HONEYMOON

Everyone knows what happens right after a wedding: the honeymoon! And everyone know what that means: sex.

The origins of the term honeymoon are debated. Some say the term comes from an old northern European custom in which the guests and relatives would give to the newlyweds enough mead to consume for their first month. (Mead being a dietary staple in the middle ages and a brew made from honey.)

Others claim that the word honeymoon is actually a vulgarization of the Norse word hjunottsmanathr. After kidnapping one's bride, she was kept hidden away until pregnant or her family stopped looking for her, which they say, lasted usually about a month.

The first literary reference to the word honeymoon was in 1552 in Richard Huloet's Abecedarium Anglico Latinum. It held that the word honeymoon “was a sardonic reference to the inevitable waning of love like a phase of the moon.”

The English poet Samuel Johnson wrote of first month after marriage, "when there is nothing but tenderness and pleasure." 

Here is the image every new husband wants to see. Here is the image each of his groomsmen secretly imagined. There is somethign extra sexy about a woman who is transitioning from the informal status of girlfriend to the "off limits" status of wife. On the day of her wedding, she is the center of attention--the woman all the other women want to be, and the woman all the men want to be with.

A CO-WORKER'S PROPOSAL LEADS TO PRIVATE SHOW

I recently went over to a co-worker’s house for some drinks after work. We were pretty sauced by the time her husband Dan got home. We had been talking about sex (of course), but the sexual dynamic suddenly changed. Joanna was suddenly very flirty, and kept saying how pretty I was. Her husband agreed. I had been single for a long time and the breakup was a bad one. My bf had cheated on me. My self-confidence was pretty shot. It felt nice to have the attention and praise lavished on me.

There was something definitely going on, because you could feel the sexual energy. Both Joanna and Dan seemed turned on—you can tell when couples give each other that look. Apparently they’d had the conversation between them for a while: they wanted to spice up their sex life.

They’d long talked about bringing in another woman, but the reality had remained a fantasy until they could find someone they actually knew, trusted, and were both turned on by. Joanna did the explaining, since we were the closest, and having the conversation female-to-female seemed easier than if Dan had brought it up. If he had, I would have wondered if he was putting Joanna up to it, but I could tell she was sincerely interested. I appreciated how up front she was. She told me about their desire to improve their sex life and how they thought I could help.

I was flattered, and wanted to help them, but honestly, I wasn’t ready to get involved on that level. I still had a broken heart and really the idea of having sex with Dan was a little weird. He was attractive, and nice, and all. But you know, there’s a huge difference between thinking a guy is attractive and actually going to bed with him.

Still, I wanted to help, and frankly, I was totally buzzed, and horny. It’d been more than half a year since I’d had any sort of sexual interaction with anyone.

I told them that I was uncomfortable having sex with them, but that I felt bad and wished I could help their sex life. Joanna came up with a suggestion that surprised me. She said that they’d gone to strip clubs together, and that it had turned them on a lot and lead to some amazing bedroom sex, but that frankly, they didn’t find the strippers with the fake tans, balloon boobs and bleached hair physically that attractive. Joanna said that she and Dan had both talked about how amazingly sexy they found me, and wondered if I’d put on a private show for them?

Under any other circumstance I would have said no way, but perhaps it was their sincerity, matched by my own neediness for attention and affirmation, as well as the wine…but I said yes.

I said as long as we had the same rules of a strip club—no touching—I would give them a little show.

Of course I was nervous as hell, but also giddy. I slipped of my panties and gave them peeks up my skirt.

It was awkward at first, but soon my modesty passed and I was really enjoying feeling their eyes all over. They saw me as the hottest thing possible, and it made me feel hot. It was really positive for my self-image. I ended up getting totally naked for them, and so turned on that I masturbated in front of them. I don’t know who got off more, me or them.

One thing was certain, I left that night soaring with self-confidence, and they shut the door behind me with a newly rekindled love life!

DIY!

DIY is the acronym term for an "Do it yourself." Today it's a huge social movement, taking root in hipster hideouts like PDX.

