Peter, Peter, pumpkin eaterhad a wife and couldn't keep her;
put her in a pumpkin shell
there he kept her very well!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
GLORY PARTY AT FRAT HOUSE
If you've been reading this blog, you'll know about Patricia. She was the most sexually complex girl I ever knew; there is a fine line between carefree and careless.
Patricia grew up in Oregon and went to the state school where she joined a sorority. I had been one of those students who never joined the Greek system. Paying my way through school, I was going from class to part-time job, and then back to the dorm to study for tests. Work hard, get good grades. That was college for me. For Patricia, it was an endless series of parties. If I was too far to one side on the academic, she was to the other extreme of party til you puke.
Obviously, not every frat boy or girl is at college just to party. I'm not making a cliche generalization about tens of thousands of students in the US. But it does go without saying that frat houses at particular state schools have a deep history of downright party debauchery. A lot of people know about the keggers with giant bubble machines, the jello or mud wrestling, naked pool parties.
For someone who'd never been inside the system, it was sort of like the Free Masons--you assumed things were normal, but never really knew the depths of the secret rites, rituals, and initiations.
Apparently, one frat house had bored holes in one of the walls between a bedroom and one of the public rooms, said Patricia. When parties really got going, frat brothers would go to the room and put their cocks through the holes. Drunk sorority chicks would service them on the other side. It became a badge of courage, bragging rights. For some sororities, it became a form of initiation.
I knew all about "Girls Gone Wild," and some of the dares the college girls would do, but to actually have glory holes in a frat house? I wasn't going to fall for another Patricia lie. But she pulled out her old laptop and after sorting through folders, she showed me a snapshot. It was exactly as she described: the sorority chicks with party bracelets on their wrists, the half-empty keg cups scattered. That's Amiee and Lindsey, two sorority sisters, Patricia pointed out. There were both in their bras, and were inspecting a hard cock protruding through a hole in the wall. See? said Patricia. She loved to be right.
I had heard Patricia talk about Amiee. She was two years older than Patricia and was her appointed older sister of the sorority. I knew she'd played some role in the "initiation" of Patricia into the sorority. I asked Patricia if she'd been initiated on the wall. No, of course not, she said, in the high-pitched voice she used when she was flirting or lying.
It was hard for me to imagine her story was actually true. But she had the photo to prove it. What I didn't know and questioned, was to what extent Patricia had participated in this frat house tradition. I knew that if she had one photo, she probably had another. A few days later, when she was gone, I snooped around until I found her old laptop. It had an old version of Windows on it, the kind we used in college with the single password at the start up. I thought for a while, and then simply typed in the name of her childhood cat. Seriously, it worked.
There's always a danger in snooping. You have to be ready for what you may uncover. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. I found what I had feared. There was an image of Patricia on her knees in front of the wall. The camera flash seems to have caught her unaware. She wears her white blouse and black skirt--an outfit she still wears to go out to dinner and dates with me. She wasn't lying about the wall, but she was lying about her participation. As long as I've known her, she's been an eager initiator of oral sex. She loves to have my cock in her mouth, and apparently, stranger's cocks, too. I really should have known, but still, it was a shock. I closed the laptop and promised I'd never snoop again. But of course it was too late. Never again would I be able to feel her mouth on my cock without thinking of the frat house wall.
If you've been reading this blog, you'll know about Patricia. She was the most sexually complex girl I ever knew; there is a fine line between carefree and careless.
Patricia grew up in Oregon and went to the state school where she joined a sorority. I had been one of those students who never joined the Greek system. Paying my way through school, I was going from class to part-time job, and then back to the dorm to study for tests. Work hard, get good grades. That was college for me. For Patricia, it was an endless series of parties. If I was too far to one side on the academic, she was to the other extreme of party til you puke.
Obviously, not every frat boy or girl is at college just to party. I'm not making a cliche generalization about tens of thousands of students in the US. But it does go without saying that frat houses at particular state schools have a deep history of downright party debauchery. A lot of people know about the keggers with giant bubble machines, the jello or mud wrestling, naked pool parties.
For someone who'd never been inside the system, it was sort of like the Free Masons--you assumed things were normal, but never really knew the depths of the secret rites, rituals, and initiations.
Apparently, one frat house had bored holes in one of the walls between a bedroom and one of the public rooms, said Patricia. When parties really got going, frat brothers would go to the room and put their cocks through the holes. Drunk sorority chicks would service them on the other side. It became a badge of courage, bragging rights. For some sororities, it became a form of initiation.
I knew all about "Girls Gone Wild," and some of the dares the college girls would do, but to actually have glory holes in a frat house? I wasn't going to fall for another Patricia lie. But she pulled out her old laptop and after sorting through folders, she showed me a snapshot. It was exactly as she described: the sorority chicks with party bracelets on their wrists, the half-empty keg cups scattered. That's Amiee and Lindsey, two sorority sisters, Patricia pointed out. There were both in their bras, and were inspecting a hard cock protruding through a hole in the wall. See? said Patricia. She loved to be right.
I had heard Patricia talk about Amiee. She was two years older than Patricia and was her appointed older sister of the sorority. I knew she'd played some role in the "initiation" of Patricia into the sorority. I asked Patricia if she'd been initiated on the wall. No, of course not, she said, in the high-pitched voice she used when she was flirting or lying.
It was hard for me to imagine her story was actually true. But she had the photo to prove it. What I didn't know and questioned, was to what extent Patricia had participated in this frat house tradition. I knew that if she had one photo, she probably had another. A few days later, when she was gone, I snooped around until I found her old laptop. It had an old version of Windows on it, the kind we used in college with the single password at the start up. I thought for a while, and then simply typed in the name of her childhood cat. Seriously, it worked.
