed my lips to the milky skin at the tops of her thighs. As I kissed and nuzzled, she lowered the skirts so that I was inside the dress with her. Famished, I devoured her sex flesh. The moment my tongue touched her sensitive button, I heard her begin to groan rhythmically. She was coming already. Obviously, my bride was as hungry as I. Without waiting to catch her breath, she stepped away from me as soon as her orgasm was finished and unzipped my fly. Holding my erection tenderly in her loving hand, she bent forward and took it into her mouth, bringing me to climax within seconds. Then she led me to the bed and guided me down onto it. “We’ve finished starving,” she said. “Now the real banquet will begin.”

      She began to dance for me, slowly and tantalizingly stripping off her clothing as she undulated to music playing in her head. The movements of her body were intensely erotic, bringing me to renewed erection almost instantly. When all her garments were removed, she danced naked, making age old gestures with her hips and pelvis that seemed to say, “Fuck me, fuck me.” Her body swayed, arousing us both until we were ready to. begin making love slowly and patiently, time after time, till night turned to day. Sometimes we came singly, one of us passive while the other gave pleasure. Then, immediately, we changed roles so that passive receiver became active giver. Sometimes we came. together, striving in rhythm until the ecstasy of simultaneous orgasms made us fill the air with cries and sobs of satisfied desire. Even after that, we continued making love, moving without stop from one thundering climax to the next.

      Sometime the following morning, we drifted off to sleep. We clutched at each other as if we both feared another separation like the one we had endured. When we woke, we loved again, trying desperately to make up for all we had missed. That evening, we left for a short honeymoon· in the Caribbean. During it, neither of us saw much of anything outside our honeymoon bedchamber, where we spent hours and hours each day and night satisfying our undying appetites. Our wedding night and the days that followed it were filled with the best sex either of us ever had.

      There’s no doubt that the period of sexual starvation prior to our wedding sharpened our desires and honed the cutting edge of our passion. Although we’ve been married for ten years, we haven’t lost any of our sexual hunger. Sometimes, though, when we want to add a special spice to our life, we deliberately starve ourselves for a week or two. We talk about sex but refrain from all sexual contact until a predetermined day. Then we feast, indulging in an erotic banquet that always begins with Sandy’s dance of the veils and never ends until our rapacious cravings are satiated.

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        EROTIC HOLIDAY

        Saturday, November 3rd, 2018

        short hair blonde ass naked

        Every now and then a good engine needs to be overhauled. Worn parts are replaced, repaired, restored, or re calibrated. The exterior is repainted, and the switches are rewired. When the job is done, the device has, in a way, been re-created. Re-creation is the process of being brought back into existence. When we apply the term to ourselves, we drop the hyphen and spell it recreation. Its meaning changes too, signifying the process of refreshing oneself with an entertaining activity. The change in meaning is only slight, however, because in refreshing ourselves we are, in a way, bringing ourselves back into existence. Without recreation, our spirits would run down like engines in need of an overhaul.

        Intimate relationships occasionally need re-creation also. Lovers, or husbands and wives, may involve themselves so much in their individual activities that they lose touch with each other. Their schedules become so filled with work and family responsibilities that there may not seem to be time for a fulfilling sex life. Although sexual attraction probably played a role in bringing them together, they may forget it in the struggle to pay bills or maintain a lifestyle. To keep passion from leaking slowly out of a love once charged with intense desire and emotion, some couples take an erotic holiday. They plan a night or weekend of sex the way other people plan a vacation. They select a particular date and location, faking, in advance, whatever reservations are necessary. They arrange to have all business out of the way so that nothing will interfere with their amorous adventure.

        Then, in a specially selected hideaway or in the privacy of their own bedroom, they devote themselves to lovemaking and romance. By forgetting the pressures of the workaday world and rediscovering sensual pleasure, they bring their stale relationships back into vibrant existence. Their sexual recreation becomes a true re-creation. People who have tried it say that their erotic holidays gave them the best sex they ever had.

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          WORTH WAITING FOR

          Tuesday, October 30th, 2018

          Steffie is five-foot-ten and twenty two years old. Her blond hair is cut short, but its mannish style does nothing to detract from her sensuous femininity. Her complexion is smooth and fair; her eyes are a soft green. Although she is slender, she requires that she have her military uniforms altered to fit her properly. Steffie is a soldier who works in the public relations division as a writer for the base newsletter. Her husband, Ed, twenty four, is also in the military. Steffie says that the best sex she and Ed ever had was on the night he returned from an assignment in the Middle East.

          I joined the military to get out of my small town. That was two years ago. I was just a kid. After basic, I was assigned to this base and went to work on the newsletter. It was here that I met Ed. He was two years older than I was, and the warmest, handsomest grunt I ever saw. We went out a few times, and then he asked me to marry him. I jumped at the chance. I was a virgin when we got married, and Ed didn’t have much experience himself. We sort of learned about sex together. I was very bashful about lovemaking at first. Ed was patient, but I knew that he hoped I’d become more spontaneous and less inhibited. He was always trying to perform oral sex on me, but I just didn’t feel comfortable about it and wouldn’t let him. Just as we were settling in to our new life together, Ed got the word that he was shipping out. There was talk about the possibility of war in the Persian Gulf, but this was several months before the war actually started. I remember that I was angry when he told me about going, because the idea of running off to war made him excited and enthusiastic even though it meant leaving me behind. But being a Marine, it didn’t take me too long to get used to the idea. After all, that’s our job.

          The night before he left for the Gulf, we were both feeling depressed about not seeing each other again for months. Neither of us talked about the possibility that there might really be a war and that we might never see each other again. I guess we both realized it without mentioning it. When we went to bed, Ed took me in his arms and held my body close to his. We usually wore pajamas, but this night we were both naked. I suppose we expected our last night together to be filled with passion. It didn’t turn out that way, though.

          We both made an effort to get into it but never really pulled it off. We did manage to have sex, but it seemed to end as soon as it started. I had imagined long hours of lovemaking, but I guess our emotions made that impossible. Instead, we spent most of the night talking. Ed left early the next morning. For the first week, his absence didn’t really sink in. I was alone, but it felt as though he was off on a training exercise. After a while, I began to feel very lonely. Every day I wrote him about how things were on the base and how much I missed him. Once in a while he wrote me a few lines. I never expected more than that because Ed’s not much of a writer.

          Some of my friends told me that I was beginning to wear my loneliness on my face where everybody could see it. I didn’t pay attention to them until one afternoon when I was eating lunch and Tom slipped into an empty chair at my table. As editor of the base newsletter, Tom was my supervisor. He had always been known as a woman chaser, but lately he had become even more flirtatious. Everyone said that with so many of the men away in the Gulf, Tom was making out with dozens of lonely women. He was more successful than he had ever been before. “Hi, Steffie,” Tom said. “You look like you’re hurting; and I’ll bet I know what the problem is.” Before I had a chance to say anything, he put his arm across my shoulders and added, “You’re not getting enough sex. That would make any girl feel lousy. And to a sexy woman like you, it must be absolute hell.”

          Even though Tom’s touch felt good, I gently took his hand and removed his arm from around me. “I’ll manage,” I said. “Why should you?” Tom asked with an air of mock concern. “You’re a healthy young woman. That thing between your legs is going to dry up if you don’t use it. And if you think you feel bad now, wait till that happens.” I knew that Tom was putting the make on me, but he had a way of speaking that made it hard for me to get angry with him. I found him more amusing than offensive. “I’ll manage,” I said again. “Look,” he said. “There are two things you can do about it. You can get yourself a vibrator, which is better than nothing, I suppose. Or you can have the real thing.” “And what would that be?” I asked, already knowing what his answer would be.

          “Baby,” he said. “You give me a chance, and I’ll make you the most satisfied woman on earth. I’ll stroke you and pet you all over until you’re so wet and hot that you can’t stand it anymore. But, don’t worry, I won’t make you beg. My timing is absolutely perfect. The instant you’re ready, I’ll ram my nine-incher so deep into you that you won’t ever want the war to end.” “The war hasn’t even started yet, Tom,” I said. “And thanks for the offer, but I’m really not that desperate.” ”That’s okay,” Tom answered with a wink as he rose from the table. “You know where to reach me if you do get desperate enough. In the meantime, you’d better think about getting that vibrator.” I chuckled, but Tom’s words had a discomforting effect on me. Later, as I sat working at my desk, I thought about how good it would feel to have a nine-incher deep inside me. But the only man I was interested in was Ed, and he was thousands of miles away. That night as I lay in bed alone, I imagined making love to Ed. The tingling itch of unsatisfied desire kept me tossing and turning until the sun came up.