The DIY movement has strong echoes of the grassroots activities of the 1960s counterculture, and 1970s "Back to the Land" movement, however, it can also trace it's influence back to the Arts and Crafts movement of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Many modern DIY subcultures embrace the early Arts and Crafts movement's rebellion against the perceived lack of soul of industrial aesthetics and critiques modern consumer culture, which emphasizes that the solution to our needs is to purchase things, and instead encourages people to take technologies into their own hands to solve needs.

The phrase "do it yourself" came into common usage in the 1950s in reference to various jobs that people could do in and around their own houses without the contracting of professionals. Today, the term DIY is often used in the context of home improvements and home projects. The term DIY has taken on a broader meaning that covers a wide range of creativity, especially DIY media, DIY music, self-publishing in podcasts, blogs or zines, and especially the traditional crafts, such as knitting.

AVIATORS

"She had a West Coast strut that was sweet as molasses,
But what really knocked me out was her cheap sunglasses..."
--ZZ Top

FAREWELL, MY POLAROID

Oh Polaroid, how I miss you.

RUSTIC BEAUTY

I grew up in the Mountains. My ma and grandma were born there, as was my great-grandma. She was born in 1900. Her brothers went off to fight WWI. Her parents and grandparents and great grandparents lived in these mountains. We even had a small plot on one of the forest hills of family graves. Some dated back to "the war." When you say, "the war" in the mountains, they don't mean the world war--they mean the Civil War. That's how it is in these mountains.

We grew up in a farm house in the bottomland. That's the bottom part of a valley where a river leaves its soil to make for pasture. We lived on the fork of Williams Creek and Rock Creek. Up the hollow the woods got deeper. Plenty of old cabins up there, abandoned. Some of them at some point were moonshiner cabins, back in Prohibition. In fall, sometimes they shelter hunters. In summer, sometimes they harbor teenagers looking for a little privacy. You see, in farm houses, the rooms are small, the walls are thin. You can hear laughing, crying, cusing, fighting, and mattress springs.

When you're old enough, you want to get out something terrible. One summer, I spent as much time as we could steal up in a cabin in the hollow. I'll always remember the heat in August, and how I'd strip down. Swim in the creek, and at night listen to the whippoorwill.

TULIP MORNINGS

Waking up, spring mornings, we can hear the birds. The light is soft, not yet summer. The spring clouds moody with rain or sun, or both. We wake, slowly, stretch, and roll into the day. Coffee and old clothes. A good day to start the garden. Apple blossoms drift past the window.

FRECKLES

CANDY-O

Candy-O is the second studio album by American new wave band The Cars, released in 1979. (It peaked #3 on Billboard chart.)

Drummer David Robinson, the band's artistic director and a collector of pin-ups, approached perhaps the greatest living pin-up artist, Alberto Vargas. Vargas name is synonymous with the style he helped propel to the status of American icon known for his paintings of pin-up girls that appeared in Esquire and Playboy magazines in the 1940s and 1960s. The 83-year-old Vargas had retired several years earlier but was persuaded to take the assignment by his niece, who was a fan of The Cars.

To get a photo that Vargas could use as a guide, Robinson set up a shoot at a Ferrari dealership in Beverly Hills and asked the Elektra art department to hire a blonde with "a nice figure." The model's name, ironically, was Candy. She briefly dated Robinson afterward.

Vargas came to see a Cars concert in L.A. "He just said it wasn't his kind of music," said Robinson, "but he was impressed because he could see that we worked really hard. And he said there were beautiful girls all over the place. He liked that very much."

A lot of other guys in the 80s liked it as well. I can't tell you how much that album cover and images like it become the look of our boyhood fantasies. My tastes may have evolved significantly since "hot chick on hot car." It's still a classic, nonetheless.

THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF MY PARENTS' POLAROIDS

I can't believe I'm writing this. When I was a teenager, I found my parents' hidden stash of porn. Actually, it happened very easily. One day, I was home alone for a few hours after school, and I was bored and snooping around the house. You see, both my parent's worked, and I took the bus home, let myself in. I'd get the mail. Once a month was a magazine in a black plastic cover. Being a teenager, I knew two things: first, that it was "adult" related and not to be looked at by me; and secondly, that I couldn't risk letting them know that I knew. Stealing it would raise suspicion, as would a torn package. Kids are smart that way. It was clear that as long as my dad thought his delivery was safely anonymous in the stack of mail, he'd continue his subscription. And long as he did that, it gave me ample time to find the next logical thing: his hiding spot.

Under beds has got to be in the top three most common (and most obvious) hiding places. Under their bed, I found a stack of Penthouse and a tube of KY jelly. I noted if the magazines were facing cover up or down, and which order, allowing me to look at them one by one, and return exactly as I'd found them. It seemed to work, because after school, I always found them in their spot. Page after page, the world opened up to me. Beautiful Penthouse models, and rediculous, but arousing stories from "readers."

I also realized that the issues under the bed were always the last three or four months. That meant one of two things: either he threw away the magazines after he was done with them, or he had an even more secret stash of back issues. Of course, I hoped that he threw them away. That might seem counter-intuitive, but you see, if he thought he was ditching them for good, he'd never look for them again. All I'd have to do was fish them out of the trash (and taking out the trash was already one of my chores). I knew, however, that his Scottish temperament wouldn't allow him to discard anything of any real or imagined value. He was far too much of a miser to part with older magazines. So that left the only conclusion possible: another hiding place.

Now as a kid, I'd read my share of Sherlock Holmes and Edgar Allen Poe (and watching Scooby Doo); I was fully prepared to start looking behind picture frames from hidden safes, looking for hollowed books on dusty shelves, or pushing in parts of the woodwork to reveal secret passageways.

Sadly, all I had to do was turn to the second most obvious hiding place in a house: the bedroom closet. It took me absolutely no time at all to discover that behind the neatly folded sweaters was at least three of four years of Penthouse magazines. This was as thrilling to a teenage boy as King Tut's tomb was to Howard Carter in 1922. It posed a unique danger, though, the complexity of maintaining the piles exactly as they were, and the sweaters, folded, returned as they were.

After school, I'd go straight to the closet, gently pull out the sweater stack, note exactly how they looked. Then reach back and carefully with draw a stack of magazines. After I'd read through the first stack, I'd have to move more and more to get to the older ones. It was like digging deeper into a mine, following the vein. The deeper you get, the risker it gets.

But that's when I discovered the book. It had a red cover and-to my surprise and delight--the title read: "The Curse of the Caine Under Captian Queeg. I cannot tell you how my heart was racing. Having grown up on tales of pirates and buried treasure, this was surely a find. I knew the name Queeg--the captain of the Caine, who's crew mutinied becuase he could not give the decisive order in the face of a hurricane. All of my nerves were on alert for any sound in the driveway. When you're looking at something you know you shouldn't be looking at, it feels like someone is watching you. Carefully, I inspected the book. And literally (I'm not making this up) I checked to see if the cover had been rigged with a strand of hair to indicate a breech.

The inside cover was creme with a sea chart of islands, but I only noticed that afterwards. At the instant I opened the book, dozens of polaroid pictures spilled out. I panicked, because it'd never be able to put them back in the exact order they'd been stored.

I finally began to breathe again. Of course, taken by my parents, they were of my parents. Part of me felt the natural and universal revulsion of being confronted with one's parents' sexuality. And then part of me was a teenager, full of curiosity. Curiosity, when one is a teen, always wins over revulsion.

In the images, I saw graphic details of sex completely unlike the pretty, soft-focus Penthouse centerfolds. These were in sharp detail, with absolutely no layer of art or modesty. There was my dad's cock, long from fucking. My mom cupping her big boobs. My dad's cock penetrating her. Her on her back on the bed, spreading for the camera. Her on her knees, her butt in the air. I soon saw what the KY was used for. I had not only seen my first visual of intercourse, I saw my first images of anal sex. I was shocked, and disgusted, and yet could not stop looking. They were so bold, so real.

