I left, but always take my camera with me. Not long ago the requested for some peep shots from inside my car. So I took advantage of this night out to shoot those too. My dress lifted, ass up in the front seat–I took a series of snaps. Close ups, odd angles, spilling cleavage, the pantie patch with its triangle of forming wetness. I took shots while I drove, feeling myself, stroking my full lips over the fabric. I started my night out kittenish, playful, frisky—in the mood.

It was one of those classic strange San Francisco nights–full of carnies, gypsies, misfit cabaret barflies, big thighed broads’ in short short skirts with eyes of glazed glass. The music was off—a weird mix of eccentric gypsy, Eastern Euro, bizarre. I felt like I was stuck in some David Lynch fucks Fellini as seen through the librarian’s glasses.

It was pure oddity. I found myself becoming light-headed on heavy beer, the infamous SF Tamale Lady looked more like a bearded lady, there was a strange dancer that looked like sherpa with a hospital band around his wrist–who claimed not to want to marry, but just dance with us. Dance. The saxophone player from the second band had me wanting my pussy licked and worshiped ferociously like the musical instrument it is. Lapping at my clit like a reed. I felt myself get wet and stay that way, sticky even. He was all oral, a definite pussy worshiper, I imagined his beard covered in my liquid love. The cast was a strange mix of misfits that had wandered in from the streets, but all somehow belonged together.

We, the librarians, fit right in. Misfits of the book, guardians of the strange.

When I got home, I was sort of high on the night; turning the yellow hued light I followed with the blue glow of the computer screen.

I watched your cum spurt out and land on your belly, streaming and streaking in white, landing like electric spittle, dripping from your tip. It made me jealous of something and nothing tangible at the same. I want to fuck you with your glasses on–I want fuck you with my glasses on, two overly educated people fucking like animals with none of that education at work, critical thinking skills have no place here. I lifted my dress, unhooked my stockings from the buckles, pulled them down, spread my thighs wide, and pulled my panties to the side. The smell wafted up into the air, creamy excitement from thinking earlier about my cunt being worshiped. Vanilla yeast. My pussy was full ready to be stroked drained, sapped of it sexual build up of the night. I put the Friday playlist on even though it was Sunday and slid my fingers between my folds, wet pages opened up. Dripped.

Hovering over the record button I hit. One split screen is you stroking your thick cock, coaxing your love and the other, me caressing my pussy. I watched both of us. Watching as your cock grew in girth–creating that ache of longing from the core of my insatiable cunt. Simultaneously we virtually fucked each other. When you sat up, directing your beam at me, inviting my lips to taste, to feel you grow further inside my mouth, for a split second you are really passing my lips and I could smell you, and I can taste you. For a split second you were mine.

Envisioning the way I would slide onto you–your round substantial head teasing my slit, seeping into me. Gradually my cunt devours every inch of you. Spreading myself open–slow grinding onto my fingers, the silver bullet rumbles on my clit, two fingers lost inside, my flesh fully concealing their movement. I am fucking you, arched teetering on that pain consumption of the mind and pussy. Coming, I close my thighs around my hands, fingers and toy.

Sitting up from my orgasm slouch, my hand still slipping in between my pages, I lean forward, my pussy off the chair, but my ass still on it. Fucking myself harder, thinking about you coming inside me, squeezing your cock, draining you. Faster my hands plunge and flick, the bullet circling my button. I thrust and drove onto my already buried fingers and I begin to drip, the camera catches it all, the trickles dropping between my legs to the floor below, the elation of me coming and the gush from inside surrounding my fingers as I come hard for the second time. Stars flash that magnetic white light then fade.

I hit stop, save, and strip my way to bed.

The older one, her hunky bisexual boyfriend, was sitting on the other’s chest with his knees pressing down on his arms. “Go ahead, say it,” he said, finally hearing the word he was waiting for. Then, “I win.”

The older one leaned down then and covered the mouth of his combatant, taking things to the next level.

She was enjoying this little scuffle of theirs, all the more so since they were both naked, with hard-ons to light up the night sky. What a good idea she’d had to suggest her boyfriend invite one of his clubbing buddies up for a romp. All for her pleasure, plus apparently, more than a little of their own.

She had asked him before how it was different, making love to a man versus a woman. “It’s rougher – more like two animals,” he had said. She wanted to see for herself.

When the younger one had arrived at her loft earlier that night, she knew right away this was inspired. He shimmied out of his jeans and already his thick cock was arching upward. He was slight and a little androgynous, but his cock reminded her of one on a horse, too big for his coltish body. She could imagine making quick work of it but had already been warned that the young one wasn’t interested in girls.

Her boyfriend displayed his elegant, tapering version that looked more like a Roman column.

They started out pulling off each other’s T-shirts, tugging them over their heads with a shake, revealing glistening chests – one lean and toned, the other muscular and bulked up.

Her boyfriend reached around to the back of the younger one’s neck and pulled him to him. He stopped with his face just inches from the other’s for a split second before opening his mouth wide and yanking the other’s mouth to his. It looked more like devouring than kissing.

She went over to turn on some music and hit “Paradise by the Dashboard Light.” She wasn’t sure of the choice; it sounded kind of boy-girl. But as the two men started swaying together to the beat, her boyfriend turning the younger one around and pulling that lissome back and ass into the curve of his crotch, she couldn’t help but notice the song’s words:

“Ain’t no doubt about it, we were doubly blessed /’Cause we were barely 17 and we were barely dressed.”

How doubly blessed her boyfriend was – to enjoy the pleasures of both men and women.