          About a week later, I decided to buy a vibrator. I had never actually seen one, and I wasn’t sure of how it was supposed to be used. I remembered once seeing an ad for vibrators in one of Ed’s magazines, and so I started turning pages. The magazine was filled with pictures of pretty girls in the nude. I knew that Ed sometimes got aroused looking at these pictures and, in the condition I was in, I even found myself becoming aroused. By the time I located the vibrator ad, I wanted to have it immediately. I called the 800 number and gave the woman at the other end my credit-card information. At her suggestion, I agreed to pay extra for next-day delivery. The following day when I saw the express package in my mailbox, I grabbed it and carried it into my apartment with a feeling of mixed excitement and uncertainty. I stared at the package for a moment, wondering what to do with it. Then I tore it open.

          The vibrator was shaped like an erect penis and was covered with soft pink latex that was warm and smooth to the touch. I couldn’t get over how real it looked and felt. It reminded me so much of Eddie’s that I was getting excited just holding it. Feeling a rush of heat enveloping my loins, I went into the bedroom, undressed, and lay down on the bed. Believe it or not, I had never masturbated before. I had never even touched myself down . there except when I was using the bathroom or bathing. I felt awkward holding the vibrator in my hand. The only thing I could think of doing with it was putting it inside me as though it were Eddie’s penis. I was wet, and the vibrator slid in easily. It felt so good going in that it made me remember how long it had been since I was with Eddie. Clumsily, I began moving it in and out, trying to imitate the motions of intercourse. I felt my excitement building. Then I remembered that it was supposed to vibrate. I felt around with my fingertip until I found a little switch at its base. When I flipped it on, it began to hum, and the vibrations intensified the erotic sensation.

          I continued prodding myself with the humming instrument, sliding it in and out of me. I was shocked at how quickly it brought me to the edge of orgasm. It felt too good to come to an end. Hoping to prolong the delightful tingling, I pulled the vibrator out of me and began stroking it lightly around the moist lips of my opening. It seemed that the closer I brought it to the top of my slit, the better it felt. Suddenly, I bumped it against the little button that nestled among the folds of flesh, and I shuddered. I knew about the clit, of course. I had always known that it was there and I had always been aware that it was extremely sensitive. But I don’t think it had ever been stimulated directly before. When the vibrator touched it, it seemed to swell like a balloon, and I was overwhelmed with an intense rush. Gently I placed the vibrating tip against it.

          I felt that I couldn’t catch my breath. I was overpowered with a sense of extreme heat. When it happened, I came so hard that I think I must have screamed. I squeezed my eyes shut, but there were bright lights flashing inside the lids. As my orgasm reached a peak, I found myself imagining Ed’s tongue stroking my clit.

          Afterward, as I lay naked on the bed, I thought regretfully about all the times that Ed wanted to lick me and I wouldn’t let him. Although it was just a mechanical device, the vibrator had introduced me to the wonderfully sensitive response built in to my little love button. It was obvious that a warm, wet, human tongue stroking and sucking on it would feel even better. How ironic that I had discovered this new pleasure while Ed was away and unable to enjoy it with me. I resolved to share my erotic delight with him through letters. The next day at lunch I told my secret to Judy, the newsletter’s photographer. Judy was my very best friend and confidante. When I described the vibrator to her, she giggled. “I’ve been using one for a long time,” she said. “I’m not as lucky as you. I’m not married. I got my vibrator years ago.”

          I told Judy that I wanted to write a letter to Ed telling him about my new discovery. I wanted to make the letter sexy so that it would get Ed real horny. Judy grinned impishly. ”Why don’t you put in a few photos of yourself?” she asked slyly. “Naked, I mean. Let him see what he’s missing.” · I thought of the pictures of nude women I had seen while looking for the vibrator ad. “Well, I don’t know,” I said. “He can see much prettier girls than me in magazines. I’d be willing to send him pictures of me, but I’d want them to be different. Special.” Judy grinned again. “How about some pictures of you playing with your new toy?” she suggested. “That ought to tum him on.” I felt my pulse quicken. “Now, that’s a great idea,” I said. Then my face fell. “But how would I take pictures like that?” “That’s what .friends are for,” Judy answered. “I’ll take them for you.”

          The idea was exciting but embarrassing at the same time. Until the previous night, I had never even touched myself, and now I was thinking about posing lewdly with a vibrator in front of Judy and her camera. Oh, but what one does for love.

          That evening, Judy came home with me and set up her equipment in my bedroom. She began taking pictures of me while, I was undressing. As I think back on it, I realize that it was really a lot of fun. And a very sexy experience. I took off one garment at a time, posing in my bra and panties, and then just in my panties. When Judy told me to remove them, I hesitated for a moment.

          Although I had often taken showers in the presence of other women, it felt weird to be deliberately exposing my pussy that way while Judy watched and took pictures. I was acutely conscious of my curling blond pubic hair and the swollen pink lips of my sex. When Judy directed me to lie back on the bed and spread my thighs, I blushingly obeyed her. She continued to snap photos of my nakedness from every possible angle. Then she said, “Now the vibrator shots.” As the camera clicked away, I followed Judy’s instructions, touching my erect nipple with it, inserting the artificial penis inside me, and stroking my outer lips and clit with it. The next day when Judy presented me with the prints, I was shocked. The photos were the sexiest I had ever seen. Too dirty even for a magazine. “Boy,” I thought. “Will these pictures ever tum Eddie on.”

          That night, I wrote Eddie a long, hot letter. Instead of including the usual chitchat about life on the base, I went right into a description of what I would want him to do if he were there with me right then. I said that I wished he could be in the room with me watching as I got undressed, then touching and stroking me all over my naked body. I enclosed some of the photos that Judy had taken while I was removing my clothes, creating a series that began with me in full uniform and ended with me wearing nothing but panties pulled about halfway down my legs.

          A few days later, I wrote Eddie another letter filled with even more explicit descriptions. I accompanied this one with photos of me lying naked on the bed with my legs spread wide so that he could see every detail of my pussy. I said that I could imagine him putting his fingers in me and even kissing me down there with his hot mouth. I realized that the letter and photos might be seen by military censors, but by now I had become so horny that somehow the idea aroused me even more. I got so excited by the thought of Eddie kissing my pussy that as soon as I was finished writing, I rushed into the bedroom and went to bed with my vibrator. As I slid it around the mouth of my sex and slipped it slowly and teasingly inside me, I thought about Eddie and about the nights of passion that we would have when he came home. I was so aroused by these thoughts that my flesh was soon throbbing to the rhythms of climax. When it was done, I reread my letter and found myself becoming aroused all over again by descriptions of the pleasures that lay ahead.

          In my next love letter I enclosed the last of the lewd photos. In some of these, the pink vibrator was driven deep into me. In others, I was holding its tip against the swollen nub of my clit. I knew that the sight would inflame Eddie’s passion, no matter where he was and no matter what was happening. It certainly inflamed mine. In the letter itself, I said that I longed to feel Eddie’s tongue licking my clit and probing inside me. I could just imagine Eddie’s face as he read my descriptions of his mouth against my pussy, of his lips and tongue nibbling my sensitive membranes- things I never used to let him do. I could imagine his excitement as he looked at the pictures of me doing lewd and lustful things to myself while I awaited his return.

          This kind of writing was quite unlike me. But my longing and wanting for him was driving me to do things I had never done before. My dreams about the joys we would have when he got home turned me into a creature of lust, ‘burying my embarrassment where it couldn’t interfere with our desire. Anticipating the nights of delight that lay ahead of us kept me going as I waited for his return. I hoped it would have the same effect on him.

          I wrote to him regularly, describing the things we would do together and referring to the photos, which I hoped he was carrying with him day and night. He wrote to me also, making clumsy but endearing attempts to duplicate my erotic descriptions. Even though his words were frequently misspelled and often misused, the crudeness of his images was brutally exciting and increased the ardor of my anticipation. When war broke out, I knew that the mail wasn’t getting through consistently, but I kept writing. I felt that my letters would keep him safe. Somehow I thought that his expectations would give him a stronger reason to survive combat, and I was sure that the erotic images that my words and pictures conjured would keep him alert and on his toes.

          Finally, just a few months after it began, the war ended. At first I was disappointed by the news that it might still be several months before all the troops returned. As it turned out, however, Eddie’s group was one of the first to come home because it had been one of the first to be shipped out. · At last I got the word that they would be home within a week. A few days later Tom told me that Eddie would be arriving that very night. When he said I could leave early to go home and get ready, I practically_ flew from the base to my apartment.

          I ran into the bedroom, stripped off my uniform, and jumped into the shower. After drying myself with a towel, I applied perfume all over my body, making sure to use a little extra between my breasts and on my curling sex hair. I put on a sexy pair of brief pink bikini panties and a matching bra that was not much more than a wisp of soft fabric that did little to hold my heavy breasts in place. My heart beating with anticipation, I slipped into jeans and a sweater so tight that my erect nipples could be seen straining against it. All I could think about was getting my hands on Ed. When I arrived at the base airport, a large crowd of people was already waiting for the air transport. Although I knew lots of the other women who were there, we hardly spoke to one another. I was in my own little.world of sexual anticipation. As I look back on it, I guess most of the others were thinking the same sort of things I was. We had all been without our men for months.