You have to try and imagine the world before the internet. Before even DVDs and cable TV. In those days, Porn came to the average American home in one of to forms: Playboy or Penthouse. My friends and I had stolen copies and seen what those glossy pages had to offer. Some of my friends claimed they'd spied on their sisters changing or maybe on a neighbor girl--but you could never fully believe them. But here, in my hands, was the most hard-core porn possible.

I'm sure any Freudian would have his theories about the psychological damage it caused me. But in some ways, it was the best sex ed my parents could have given me. After seeing the images, I had few questions left. It wasn't two actors performing the cliches of porn, but an actual, middle age, middle class, married couple doing what they do in the bedroom.

Naturally, I put the images back exactly as they'd been, replaced the magazines, and gently pushed the sweaters back in place.

SLOW SUNDAY

Slow Sunday morning. Wake up, set the kettle on the stove to boil for French press coffee. Still nude from bed, still sleepy, stretch out like napping cat in window.

WOOD FLOOR

UNDER WHERE?

Semi-transparent underwear is so sexy. Just a hint at the lovely bush of this sexy gal.

THE SECRET SWIMMING HOLE

There is a place in the national forest only a few folks know about. It's the kind of place so special that those who do know about it, guard its secret, and only pass it down to those who they are certain can keep their secret. A friend of mine, Teresa, once showed me.

Even if I wanted to tell you how to get there, I couldn't. The directions are more from memory than actual place names; there are no addresses in a forest. You first get out of town on the Interstate, but soon turn off it at the river, tun up the river--then it gets complicated. The main road continues to climb up the mountains while the river cuts deeper and deeper, and slips away, out of sight. There's a turn at the old store. and then another turn, and then a turn onto a gravel road that maybe has a number on a map, but certainly has no posted sign. Then you park at the wide spot of gravel. Once, when we parked, there was another vehicle, but the other times, we've had it all to ourselves.

Once you park, there's a small, unmarked trail. It drops quickly down the slope, switch backing about a mile deeper into the forest. As soon as we had begun to hike, we were both sweating. It was a hot summer day, even in the mountains. Teresa stripped off her shirt, hung it over her backpack, and continued. the move was bold, and surprising, and beautiful. I knew I was in store for something very special.


I know return each summer, at least once, to the secret spot. This past year, I shared it with my girlfriend. I knew of course she's comfortable being naked around me, but would she be comfortable stripping nude, as Teresa had on my first visit? I my mind, I was worried that maybe somehow the place would not be as magical, as remote and special if she didn't have the same sort of awe, and child-like innocence of this special place.

After the first mile, the trail flattens out and winds through a patch of old growth. Then it breaks out onto a gravel and sand beach. When we got there, we stripped down. We were both soaked with sweat and ready for the cool mountain water. The water of lakes and big rivers is always opaque, but mountain water is crystal clear. Sometimes you can see deep as 15 feet to the rocks below.

There's a spot on the upper side of the swimming hole where you can dive off, about a 10 foot drop. I pointed it out to my girlfriend, and she was eager to try. Once you dive in, you can swim in the deep, clear pool. The current gently tugs you down, back toward the beach. There's a rock you can climb out of the river and sit on and soak up the sun to get warm and dry, and then hot, and then ready to dive back in. Wet and dry, wet and dry, the cycle of summer days by a river.


Hair tangled, feet sore from walking barefoot on river rocks, not yet summer tough. Shoulders getting sunburned, and eyes flashing with the water's reflection. It is a perfect way to spend a day.

PHOTOGRAPHY CLASS ASSIGNMENT

She was a photography student and needed to come up with new ideas. She'd already shot on campus and around her apartment. She needed to have a new assignment by Thursday, and she was starting to stress, until she decided that the one thing she hadn't shot, and ironically had the most access to, was herself. She loaded her camera with black and white film, and knew that she wanted to use the natural light of the window.