There's always a danger in snooping. You have to be ready for what you may uncover. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. I found what I had feared. There was an image of Patricia on her knees in front of the wall. The camera flash seems to have caught her unaware. She wears her white blouse and black skirt--an outfit she still wears to go out to dinner and dates with me. She wasn't lying about the wall, but she was lying about her participation. As long as I've known her, she's been an eager initiator of oral sex. She loves to have my cock in her mouth, and apparently, stranger's cocks, too. I really should have known, but still, it was a shock. I closed the laptop and promised I'd never snoop again. But of course it was too late. Never again would I be able to feel her mouth on my cock without thinking of the frat house wall.
MEMORIAL DAY CONCERT
It was hot and sunny Memorial Day. Debbie and Mike went to a concert to rock out. They drank warm flat beer in plastic cups that cost too much, but fuckin'A, they rocked just like they did when they were 21. After the third band, they were pretty wasted. They passed out on the grass. Debbie, who hadn't worn a bra, didn't notice that her boob had slipped out of her tank-top. Plenty of folks walked past, nearly tripped over the sleeping couple, middle aged men and teens alike gawked at her hooter hanging out. Rock and roll.
It was hot and sunny Memorial Day. Debbie and Mike went to a concert to rock out. They drank warm flat beer in plastic cups that cost too much, but fuckin'A, they rocked just like they did when they were 21. After the third band, they were pretty wasted. They passed out on the grass. Debbie, who hadn't worn a bra, didn't notice that her boob had slipped out of her tank-top. Plenty of folks walked past, nearly tripped over the sleeping couple, middle aged men and teens alike gawked at her hooter hanging out. Rock and roll.
Friday, May 22, 2009
THE COMIC BOOK INCIDENT
Of the girls I've known, Patricia was the most sexually complex. You could say she was both sexually generous and dangerous. She was very open about her body and its sexual power, which was beautiful, and in some ways a positive example. On the other hand, her actions were without consideration of any consequence. She seemed to leave a trail of wreckage behind her, too.
Once, she told me she'd been babysitting for a neighbor's kid. "He's a precocious and horny little brat," she said. Not thinking much of her comment, I asked what she meant. "Well, just the other day, we were hanging out, looking at his comic book collection and he said since he showed me something, I should show him something. I asked him what, and he said he wanted to know why I had bumps on my chest."
I should stop her story here and point out that Patricia had a sense of her body and it's physical presence. She was not short nor tall, but medium. Her breasts were not larger nor small. Perfectly medium. Her hair was straight, naturally mousey brown, but died various incarnations of bright red. All together, she could have very easily been a girl that was considered fine looking, but "nothing special." Yet, she seemed to radiate a very physical sexual energy, enhanced by wearing short skirts, short shorts. She'd wear tall socks or leggings that seemed to draw attention to her legs, and tight tank tops that hugged her breasts. Without a bra, one could clearly see the outline of her two nipple piercings.
That detail of her outfit was what apparently caught the attention of her young charge. According to her story, the kid wanted to see her without her top. Patricia, knowing that sex equals power, agreed. She bartered that if she did show him her breasts he'd have to always behave, always go to bed when she said, and never question her rules. He sheepishly agreed. "And besides," she said to him sternly, "if you don't, I'll tell your mother." Of course, the threat was a bluff. She'd never tell the mother, but she knew that the kid would do anything to avoid parental trouble."So I showed the brat my tits," she said. She seemed to be bragging. Clearly, exposing herself to a minor was illegal as hell. She could get fired, or worse, suspended or expelled form school, and even jailed or fined if the parents pressed charges.
Part of me was aroused by the idea of her peeling off her top. When I was the kid's age, it was clearly a fantasy come true. The baby sitter showing an adolescent boy what he so desperately wanted to see. It was so wrong, and yet so part of human nature and coming of age, it also had a sense of being normal--almost special and kind. It was, like Patricia, complex and wrought with contradictions.
To be honest, I am nearly positive she was totally lying. She made up stories and said things just for shock value. I don't doubt she wore a tank top while babysitting, or that she wasn't wearing a bra, or even that the kid noticed the outline of her piercings. I don't doubt they were reading comic books. Did she flash him? Did she actually take off her top? I doubt it. No one else would. Then again, Patricia was like no one else.FACEBOOK THIS
The girls wanted to take a self-portrait. "Wouldn't it be funny if we were all topless, but not?" suggested Katy. They agreed.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
WEEKEND PROJECTS
How lovely are we when unaware of the camera. Alone in mid-project, ironing, or vacuuming, or... building a bookshelf? Domestic tools or power tools, it's the same. Sexy!
THE FIRST SHAVE
When I think of Jennifer, I think of our shaving sessions. Today, it's more common for women to shave than not shave. Even middle-aged housewives are likely to have bare lips. Blame it on the internet, or on porn, or just on the fact that social trends come and go. For whatever reason, prior to the mid-90s, none of the women I had ever seen shaved more than their bikini line. Movies, Playboys...all pop culture showed women with thick, triangular patches of pubes.So of course, human nature is to always want the opposite of what you already have. Girls curl their normally straight hair, or straighten their curls, blondes become brunettes, brunettes become blondes. So it goes.
In those days, when a full bush was the norm, any shaving between the legs was not only rare--it was unheard of. Linda Lovelace was shaven in Deep Throat. But very few of my friends had only heard of the movie. None of us had actually seen a bald pussy.
Looking back, I can't even recall how I talked Jennifer into shaving. It was such an unusual request that she didn't want to do it herself. She wasn't sure she could shave that delicate area herself without nick. Can you imagine that today? Today, I don't think you could find a woman who doesn't take a razor between her legs on a regular basis. Back then, it was charting new territory. And as such, it became a big production.