From behind, he reached his hands around to the younger one’s chest, grabbing his nipples and tugging them. Then, starting at the nape of his neck, he ran his tongue down the man’s spine, ending in the dewy small of his back. He paused there, caressing the orbs of the younger one’s buttocks.

Who better than a gay guy to be an ass man.

The younger one then pulled away and reached over to his jeans, now crumpled on the floor, pulling out a condom. He placed the package between his teeth and turned to the older one mockingly.

“Oh, now you’re getting cocky, huh?” said the boyfriend. “You’re lucky I even chose you tonight from that crowd. There were a lot of hot guys checking me out. It’s just chance I picked you, you stuck-up prick.”

“Yeah? Then how come I felt your eyes on my ass the whole evening – glued there, every move I made on the dance floor?”

“You think that’s what I was doing, huh,” said the other with a big grin on his face, grabbing the younger one around his narrow hips and tackling him to the floor. “Maybe I’d just never seen someone wiggle their butt so much when they tried to dance.”

Then they were on each other, laughing, legs wrapping every which way, almost crashing into the coffee table as they tumbled together. She had to resist stopping them. After all, no one was going to get hurt.

Then, “Uncle,” and the fighting turned into kissing. She moved to the platform bed nearby to watch.

Her boyfriend looked down at his vanquished foe, bent the younger one’s legs up in the air and pulled them on either side of him. He knelt between them, pausing there a second, and locked eyes with his prey. He grabbed the condom and opened it with his teeth, smoothing it onto his cock with a squeeze of something from a tube as if he were presenting a short piece of performance art.

Then in one motion, he slammed his cock into the younger one, who arched his back and groaned loudly. He barely had time to catch his breath before he was pounded again and again.

She could see the younger one’s engorged fire hose jutting up. She got wet just looking at it, and her cunt throbbed watching the two men slam together. It was all she could do to keep from rubbing herself.

Her boyfriend tilted the younger one’s ass up closer to him and pulled himself further between the other’s legs, thrusting harder and faster. Sweat was dripping from his chin now and the air held the damp scent of men. They were grunting together like a runaway train chugging out of control.

Then, just when she expected a crash, her boyfriend pulled out. He tugged the younger one up and, digging his elbow into the other’s back, flipped him over onto his stomach. They meshed together, two matching curves on the floor. The boyfriend pulled up the other’s hips and maneuvered himself between his cheeks. He resumed the rhythm then, but it was more sensual, a sinuous wave that pulsed through both their bodies at once, rising in frequency until her boyfriend stretched his upper body up and away from the other in a gasp toward the ceiling, while the younger one buried his face in the rug with a moan.

It was over. Before she knew what was happening, the younger one had pulled on his jeans and shirt and was heading to the door. “Next time,” he said on the way out.

Her boyfriend came over to her then – standing at the foot of the bed still naked, still half-erect. He started crawling up her body.

“Take me like you did him,” she said. “Rough, I mean, like an animal.”

“I don’t need to take you like a boy. I want to take you like a woman,” he said.

She spread her legs and lifted them into the air. “How about a little of both?”

He grabbed my hips and pulled me back into him – his pelvis rubbed against my ass and I could feel the evidence of his arousal through the layers of our clothing.

He was content for the moment to simply rub up against me – reveling in the sensation of closeness – drawing out each moment like a taste of fine wine – each exquisite sip demanding to be savored and enjoyed. It would be a sin not to really; and there was so much other sinning to be done that night.

His hands began moving again – exploring each curve and movement of my form with agonizing slowness and thoroughness.

He began murmuring in my ear. Telling me how sexy I was, how much I turn him on, how he would like to fuck me, but that he was going to make me beg for it. I closed my eyes and sighed with contentment and warmth. Though his words weren’t particularly original or poetic, they still reverberated through me. Making me feel desired and sensual.

I arched my back against him, encouraging him to focus more time and caresses to my now protruding breasts. I do love to have my nipples played with. As if on cue, he began to unbutton my blouse and let it drop to the floor.

His breath on my back caused me to shiver with delicious anticipation. His rough hands reached into my bra to pinch my nipples, which had become increasingly hard and sensitive – the slightest touch eliciting jolts of heat between my legs.

I could hear each article of clothing teasingly fall away. First his tie, which has tantalizingly tickled my legs with before letting it drop. Then his jacket. And then he unbuttoned his shirt with agonizing slowness. I think I could hear each button as it was released, and then finally it too was removed.

He ran his nails up and down my ribs. A gesture both tickling and gentle – almost incongruous with the carnal violation that we both knew was forthcoming. With the other hand he unclipped my bra and threw it with more than a little drama across the room. He pressed his chest against my back and blew into my ear- creating shivers, and an involuntary arching of my back against his torso.

I sensed him backing away slightly, and then felt the unexpected wetness of his tongue trailing up my spine. His hands gripped my hips and clutched me closer to him. I could feel the bulge of his cock – pulsing, straining, willing me to worship and crave it. He rubbed it against my ass- teasing me with what was sure to come.

I reached back to rub his cock- to take some measure of control in the scenario, but he was having none of it. He reached down for his tie, pushed my hands out in front of me and tied them at the wrists. The feeling of utter helplessness and imminent violation was almost unbearable. I could feel my panties becoming increasingly wet by the second and my breath had turned into lust-filled pants. I was completely his slave. His will commanded exactly how far, how hot, and how rough things would get.

I wanted him to consume me. To pull my hair, and bite me and slam himself into me. To take me as his possession. To be used. To perform each carnal act with utter abandon and loss of control. To treat me as a toy whose entire raison d’etre was for his enjoyment.