She hadn't expected how fun the process would be, and how she surprised even herself as each pose got more inventive and bolder. She found herself in suggestive poses that expressed her natural sexuality.

She was quite pleased with the shoot. She'd take the negatives in on Wednesday to develop and print in the school darkroom. She wasn't sure if she would print each shot, or save some for only herself.

In the end, she knew she had to turn in something for the assignment. So rather than self-censor, or worry about what others would think, she printed her favorite of the series.

Gloria!

Gloria Guida was born in Merano, in the Northern Italy region of Trentino-Alto Adige/Südtirol, to a family of Emilia Romagna origin. She moved with her family to Bologna as a child. She first began a singing career, starting in her father's dancing place on the Romagna's coast. Then she took up modeling, becoming Miss Teenage Italia in 1974.

She subsequently went on to star in many sexy comedies. Her two early films La ragazzina and La minorenne, both shot in the summer of 1974, are the stories of young female characters in the phase of discovering their sexuality, often reluctant between mature admirers and younger lovers. She made her real breakthrough in 1975 with La liceale (Teasers). Another film of particular success was Avere vent'anni ("To Be Twenty") in 1978.

She left cinema after her marriage to singer and actor Johnny Dorelli, whom she met on the set of the film Bollenti spiriti. But she left some of the sexiest images of any starlet, with a natural beauty that rivals, and in many ways surpasses todays celebrities. Thanks, Gloria! If only I could have met you then...

THE MIRROR IN THE PICTURE

Bringing a camera to bed is fun, but photographs are always only as wide as your arm is long. Unless, of course, you bring a mirror into the picture. Then you can see the view with much more perspective. Not quite as accurate in framing as actually having a photographer on set...but far easier to do whenever the mood strikes.

This couple has a mirrored sliding closet door beside their bed. How convenient.

TUG

ORGY WITH FRIENDS

At one point in the evening, after many beers, someone asked if anyone had been in an orgy. The idea sounded fun, but no one knew exactly how to start. Someone suggested that everyone should just get naked and climb on the futon and start having sex. So they did.

WINDOW SHOPPING

I don't know what's going on here. A double dare, no doubt. Is the photographer in on it? Or is the image snapped by a surprised passerby? Who put these two up for the dare? Was it their idea, for fun? Did they lose a bet? Do they work there, or did they head out that day, sans underwear, to find places to flash?

Whatever the original story, the results are super sexy.

CUP SIZE

This image is just so sexy. Enjoy.

ONE GIANT LEAP

I don't know how this dude was allowed to come into and hang out in the women's sauna. However he made his way in, he's clearly stoked. If any guy has ever been to a gym or spa or resort club with saunas, it's pretty much guaranteed that as he sits on the bench of the men's sauna, he's wishing he could have entry, even a peek, into the forbidden women's sauna. To actually be invited in to hang with all the gals, well, that's almost beyond comprehension.

Well, here's to you, dude. Sauna pioneer. One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.

Here's looking forward to a progressive future of co-ed naked sauna's.

PICNIC IN THE PARK

This is a fun old vintage shot: a man and a woman are on a picnic by a river...she climbs on him....ooh la la....and who is that still on the ground, reaching up to help? A friend? This image is not only hot for the outdoor menage-a-trios (even if staged by a studio backdrop), but look closely, the friend has a large dildo, which she is using on herself. Look even closer, it appears to have straps. The viewer is invited to create scenarios of what happens next...

Again, it proves that although the Victorians are remembered for being a generation of prudes, they really were just as kinky as we are today.

WINE, CAMERA, ACTION!

This is what happens when my girlfriend drinks wine. Next thing you know, she's naked, with her toy, posing for my camera.

LUG

The National Center for Health Statistics found that 14% of women age 18-29 said they’ve had at least one sexual experience with another women in their lifetimes, compared with about 4% of women, ages 18-59, who said the same in a comparable survey a decade earlier.

Some experts who study sexuality say it’s even more likely that many college students simply see experimentation as a rite of passage, noting that the bisexuality label has become a “badge of courage” for some college women.