It involved laying out a towel. Getting the creme and razor and a bowl with warm water. I'd start with scissors and trim the thick briar of curls down to a stubbled patch, stumps of a clearcut. I'd lather her lips, then carefully glide the razor over. I was concentrating so hard that there was no time to get aroused. But when we were done, wiped off the last of the creme and loose hairs, I coudl look at my handy work.
The sight of smooth pussy lips for the first time was amazing. I was instantly hard and ready to take my girlfriend.
"I want to see," said Jennifer. "Take a picture. Let's document this."
So we did.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
OFFICE PARTY AND THE POLITICS OF POWER
They were at the annual office party. She had worn stockings and a back dress. There was an open bar, and they made good use of it. Giddy, they slipped away from the party. They snuck into the storeroom and found a private spot among the stacks of boxes. He helped her out of her dress. It fell off easily. She hadn't worn a bra because she didn't want the straps to show. She hadn't worn panties, either, because she hated panty lines to mar her LBD.
He was both shocked and impressed. She could see the look on his face. Sitting on a box, she gave him a full view to take in, eyes wide, mouth agog. She wasn't just letting her exhibitionist side out--although the alcohol helped make that easy. She did like to be stared at by all the men in the office, she liked their eyes. There was power in having them get frustrated and horny and awkward around her and they couldn't do anything about it. But tonight she decided that she'd pick who she wanted and what she wanted him to do to her. Her mark was a VP. He was married, and that made him safe. He wasn't going to turn into a stalker, just an adoring and grateful lover. When she let him.
She sat on the box and opened her legs, not only to give him a good look, but to set the direction for what was to come next. Still dressed in his suit, he'd kneel before her, place his eager mouth on her wet and waiting lips. He'd lick her to her pleasure. It'd been too long and it was exactly what she wanted. She would get what she wanted.
They were at the annual office party. She had worn stockings and a back dress. There was an open bar, and they made good use of it. Giddy, they slipped away from the party. They snuck into the storeroom and found a private spot among the stacks of boxes. He helped her out of her dress. It fell off easily. She hadn't worn a bra because she didn't want the straps to show. She hadn't worn panties, either, because she hated panty lines to mar her LBD.
He was both shocked and impressed. She could see the look on his face. Sitting on a box, she gave him a full view to take in, eyes wide, mouth agog. She wasn't just letting her exhibitionist side out--although the alcohol helped make that easy. She did like to be stared at by all the men in the office, she liked their eyes. There was power in having them get frustrated and horny and awkward around her and they couldn't do anything about it. But tonight she decided that she'd pick who she wanted and what she wanted him to do to her. Her mark was a VP. He was married, and that made him safe. He wasn't going to turn into a stalker, just an adoring and grateful lover. When she let him.
She sat on the box and opened her legs, not only to give him a good look, but to set the direction for what was to come next. Still dressed in his suit, he'd kneel before her, place his eager mouth on her wet and waiting lips. He'd lick her to her pleasure. It'd been too long and it was exactly what she wanted. She would get what she wanted.
BIKE NAKED PREP
This is sort of a fun picture. We've posted several lovely images from World Naked Bike Ride and other outdoor rallies where naked protesters adorn their bodies with colorful paint. Ever wonder what it looks like as these wild rebels prep? A lot of paint, and a little liquid courage. Cheers!
This is sort of a fun picture. We've posted several lovely images from World Naked Bike Ride and other outdoor rallies where naked protesters adorn their bodies with colorful paint. Ever wonder what it looks like as these wild rebels prep? A lot of paint, and a little liquid courage. Cheers!
Friday, May 15, 2009
POWELLS
One of my favorite places to go is a bookstore downtown. I love wandering the aisles of books. For some reason, the women are extra sexy in bookstores. Smart women are always sexy, and women surrounded by books, very sexy. Many are on break from downtown jobs, and wear black skirts and blouses. As they walk, as they reach for books, you can't help but notice. In the coffee shop, as I read, I turned and noticed a beautiful blonde reading a couple chairs away from me. The angle was just perfect. As she slumped slightly forward, engrossed in her book, her blouse opened just enough.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
LOLITA ON BALCONY
"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita."
-- Vladimir Nabokov
"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita."
-- Vladimir Nabokov
BEACH NOOK(Y)
I was at the beach and had been drinking with all my friends. After a few hours, I really had to pee, and the only option were to wade waist-deep into the chilly Pacific (burrr), or find a nook in the cliffs. So I excused myself and started off down the beach. It wasn't too crowded, but finding a deep enough break in the cliffs to totally duck out of sight was proving harder than I'd imagined. I kept glancing to the ocean, debating whether the pain of the icy ocean was less than the growing pain of my bladder. But I pressed on. After what seemed like a mile, I found a nice break in the rocks. I was so happy, until I realized someone else had found this private space.
To my surprise, a couple had slipped off to this nook in the rocks, stripped off their swimsuits, and were going at it. The woman was riding the man, her knees up in the narrow space between the rocks. She was bouncing up and down on his cock, her back to me. Bad as I had to pee, I couldn't help but watch. I was so aroused, suddenly my body forgot I had to pee. I watched, transfixed, as long as I could.
I was at the beach and had been drinking with all my friends. After a few hours, I really had to pee, and the only option were to wade waist-deep into the chilly Pacific (burrr), or find a nook in the cliffs. So I excused myself and started off down the beach. It wasn't too crowded, but finding a deep enough break in the cliffs to totally duck out of sight was proving harder than I'd imagined. I kept glancing to the ocean, debating whether the pain of the icy ocean was less than the growing pain of my bladder. But I pressed on. After what seemed like a mile, I found a nice break in the rocks. I was so happy, until I realized someone else had found this private space.