I heard the soft slip of his pants easing down his legs. He yanked down my skirt with an abrupt motion and I gasped as I felt his nails scrape lightly down my thighs. Tiny little tell-tale marks of passion, too soon faded.

Only the barest wisp of fabric separated us. Thin sheaths of cotton and lace prevented the consummation of our quickening desire. His enlarged cock pressed against me – torturing me with its taunting presence. An inconsequential slip of material rubbing up against me with mischief – denying me the pleasure of being overtaken and consumed by him.

I was caught- agonizingly suspended in an eternal state of lust-filled anticipation. My cunt dripping, nipples hard, my entire body feverish and shaking. He had absolute command of me, and he teased me by appearing to care more about the journey than reaching the destination.

Finally he acquiesced to my silent plea. He slipped my little lace nothing down over my hips and I impatiently kicked them away. He had already finished stripping himself – and continued his delicious teasing of my ass with his penis, rubbing it up and down the crack.

His hand reached between my legs and rubbed my clit softly – but even the slightest touch caused waves of heat to wash over me.

He gently ran his fingers through my hair, then roughly pulled my head back. I nearly came with pleasure in that moment – it was the definition of sublime bliss. To have my hair pulled; to be handled and taken was all I wanted.

He pushed my head down so I was bent over, and pulled my ass closer to him. He was no longer interested in the journey- it seemed we had arrived.

I felt him plunge into me hard and fast. He gripped my hips bruisingly adding to my delirium. He slammed into me without apology or remorse. No doubt the next day my body would be covered in breathtaking reminders of his possession of me.

My head and breasts rocked back and forth in time to my moans and his thrusting. Pure carnal fucking was the only way to describe the experience. No tenderness or romance. No intimate eye contact sharing an erotic moment.

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The minute they closed the door to the bedroom, she set upon the fly of his jeans. His erection was already straining at the worn denim. She unzipped him and swooned over the gorgeous sight in front of her. So smooth and pink, it looked ready for a photo shoot for a glossy magazine.

Instead she went to work, swirling her tongue over his velvety head and spiraling her hands around his shaft. Even though he suggested at one point that she stop if she wanted him to fuck her, she wanted to finish him off with her mouth. She knew how much he liked it and she liked hearing the moans and exclamations he made then that he didn’t make when he came inside her. He didn’t object a second time.

Sure enough, he lost all coherence as she sucked on his hefty balls and ran her tongue up the seam between them. He even let the word “love” tumble out of his mouth at one point, though she wasn’t sure if he said he loved her or just loved what she was doing. She took it all with a grain of salt at this point. She finished him off with a concentrated assault on the head and some vigorous pumping on the shaft as he grabbed at her hair and groaned with abandon.

“What about you?” he asked afterward. “What would you like me to do for you?”

“How about you just lie back and I’ll show you what I like?” she suggested.

They’d had sex several times, and he had been eager to please her each time. But there were always tricks that only a woman knew about herself and what brought her pleasure. And she’d had so little good sex for so many years, she had caught on early that the only way she’d be satisfied is if she took matters into her own hands. Those hands had gotten pretty skilled over the years.

“God, I love seeing you touch yourself,” he said. This seemed to be a new thing for him. Maybe most women didn’t have to do this if they had a guy around. Lucky them. Maybe they just felt self-conscious. Well, she’d gotten past that, hadn’t she?

He was already grinning as she lay back on the pillows, unbuttoned her blouse and revealed a lacy demi-bra, black with pink rosebuds. She ran her fingers over the scalloped edge of one cup, down the gentle slope into her cleavage, already dewy, and up the other side.

She skimmed her hands down over her breasts, leaving on the bra to get her money’s worth out of it. She moved lightly down over her stomach, past her belly button to the edge of her jeans. She scooted the waistband down to show the matching string bikini. She toyed with the lace there and lifted her eyes to him in a tease. He was already hard again and his eyes were dancing.

“I can’t believe you,” she laughed.

She returned to business, slipping her fingers under the panties and up and over her mound, light with hair. She was already aroused from her oral exploration of his cock, so the second she got to her clit, the electricity was on. She knew she had a head start on things and it wouldn’t take long to complete this little lesson for him.

That first delicious sensation was enough to elicit a sigh, and that was all it took for him to spring over to her and start kissing her on her stomach. He kissed around the sides of her breast and pulled down the lace to suck at a nipple.

“You drive me crazy,” he told her.

“Thanks. But just watch for now,” she said.

He leaned back again, and she removed her panties so he could see her hand in motion. She first put two fingers on either side of her clit and rubbed up and down. As the feeling spread, she began making circles around a larger area. In their previous times together, he had always paid attention there, but often he would poke at the thing like it was the on/off button on the TV. It wasn’t quite the action she needed, but she decided to show him a more effective alternative rather than say anything.

As she got more aroused she let her head tip back. In between the circles, she ran a finger down to the entrance of her vagina, circled it, then returned again to her clit, pushing down harder and moving her hand faster. Her hand swept over the whole area now, pushing into the bone that sheltered that exquisite font of pleasure.

She opened her eyes to look at him and saw him stroking his hard cock, murmuring encouragement to her. She closed her eyes for the final stretch, picturing him with his cock in hand and thinking of his excitement growing along with hers. If she were alone, she could conjure up scenes from their previous lovemaking. As she got close, she would often think of him and the things he said right before he came, always full of more passion than sense. That surrender was usually enough to push her over the edge.