          I don’t remember much about the landing or Eddie’s arrival. All I know is that the moment he got off the plane, he swept me up in his arms and we rushed back to our apartment. When we got inside, Eddie kissed me hard on the lips while he unzipped my pants. Within seconds, my sweater and jeans lay in a heap, and his fingers were working at the snaps of my bra. When it was off, we both fell to the floor. He struggled for a moment with my panties before ripping them off in a desperation of hunger. “Oh, those letters,” he whispered. “And the pictures. I haven’t been able to think of anything else for months.” I felt his thick penis bumping at my pussy as he thrust forward like an animal. I was about to guide him in with my hands when he found the mark unassisted. In a flash, his big organ was inside me, driving in to the hilt and filling me with passion. I moaned without inhibition as he rode in and out of me. He was so hungry, he came at once.

          We lay together embracing each other as he panted and strained to catch his breath. “I missed you so much,” he murmured, his lips nuzzling my ear. “I’m so glad to be here with you like this. I want to make love to you until the world ends.” He began kissing my lips passionately, his tongue stroking my teeth. My desire increased as he slowly nibbled and kissed my throat, working his way toward the tops of my heaving breasts. My nipples were so erect that they ached as he took first one and then the other in his mouth, licking gently at first and then sucking harder. He kissed circles around my pink aureoles, licking the curves of my breasts until I was tingling all over. Then, slowly, he began trailing his tongue across my stomach, dipping lightly into the crater of my navel. The juices of my sex were flowing freely.

          “I thought of nothing but this,” I heard him murmur as he nibbled his way down through my tangled nest of pubic hair. Then I felt the first contact of his tongue with my clit. It was like a wonderful electric shock, causing my whole body. to jerk with sweet anticipation. He licked slowly, tracing little figure eights around the erect button. Occasionally, just when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, he dipped lower, stroking the lips of my opening. with the flat of his tongue and tasting the spicy juices of my arousal. Then he returned to my clit, sucking hungrily at it. It was everything I had imagined and more. I had anticipated this very moment, and now it was upon me.

          I felt myself building to the greatest climax of my life. It was exquisite. It was magnificent. It was more intense than the vibrator and more exciting than anything I had ever hoped for. I started to sob as the sweet waves of pleasure began to roll through my groin. “Oh, Eddie,” I cried. “Oh, Eddie. Yes. Yes. Oh, Eddie, I love you.” The orgasm was beginning now, and my pelvis was rocking wildly. My back arched as I raised my hips, pressing my sex even tighter against his mouth and tongue. I lost all consciousness, surrendering to pure pleasure. I had never experienced anything like this before. It was stupendous. I floated on a cloud until all my passion was used up. Then I just lay there, basking in the glow.

          Eddie lay beside me, holding me in his arms. Then, rising from the floor, he lifted me and carried me to the bedroom, where he placed me gently on the bed. “I’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” he said, “that I had to begin by relieving the pressure. Now we can take our time and really make love.” · I felt him growing hard again as he pressed himself tightly against me, and I knew our night of love was just beginning. The months that we had spent imagining and anticipating our reunion had prepared us for total excitement and complete ecstasy. We had missed each other terribly, and neither of us would ever want to go through a period of separation like that again. But the night of Eddie’s return gave us both the best sex we ever had.

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            THE SWEET TORMENT OF ANTICIPATION

            Saturday, October 27th, 2018

            Christmas begins long before December 25. The excitement starts some time around Thanksgiving, when stores begin putting out their Christmas displays. A day or two later, carols can· be heard in office-building elevators. Soon the nights are illuminated by flashing lights, and families take drives to sections of town where the holiday decorations are particularly elaborate. Well in advance of the big day, we match people to gifts, compiling written or mental lists. We go to malls or out-of the-way shops, where we finger the merchandise while imagining reactions to the purchases we are considering. By December 24, when the wrapped packages find their way under a tree, the excitement has been building for weeks.

            To some, Christmas Eve is interminable and its excitement overwhelming. They try to stay awake long enough to catch Santa dropping in with his bag full of goodies. Others feign sophisticated amusement at their antics but watch the clock’s apparently frozen minute hand in unbearable agony. Imagine how much less fun it would be if we just popped into some government office on Christmas Day for our allotment of presents. Some may complain about waiting, and women may gripe about shopping, but few of us would be willing to give up those torments. If all the preparation was eliminated, inost of the excitement would go with it. No matter how painful it may seem, anticipation has a way of heightening pleasure. The time spent trying to guess what’s in a certain package or envisioning the receiver’s response to it helps increase the joy of giving and receiving. When the exchange actually occurs, everyone’s excitement is so intensified that the wrappings seem more colorful and the ribbons all look brighter.

            Some people have discovered that anticipation has the same effect on sexual experience. The hours or days that they spend planning and thinking about an impending erotic encounter become part of that encounter, stretching its pleasure out over an extended period. When the day or night of passion finally arrives, they feel every touch more acutely, they savor every scent or flavor more appreciatively. The couples in this blog made the best of involuntary separations by indulging in the sweet torment of anticipation, saying that it led to the best sex they ever had.

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              STRIPPING FOR ACTION

              Monday, October 22nd, 2018

              Marika, twenty seven, is a candidate for a Ph.D. in mathematics at one of America’s finest universities. She looks more like a model than a mathematician, however, with a tall, shapely body and striking blond hair that hangs, soft and straight, almost to her waist. Her seductive hazel eyes gleam against the background of her creamy skin. Marika says that her best sex happened when she acted out one of her favorite fantasies soon after her husband, Alex, returned from a business trip.

              Alex had been away at an engineering conference, and we hadn’t seen each other for almost a week. As soon as he got home, I dragged him into the bedroom and jumped on his bones. Our lovemaking was hot and fast, both of us consumed by the need to satisfy our unfulfilled desires. Afterward, we lay together for the entire evening, talking and petting and making up for lost time. Alex told me that the conference had consisted of a series of meetings and seminars that lasted from early morning right up until dinner every day. When I asked what he did after dinner, a mischievous smile crossed his face. “Well,” he answered impishly. ”One night I went to a strip show with some of the other guys. It was a hot one, too.” I was fascinated. I never admitted this to anyone before, but ever since I was a teenager, I fantasized about being a stripper in a nightclub filled with men. I guess being the center of erotic attention appeals to me. I remember, even as a young girl, I would love to walk on the beach in my teeniest bikini and feel the hungry stares of men trying to catch glimpses of my barely covered breasts or bottom.

              For me, the thought of stripping onstage is the ultimate tum-on. All eyes would be on me, concentrating on every sensuous movement of my body. Nowadays I suppose such thoughts are regarded as un-feminist, but the idea of having a group of strange men get excited by watching me take off my clothes arouses me tremendously. It would make me feel like the sexiest woman in the world. No fantasy inflames me more than that one. I wanted to hear more about Alex’s night at the strip show. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” I prompted. “What was it like? Give me all the explicit details.” Alex seemed nervous for a moment. “You’re not jealous or anything, are you?” he asked solicitously. “Heck, no,” I said, my voice husky with excited curiosity. “I think it’s sexy.”

              With a sigh of relief, he began. “Well, the place was called the Hot Box and it wasn’t really much. It had a small stage surrounded by mirrors, and lots of little tables with chairs. My group was lucky enough to get one of the tables up front, right next to the stage.” “You mean lucky because that gave. you a better view?” I asked. “Well, sure,” he said. “But the best part is that if a guy seated up front puts a tip on the table, the girl makes it part of her act to come up and do something special just for him. Like shaking her boobs in his face or something.” “Tell me about the girls,” I asked. “How old were they? Were any of them my age?” “Oh yeah,” he answered, his eyes gleaming with remembered lust. “They ranged from their early twenties to early thirties, I’d say. And every one of them was good-looking. Some tall, some short, some with cute little titties, some with big bouncers. But all with great shapes.” My curiosity was increasing. “What did they do?” I asked breathlessly.

              “When they’re not dancing, they wait on tables, wearing real skimpy outfits,” he explained. “Mostly just bras and panties. Then, when it’s their turn to dance, they step into a little room to get ready, and they come out onstage.” “Do they wear striptease costumes?” I asked. “With feathers and stuff like that?” ‘ “Most just wear regular clothes,” Alex answered. “But real sexy. Like maybe a short denim skirt and bikini top. Usually each girl dances to three records. By the end of the first record, she’s got all her clothes off except her underwear. They all wear little G-string panties and lacy bras.” I was becoming very aroused, picturing myself doing the things my husband was describing. I wanted to hear more, but I was afraid my voice would shake with excitement if I spoke. So I waited patiently for him to tell it in his own time.