To my surprise, a couple had slipped off to this nook in the rocks, stripped off their swimsuits, and were going at it. The woman was riding the man, her knees up in the narrow space between the rocks. She was bouncing up and down on his cock, her back to me. Bad as I had to pee, I couldn't help but watch. I was so aroused, suddenly my body forgot I had to pee. I watched, transfixed, as long as I could.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
MORNING COFFEE
Ahh morning coffee, a book, a slow, relaxing way to roll into a day. How natural we look, all our lines, folds, and creases, when we are ourselves and no one is watching. Lovely.
SINK SHAMPOO
I'm not ecatly sure why this woman chooses to wash her hair in the sink, rather than the shower. Is she coloring her hair? Did I miss that? All I see on the counter are her morning coffee and cell phone with headphones. It's a bright sunny day. She's buck naked. There's little hint of what she was doing before this or will do after it. But it's a beautiful, candid moment. Completely unaware of a watcher, there's a bit of a voyeuristic eroticism to it.
I'm not ecatly sure why this woman chooses to wash her hair in the sink, rather than the shower. Is she coloring her hair? Did I miss that? All I see on the counter are her morning coffee and cell phone with headphones. It's a bright sunny day. She's buck naked. There's little hint of what she was doing before this or will do after it. But it's a beautiful, candid moment. Completely unaware of a watcher, there's a bit of a voyeuristic eroticism to it.
THE DARE
They were walking in Hoyt Arboretum. The Arboretum was a big park blanketing the west hill of Portland, wooded in parts, with trails, and then open with small meadows. She was trying to dare him into taking her. She had slipped back to a school-girl voice of taunting, teasing. She'd challenge him, with statements that begged for action, like, "I bet you'd never...." She said, she'd bet he'd never messed around outside. And he said, "sure I have," and she'd say, "oh, kissing doesn't count, I mean like actually fucking, right here where anyone could come by on the trail..." Oh sure, he'd say, bluffing She kept raising the bet as they walked, and he had no option of backing down. She knew this game from school, and so did he. A guy cannot let a girl call him chicken. "So you're saying you'd fuck me here, right in the grass?" He was already hard, thinking about it. He nodded. "Prove it," she said.
So he grabbed her and pulled her off the trail and peeled off his shirt and unhitched his jeans. He spread his flannel shirt out and laid her back on it. She still had her shirt on, but it was open and her breasts were bare. He felt wild, taking her outside, potentially in plain view if another hiker were to come by. He knew they had to be fast, and she wanted it hard and aggressive. He yanked off her purple panties and used them to bind her wrists. She loved a little bondage. Pushing her legs up to her chest, he positioned himself to enter her.
What happened next surprised even her. She'd dared him to fuck her in the grass. He'd misheard.
So he grabbed her and pulled her off the trail and peeled off his shirt and unhitched his jeans. He spread his flannel shirt out and laid her back on it. She still had her shirt on, but it was open and her breasts were bare. He felt wild, taking her outside, potentially in plain view if another hiker were to come by. He knew they had to be fast, and she wanted it hard and aggressive. He yanked off her purple panties and used them to bind her wrists. She loved a little bondage. Pushing her legs up to her chest, he positioned himself to enter her.
What happened next surprised even her. She'd dared him to fuck her in the grass. He'd misheard.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
GAS STATION STOP
My girlfriend and I took a road trip with another couple, Pete and Julia. To save money, we shared motel rooms. It was a little awkward, but not too much. We'd take turns changing in the bathroom. We'd all watch some dumb TV show and then turn off the lights and go to sleep. The only hard part was not being able to have sex. There's something about being on the road in cheap motels, that always prompts good travel sex. And we couldn't really have it.
Also, I hate to admit it, but I had a huge crush on Julia. She was really pretty, and fun. As cliche as it sounds, she had huge breasts that seemed to spill out of her bikinitop when we were all at the beach. Don't get me wrong, I love my girlfriend and love her lithe body with the small, upturned breasts. I find her sexy, and our sex life is good. That's one reason being on vacation and not having a sexual outlet was so hard.
We'd spent the day at the beach, in shorts and bikinitops, an were heading back on the freeway to turn toward home after our four days of road trip. The weather was warm. The sky blue. Everything was really great. We stopped at a gas station to fill up. My girlfriend bought snacks inside, while I washed the summer bugs off the windshield. Pete and Julia had gone around the corner to the bathroom. We didn't think much of it, but they were taking a long time. Since it was going to be a long drive, we decided to hit the bathroom, too. When we got there, we saw that there was only one bathroom, it was locked, and both Pete and Julia were inside. We could clearly hear the soft echoing sound of skin slapping skin. Sex has a way of carrying in a small, tiled room. To the people having sex, I'm sure they didn't notice. Standing just outside, near the vent in fact, we could hear the two of them going at it hot and heavy.
My girlfriend tugged me away, because we didn't want to be standing there when they came out. Frankly, I was transfixed. I was listening and hearing two bodies slap. I wondered what position they were in. I tried to picture Julia's face as she was getting fucked. I thought about her breasts, hanging down, flopping. I was having a little mental fantasy that I was the one pounding her. What I wold have given to have been able to see what was going on inside that gas station door. But my girlfriend pulled me away, and we stood outside by the car, waiting until they finished.
They returned, smiling, their faces red from sex, and maybe a little embarrassment. We never let on that we knew a thing. As we drove, I replayed the scene in my mind over and over.
That night, in the hotel room, I noticed Pete's camera. I know it was wrong, but curiosity overtook me. At an opportune moment, I slipped it into my pocket and retreated to the bathroom. To my amazement and dumb luck, the last picture taken had been inside the gas station bathroom.
PICNIC, THEN PARTY, IS SECRET TO THIS COUPLE'S MARITAL BLISS
My wife Kerri and I were having a picnic in the park when two guys came over to our area and started tossing a frisbee. They were both decent looking, short hair and athletic builds. I could tell my wife was watching them from the corner of her eyes. "Take my picture," she said, with a flash of mischief.