But today she just had to think of him there next to her, so excited by watching her, and she felt the warmth start to spread in that wonderful moment when the mind can let go and let the body take over. Her orgasm washed over her and she gave herself up to it, arching her back and pushing into her hand. As it subsided, she removed her hand, wet and slick now, leaving behind even more wetness that – judging from the leer in his eyes – would not go to waste for long.

As she says this, my mind is fluttering full of nonsense, I tell it to stop. I say focus, focus. Telling my mind to shut the fuck up, and then all of a sudden I am having a full on conversation to myself in my head about how I cannot stop talking to myself.

Much  — ok most – of the time, my deviant little mind shifts to thoughts of sex. Either sex I just recently had, or the sex I would like to have, or what sex would be like with some of the people in class, like with Mr. Treasure Trail or with Mr. Knee Injury. Well you can imagine what 90 minutes of sweating, contortion, and mind-wandering will do to a girl. I am lusty, hot, loose, and fucking so horny after yoga.

I often trip into thinking about just jumping on Mr. Treasure Trail right there. While the yoga students watch us fuck as the sweat and tension builds. Perhaps we even start a fuck riot and every one just starts fucking and slipping all over each other in the immense heat of the tiny studio. Our tongues and bodies unrestricted and rhythmic like a yoga flow. Hands and legs gliding over the moisture of our sweat — cock and cunts growing full. We are all so loose and free and Mr. Treasure Trail slides his finger into me.

While Mr. Knee Injury, he forgets he is injured as he crawls across the floor and takes my tits in his mouth, like he hasn’t eaten days. The three of us sliding into a wet, hot mass of flesh, while eyes watch and hands play.

Mr. Knee Injury lays me down across his lap, I feel his stiff dick pressing into the back of my neck. Mr. Treasure Trail’s finger are slipping into my pussy. Mr. Knee joins in, as he continues to massage my rounded breasts, pushing them together sucking and biting, periodically sliding his fingers toward my cunt, where I now feel multiple finger exploring every fold. Unfolding.

Mr. Treasure Trail can take it no longer and dives for my now oozing pussy and begins to eat greedily, drinking and lapping every drop of my succulent spring flow. Overflow. My hips are bucking and rocking off the floor, colliding into his face. Mr. Knee is beginning to stroke his rock hard cock closer and closer to my lips. My eager hot mouth cannot wait, I grasp him with my two hands and begin to suck him down, so greedy, so focused on cock. My pussy is exploding beneath Mr. Treasure Trail’s mouth, I am cumming all over his chin and he just laps it up with bulldog determination.

Twitching and ramming into him, I let loose of long thrusting spasm orgasm, full of sound, salaciousness, and moans fit for an animal. He lifts his face from between my thighs and is dripping and glistening in my juice. He vigorously pulls my pussy up on to his huge cock and begins to propel his hard focused yoga energy into me. I can hear the teacher saying “breath though your nose,” I have no choice, because Mr. Knee, is filling my cheeks and throat with his throbbing cock. I am filled from top to bottom. Each thrust pushed into to me simultaneously, making me a quivering whimpering mess of sexual focus.

I can feel both of their cocks jerking inside of me, ready to blow. Mr. Knee is thrusting deeper into my throat and concurrently mashing my tits, pinching the nipples, pulling them to pink. Mr. Treasure is beating my soaked pussy with his monster cock. My body is ready to ignite. We are lost, focused only on how gratifying, pleasurable, wet, full, ripe, and right it all feels. Mr. Treasure is pushing on my belly as he thrust into me, making my cunt clinch and grab his cock even tighter inside me. Mr. Knee has slowed his cadence and is straddling my face deliberately pushing into my throat as far as he can. I am about to cum again; my body tenses, my breathy pants grow raucous, and I pull inward bringing Mr. Treasure with me.

As I cum my mouth drops open. Mr. Knee pulls out and strokes his delectable shaft over my body; with a rub of his thumb on his tip he erupts onto my tits and belly. I am all covered in white goo, watching his face go from tight to free. Just then Mr. Treasure wrenches my ass up to him and plunges as deep as possible causing me to release a gasp, and he cums so deep inside me I can taste it.

All three of collapse in heaping sweaty mess of yoga sex funk. All eyes in the room are transfixed, cocks hard, pussy dripping.
Focused.

Anyway I am getting off the storyline.

My first real boyfriend; I sucked his dick a lot, he had a relatively small dick, it was easy to work with, easy to suck in a mind blowing way. He loved it. It was with him when I realized the supernatural power I have for sucking cock. Cock worship instilled. It was magical. The first time I gave him a blow job he was shocked. I was shocked, considering I had, had very few dicks in my mouth by this time. Who knew the power I possessed and still do. I love having cock in my mouth all cock.

At this point in my sexuality I had only really been accustomed to making myself cum, which, of course, I did all the time, all the time (and still do). I was very aware at how to cum and the various ways in which I came. I was not aware that this was not the way other women come, or so that is what first boyfriend told me.

On late autumn afternoon, on my parents living room floor the sunshine flooding in, after having given him a one of those blow jobs, but not to the point of cumming, I was riding him. Grinding on top of him and working my clit. This was probably only one of handful of times we actually had sex, after the blow job realization I/we spent a lot tome working on my devotional practice. Anyway…while I was grinding I felt myself about to cum hard, not just a normal cum, but one of those nice soaking, creamy liquid cums. I felt that surge in my body, that fire behind the knees, in the curves of my elbow and the bottom to my feet. One last hard drive down onto him and I let loose a mild flood onto to him, soaking us.