              “During the second record, the girl removes her bra and dances around showing off her bare breasts. I always like that part. Then, just before the record ends, she takes off her panties. At this.point, the guys usually go wild, whistling and howling when she exposes her pussy. Lots of the men throw dollar bills on the stage. One of the girls had her· pubic hair shaved into the shape of a heart. The guys must have tossed thirty or forty bucks at her when she took off her panties and showed that bush to them.” I felt like a spectator at a porno show. “When the third record plays,” he continued, “she dances and gyrates totally nude. During the dance, she’ll lie on the floor and spread her legs wide to give everybody a good view of her open beaver. Or she’ll lie back and throw her legs over her shoulders so they can see her ass, too.” I could see it in my mind as Alex talked about it. I would be naked while a hundred men cheered and threw money at me. In gratitude, I would open my thighs to reveal my most private places to them. I was getting hotter by the minute. “There was one girl in particular,” he went on. “She had big beautiful tits and thick cherry nipples. One of the boys in my group fell in love with her. He kept putting dollar bills on the table for her to come and pick up. Each time she did, she would get real close to him. Once, she put her foot up on the table so that her pussy was right in front of his face. He almost fell off his chair.

              ”After that, he laid a ten-dollar bill on the table. When she came over to get that one, she pressed her tits against his face for a long time. First she buried him in the valley between them. Then she shook slowly from side to side so that her nipples brushed across his nose and lips. Later that night, he went home with her.” “Really?” I asked, incredulous and captivated. “Are the girls hookers?” “No,” he answered. “I think it’s really unusual for one of them to go out with a customer. It might even be illegal. She just must have really liked him. It was the last night, so I didn’t get to talk to him and find out what happened. But I’m sure they spent the night screwing.”

              For a moment he fell wistfully silent. Then, in a soft voice, he mused, “You know, I’ve always fantasized about going home with one of those girls after the show. Not that I’d ever do it,” he added hastily, as though fearful that I might need reassuring. “But I guess every man in the place imagines the same thing. After she dances for all the guys who paid the price of admission, she goes home and strips privately for me. I’m sure that in bed they’re. just like any other woman, but somehow there’s a special sexy mystique about a stripper.”

              He was silent for a moment, and then asked, “Does my little fantasy upset you?” “No,” I said in a sultry voice. “You’re not the only one who has fantasies. Sometimes I imagine myself taking my clothes off and dancing nude in front of a group of men.” Our conversation was making me horny-so horny that I couldn’t talk anymore. I just wanted to make love again. Shutting the light, I climbed on top of him. His penis was long and stiff, slipping easily into my lubricated vagina. Afterward, we both drifted off into a peaceful, satisfied sleep. Alex left for work the next morning while I was still sleeping. I must have been dreaming about the things we discussed. The first thought I had when I woke up was a way to act out the fantasy that Alex and I had secretly shared.

              By the time he came home from work, I was ready for him. I had set up a small table in the living room with a kitchen chair beside it. I greeted him at the door wearing cut-off jeans that showed the globes of my ass and a tank T-shirt that was two sizes too small for me. “Welcome to the Hot Box,” I said, holding the door for him. “Right this way. Your table is waiting.” . Alex looked my body up and down as I led him to the table. I loved the expression he wore. It was not that of a man looking at his wife. He stared at me, bewildered, as I placed a glass before him and poured beer from a bottle. Setting the bottle beside the glass, I said, “I’ll collect for it later. It’s my turn to dance.”

              Flipping a switch on the stereo, I began playing records that I had selected earlier that day. When Rod Stewart started singing “Hot legs, you’re wearing me out,” I went into my dance. At first a little embarrassed, I danced with my eyes closed. But as I began to imagine that I was being watched by a roomful of men, my embarrassment changed to excitement. I could feel my nipples getting hard under my clothes. I opened my eyes and looked directly at Alex. He was staring at me as if seeing me for the first time. Pulling the tank top over my head, I removed it seductively. Alex hooted, making a catcall sound in a high raucous voice. “Yeah,” he hollered. “Will you guys look at that!” He seemed to know what I was thinking. Tossing the tank aside, I pictured a roomful of little tables, each with a cluster of horny men sitting around it. They were all admiring my body as I pranced around the room, arching my back to make the flesh of my breasts overflow the cups of my bra. I bumped and grinded with my hips, caressing my own body lightly, running my hands over my bare belly and waist, stroking the bulging fabric of my bra with my palms, pinching my nipples where they tented the lacy material that barely covered them.

              When my fingers undid the button at the top of my cutoffs, Alex whistled and stamped his feet. I displayed myself to one side of the room and then the other, imagining that dozens of men were staring in fascination as the descending zipper exposed a widening triangle of white lace panties. Turning my back, I began pushing the snug-fitting shorts down over my hips and buttocks. By the time the first record was about over, I had slid the denim garment past my thighs and calves. As the music ended, I stepped out of the shorts and pirouetted slowly to show myself to Alex and, the roomful of cheering men. Alex applauded and shouted, the sounds increasing my excitement. Standing, he threw a crumpled dollar bill onto the floor in front of me.

              When I bent forward to pick up the tip, I knew that my breasts were spilling out of my bra, almost completely exposed. I could feel the gaze of men I didn’t even know focusing on my burgeoning cleavage and staring at my partially bared bosom. I wanted them to see all of me. Tina Turner began wailing the words to “Nutbush City,” and I really threw myself into the dance. I thrust my pelvis forward and back in rhythm to the pounding tempo, aware that the dark shadow of my own “nut bush” was showing through the flimsy fabric of my panties. As soon as Alex hollered, “Show us your tits,” I unsnapped the clasp at the front of my bra.

              The undergarment fell open, its stuffed cups pulled apart by the dancing sway of my breasts. It remained in place, however, covering my bouncing globes. I rolled my pelvis in a circular motion, at the same time caressing my breasts with my hands through the material that shielded them from view. I drew back the lace, slowly revealing the smooth skin of my milky breasts and finally showing Alex and the boys the hard pink caps of my turgid nipples. I was so aroused that I felt dampness seeping from my vulva to saturate the taut crotchband of the panties, which were all I had on. I turned my back to the audience and bent forward, peeking back at Alex from between my spread legs. I ran my fingers up my thighs until they were stroking lightly over the · roundness of my bottom. As the record neared its end, I stood and turned to face Alex again, ready, at last, to draw the panties down and show off my heated passion place.

              Noticing that Alex had placed a dollar bill on the edge of his table, I danced toward it, looking directly into his eyes and wiggling my fanny and shoulders in his direction. His sight was riveted to my swaying breasts as I moved closer and closer to where he sat. I could see the front of his pants stretching tight over his swollen organ. With one hand, I took the proffered tip while, with the other, I stripped the panties from my body. Lifting the damp wisp of lace with my toe, I kicked it into my husband’s lap. Alex hooted again, holding the panties against his face and moaning dramatically. I imagined that he was the envy of every man in the place.

              I stepped back just as the third record started playing. When Mick Jagger’s voice enunciated, “She’s a honky-tonk woman,” I dropped to the floor on my belly and lifted my backside high in the air. I knew that Alex and the other men could see not only my ass but also the reddened slit of my vagina peeking back at them. I felt the exciting impact of a wadded dollar bill striking my splayed buttocks. Rolling onto my back, I raised my legs in the air, spreading them slowly to reveal the puckered lips of my sex. As I parted my thighs yet farther, I felt my heated womanhood opening to expose the pink inner membranes, now inflamed with my rising lust. With my hands, I touched my inner thighs, stroking my way to the edge of my bush and then running my fingers lightly through the curls; When I saw Alex place a ten-dollar bill on the table in front of him, I realized that he wanted me. I had never dated a customer before, but there was something about this sexy stranger that really appealed to me. I knew nothing about him, but I had stripped and spread my legs for him. Now he was wildly hungry for my body. The game I was playing in my head turned me on even more. He openly desired me. I knew his mind was filled with fantasies of taking me to bed after the show. Like all the other men in the room, he probably thought deep down that it was · nothing more than an impossible dream. But I could make it come true for him.

              I rose from the floor and danced toward the fascinated customer until my bare skin was only inches from his hungry eyes. With deliberate movements, I placed one foot on the edge of his table, bringing my sex so close to his face that he could feel its heat. I thrust forward and back with my hips, causing the puffy lips to open and close before his hypnotized gaze. Taking the ten-dollar bill from the table, I stroked my body with it, tracing little circles around my nipples and trailing sensuous lines across my belly. Dragging it over my hairy mound, I nudged a comer of it lightly at my emerging clitoris. Alex groaned softly, and I knew that it was no act. My performance was obviously having a powerful effect on him. It looked like his trousers would burst from the pressure of his erection against the constraining cloth.