I snapped her photo. Then she pulled down one sleeve of her white summer blouse to expose a bare shoulder. I held the camera up again and she smiled. She tugged down the other sleeve. I clicked again. One guy seemed to notice and moved a little closer. Kerri leaned forward and her blouse dipped, revealing the valley between her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra. From my vantage point, I could see right down her shirt. I clicked the camera.
By now, one guy was definitely closer. The other had moved in, too. They kept stealing glances our way. With the next photograph, my wife tugged down her top, letting her large, creamy breasts swing free. This definitely got the guys attention. Just like in a movie, one guy was so busy gawking that he didn't see the frisbee and it clocked him in the head. It was very slapstick, and my wife nearly cracked up. Instead, she smirked, trying to keep her cool.
With the frisbee game stopped, the two guys had no choice but to pick up and leave us to our risque photo shoot, or to come in for a closer look. We knew they were looking, and they knew we knew. So obviously, they walked up. My wife looked up at them, squinting in the sun. She had sunglasses, but left them on top of her strawberry blonde hair. She has green eyes that flash when she's excited, and I could tell she was excited.
The men were excited, too. They stared, stupidly at her chest. Transfixed by her large, perfectly shaped boobs. "What do you think, fellas," asked Kerri.
They nodded and mumbled, "very nice," and "lovely."
Her eyes darted down to their shorts, and the erections straining to be released. "Well, how about it?" she asked.
"Excuse me?" They looked confused, but she was perfectly cool, perfectly in control of the situation.
She nodded at their bulges. "How about it?" she repeated again.
"Here?" The one with sandy-brown hair was able to get words out. The other guy, with darker hair and stubble, who seemed a couple years younger, just stared, his mouth open.
Kerri slipped her top back up, which meant it was time. We gathered the blanket. She lead the way out of the open area into the surrounding wooded area. The two guys followed her, and I followed, hanging back enough to be a presence, but giving her enough space and not crowding and scaring off the guys.
After she hiked far enough into the woods, she lay out her blanket. The guys stopped, waiting for instructions. So she instructed them to take off their pants. They did, quickly. Standing naked from the waist down, she could see their cocks dangling half-erect. She reached out and gave each one a tug. The cocks pulsed in her hand, getting instantly hard and ready. "Nice," she said, gently giving each another stroke.
She turned, leaving them standing with their dicks swinging upright in the breeze. They were baffled, but eager to see what came next. "So who goes first," she asked. The taller, sandy hair guy stepped forward. She nodded, turned, and got on her hands and knees.
The guy didn't need much more invitation. He came up behind her, flipped up her skirt, and mounted her. He began pounding. His friend stood by, watching, playing with his dick to keep it hard.
After about ten minutes of fucking, the first guy began to grunt and then spasm as he shot his load. He climbed off and his friend took over. His friend began to fuck my wife's sloppy cunt. I could tell she was starting to get into it. For Kerri, it always takes her a while. Sex, and orgasm, for her, is very gradual. For several years, she was deeply unhappy with our sex life. I could never satisfy her, no matter if I pumped her until I was sore. She always need more time, more banging. So when the second guy took over, she had a look of bliss. She was smiling, her big boobs hanging down, swaying happily back and forth as the guy pounded.
As he pumped away, the first guy moved in front of her and offered his cock to her mouth. She needed her hands to balance, so she had to try to take his cock with just her mouth. He helped guide it, and soon she was being bounced back and forth between two cocks.
When the dark-haired guy shot his load, the first guy was hard again. She told him to fuck her again. So he did. His friend then took a turn at her mouth.
On her third fuck, she was really going now. Instead of being jostled back and forth between the two men, she met each thrust, slamming back on a hard cock, driving as deep as it could go inside of her. Her pale skin was flush. And her blissful face was sweaty and wild looking like an animal. Her blonde hair was sweaty and hanging limply down. She was grunting and moaning as a cock stuffed her mouth. The sandy-hair guy yelled as he shot his second load inside her. "Quickly," she shouted, as he pulled out, his cock limp and glistening with cum. I caught a glimpse of her cunt, swollen, rosy from the hard sex, and dripping three loads of spunk. The younger guy leaped from her mouth and took her again from behind.
The first guy was spent. He slowly pulled his shorts back on as his friend took the forth shift banging my wife. We both watched. Without someone in front of her, we could see her face, red, sweaty, contorted in a look of pleasure and pain. I could tell it was getting closer. My wife, we discovered, finds her climax from her g-spot. But it takes a lot of stimulation. That's why she likes it on her knees. It drives the cock in deeper and hits her in just the right area. She had been getting fucked hard for at least a half an hour. She was no longer conscious of her surroundings. She was lost inside waves upon waves of physical sensation. The younger guy jerked, twitched, and tensed as he shot every last drop of cum in his body. When he stopped convulsing, he pulled out.
That's when I stepped forward. I pulled my cock out and gave it a couple good strokes. It didn't take much. Seeing my wife on her knees, fucked until she was red in the face, leaking cum from her swollen cunt, was enough to put me in that animal mating heat. Except, we'd learned that after a while, too much cum sloshing around her cunt doesn't give her enough sensation.
She lowered her head to the blanket and reached back, spreading her ass checks. I let a glob of spittle fall from my mouth and splash onto her puckered anus. I spit again and then coated my cockhead in saliva. She didn't need much lube, and in fact, she liked it rough.
I positioned my cock at her backdoor and with a rolling motion like a corkscrew, worked it in the first ring of muscles. Inside was tight and a little dry. She yelped, but pushed back with her hips to take more of me. My cock was barely inside her pooper and it didn't seem like another inch could possibly fit. Her ass felt like sandpaper, and I didn't know if I could stand it. I knew she needed it badly, and time was of the essence. I did what I had never done before, knowing it was wrong on all sorts of levels. I pulled out and then shoved my dick up her wet cunt. I swirled it around the cocktail of cum swimming inside her. Then I pulled out, and with two other men's cum for lube, wedged my cock back up my wife's ass.