DIY GLORY HOLE

The guys at Home Depot encouraged them. They said, “You can build it, we can help.” The guys had no idea how they would end up helping.

In a suburban neighborhood were three desperate housewives. Two were married, and one, Nikki, was divorced. Sex, of course, was their favorite subject. They would gather each afternoon for margaritas and gossip. Sometimes they’d watch talkshows about sex or soap operas about sex, or review XXX DVDs as if they were a book club.

They also took classes to fill their time, and that’s how they meet the three studs at Home Depot. The desperate housewives signed up for seminars in basic construction. The hands-on use of power tools boosted their confidence. They started flirting with the handsome instructors. The three middle-age housewives decided to build something fin in Veronica’s living room— a little “home improvement” as a group activity.

When they were done, they invited their instructors over to see their handiwork.

As the guys stepped into the room, they instantly noticed a large wall. Their eyes noted the construction and then the three round holes. What are these for, they wonder, and then exchange amazed looks as they get the idea.

“We need your help, guys, to finish our project,” said Alana.
“We didn’t have the right tools,” said Maria.

They tell the three men that they need to test out their tools, and if they would help. The men are clearly embarrassed, a little uncomfortable, but being put on the spot makes them brave in the moment. They agree.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” said Alana, the tall blonde, their leader. “We’ll go to the other side of the wall. You each stick your cock through one of the holes. We won’t know which cock belongs to which stud, so it will be totally unbiased. We’ll measure length, girth, shape, and overall appearance.”

“Also,” said Maria, “Two of us are married and one divorced. She’s the one were testing for. But you will not know which of us it is.” The men’s eyes—wide with excitement—looked at each woman in turn: Alana, the tall thin blonde with the blabby blue tanktop and thin summer skirt. Maria, the busty Latina with the dark mysterious eyes, or Nikki, the other blonde. She was a little heavier than Alana, but buxom, and naughty.

The men understood and remained behind the wall, while the women went to the other side. Withinn seconds, three thick cocks were dangling through the holes. Two were already semi-erect, anticipating.

Alana pointed out each fine attribute of their new sampling. It was like shopping. Perfect. Maria stepped back a grabbed her camera to document their little party. Nikki curiously reached for the first cock. It jumped in her hand, becoming harder. She went down the row, giving each a good stroke. She could hear a corresponding moan behind the wall, but didn’t know which man she was arousing. One was a tall, hard-body stud, the other more like a college student, and one was sort of nerdy. But behind the wall, none of that mattered. At a bar, she would have gone totally for the muscle guy with the buzz cut. Maybe the college guy if she was drink and he was aggressive, but never, not in a million years, for the nerdy guy. As she went down the line of cocks, they were all so beautiful.

The one on the far left was having a hard time getting it up. Maybe he was too nervous,but the one on the right was thick and firm. Nikki just had to feel it. She tugged down her stretch Capri pants just enough and with Alana’s help, backed up onto the protruding cockhead. She had been wet from stroking the cock, but it was still a challenge to push the hard member all the way in. Although she’d had a fairly regular diet of dildos and vibrators, it’d been 5 years since the divorce. She hadn’t actually had sexy with a real penis since then. For the first time in a long time, she felt her pussy stretching around a throbbing cock. It was so warm, pulsating, and sent waves of pleasure through her entire body. She knew she’d found her perfect cock. She bounced back on it harder and deeper with each thrust.

She knew she’d make each guy come in turn. It felt too good and she’d been without too long not to get a good hard fucking out of her system. Hell, she’d even do the nerd guy last. She figure he was the one on the end, too nervous to get it up. But for the first time in five years, she wanted to feel the big cock, the hard one, the one that stretched her and made her feel so damn good. Soon, he felt the hot semen erupt inside her.