              I wanted him as much as he wanted me. Without ceremony, I pulled him to his feet and quickly unzipped his pants, freeing his swollen member. Stripping him from the waist down, I pushed him back into the chair and lowered myself onto his lap, facing him. I stroked his face with my breasts, rotating my groin over his throbbing erection. I could feel the tip of his hard-on grazing the insides of my legs as it reached for the softness of my feminine opening. Flexing my knees, I lowered myself farther until he pressed hungrily against my moistly puckered membranes. I felt him entering me, penetrating my vagina by exquisitely gradual degrees. At last I rested against his lap, his penis buried completely within me. His hands grasped my buttocks forcefully, rocking me up and down as his rigid organ pis.toned furiously inside me. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck and twined my legs around his waist.

              Alex’s muscles tightened as he rose to a standing position. My body was welded to his, our pelvises thrusting together in a frenzy of passion. My back undulated to drive his penis in and o~t of me with long, agonizingly gradual strokes. I felt the edge of the table against my buttocks and allowed Alex to place me gingerly on its surface. I reclined against the tabletop and unlocked my ankles. Lifting my legs in the air, I placed my heels against his shoulders to allow maximum penetration. He thrust forward, plunging into the tunnel of my womanhood. The penetration was deeper and more forceful than any I had ever felt before. His testicles slapped against my upturned bottom each time he buried his probing organ within me. I felt the hairs of his scrotum tickling the sensitive tissues of my femininity.

              I was rising to a stupendous climax. I wanted to hold it back, to keep the tension building as long as I possibly could. But I knew it was hopeless. I was being carried off on a wave of feeling that took complete control of my responses. I had no choice but to yield to an orgasm that threatened to tear my loins apart if I resisted any longer. “Oh, God,” I screamed. “Alex, I’m going to come.” My announcement took my husband over the top. I felt his semen gush into me the moment I articulated the erotic promise. At the same instant, my orgasm struck, drowning me in a whirling sea of ecstasy. Our juices merged as our bodies coupled on the little nightclub table. We bucked and thrust together until every drop had been drained from us. Later, we found ourselves in bed, repeating the contact of our bodies. We moved about on the mattress, each of us straddling and riding the other before changing position to be straddled and ridden. We made love through the night until our exhaustion left us in a state of panting unconsciousness. In the morning, we made love again before our eyes_ were fully open. Alex and I still talk about that wonderful night when I stripped for him and an imaginary audience. The weird mix of reality and fantasy held us both in thrall, maximizing our excitement. We agree that it was the best sex we ever had, but we both know that, as long as we are willing to act out each other’s fantasies, there will be even better sex to come.

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                SEEING AND BEING SEEN

                Tuesday, October 16th, 2018

                No race of creatures can exist unless it is endowed with a desire for reproduction. In order to strengthen this desire in humans, Nature decorated our reproductive organs with tufts of curling hair and splashes of dramatic color to make them particularly interesting. In addition, our brains were wired with circuits that excite us upon seeing another’s naked body or knowing that another is looking at ours. Humans are not the only animals on Earth that have been blessed in these ways. Baboons wear bright colors to call attention to their genitals. Female goats who want sex wave their tails repeatedly so that the sight of their distended pudenda will attract males. When animals see other animals having intercourse, they may become so aroused that they are driven to a frenzy of violent sexual activity themselves.

                Prohibitions against public sex are common in human societies. Some analysts claim that these rules exist because of fears that such displays will excite bystanders to the point of uncontrollable eroticism. In addition to disrupting the social order, there is the danger that this will interfere with productivity and promote physical aggression. As a result, we are trained, from the time of our births, to believe that sex should happen only behind closed doors and shuttered windows. We learn to call our sex organs “private parts” and to regard people who display them as perverts or even criminals. We have laws that prohibit the exposure of the breasts and regulate the size and shape of bikinis worn on public beaches.

                Most people can live comfortably with these rules. For some, however, the desire to see and be seen is a powerful erotic stimulant. When faced with the opportunity to observe others engaging in sex, they seize it without hesitation. When given the occasion to exhibit their own sexuality, they jump at the chance. These experiences are so unusual that those who have known them frequently declare that they were the best sex they ever had.

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                  APRIL’S SECRET DREAM

                  Friday, October 12th, 2018

                  April is thirty three and recently divorced. At five foot six, she is slim with a boyish figure that allows her to go braless most of the time. Her short dirty blonde hair frames a gamine face with brown saucer eyes that wear an expression of perpetual curiosity. April works as a secretary in the office of a large insurance company. She is a little nervous as she tells us about an experience that she frequently imagined but never expected to have.

                  My marriage to Bill was a total disaster right from the very beginning. I guess our personalities just weren’t compatible. We fought over everything, rarely had fun together, and worst of all, didn’t even have good sex. For some reason which I still don’t understand, I stuck it out for nine years. Then everything fell apart. The only way for either of us to keep our sanity was to get divorced. I think our divorce was the only thing we didn’t argue about.

                  Bill is a fairly successful architect, and I never had to work during our marriage. Even after the divorce, he agreed to a substantial settlement so that I still wouldn’t have to work if I didn’t want to. But the first thing I did was take word processing courses so I could go out and get a job. Otherwise, I think I would have gone crazy. I needed to meet people and I couldn’t think of any other way. The insurance company I work for owns and occupies an entire seven-story building. We even have our own cafeteria and health club. I’ve made quite a few friends there. Unfortunately, they’re all women. It’s amazing how many women my age are divorced or separated and in the same situation as I. We talk to each other about our problems all the time, but that doesn’t solve them. Before my divorce, Bill and I hardly ever had sex. Afterward, it didn’t get any better. If I didn’t do myself, I wouldn’t get any at all.

                  I never masturbated much, even when I was a kid. I had a fairly strict religious upbringing. Deep down, I always believed that sex wasn’t really permissible unless it was aimed at reproduction. After the divorce, though, there were times when my urges would overcome me, and I would ·rub myself with my fingers until I found relief. I got the idea to buy a vibrator after listening to one ·of the women at the office describe the pleasure that it gave her to use one. It’s amazing how very explicit the conversations would get around lunch tables in the office cafeteria. Some of the women described their sex experiences in such intimate detail that I would feel a burning itch in my loins for the rest of the afternoon. Then in the evening I would spend hours alone in bed playing with my vibrator and imagining the acts and intimacies that they had discussed.

                  Once, one of the women told about a time that Pat, a female claims adjuster, made a pass at her. She turned Pat down, of course. Then she took advantage of the first available opportunity to talk about it at lunch. I was shocked to learn that Pat was a lesbian. She was pretty and feminine looking, with blond hair, a knockout figure, and the kind of big breasts that men die for. I just couldn’t believe that anyone who looked like Pat would be interested in having sex with another woman. I wondered what sorts of things two women would do.

                  Later that night, when· I was in bed touching myself, I pictured Pat touching another woman that way. I was horrified by the idea, but a little fascinated by it, too, I guess. As I imagined two women fingering each other and caressing each other’s breasts, I came to a fast and powerful orgasm. After that, I frequently conjured up the same image deliberately to excite myself when masturbating. I never would have admitted that to anyone, because it seemed so unnatural and sinful. Yet I couldn’t think of a sexier fantasy. When I fantasized about men, it sometimes took me a long, long time to have a climax. But picturing two women together never failed to bring me to a swift and satisfying finish.

                  That’s probably why I was so nervous when Pat stepped up to my table one afternoon while I was having lunch alone. “Do you mind if I join you?” she asked. If I could have thought of a believable excuse, I would have. But there just wasn’t any graceful way out. “Not at all,” I said hesitantly. “I’m almost through anyway.” The big-bosomed claims adjuster set her tray on the table and sat in the chair opposite mine. “I’m Pat,” she said with a friendly smile. “I work on the fifth floor.” She was so warm that I was immediately at ease. “I know,” I said. “I’ve seen you around.” Remembering my manners, I added, “I’m April.” ”As fresh as a spring shower,” Pat quipped. I found myself liking this friendly woman. Conversation flowed so easily between us that for a while I forgot she was gay. She was just like anyone else, and nicer than lots of people I’ve known. We chatted about the weather and about events in the office, and discussed all the things that people talk about when they are getting acquainted. By the time lunch was over, we had become friends.

                  It wasn’t until later that night that I remembered Pat’s sexual preference. I was watching television when my mind started wandering. I found myself trying to imagine what she’d look like without her clothes on and what she would do with another woman. The thoughts aroused me so much that I felt all moist and tingly. Without even bothering to turn off the TV, I reached for my vibrator, slipped out of my jeans and panties, and began pleasuring myself. I closed my eyes and pictured Pat’s huge breasts, imagining that her pink nipples were erect. My orgasm came almost immediately, rolling over me like a tidal wave. When it was through, l realized to my shock that my last mental image as I skyrocketed to ecstasy was of Pat’s naked body. Later, as I lay in bed, I pondered the strange thoughts that I was having. I couldn’t understand why I pictured a nude woman while masturbating or why my mind kept turning to fantasies of two women together. I knew that I found the idea fascinating and extremely exciting, and this scared me.