The slippery semen was exactly what was needed. My cock popped right in past the sphincter. I drove it to the hilt and my wife screamed. She was starting to orgasm. As I pumped her ass with my sloppy dick, I was hitting her g-spot from the other side. She was shaking deep, rolling orgasmic waves that started in her ass, swooshed up to hear head, rolled back to her toes, and then rippled back again as they were overtaken by another wave. She muttered guttural sounds, unable to even form complete words.
I felt my own orgasm rising up in my balls. Her ass muscles clenched and released my cock as she came and came. She shook her head, frothing at the mouth. I shot my load deep into her ass.
When we were finished, we both collapsed on the blanket. The guys were nowhere in sight. Perfect. They'd served their purpose and gotten something out of the deal in exchange. My wife and I, we held each other and shared a nap under the trees, exhausted, happy, and satisfied in marital bliss.
My wife Kerri and I were having a picnic in the park when two guys came over to our area and started tossing a frisbee. They were both decent looking, short hair and athletic builds. I could tell my wife was watching them from the corner of her eyes. "Take my picture," she said, with a flash of mischief.
I snapped her photo. Then she pulled down one sleeve of her white summer blouse to expose a bare shoulder. I held the camera up again and she smiled. She tugged down the other sleeve. I clicked again. One guy seemed to notice and moved a little closer. Kerri leaned forward and her blouse dipped, revealing the valley between her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra. From my vantage point, I could see right down her shirt. I clicked the camera.
By now, one guy was definitely closer. The other had moved in, too. They kept stealing glances our way. With the next photograph, my wife tugged down her top, letting her large, creamy breasts swing free. This definitely got the guys attention. Just like in a movie, one guy was so busy gawking that he didn't see the frisbee and it clocked him in the head. It was very slapstick, and my wife nearly cracked up. Instead, she smirked, trying to keep her cool.
With the frisbee game stopped, the two guys had no choice but to pick up and leave us to our risque photo shoot, or to come in for a closer look. We knew they were looking, and they knew we knew. So obviously, they walked up. My wife looked up at them, squinting in the sun. She had sunglasses, but left them on top of her strawberry blonde hair. She has green eyes that flash when she's excited, and I could tell she was excited.
The men were excited, too. They stared, stupidly at her chest. Transfixed by her large, perfectly shaped boobs. "What do you think, fellas," asked Kerri.
They nodded and mumbled, "very nice," and "lovely."
Her eyes darted down to their shorts, and the erections straining to be released. "Well, how about it?" she asked.
"Excuse me?" They looked confused, but she was perfectly cool, perfectly in control of the situation.
She nodded at their bulges. "How about it?" she repeated again.
"Here?" The one with sandy-brown hair was able to get words out. The other guy, with darker hair and stubble, who seemed a couple years younger, just stared, his mouth open.
Kerri slipped her top back up, which meant it was time. We gathered the blanket. She lead the way out of the open area into the surrounding wooded area. The two guys followed her, and I followed, hanging back enough to be a presence, but giving her enough space and not crowding and scaring off the guys.
After she hiked far enough into the woods, she lay out her blanket. The guys stopped, waiting for instructions. So she instructed them to take off their pants. They did, quickly. Standing naked from the waist down, she could see their cocks dangling half-erect. She reached out and gave each one a tug. The cocks pulsed in her hand, getting instantly hard and ready. "Nice," she said, gently giving each another stroke.
She turned, leaving them standing with their dicks swinging upright in the breeze. They were baffled, but eager to see what came next. "So who goes first," she asked. The taller, sandy hair guy stepped forward. She nodded, turned, and got on her hands and knees.
The guy didn't need much more invitation. He came up behind her, flipped up her skirt, and mounted her. He began pounding. His friend stood by, watching, playing with his dick to keep it hard.
After about ten minutes of fucking, the first guy began to grunt and then spasm as he shot his load. He climbed off and his friend took over. His friend began to fuck my wife's sloppy cunt. I could tell she was starting to get into it. For Kerri, it always takes her a while. Sex, and orgasm, for her, is very gradual. For several years, she was deeply unhappy with our sex life. I could never satisfy her, no matter if I pumped her until I was sore. She always need more time, more banging. So when the second guy took over, she had a look of bliss. She was smiling, her big boobs hanging down, swaying happily back and forth as the guy pounded.
As he pumped away, the first guy moved in front of her and offered his cock to her mouth. She needed her hands to balance, so she had to try to take his cock with just her mouth. He helped guide it, and soon she was being bounced back and forth between two cocks.
When the dark-haired guy shot his load, the first guy was hard again. She told him to fuck her again. So he did. His friend then took a turn at her mouth.
On her third fuck, she was really going now. Instead of being jostled back and forth between the two men, she met each thrust, slamming back on a hard cock, driving as deep as it could go inside of her. Her pale skin was flush. And her blissful face was sweaty and wild looking like an animal. Her blonde hair was sweaty and hanging limply down. She was grunting and moaning as a cock stuffed her mouth. The sandy-hair guy yelled as he shot his second load inside her. "Quickly," she shouted, as he pulled out, his cock limp and glistening with cum. I caught a glimpse of her cunt, swollen, rosy from the hard sex, and dripping three loads of spunk. The younger guy leaped from her mouth and took her again from behind.