It felt fucking great, until he pushed me off of him and started yelling “what the fuck, did you just pee on me, what the fuck. That is fucking gross.” Wow! My mind raced and my budding sexual freedom, shrunk in an instant. Young humiliation. I thought it was normal, I thought it was what happened when you came and this boyfriend made me think the opposite and in the process made me feel shameful for the act. He got up and showered and left.

We did not last too much longer after that, he did not really want to have sex anymore, and I guess I did not really just want to suck cock only, but I did for awhile. After the incident I stopped making myself cum like this, I no longer persuading my pussy so hard to induce that soaking orgasm. Sad.

I guess my point is, again about the programming of our sexuality, and how that programming even came into being. I felt so embarrassed by what this one boy’s thoughts and reactions were to the event, that I made myself think I was not normal. So I suppressed the way I came, even when I made myself cum. Fucking ridiculous.

Of course you can’t hold good-bad girl down, it was not much longer until I met someone who not only brought it out in me, even while me trying to suppress it, but fucking loved it and wanted me to soak him all the time. Which it doesn’t happen all the time, but we certainly tried to make it that way.

Or has guilt just paved the road to my lifelong fascination with all that is bad? Bad is good. I recall in fifth grade on my Pee Chee folder I, artistically and like the bad ass I was, scrawled SEX, DRUGS and ROCK-N-ROLL on the front cover, proudly for all to see. I was hastily sent to the school principal then counselor, who subsequently called my mother. I was grilled and roasted.

“Do you even know what this means?” my mom said in that shrill shocked and horrified voice of hers. Well I did not know then, but it did not take me long to figure out the astounding virtues of said sex, drugs and rock-n-roll. From that moment on–I was hooked. Bad is good.

When I was in seventh grade, back when you still had to take typing class, a concept so far removed and bizarre that I am completely aging myself in this divulgence, I used to leave dirty notes in the typewriter for whoever was sitting at my machine the following class. In fact now that I recall, this is all I used to type during class, vulgar sex notes, vulgar for a seventh grader. I had only kissed one boy by this time and there I was leaving little pieces of my sex behind for random strangers to find. Hmmm sound familiar, not much has changed, except now I can almost write a complete sentence. Like a typing practice, over and over I would type; I want to fuck you so hard, I want your big dick shoved down my throat, I want to fuck your brains out, I want you dick, I want your dick, I want your dick. Then I would slyly tuck the note inside the casing of the typewriter so you could not see the paper sticking out, so when the next person who came in to load their paper would have to extract my dirty note. Bad is good.

It was in the third grade that I first got a glimpse of pornography. Roberta Gonzalez stole a magazine from her brother and at recess the two of us would hover over the magazine, dazed, not giggly, not amused, not in any way little girlish– just straight up dazed with enthrallment of these giant looking women, with extreme tan lines, hairy wet pussy, with their fingers and hands all over themselves. We never spoke when we looked at the magazine, and barely said anything about it to each other, but everyday we looked though that same rag. We kept hid behind the fence in the furthest portion of the playground and every recess for a long time the two of just remained captivated over these women and then one day the magazine was gone.

That is when I discovered my step-father’s stash. Looking back on it, it was fucking great collection. Vintage 70’s stuff, playing cards, pens, posters, coasters, and a monolithic stack of magazines. Spending many hours after school in the garage trying to locate all his secret hiding places, I became a master of knowing his secrets. Often I would be overcome with guilt, and disgust, for myself and my step-father, and I would pile all the stuff back away, but with a certain amount of revulsion, sloppy slamming, not in order, not like one should handle a prime vintage porn collection. He knew I was out there, looking at his private tits and bush; the stash spot was ever changing along with my levels of eroticism and revolt.

Along came masturbation, one of the bigger guilty pleasures I still grapple with. Ridiculous. I began feeling myself at a very young age, probably around 8 and it has never stopped or really ceased to amaze and delight me on a daily basis, yet I still get that occasional pang of guilt. Say when I have locked myself in my apartment fall day and just sat around in my jammies watching porn, with various fingers, toys, vibes, dildos, magic bullets, lubes, lube container, shoving in and around at my excessively self-fucked pussy. Not sure what this stems from, but I know ever since young girl masturbation has been a part of me.

At around twelve I was obsessed with making myself cum, I could do it anywhere and I did and I still do. Bad is good. Sitting around a table full of people, family dinners, family game night, in the back seat of the car, on the airplane, at the grocery store, at restaurants, in front of the T.V., anywhere I could frantically rub my prepubescent pussy I would. The first inanimate object I used, as a replacement to my fingers or to the all the imaginary cock I had seen in the glossy pages under those fluorescent flickering garage lights, was the remote control. I am true T.V. baby. I love you T.V. and now I understand why. I rubbed it into my cotton flowered panties, feeling the nubs of the buttons clash against my cunt, the whole thing rubbing into my mound, making my clit pop out. I would do this so often I noticed a rubbed away spot in all my panties, the cotton wearing thin forming a circle pattern, which was obviously from my obsessive finger rubbing. I then really began to bang myself, under the panties. Life changed, I changed.

It is about this time that I was allowed to stay home alone after school, coincidentally it was also about the same time we started getting obscene phone calls. My mom answered the first few and always hung up instantly. I tried to get her to tell me what they said, but she never would, just gave some lame ass answer. One magical day after school, I got the phone call. The boy-man on the other side asked me what color my panties were. I told him. I could instantly hear his breath change when I whispered–blue. He hung up. The next day the phone rang and he was there, I told him again what color. He asked me if I liked to touch myself, I mumbled “uh huh, yeah.” “Will you do it now?” “Ummm yes I am.” We never really spoke he just listened to me making myself cum, over and over. Every once in awhile he would call and my mom would answer, she would fume and hang up the phone, I would get mad or hurt or something at how mad she got, because I guess she would be mad at me too. For the entire school year I listened to the caller on the other end, ask me about my panties, then ask me to touch myself, as he listened to me moan, grunt is my young girl way. I could here him too his breath, his rumble, his loss of control. The way he came, the way we often came together.