                  It was against everything I believed in. When I was young I was taught that sex was for making babies. I know that most of the time it doesn’t lead to that, but at least between a man and woman it’s always a possibility. Between two women, there can never be anything more than lust. Maybe that’s what intrigued me so much about it. I lay awake most of the night, feeling guilty about my fantasies. Then, toward morning, I began to see it in a different light. Fantasies are like dreams. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming. If the thought of sex between women was exciting to me, I was entitled to amuse myself with it. As long as it was only a thought, how could it hurt? I made up my mind to put guilt aside. My dreams were harmless, and there was no reason why I shouldn’t have them.

                  Pat and I had lunch together frequently after that. I looked forward to my conversations with her. They were personal and candid, but the topic of sex was never a part of them. She did mention once that ‘she was homosexual, but neither of us brought it up again. We started seeing each other outside the office, meeting occasionally for dinner or a drink. I began to think of Pat as one of my closest friends.

                  Sometimes in the evening when I was alone at home playing with myself, I allowed myself to imagine Pat doing things to me. I pictured her hands and even her lips bringing pleasure to the sensitive tissues of my body. I tried to move my fingers as I thought she would do. When I stroked my pleasure button with the tip of my vibrator, I pretended Pat was holding it. There were times I felt guilty, but I reminded myself that it was only a . dream arid that it could never actually happen in real life. During the day, when I was having lunch with Pat and chatting about everyday activities, I wondered what Pat would think if she knew the role she played in my dreams. I also wondered if she ever fantasized about having sex with me. I toyed with the idea of asking her, but then decided it was best if I kept my secret dreams to myself. I was afraid that bringing sex out into the open would somehow spoil our friendship.

                  By this time, our relationship had come to mean a great deal to me. That’s why I was so upset when Pat broke the news. She told me she had been offered a great job in another city and that she had accepted it. She would be moving away in just a few weeks. I was devastated. In the time that remained, Pat and I saw more of each other than ever before. I helped get her things together for the move, filling out dozens of change. .o f.. address cards and hauling empty cartons from the grocery store for packing. I knew that I was going to miss my new friend terribly. On her last day at the office, there was a little party for her. Drinks were served, and by the time it was over, I was already feeling a little tipsy. After work, I went with Pat to her apartment to help with last minute details. When we finished put .. ting the last strip of tape on the last of the cartons, Pat took a bottle of wine from the cabinet.

                  ”I saved the good stuff for a going .. away celebration,” she said, removing the cork and tipping the bottle into a couple of glasses. Raising mine, I toasted, “To your continued success and our continued friendship.”· Pat hugged me warmly before we sipped together. We drained the bottle completely and were into a second one before I realized it. “I’m really going to miss you, Pat,” I said, copious tears flowing down my cheeks. “You’re the best friend I’ve had.” My shoulders started to shake as I began sobbing. Pat moved over next to me on the couch and placed a comforting arm around me. “We’ll still be in touch, April,” she said. “We can talk on the phone every day.” Her tenderness touched me so that I started crying even harder. Pat held me tighter, stroking my hair and murmuring words of comfort. When I buried my face in her shoulder, sobbing like a child, she kissed my forehead lightly. “Don’t cry, April,” she whispered.

                  The next thing I knew, she was kissing me on the lips. It was a soft and friendly kiss at first. Without thinking, I returned it. It felt like a natural exchange between close friends. Gradually, her lips increased the pressure, and so did mine. Before either of us realized what was happening, the contact became passionate. I felt her nibbling at my lips, alternately tantalizing them with soft strokes of her tongue and pressing them heatedly. Involuntarily, I responded, kissing her as I had never kissed Bill. Our tongues played hide-and-seek from her mouth to mine. Our breathing became deep and labored. The tension that I was feeling began to dissolve, leaving me comfortable and relaxed in the arms of my woman friend.

                  Once it began, our embrace moved forward without shame or hesitation. Pat cradled me in the encircling security of her arms. Her hands moved over my back, petting and stroking me until I felt like purring. She pressed the front of her body against mine, exciting me with the softness of her breasts. “I want to touch you,” she whispered, slipping one of her hands under my sweater. I was wearing no bra. I trembled, not with fear but with burning excitement, as her gentle fingers moved over the smooth skin ~f my belly’ exploring higher until they found the small mounds of my breasts. At first she stroked little circles around their quivering tips, as if afraid that direct contact would break the spell~ My nipples were hard, and I wanted her to touch them. I moved my body to bring her fingertips into contact with the turgid buttons.

                  When I ·first felt her fingers grazing them, I moaned softly with pleasure. Emboldened by the sound, Pat took the erect cones between her thumbs and forefingers, rolling them expertly until my entire body was on fire. I had fantasized about her doing this to me so many times that her touch felt almost familiar. I closed my eyes and allowed the waves of pleasure to engulf me. I wanted to touch her, too. More than anything, I wanted to see her breasts. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. Reading my mind, Pat leaned away from me and unbuttoned her blouse. I became frantically excited at the glimpse of white lace that covered her. Without a thought, I reached out, placing my hands inside her open blouse and running my fingers over the delicate fabric of her undergarment.

                  “Oh,” I said. “You have such big, beautiful breasts.” “Would you like to see them?” Pat asked softly in a trembling voice. I realized that she was even more nervous than I was. “Ooh, yes,” I answered, reaching behind her to undo hooks and eyes with shaking fingers. Gracefully, she moved her arms and slipped out of blouse and bra in one quick gesture. Her breasts were high and round, with nipples even bigger and pinker than I had imagined. I was in awe. “Pat,” I whispered. “I always wished I had boobs like yours. They’re beautiful.”

                  Pat cupped the two globes in her hands and held them up to me. “I’ve been dying to show them to you,” she said. “And I’ve been dying to see yours.” Without waiting for further encouragement, I stripped my sweater over my head. I had always felt that my breasts were too small and unfeminine, but the excited gasp that came from Pat’s lips made me feel good about them. “I love your little titties,” my friend whispered, moving her hands from her own large breasts to my small ones. My nipples were so hard that they felt like rocks. I closed my eyes and let her thrill me. “I want to see all of you,” Pat said eagerly. “Let’s both get completely naked.”

                  I don’t remember either of us undressing, but within moments our clothes were scattered carelessly around the room, and we were looking hungrily at each other’s bodies. Pat groaned when she saw my thick and tangled bush. Hers was sparser, the curling golden hair looking soft and silky. “I want to touch your breasts,” I murmured, nervous with excitement. Without waiting another moment, I took the ripe mounds in my hands. I had never touched another woman’s boobs before. I couldn’t believe how good it felt.

                  When my hands started to knead and squeeze the resilient flesh, her nipples swelled up like cherries. Instinctively, I took one in my mouth, sucking lightly on it. Then I held both of them in my hands. Pat’s moan of pleasure excited me. It was thrilling to give so much satisfaction to another person. I was getting to live out the dream that I had been enjoying for so many lonely nights. As in the fantasy, I felt Pat’s hands on my small breasts, twirling the erect nipples. I tried to follow her example, attempting to touch her in exactly the same way she was touching me.

                  We sat naked on the couch for a long time, each of us holding the other’s breasts, each of us demonstrating to the other what pleased us most. When her fingers found an especially sensitive place on my nipples, I looked for the corresponding spot on hers. We learned about ourselves and each other as we enjoyed our mutual exploration.

                  I sucked on Pat’s cherry nipples, rolling my tongue over their erectness while listening to my friend’s sensuous moans. Leaning back, I closed my eyes to let her suck on mine. Her tongue traced circles around them, bringing me more pleasure than I had ever known.

                  I was so wet between the legs that I could feel moisture coating the white skin of my inner thighs. In my dreams, Pat always did mysterious things to me down there. I wondered if anything like that could really happen. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it. While Pat’s lips were nibbling at the ends of my breasts, I boldly placed my hand on the back of her head. Pressing gently, I guided her face downward until her mouth moved lower and lower across my belly. At last I could feel her hot breath against the lips of my opening. For a moment, I was scared. Excitement replaced fear when I felt her kissing lightly at my feminine tissues.

                  Nothing in ~Y life ever felt that good. Bill never put his mouth anywhere near my sex. The closest I ever came to experiencing it before was in my dreams. And then it was always Pat who was doing it. Now, as her mouth glided over my vulva, my hot passion mingled with the excitement of living out a fantasy that I had never expected to come true. Even in my dreams, I didn’t imagine specifically what her mouth would be doing to me. Every touch of her lips and tongue was an exciting surprise. I felt her nibble at my sensitive membranes, the grazing softness of her lips opening me farther and farther. Then I felt the tip of her tongue sink inside with a gentleness that a penis could never master. It drove deeper and deeper until I could feel the lips of her mouth press against my sex lips.