The first guy was spent. He slowly pulled his shorts back on as his friend took the forth shift banging my wife. We both watched. Without someone in front of her, we could see her face, red, sweaty, contorted in a look of pleasure and pain. I could tell it was getting closer. My wife, we discovered, finds her climax from her g-spot. But it takes a lot of stimulation. That's why she likes it on her knees. It drives the cock in deeper and hits her in just the right area. She had been getting fucked hard for at least a half an hour. She was no longer conscious of her surroundings. She was lost inside waves upon waves of physical sensation. The younger guy jerked, twitched, and tensed as he shot every last drop of cum in his body. When he stopped convulsing, he pulled out.
That's when I stepped forward. I pulled my cock out and gave it a couple good strokes. It didn't take much. Seeing my wife on her knees, fucked until she was red in the face, leaking cum from her swollen cunt, was enough to put me in that animal mating heat. Except, we'd learned that after a while, too much cum sloshing around her cunt doesn't give her enough sensation.
She lowered her head to the blanket and reached back, spreading her ass checks. I let a glob of spittle fall from my mouth and splash onto her puckered anus. I spit again and then coated my cockhead in saliva. She didn't need much lube, and in fact, she liked it rough.
I positioned my cock at her backdoor and with a rolling motion like a corkscrew, worked it in the first ring of muscles. Inside was tight and a little dry. She yelped, but pushed back with her hips to take more of me. My cock was barely inside her pooper and it didn't seem like another inch could possibly fit. Her ass felt like sandpaper, and I didn't know if I could stand it. I knew she needed it badly, and time was of the essence. I did what I had never done before, knowing it was wrong on all sorts of levels. I pulled out and then shoved my dick up her wet cunt. I swirled it around the cocktail of cum swimming inside her. Then I pulled out, and with two other men's cum for lube, wedged my cock back up my wife's ass.
The slippery semen was exactly what was needed. My cock popped right in past the sphincter. I drove it to the hilt and my wife screamed. She was starting to orgasm. As I pumped her ass with my sloppy dick, I was hitting her g-spot from the other side. She was shaking deep, rolling orgasmic waves that started in her ass, swooshed up to hear head, rolled back to her toes, and then rippled back again as they were overtaken by another wave. She muttered guttural sounds, unable to even form complete words.
I felt my own orgasm rising up in my balls. Her ass muscles clenched and released my cock as she came and came. She shook her head, frothing at the mouth. I shot my load deep into her ass.
When we were finished, we both collapsed on the blanket. The guys were nowhere in sight. Perfect. They'd served their purpose and gotten something out of the deal in exchange. My wife and I, we held each other and shared a nap under the trees, exhausted, happy, and satisfied in marital bliss.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
A SHARED SHOWER SPIED
Sarah, Rachel, and Laura liked to swim after school at Rachel's parents' house. They were rich and lived on the West Hill. They had a huge house and Rachel even had her own bathroom attached to her bedroom. After swimming they would back up to Rachel's room. They needed to wash off the chlorine, and waiting through three showers was silly. So they all got in at the same time. They showered in front of each other in gym at the JCC, so it wasn't a big deal. They'd seen each other's bodies before. In fact, that's how the shaving trend started. The shower at Rachel's house was no different, just a little more compact.
And besides, they didn't have to worry about boys spying on them. They'd heard a rumor that the boys had discovered how to climb up into the pipe access and maybe, or maybe not, had a vantage point into the women's locker room. At Rachel's they felt safe. What they didn't know was that Rachel's little brother Josh had watched their comings and goings and had prepared in advance by hiding in the linen closet.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
LIFE MODEL
I’d taken a few life-drawing classes in college and was curious what it felt like to be the model. I’d never acted on it. Never even really given it much thought. It’d been well over a decade since I’d been a student enrolled in an art class. I’d since done my graduate work, married, and become an Associate Professor of Comparative Literature.The job market in Academia is impossibly tight, so when I was offered a one-year Visiting Professorship at a small, but well-known Liberal Arts college, I immediately accepted. My husband, of course, could not just quite his job, and to buy a new house and sell ours and pick up and move half-way across the country for a one-year position just didn’t make sense. So he stayed, and I went back on semester breaks.
The separation from my husband was easier than I thought and harder. Work at school kept me plenty busy. Being surrounded by the young undergrads while being so separated from my husband made me realize how long it had been since I was a student, and how long ago I’d felt the adventure and life of being young. I felt like maybe fate had brought me to this new campus for a reason, although I had no idea it would involve me getting naked in front of a dozen undergrads.
One day I was walking across campus and ran into Professor Tuffel. Prof Tuffel (Helen) is one of those sweet ex-hippie studio art professors. She has straight grey hair in a page-boy cut and always wears baggy clothes and comfortable shoes. She’s like a favorite aunt, and has a way of making everyone around her feel relaxed. Except when I ran into her, she was not her usual relaxed self—in fact, she was a bit flustered. She explained that she was running off to her Art Fundamental class and that this week was supposed to be “life drawing,” but unfortunately the model she’d reserved had cancelled at the very last minute. Normally, a flaky student wouldn’t have stressed her out, but life drawing was a required part of the course’s curriculum, and she simple couldn’t have them just skip that part. I sympathized with her as she explained and walked across the quad.
“Why don’t we ask one of these students,” I suggested, trying to be helpful. The quad was filled with students.
She sighed and explained that art models were actually work-study positions, handled through the administration, and that for reasons of red tape and legal risk, a professor could not approach an enrolled student and ask them to pose naked in front of other students. Helen shook her head. “Lawsuits,” she muttered. “Hell, in the 70s, I used to pose for my classes,” she said.
“Really?” I asked. I was intrigued. I tried to imagine Helen 30 years younger, posing for her art classes.
“Why don’t you now,” I suggested, trying my hardest to help solve the problem.
“Oh, dear, I wouldn’t mind so much, but they have ‘policy’ on that, too.”
“So it can’t be a student and it can’t be the instructor—can it be another professor from a different department?”