One night the phone rang, my mom answered. When she hung up, she told us it was the police. Saying they arrested a guy who had our phone number listed amongst a list of numbers he was making obscene phone calls to. I was scared; scared I was going to be in trouble. I felt guilty, dirty, and I felt loss, because I liked coming with this guy, in this fucked up way. I loved it and I think it has had a lifelong affect on my sexuality. I wondered if other girls/women came with him on the phone, succumbed to his phone sex exploits like I did. Then I felt a wave of jealousy. Like he belonged to me, but there was a list of numbers according to the police. My mom asked if I ever answered the phone when he called, I told her yes, but that I always just hung up on him. Claiming he was gross, which meant I was too. Good turns to bad, to guilt, to uncontrollable deviant sex behavior, but why does it feel so good? Bad is good.

I read some blogs, answered emails, posted, but my mind kept drifting back and forth to the day before. My afternoon company–it was kind, frisky, lingering, unhurried, and it felt right, even if perhaps it wasn’t.

I decided to take a hot bath, because I had yet to wash since yesterday afternoon. There is something about keeping the smell of man with me, after he has been all over me, in me, with me. For the rest of Friday night and Saturday morning every time I shifted I could smell you on my body. Remaining. It kept me in that nostalgic frame of mind– and now it was time to move on.

I ran the bath and filled it with bubbles, making sure to set the water for super hot, because it has not been getting quite as hot as normal. I stepped out of the room and let the water fill, gathered my coffee and library book; The Best of Best: American Erotica 2008, and set them on the edge of the tub. Stripping down and stepping into the bath, I was surprised to feel the hot water was back in full force. It was so hot, my skin turned instantly pink as I sunk into the bubbles. I began to sweat immediately. It felt so good soaking, listing to the rain and thinking about how you fucked me, how you bent me over the couch and plunged deeply into me, how your curve dripped with your pre-cum and my juice when you pulled out because you feared cumming too soon. Thoughts, of how your dick tasted with that mixed solution of you and me dripping from the tip, lingered in my steamed out mind.

I picked up my book and continued on a story I had already started, Fleshlight. This is the kind of story I would typically skip, because it started out rather slow and the author was a bit self-absorbed (maybe all sex writers are), but I got hooked and eventually he made laugh out loud with his style. The story is on of a basic masturbation with a sexual aid, hence the title Fleshlight.

As I got deeper into the story I noticed my hand was gently stroking my pussy, parting my lips pulling the hot water up to it, splashing it with heat. The story was becoming more intriguing to me as the author explored, from a male point of view, on masturbation. Simultaneously my mind was churning, thinking about my own reflections on feeling myself. He detailed the thought process of looking at a porn rag and how his cock reacts to this. Imagining what the “virgin girl on page 19, washing her truck” would say to him, “undo your belt sweetie, are you getting a hard-on thumper? Stroke it for me.” He recalls his yoga teachers warning “Be aware of your pud throbbing in its methodical yearning way,” as his “yoga breath turns to a pant.”

I notice my own throb beginning and my stroke becomes heavier, sweat dripping onto the pages below. My breath becomes more heavy than a pant, as I slosh more hot water onto my cunt, grabbing it whole in my palm, like a piece of fruit being rinsed under water.

I go back to the story the author has now turned the page to a layout of a voluptuous Brazilian woman, that he describes as being soft and plump, like a “rotisserie chicken.” I chuckle and am turned on at the same time, because I am kind of like a “rotisserie chicken.” I rub my pussy harder. He compares the fleshlight toy to what it would be like to get a blow job from the Brazilian chicken. I continue splashing the hot water onto me and rubbing my full lips, not rough or hard or soft or gentle, just there running my fingers on the inside and outside taking pleasure in the sensation of hot water hitting my clit.

The writer goes on fucking his fleshlight, “pounding the squish out of the thing till it’s bouncing of [his] nuts” and though he liked the Brazilian, he switched back, to the page 19 virgin hottie, to cum to. He describe that momentary loss of mind prior to the explosion of cum and then the cold feeling when it’s over with his dick still jammed into the apparatus. That urge he has to be held by another, while still gazing at the “frozen” trapped in time smile of the page 19 virgin cutie, staring up at him. Cold.

I set the book aside and begin to drift into my own memories of the day before. The rain, the way the light shifted continually form dark to light and then to dark again. Our time fragmented through shards of light. I thought about the way your curve filled me. My memory flashed to me lying on the floor while you watched. At your request I still had my black leather boots on and nothing else. We hovered around each others bodies in the fading daylight, you spent, sitting slightly between my legs as I began to rub and fuck myself. Old 40s music coming from the speakers as I plunged, explored and rubbed, glancing up to watch you, watching me. I began to moan and you encouraged it, your hands stroked my breasts.

The heat of the water and my increased inflection on my cunt was making my body catch fire; I am sweating in my tub of hot water. I am fucking myself, thinking about fucking myself while you watched. The sounds of the water splashing around increases and amplifies, sweat dripping from every area of skin not emerged into the water. I slid my other hand down, two fingers in and began the push and pull of the full flesh that lives inside my pussy, pressing the spot as I recede out and quickly thrust back in. I become aware of my own “yoga breath” turning to pant. Scooping up more of the hot water on to my clit, handling, maneuvering it, as it popped out more with each stroke. I push further into myself, thrusting on to my fingers.

