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Lucy’s Paradigm Shift By Charles E.J. Moulton

Harry was uptight.

In fact, his uptightness had been legendary for quite a while.
It wasn’t that Harry was unfriendly. No, not at all. He smiled when you met him, he listened attentively to you when you spoke and occasionally, at parties, he would hold a very precise conversation entailing a wide variety of subjects.

Harry was no loser.

As a consummate professional, he meticulously prepared academic research papers, like he had back in college. Here a piece about the Napoleonic Wars, there a thesis about Roman Cuisine. He would often read these pieces to his university students during lectures, before returning home to his cigar, his Armenian Ararat Brandy and his CD-collections of Edward Elgar and Gustav Holst.

Harry was good looking, a very suave blond hairdo, impressive stature and large blue eyes, so it came as a surprise to many female students that such a man in his early 30s could be so shy of girls.

His parents had taught him to be impeccable.

The parents themselves?

No possibility in seeing Harald Carruthers Senior cuddling his Deirdre. Kissing? Impossible. They were friendly folk, loyal Bromley citizens from Billy Idol’s Small Town, England. They took Sunday strolls in the park, closed their own and their son’s eyes when a lightly clothed woman was shown on TV.

What goes around, comes around.

Harry Carruthers, Junior, developed a shame for his urges, although his secret drawer with the lock in his room had been filled to the brim with copies of Large Jugs Mag, Foot Fun, Sazzy Legs, Brash Blowjobs, Sexy Asses and Big Ones. And every time he squirted on Kimberley Clark’s Kleenex, he begged the heavens to forgive him.
This was his life until his a few days before his 31st birthday, a life spent remembering the one girlfriend from high school, the one with the large boobs, who left him because, you guessed it, he was just… too uptight.

It was a regular Monday afternoon, Harry returning from campus after an especially strenuous day. Big crowds of students, no or little reaction to his efforts, and that one girl sitting in the first row, eyeing him during three of his lectures. Lucy Holmes.

Harry knew he had given her his cellular phone number a few months before. She had needed the university password for the online research archive and he had let her use the spare computer in the back of the library.

She had eyed him back then, her big braless basooms stretching her V-shirt, nipples perkily pushing the cotton to say a becumming “Hello!”

It had been incredibly hard to hide his hard-on back in the back of the library, as hard as it had been to hide his hard-on today. Harry had not been able to help himself, so he spent most of his lectures behind his desk today sporting a massively throbbing erection, trying not to study Lucy’s fantastic D-cup wossnames too openly.

It was tough, real tough, having such uncontrollable urges.

Harry closed the door to his two room flat behind him that day, closing his eyes, breathing heavily. This had to be wrong, Harry told himself. Feeling this way, he meant. Being ashamed of loving titties, lots of titties, big titties, small titties, medium sized titties. If he only could overcome his fear and shyness when a pretty woman flirted with him. He spoke freely for hours on end about history during his lectures. Why on Earth was speaking a problem when it came to girls? He, a university professor. Shy. Getting a stiff prick two seconds after seeing a sexy female smile, squirting after a handshake. Impossible.

Harry threw his bag on the couch, shoved a Gershwin CD into the stereo, a frozen pizza into the oven and poured himself more than a half glass worth of Armenian Ararat Brandy. There he stood, on his miniature balcony, gazing at lawns and lawnmowers, cars and parking lots, houses and doors, exists and entrances. He had no idea what the thought was that was forming in his head or even why, only that the time was ripe for change. What change? How? The fuming vanilla cigarillo acting the Yin to the brandy’s Yang, Harry only understood then and there how lonely he felt.

Sex, a sin? No, loneliness, a bigger sin.

Half-way into his American Pan Style Chili Cheese Pizza, the familiar urge soared again. Harry ripped his desk drawer open, flung open his jeans, took out his throbbing erection, wanked, spread eagled the Score Mag Centrefold Babe, licking her sweet paper pussy, leaving a few strains of Chili Cheese on her pink clit. He imagined shoving his entire face into that wonderful cunt, coming out completely wet, his entire face dripping of oestrogen and clit wine. He felt his hand beat his willie so fast it sounded like a stampede, faster and faster, strains of pizza mixing with make-believe cunny soda.

At that moment, Harry’s phone rang.

“Lucy Holmes,” the display read, the photo he had taken of her in front of the university entrance, masturbatory boobs flashing on the display, de Falla’s Fire Dance reverberating as a ringing tone.

“Lucy,” Harry whispered to himself, thoughtfully, carefully wanking his penis, thoughts criss-crossing his mind as to why she called him now after work … in private.
Harry’s trembling hand swooshed across the display, causing the red receiver to turn green. Harry carefully raised the phone to his ear.

His dream fuck.

Harry was terrified.

“He-… Hello?”

A moment’s silence before any reaction came, fears of a student prank, a joke on his expense, causing his cheeks to turn red again. Then a very sweet and tender voice spoke in shy waves of tenderness.

“Mr. Carruthers? Lucy here. Lucy… Holmes.”

He looked at the nude model on the centrefold, as he listened to Lucy’s voice, masturbating his cock as he heard her sexy voice croon.

“Miss Holmes,” Harry crooned, “a … a pleasant surprise.”