“Oh sure, of course,” she said. As long as it’s a third-party, so to speak, that has no connection to the class, then we’re in the clear.”
“Well, that’s perfect, then,” I said, enthusiastically. There were plenty of professors on campus.
“So you’ll do it?” she asked.
I stopped. I had been trying so hard to find a solution for Helen, it never occurred to me to be the volunteer.
For the past 16 years, I had only been naked in front of my husband. It seemed so sudden. Helen stood patiently as my mind raced. She had a look on her face that was gentle and kind. I knew it’d really help her out. I knew it would feel awkward, but I knew the students would be drawing so hastily that they wouldn’t have the time to go into detailed features, just the suggestion of the face. I also always had the clear understanding that I was only a visitor and would be gone. I figured: I am 36 years old, this will likely be the first and LAST time I am asked to model for anything. Maybe this is exactly what I needed.
“Ok,” I said, forcing my confidence.
Helen smiled. We walked quickly to the art building where her students were already starting to gather. Helen handed me a robe and pointed to the curtained off area where I could change.
There were already a half dozen students sitting around. They had their backpacks and pads. I had a bathrobe. Suddenly I felt like a complete outsider, and vulnerable. They would keep their clothes on, while I would be totally naked. When I agreed, I was only thinking of my own naked state. I hadn’t really connected my nakedness within the context of other people’s state of being dressed.
It was too late to back out. I marched straight to the changing area, robe in hand. As I undressed, I began to feel more and more self-conscious. What had I gotten myself into? I never had liked my breasts much. They were small compared to my hips. As I had aged, they seemed less perky, and my stomach and hips thicker and blockier. Also, I’d given up any pretense of shaving in the last months. It had seemed totally pointless to keep up just for myself. Now that I was standing naked and about to pose in front of a group of college students, I suddenly felt even more old-fashioned. I slipped on the robe.
Once I took my position in the center of the room, I let my robe drop. I looked only at my feet and not at the students. Instantly I heard the scribble of pencils on paper. Helen called out to change the pose every 30 seconds as the students warmed up.
The air was a little chilly in the studio, and I was conscious of my pinched nipples. Once you’re naked, you can’t really recover any modesty. So I let the students have an unobstructed view. Besides, having my nipples taunt made my breast more attractive, I think. It actually felt a little sexy to be standing in the center of the room, totally exposed, all eyes on me.
The quick poses helped me relax. No one was making a big deal out of anything—no laughing, snickering, or pointing. I realized probably none of the students had any clue I was a professor on campus and not simply a model. Context is everything. They hadn’t been introduced to me as a teacher, but only as the form in front of them. I knew that the artists saw me not as a person, but as a series of shapes, values of shadow, mass, and tone.
But still, the fact of being buck naked in front of a dozen or so college students was becoming arousing. I wanted to think the intensity of their stares as they looked up form their pads was to study each and every fold and line of my body, as if their eyes were hands caressing and exploring every inch of skin.
I moved around to offer different poses. Any form I put myself into could have been art to one set of eyes and porn to the other. When you’re circled by artists, one person sees the line of your arced back; the other gets a full frontal view.
We were going into a 20 minute pose, and I needed to find a position I could hold. So I got on my hands and knees, then stretched my hands out in front of me until my face was resting on the blanket. The students in front of me saw a teardrop shape. I knew it’d make a nice pose. For the students to the side, they had a view of my body like a triangle. And the students behind me got a view of my backside, my upturned buttock and legs, spread just a bit wider than needed.
It's funny, but I really like my backside. Doggy style is my favorite position. Having my buttock thrust into the air was like turning on a switch. It was like I was ready for sex, and my body, in a Pavlovian response, started getting wet.
I felt so sexy and so naughty. Most of the students were seeing me as an object of art. Whoever was behind me had a front seat view of my hairy vulva, gleaming with my own juices. I cold feel the eyes burning between my legs. I felt just the opposite of “Fine Art;” I felt so lewd. So exposed. Like being taken in an artistic orgy.
After the session was done, I slipped my robe back on and wandered around, looking at what the students had done. It was amazing to see my body transformed through their vision. I could recognize my own body—my breasts, my hips, my hair pulled back with my red tie. But on paper, I was made beautiful.
It felt very humbling and inspiring, and made me see my body as an object of genuine beauty in a way I never had before. I told Helen this and thanked the students. She said it was I who should be thanked for saving the students and then shared with the students that I had been a last-minute sub. Rather than it being awkward as I had feared, the art students were incredibly appreciative, and thanked me. They complimented me on my poses. Several even gave me some of their sketches.
I gratefully accepted a few. Several were lovely, the kind one might see in a gallery or museum. One, from the last pose, was downright lewd. It was drawn from the backside, showing my thatch of curls, and the outline of my vulva. Ironically, this image was drawn by a female student, but it was the most sexual drawing I had ever seen. She gave it to me and said that I was very brave, and a role model. She thanked me and left.
I knew I had to tell my husband eventually, so I figured the best way was to be upfront. I sent him the art. He was not upset at all—surprised, yes—but also turned on. He loved the idea that his wife had been brave enough to be an art model.
I didn't tell many people. My parents and my husband’s parents do not and never will know! But my close friends know. And it's still not something I broadcast, but I do talk about it occasionally.
We had the drawings matted and framed. The explicit one now hangs over the dresser in my bedroom. My husband likes to look at it for “inspiration,” he says. I, too, enjoy looking at it and remembering the experience.
Someday, I may give my niece one of the artistic nudes and say "way back when, your Aunt was young and crazy enough that she could model nude for an art class.”
Her mom might not understand, but I do now. Modeling nude is not only erotic, it’s like having a little secret that makes you feel more alluring, and self-confident. I think every young woman deserves that. I wish I had discovered that inner-power sooner. But now I have. I knew fate had something in store for me that year. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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