She pulled off the cock, and gave it a good clea up with her toungue. Salty. It was saltier than she had remembered. She was a little weak in the knees, but she wobbled over to the next cock in line and pushed back on it. The first big deposit of cum sloshed inside her and was dribbling out, as the next cock slide easily inside. This cock was obviously used to regular fucking—maybe he had a girlfriend—because his endurance was great. She didn’t know if she could keep standing as her knees, unused to the position, began getting shakey. She turned around and took the cock hungerly into her mouth. Ohh, he liked that. The cock hardened, twitched, and shot a load over her lips and face, and chest.

She now had fresh cum in her cunt and her belly. She had one last cock, and she knew where she wanted it. She backed up to the final cock and positioned it at the wingled ring of her backdoor. She was soaking wet with cum and her own juices. Although tight, she loved using dildo’s in her butt to make her climaxes more powerful. Perhaps she was relaxed from the first two fucks. She pushed back and the cock popped in past her sphincter and slid into her anal canal. The third guy was not as hard, or as thick, but her filled her ass. She rode him as she rubbed herself in the front. When he shot his load up her bum, she felt her own orgasm beginning. It was long, slow and powerful. She practically fainted and collapsed on the carpet.

Alana told the men thank you and that they could dress and let themselves out. Nikki lay on the floor, totally spent, but totally blissful. She had cum on her face, in her hair, on her pink top, and leaking from her front and back. She had never felt so incredibly slutty. It was very empowering. She’d had her way with three strangers. Used them like tools for her own pleasure, in her own home, with the help of her best friends.

“So which one did you like best?” asked Alana after the front door shut. Nikki was still on the carpet, her black Capri stretch pants around her knees. She said she liked the first one the best, and guessed it was the big jock stud.

Maria shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint,” she said, “but when I was taking a picture of you when you started, I sort of could see a little bit. The stud guy was the last one.”

“Limp dick!” said Alana.

Maria nodded.

“That means it was the college dude or the nerd,” said Nikki.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure the nerd was the first one,” said Alana. “I sort of peeked on my side.”

“That’s not fair,” said Nikki. But she was too blessed out to care that the mystery was gone. She smiled, thinking she’d still had her fun, and the guys didn’t even know what hit them. She’d given the stud anal, and he probably didn’t even like anal. Those jock types are always so boob obsessed, and so straight vanilla. The college guy, he probably had a girlfriend. This was probably a fun, but unusual flash in his ongoing sex life. And the nerd, holy shit…this probably blew his mind. But as Nikki thought about it, she recalled his perfect cock. How it felt and tasted. What a waste of a good tool, she thought. Maybe I’ll have to go back to the store and try that one again.

STRIP CHESS

You've heard of strip poker, of course. How about a rousing game of strip chess? Guaranteed to get the party started...maybe.

ARTISTIC AND EROTIC

There's an old-fashioned notion that artistic value and erotic power are mutually exclusive.

People who propound such a polemic obviously have little understanding of either.

LA CROSSE

The Colorado College had a strong women's LaCrosse team. For athletics, all funding went to the men's hockey team, and the women's LaCrosse. So the women had an exceptional team. But to compete at the Division level, they had to take long trips for away games.

In hotel rooms of faraway towns, they'd have hours to kill. They'd read, check emails, nap, watch movies, and when they were really bored, or really wound up, they'd sit around and talk about sex. One time, they decided to play spin the bottle. It was sort of silly, but they didn't care. It was fun. They first spun the bottle a "strip" spin the bottle. There was a lot of giggles and blushing and laughing until sides hurt and eyes watered.

When they were all naked, they decided to continue, this time with truth or dare. The first "dares" were kisses. Those first kisses were mock kisses, pecks, and pretend licks. The first "truths" simple questions straight off of a purity test. But soon the mood shifted. Dares were called out to really french. Double dare to lick a nipple. The truths got personal--have you ever used a vibrator? have you ever used anal beads? have you ever tasted another woman? Two girls said they had. The others thought they could be bluffing, but were curious.

It's the best, explained the two with experience. Both giving and receiving. They asked if the others had ever done a daisy chain?

No? they said. Apparently they had learned it in boarding school back East. What else are ya gong to do on a saturday night? they asked. The other's were uncertain, but captivated. So they decided to try it.