                  I groaned, my eyes shut tightly. Fantastic images were spinning in my brain while thrills of erotic excitement set me quivering. I could almost see the droplets of moisture that oozed from me. I could almost taste the spice of the lovejuices that fl.owed so freely. I wanted to do to Pat the things she was doing to me. I wanted to see her opening, to smell it, to press my face into it. I wanted to tongue her the same way she was tonguing me. I wanted to give back some of the pleasure I was receiving.

                  Pat must have sensed my hunger. Guiding me with hands on my naked hips, she moved me from the couch to the carpeted floor. I lay on my back with my legs splayed wide, my womanhood completely open to her gaze, to her touch, vulnerable to anything she wanted to do to it. Pat straddled me, her knees. on either side of my head, her body facing my feet. The open gash of her turgid vagina was just above my mouth. I had never really seen a woman’s sex organ up close before. Not even my own. Pat’s was beautiful. It looked like an exotic flower, a lovely rose-colored orchid. She lowered her face until her lips and tongue were in contact again with my female opening. This brought her crotch lower· until it was floating just above me.

                  I inhaled, smelling the fragrant musk of her excited femininity. I wanted to taste her. Raising my head slightly, I pressed my lips against the glistening membranes. In my dreams, I had always been the recipient of pleasure. I had never even imagined doing what I was doing now. My excitement overcame me, though, and I reached tentatively out with my tongue to lap fascinatingly at Pat’s labia. I couldn’t believe how exotically good she tasted. Becoming bolder, I began to lick. her crack with the same enthusiasm that she showed as she licked me. Simultaneously, we plunged each other’s depths with swabbing strokes of our tongues. I felt her mouth working its way higher, toward the quivering point of desire at the head of my clitoris. When she dabbed it carefully with the tip of her tongue, the sensation was exquisite. An involuntary cry of excitement tore from my throat. Encouraged by it, Pat began sucking my little love button hungrily, making me sob and pant with delight.

                  Wanting to give her as much pleasure as she was giving me, I began searching for the center of her sex, moving my tongue in widening circles until it encountered the erection of her clit. Her· hips bucked wildly, pressing her dampness against my face. I continued to explore her lingually, searching for the most sensitive spot. Pat groaned loudly in response to my gentle sucking of her
                  clitoris. The sound made her lips and throat vibrate, tantalizing my ganglion until I thought I would die of pleasure. She lapped figure eights around my button, setting off a series of bubbling reactions in my loins. I reciprocated, sucking her sex as though I had been doing it all my life. When I felt her jerk, I knew instinctively that her climax was beginning. My own was forming too, like a volcano beneath the surface of my sex. It was burgeoning, looming larger and higher with each breath I took. I wanted to postpone it for as long as I could, to put it off so that I could concentrate all my energies on my friend and on her sexual satisfaction.

                  I opened my eyes to stare at the drooling opening of her sex, my mouth working her clit feverishly. I was sure that I could taste the juices of her orgasm flowing. Her body was twitching and convulsing uncontrollably, waves of pleasure robbing her of all control. When she reached the peak of ecstasy, she screamed once, long and loud. I knew that was the signal for me to let myself go. Groaning· and sobbing, I poured forth the pent-up energy of sexual release. Flashes of pleasure wracked my body, making me roll and writhe beneath her. All the while, her lips continued nibbling at me, bringing shuddering wave after shuddering wave to my exploding groin. I had never dreamed anything could feel this good. It was the longest and the best orgasm I ever had in my life.

                  We seemed to drift into a state of semiconsciousness for a while. When I was aware again of what was happening, I found us lying side by side exhausted on the floor. Pat was worried, apparently concerned that this unexpected experience would damage our friendship. “April,” she said. “I didn’t mean for this … ” I just giggled. ”It was the best sex I ever had,” I said, putting her at ease. “It was a wonderful going-away present we gave to each other. I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.”

                  I’ve never had another experience with Pat, or with any other woman, for that matter. I guess it was just a one-time thing. But I’m not the least bit sorry about it. Sometimes it seems like just another one of those sexy masturbation fantasies that I dream when I play with myself at night. It really happened, though. I’m glad my dream came true.

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                    ANNIVERSARY

                    Friday, October 12th, 2018

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                    Henry is forty-nine years old with a sprinkling of silver in his brown hair. He is five feet eleven inches tall and slightly over weight. His lively gray eyes are surrounded by laugh lines which make him appear to be perpetuall1 smiling. Henry is a dentist. He reveals two perfect rows of gleaming white teeth as he talks about the anniversary of his marriage to his wife, Yvette.

                    It may sound funny, but the idea for this adventure came to me one day about two years ago, while I was drilling a patient’s tooth. If you aren’t a dentist, you can’t possibly imagine how dull and uninteresting it is to spend your whole day filling cavities. You smile and tell the patient that it isn’t going to hurt a bit. Then a quick shot in the gums and it’s drill, drill, drill.

                    This goes on for eight or ten hours a day, every day of the week. By the end of the afternoon, all I feel like doing is going home and flopping down in front of the TV set. But maybe life is like that. I don’t know. You get older and your practice gets more successful and you find you just don’t have time anymore to stop and smell the roses. Yvette understands and never complains about it, but I’m sure she can’t help feeling a bit neglected. We don’t even have sex as often as we’d like to. And when we do, it’s too much like some obligatory activity that we’ve managed to work into our busy schedules. For me, the best kind of sex is the romantic kind, where ·you build up to it slowly so that it truly feels like an act of love instead of just a mechanical coupling. But we don’t seem to have time for that anymore.

                    It wasn’t always like this, of course. When Yvette and I met, we were both going to school in New York City. New York is a noisy, dirty, crowded metropolis, unlike anything here on the West Coast. But in spite of the hustle and bustle, you can find romance if you know where to look for it. I remember one summer evening when I surprised Yvette with an al fresco candlelight dinner right there in the heart of the city. I cooked and served her a lavish meal on a table that I set up on the roof of the apartment building I lived in. I borrowed some decent china and a tablecloth to create a feeling of luxury. Yvette acted like we were in the best restaurant in town.

                    Afterward, in my apartment, we made beautiful love. I’m not just talking about sex. I’m talking about making love. That sense of romance is what makes all the difference. We used to fill our lives with romance back then. Sometimes, when it was raining, we’d drive to the beach and just sit in the car holding hands and enjoying the stormy ocean waves. We might kiss · and pet a little to warm ourselves up for the night of passion that was sure to follow.

                    It’s a good thing romance doesn’t cost much, because I didn’t have any money to speak of in those days. That never stopped us from having a good time, though. I remember once when we spent an entire Saturday afternoon sitting together in a bathtub full of bubble bath and drinking champagne. It was cheap stuff, but we knew how to make the best of things. I think we must have made love four times that afternoon, our bodies slipping and sliding in all that soapy water. Well, about a year ago, there I was working on a patient when I started daydreaming about the way Yvette and I would set aside a whole day or night for romance and making love. I found myself wishing things could be like that again. I realized that our wedding anniversary was a few weeks away, and decided to do something to recapture those old feelings. We usually celebrate our anniversary by going out to dinner and maybe the theater. But this time, I made up my mind that the theme for our celebration would be romantic lovemaking.

                    I remembered an ad I had recently seen in one of those slick magazines devoted to the affluent lifestyle. The ad was for a resort that described its accommodations as “luxury honeymoon cottages.” I thumbed through all the magazines in my waiting room until I found the one I was looking for and called to inquire. The reservations clerk told me that each of their cottages faced the ocean and was laid out in a way that took best advantage of the ocean view. They all came with redwood hot tubs, platform beds, and patios. The atmosphere sounded exactly like what I had in mind. The rates were exorbitant, almost a thousand dollars a day, but Lord knows I can afford it now.

                    That night I asked Yvette how she would feel about celebrating our anniversary by devoting the night to sheer sexual ecstasy. I told her about my yearning for our old sense of romance and my hope that we would find it in the honeymoon cottage. It seemed to be just the kind of thing we would have done when we first met, if we weren’t always so broke ·back then. Yvette jumped at the idea and said that she too longed for the kind of lovemaking that used to come so easily to us when we were younger. The next morning I called to book the cottage.

                    As the day approached, Yvette and I became even more enthusiastic about the idea. I shopped around for a beautiful diamond necklace to give her as a gift: The night before we were to leave, I went to the best department store in town and also bought her a luxurious negligee. It was white satin, trimmed with delicate white lace, and reminded me of her wedding gown. The memory of Yvette as a bride increased my feeling of romance. On the day of our anniversary, I had a local florist fill the back of my car with flowers. There must have been hundreds of them. I wanted the fragrance to surround us completely as we drove to our romantic rendezvous. When Yvette got into the car and saw them, she gasped with delighted surprise, her blue eyes gleaming.