When I was about to come, you grasp harder on to my breasts and tell me how hot this is, and to cum for you. My mind drifts into my flowing out of stammering sex lexis, “ohhhh oh I’m gonna cum, fuck! I’m gonna cum…I’m gonna cum for you” the moans and the pants released without any control or hesitation, your hands firmly squeezing. My ass lifting of the floor, your hands all over me; I buck harder, my fingers now fully crammed into my pussy, moaning for release. Your verbal stimulation induces and entices, I cum with a last whimpering groan pushed out, filling the air, before my ass slowly drops back to the floor, fingers still in–feel a soaking surrounding them.

Water sounds fill my head as my ear lobes drift below the water line, my fingers relentlessly plummeting my own cunt as the same moans, from yesterday, echo in that underwater sound. My ass and pussy are grinding on to my hand while my other is feverishly flicking hot water on my clit. I cum hard, with deep guttural sigh; like my own, but not. Sweat ferociously and then I cave into my hot bath, feeling the cream of my cum mixed with the water of my bath, wishing you were here to watch.

I looked up at him and smiled. I knew why he was confused. For the past three Wednesdays, we had been having sex in his car after work. We had learned the first time that it was much easier to have sex in his car if I wore a skirt and no pantyhose. Today sheer black nylon covered my calves and knees.

“All day. Let me know when you take first break, I’ll come out and smoke with you.”

“Sure, Joanna, talk to you then.” Ty grinned at me then walked back down the aisle of cubicles to his desk. I tried not to stare at his ass as he walked away. He was twenty-four to my thirty-two, and his attention was exactly what I needed after my divorce. For the last two years of my marriage, sex had been very low on my priority list. I thought my libido had slipped into a coma, while my husband’s was just fine. I refused him often enough that he looked elsewhere. I felt old and plain compared to the twenty-one year old blond he found. But Tyler said I was sexy, and he and the stud in his tongue had proved my libido was in excellent condition.

When break time rolled around at 10 AM, I followed Tyler outside. It was a blisteringly hot day in early August. The few other people taking their breaks at this time were sitting in their cars with the AC blasting, windows cracked to let the smoke out. Tyler and I were the only ones in the little smoking pavilion.

“Now, let me show you that I knew what day it was when I got dressed this morning,” I said as the door to the little building swung shut. I sat on the end of the picnic table facing away from the building and Tyler stood against the wall facing me. I hiked my black skirt, and slowly spread my thighs.

I leaned back on my hands and watched Ty swallow hard as he took in my black thigh highs, attached to a garter belt, with no panties whatsoever. His hazel eyes widened. “My God, Jo, are you trying to get us both fired?” He took a quick look around and then stepped closer to me. My breathing got faster. So far we’d been very careful not to do anything during work. I was his supervisor, and there would be severe consequences if we got caught fooling around.

Tyler touched my knee and ran his hand lightly up the nylon and over the stretchy black lace to my bare thigh. I quivered, but I didn’t push him away or close my legs. His fingers ran up higher and touched my newly shaved and smooth crotch. Now it was me who was swallowing hard as he first slipped one finger, then two, into my very wet pussy. I bit my lip hard, trying desperately not to make any noise as he moved his fingers in and out, making me come twice before we heard the front door open. He stepped back and I closed my legs and hopped down from the picnic table. I gave a direct look at the tent in the front of his khakis and said, “See you back inside.” Tyler sat down at the table, presumably to compose himself before walking back into the building.

The hours crawled by until 4:30. Tyler and I both fiddled around at our desks until about 4:45, so that fewer people would notice us leaving together. I followed his green Camaro outside of town to the golf course/ski resort. We parked at one of the lots farther up the mountain that was abandoned in the summer. I opened the back door of his car, and he grabbed me and pulled me astride his lap.

“Dammit, Jo, you’re making me insane, I could smell you on my hand all day.”

“You’re the one who put it up there. You should trust me to read a calendar next time.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

He ran his hands up inside my shirt and under my bra to squeeze my tits. I leaned back against the front seats and unbuckled his wide, black, riveted belt and starting undoing his pants. I opened the condom with my teeth, and slid it on him. He lifted up my skirt, and I slid down onto him, wet and ready. I bit his ear and ran my tongue over the row of silver hoops there. He bit down through my bra onto my nipple, making my pussy clench around his cock. I sank my teeth into his shoulder, drawing blood. I had enough time to enjoy the coppery taste of it, before he slammed me down onto his cock, pressing up with his hips and grinding it deep inside me. We rocked back and forth; sweat rolling down our faces and into our mouths as our lips met. I came with my head thrown back, Ty’s hands gripping my hips. I rode him until he joined me, crying out and holding me tight. As I peeled my sweaty body from his and sat on the other side of the car I thought, ‘God help me when it comes time to stop this marvelous insanity.’ Because surely it would, it had to. In my experience, nothing this good lasted. That was why I kept it once a week. It was like having one bowl of ice cream before bed at night, rather than climbing under the covers with the whole carton. I wanted this feeling to last as long as possible.

Ty’s voice intruded on my thoughts. “What are you doing this weekend?” Those six words chased away my afterglow like a bucket of ice water had been thrown on me.

“I’m going to be really busy all weekend.” I answered.

“Joanna, we were friends before this started. We used to eat lunch together, chat online at night, and now you barely talk to me. I miss you.”

“You know why I don’t talk to you at work, Ty. Do you want to be fired?”