                    We took a leisurely drive, meandering our way up the coast. To our left, the ocean was a brilliant cobalt blue. To the right were rolling hills of bright forest green. It all contrasted dramatically with Yvette’s long golden hair. Everything was perfect. All I could think of was the hours we would soon be spending in each other’s arms making passionate love. It was late afternoon when we arrived at the cottages. A uniformed valet assisted Yvette out of the car. While we checked in, he drove the car to our cottage and brought the flowers into the room. Another valet transported us to the cottage in a horse … drawn buggy with seats of soft brown leather.

                    The cottage itself was nothing short of magnificent. It was completely surrounded by trees, creating the feeling of total privacy. The valet opened the intricately carved mahogany door and conducted us inside. The room was beautiful. It was made for lovers. The first thing we noticed was the view. The wall facing the ocean was glass from floor to ceiling, with nothing to obstruct our vision. The blue water seemed to begin at our feet and to stretch endlessly, until it faded into the misty horizon. Sea birds flew lazily by, their hoarse calls in harmony with the ocean’s musical roar.

                    Our suitcases had been unpacked for us, and the flowers arranged in vases throughout the luxurious room. The art deco furnishings were sparse, accentuating the importance of the huge platform bed that occupied the center of the room. Recessed into the floor next tp the glass wall, a redwood hot tub was already filled, the warm water steaming and bubbling, inviting lovers to partake of its sensuous delights. As the valet left, he handed me a menu and said, “You may call to order dinner, sir, whenever you are ready.” As soon as we were alone, I took Yvette in my arms and embraced her. I was already aroused by the thought of what lay ahead, and the warmth of her tall slender body increased the effect. I was beginning to feel a stir in my trousers. When Yvette pressed her lips to my ear and whispered, “It’s lovely,” I wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the room or to my obvious erection. “I’m so glad .YOU brought me here.”

                    “I wanted it to be special,” I whispered. “And I have something very special for the occasion.” I handed her a gilt .. wrapped package that contained the negligee I had purchased. “Ooh, Henry, I love it,” she said as she removed the lacy garment from the box. “I can’t wait to wear it.” “Why wait, then?” I asked. “Why don’t you put it on now? I’d love to see you in it.” A few minutes later when she emerged from the dressing room wearing the opulent lingerie, I sighed lovingly. “You look beautiful,” I murmured. “Seeing you in that gown brings back our wedding night. It was years ago today, but it seems like just last week. And I’m just as excited about possessing you tonight as I was then.” “Oh, Henry,” she replied. “You make me feel young and vibrant. We’re going to make wonderful love tonight. Nothing could make it better.”

                    “Well,” I said slowly. “Maybe something could.” As I spoke, I stepped behind her, slipping the diamond necklace from my pocket. I guided her to the mirror so that she could watch as I put it on her. When the jewels were sparkling at her throat, she turned and kissed me again, this time with a burning passion that drove the tip of her tongue to flick lightly over my lips as a promise of things to come. By the time our sumptuous dinner arrived, the sun was beginning to set over the Pacific. Three waiters came to our room and prepared a table by the window, setting it with fine bone china. and Waterford crystal. Before leaving, they placed the food on our plates and lit candles in highly polished silver holders. We gazed at the sea as we dined on chateaubriand and sipped a rare vintage cabernet.

                    As the waiters reappeared, we ‘heard the strains of soft music. On the beach outside our window, a trio was playing a serenade for lovers. Yvette reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “You’re wonderful, Henry,” she murmured. I felt myself stirring to erection again. We watched the waiters prepare our crepe suzettes with movements that seemed choreographed to the music playing outside. Yvette’s face shone in the illumination of the flaming dessert, the dancing shadows playing over the curves of her body in the satin negligee. I couldn’t wait for the waiters to leave. I wanted to hold her in my· arms. When they were gone, I rose from my chair to stand behind her, stroking her hair and shoulders as she fed herself and me with alternate bites of the crepes. My excitement was rising. From the deepened rhythm of her breathing, I could tell that she too was becoming aroused. I slipped the fingers of both hands into the bodice of her negligee, tracing the curves of her rounded breasts. I heard her sigh.

                    Standing, she turned to face me and melted into my arms. Instinctively, our hips began grinding, pressing our pelvises together as we embraced. Her skin was soft and smooth, crying out for my caressing touch. “Thank you for being my wife,” I murmured, moving my hands slowly over her body to find the softness of her buttocks and her breasts. I felt like a horny young kid again. Without breaking lip contact, I eased the straps of Yvette’s negligee off her shoulders. She wriggled sensuously until the garment slid down her body to form a satin and lace puddle on the floor around her ankles. Moonlight streaming in through the window highlighted the swelling curves of her bosom. In the dim illumination, I could see the rosy disks of her nipples contracting to stand erect at the ends of breasts that were still remarkably firm and youthful. I fell to my knees and pressed my face against them. I licked her turgid blossoms, closing my lips over each of them to suck lightly. I could feel my manhood swelling within the confinement of my clothing. I wanted to be naked, as she was. Quickly, I rose to my feet and undressed. Then, taking my wife by the hand, I led her to the hot tub and assisted her into the steaming water. The tub was chest deep, and her breasts floated on the surface of the water, her nipples pointing erotically toward me.

                    The waiters had opened a bottle of champagne and left it in an ice bucket with two delicate crystal flutes by the side of the tub. Reaching for the bottle, I poured champagne into the flutes, handing one to Yvette. “To more blissful years,” I said, touching our glasses together and sipping with her. “You look more beautiful than ever,” I added, feeling the heated water bubbling around and between our naked bodies. This time when we kissed, she pressed herself against me. I felt the points of her nipples burning into my bare chest like smoldering embers and her hand searching between us for my hardness. We stood that way for a long while, kissing and stroking each other in the enveloping comfort of the heated water.

                    Her hand glided lovingly over the throbbing rigidity of my manhood. The combination of her touch. and the bubbles bursting against my naked skin lifted me to a state of pulsating excitement. I stroked her belly, moving my hand purposefully lower until my fingers encountered the wet fur of her pubis. Below the dense and curling triangle, her opening was moist. I slipped a finger inside, thrilled to find even more moisture within.

                    Taking advantage of the buoyancy, she gracefully lifted her body and wrapped her legs around my hips. My erection stood up to search for her feminine opening,· relishing the heated liquid that swirled and bubbled around it. I placed my hands on her waist, guiding her slowly downward until she was poised just above the tip of my throbbing member. With a sigh, she lowered herself onto me, burying my hardness in her tunnel by tantalizing degrees until I was deep inside the warmth of her womanhood. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, she ascended my staff, riding so high that for a moment I feared that the penetration would end. Then, reaching the pinnacle, she descended again, enveloping my pulsating flesh within her.

                    Unconsciously, we thrust in rhythm to the sound of waves crashing against the coastline. The moon shone on our writhing bodies, lighting the water that roiled around us and making us feel as though we were standing in the sea itself. We were both moved by the beauty of the moment, but even more by the rising excitement within our pounding loins. Without warning, my climax began. Then, as if cued by an unseen conductor, Yvette joined me. Together, we told the moon and the stars of the glory of our union. Even after the spasms of ecstasy were spent, we remained tangled in each other’s arms, bathing in the fluid of desire. I became hard again within minutes. When she felt my erection bumping demandingly against her, she hummed her approval. “Henry,” she said adoringly. “You’ve got the sexual energy of a teenager. Take me again. Oh, yes, take me again.”

                    Lifting her in my arms, I stepped up and out of the tub. With a strength that I had forgotten, I carried her, dripping, across the room to the immense platform bed and· laid her gently down on the sheet. She moaned and reached for me, encircling my neck in her loving. arms. I lowered my naked body onto her, my questing rod instantly finding its mark. As I slipped inside her, I pressed our bodies together, reveling in the sensuous softness of her breasts against my wet skin. We moved together for a long time, rising slowly to the peak of erotic pleasure and retreating deliberately to prolong the delight. Finally, when we could not draw our desperate contact out any longer, we came in uni. son, rolling and writhing in each other’s arms like young lovers. Afterward, we lay side by side in the night, enjoying the moonlit ocean view and fondling each other adoringly. Some time in the wee hours, we made love again, this time lazily and casually, celebrating the years we had spent learning about each other’s bodies, demonstrating our ability to please each other’s fancy and to satisfy each other’s needs. When the sun rose, we did it again, welcoming the new day as the beginning of our second quarter-century together.

                    I’m still drilling teeth for a living. And there are still some evenings when I don’t feel like doing anything but sit in front of the television set. with Yvette by my side. But we seem to have rediscovered the ecstasy of romantic sex. That anniversary trip was an erotic rebirth for us, inspiring us to relive the passionate excitement that brought us together in the first place. We talk about it sometimes, whispering in our bed as we begin our lovemaking. At our age it’s rather difficult to select a single experience and call it the ultimate. But, without a doubt, that erotic holiday at the honeymoon cottage ranks with the best sex we ever had.

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