“No, I don’t. That’s why I applied for the new position in IT. Bob told me today that I got it. Starting next Monday, you won’t be my supervisor anymore. So how are you going to keep me away then?”

“That’s great. I’m glad for you. Work isn’t the only reason we should keep this casual. I’m not ready, and you know why.”

“I know what he did to you, how you think about yourself. You trusted me to be there for you through that, but you won’t watch a movie with me, or have dinner with me. We could be so good together Jo, if you would just take a chance.”

I smiled. “You’re pretty convincing, you know that?”

“Well, let me try a little harder,” he said as he moved onto the floor. The hard silver of his tongue ring ran through the wetness, along the edge of my swollen lips to make direct contact with my clit. As his mouth closed over my clit and sucked, I thought about all the reasons this wouldn’t work, and decided I didn’t care. I gently lifted his head. “My weekend just freed up. What did you have in mind?”

My first stop was the sink. I lathered up my hand and slipped the diamond noose from around my finger. It was going into my jewelry box for the next 48 hours. It was times like these I was thankful I didn’t get tan, so I didn’t have to worry about a line on my finger giving me away.

Standing under the water in the shower, I let my hands roam over my body. Every part of me ached to be touched. I thought about where to do my hunting that night. Luckily for me, we didn’t know many people who hung out in bars. Our crowd had become much more “mommy and me” and wine tasting parties than loud, smoky bars.

Pulling my sexy outfits from the back of the closet where they were banished, I found my favorite black dress. It wasn’t too flashy and didn’t immediately scream my intentions. But, it was the right thing to get me noticed, and hopefully on my back in an hour or so.

It could have been any bar, any night, anywhere, any guy. This one said his name was Steven. The name I gave him was something like Lucy, but I couldn’t quite remember. We made our way in to the building, and I noticed the lights off in the lobby. The power was out. Walking up the steps, taking time out at each landing to kiss, we finally came around to my apartment. I dropped my purse to the floor, and my keys clanked on the linoleum. I turned around and planted a deep kiss on Steven.

I was distracted, but luckily I still had enough of my faculties operating to see the door across the hall open, just a little. I might have missed it, as Steven trailed his tongue over my neck. But, I heard the slight creak of the old door push open a millimeter at a time. Someone was watching. They must have heard us come up. I had been wondering about my new neighbor since I’d heard the apartment had been rented. I hadn’t seen anyone move in; never saw anyone coming or going. Whoever they were, they were very quiet. I hadn’t even heard their door open. Until now. I strained my eyes in the dark, but could only see blackness between the door jamb and the door.

I should have been mortified, a complete stranger seeing me with another man, but the thought of it was making me even hotter than Steven. I cupped his head in my hands, and kissed him hard on the lips. If this person wanted to watch, I was going to give them a show.

“Don’t you want to go in?” Steven was whispering in the dark, not knowing that we had company.

“Why? It’s dark, and besides, doing it right here would be so hot, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you say baby.”

I was glad he didn’t argue with me. I heard the door creak open a fraction further. Steven’s hands crept up my thighs, inching higher. I slid my hands to his ass, cupping it before reaching for his belt buckle. His mouth moved lower, from my neck to my chest. He pulled on my nipple through my shirt, which was easy since I wasn’t wearing a bra. My panties were sliding to the floor. I pulled away from Steven for a second to step out of them. I heard a quiet gasp come from the dark.

While I was staring into the dark space of the open door, wondering what the stranger on the other side was doing, Steven had his fingers on my clit. My shirt was open and my tits were exposed. I pushed him down to his knees in front of me, and he lifted the fabric of my skirt. His mouth covered my pussy, his hot breath washing over my swollen flesh. His tongue pushed through my lips and I twined my hands in his hair. I thought I heard movement in the doorway. I wondered if it was a man or a woman; if they were touching themselves watching me. If they weren’t yet, I wanted them to be soon.

I touched my own tits, rubbing my nipples between my fingers. Steven was fingering me, rubbing his tongue and thumb over my clit in a wild rhythm. I looked into the dark of the door jam, and I knew they were looking at me too. I thought I heard another little breath escape my watcher’s lips and creep out in to the hall. I kept my eyes fixed on the door jam, hoping for any sign of who it might be. But, there was no way I could see them. Steven twisted his fingers and made me gasp, and brought me out of my thoughts. He stood up and pulled a condom from his pocket.

Steven thrust in to me, his cock plunging deep in to my cunt. I felt myself tighten around him, his hard cock pulsing and twitching with pleasure. I wrapped my leg around his back. His hands were under my ass and the wall was digging in to my back. I didn’t care. My stranger moved again and I was sure this time they were pleasuring themselves. I could hear strained breathing and a soft moan. It sounded distinctly male.

I closed my eyes, and pictured his big cock moving in his hand. I could almost see his hand wrapped tightly around it, jerking himself off while watching me get fucked. His hand a poor substitute for what he really wanted; me. It was almost like Steven wasn’t even there, just me and my other stranger. I moaned quietly, but enough so he could hear me. Just then, in the silence between my cries, I heard another low, barely audible moan coming from the apartment. He was coming, or very close to it. I just knew it. I knew that he was right there with me. Hearing him, thinking of him, practically smelling him, in that moment, I couldn’t contain myself. Holding onto Steven for dear life, I came right there in the hall.

As much as I tried to keep myself quiet, my moans were soon ringing off the dark walls. Steven soon followed, his cries stifled by my hand over his mouth.

I didn’t bother inviting Steven in, and he didn’t protest too much. After he left, I looked at the door. It was closed. I took a step towards it. But, I thought better of knocking. Not tonight.