She laughed. “I do hope I am not interrupting you.”

Harry stammered, looking at his half eaten pizza standing half way onto the porn babe’s jugs. “No, no. How can I be of service to you?”

“It’s sort of an emergency, Mr. Carruthers,” she began. There was another pause. “You have a minute?”

Harry, intrigued and terrified at the same time, croaked a quiet: “I have time,” which in retrospect seemed more horny than academic, but he was the teacher, right?

“Great,” Lucy chirped, which made Harry quietly wonder what the emergency was.

“I submitted an academic research paper to my uncle’s literary journal in Dublin,” Lucy continued, “and now he phoned me, telling me that they have a blank spot in the next issue. An author withdrew his submission. It’s an issue about Scandinavia. He told me he would publish it only if I add more information about the people’s uprising of 1542 against King Gustav Vasa under Nils Dacke.”

Lucy exploded out into an insecure laugh.

“I thought he was kidding,” she sing-songed in a Yorkshire lilt, “but he wasn’t. Apparantly, there are several pieces about Scandinavian uprisings in the issue and he wants it in there before 6 tomorrow evening.”

He didn’t know what it was, but hearing her voice just made him even more horny, but then there was the weird feeling of guilt in the back of his head.

“You’re the expert,” she swooned, coquette, “I’d pay you. I wouldn’t stay long.”

Harry imagined humungous racked Lucy here, discovering his hard-on.

“You live not far from here, right?”

“Yes,” she chuckled in a frilly bounce, “we strolled past your apartment building… the day you took those photos of me, remember?”

If she only knew how many times he had looked at those photos.

“How does seven o’clock sound?” Harry crooned, his cock still facing the ceiling, massaged by his firm left hand.

“Fantastic,” Lucy chirped. “Thanks ever so much, Mr. Carruthers. It would be my first published piece. I would be thankful for any help I could find.”

“See you soon.”

“Bye,” she whispered.

This all confused Harry. Had this something to do with her appearing in three lectures of his today and smiling.

Well, Harry’s dick went into his pants again, the pizza wandered in segments into his mouth and the Centrefold’s Yummy Chili Cheese Tasting Pussy into his drawer.

As he with shaking and nervous hands lit some candles and injected an Enya CD into the stereo, he remembered photoshopping Lucy’s pics, zooming in on her jugs and using the photo as a screensaver. He had even printed out the picture a couple of times just to squirt on it. Enya sang, Harry ran. Until he remained standing in the midst of his tidy flat, asking himself again and again why he had no fears about work and every fear in the world about meeting girls, a college teacher spending his life licking paper pussies.

Harry showered, making sure cock and balls and asshole were clean, sprayed some Cartier on his throat and brushed his teeth. He paced the hallway, shivered and mumbled silly nothings to himself. Maybe it was all a practical joke?

The doorbell gave him quite a start. It caused not only his heart to flutter, but also his cock to twitch. One look in the mirror later and Harry opened the door to reveal Lucy, sprayed with something smelling of magnolia and roses, Chopard or Christina Aguilera, wearing that T-shirt from the picture with “Malibu Beach” written on it. There was a beach on it that looked like a continent by the way the tits stretched it … and the nipples? Well, let’s say they stuck out like flagpoles in the wind.

“Thanks ever so much,” she repeated, stretching forth one bottle of red wine. “Rioja?”

Harry nodded. “Uhm-hmm. Co- … come in.”

She wandered in, rubbing her pink skirt, causing Harry’s tight trousers to seem even tighter. “You have a really nice flat, Mr. C.”

“Tha-… thanks.”

Harry took the bottle of wine, shaking his head.

“That wasn’t necessary.”

Lucy shrugged, her knockers shaking in the process, causing him to glance at them. She noticed he was gazing at her tits, but for now she only gave him a sly grin, looking down at his swelling crotch.

“Oh, yes, it was, you helping me with my article and all.”

“I’ll get two glasses.”

Harry thanked the Lord that the cork didn’t break and that he did not spill any of that wine. Lucy brought forth her USB-stick, forcing Harry to focus on his work. It was difficult to explain thoroughly how a Swedish farmer revolted against the royal regime of 1542 when a buxom brunette frequently spent her evening leaning toward the computer screen, shoving her milk-factories under his nose.

Three quarters of an hour later and Lucy had an impeccible written addition to her submission, not her own, but albeit a very adequate one that would make any Irish, English or Swedish historian proud. So much for not staying long. On the other hand, the longer Lucy stayed, the more did Harry actually want to fuck her, the more he actually felt he had the guts to make a move, the more he felt he could just grab her boobs and stick his dick between them. Shaky and quite red in the face, Harry strolled to the kitchen to get the chocolate chip cookies, hearing Lucy rave about his great work, when, suddenly, out of the blue, Lucy stopped talking. She had been chatting about a lecture of his when…

“Oh, my God.,” she exclaimed.

There was a very long pause, which caused Harry to think that Lucy had left.

When Harry returned with a crystal plate of cookies, Lucy stared at a bouncing screensaver. Harry took a few steps toward her, that fuckable woman with the monumental wankable whammers, her mouth open.

“That’s me, Mr. C.,” she said, giving Harry a sudden attack of the nervous fright. Pictures of unlawful sexual conduct came to mind, Lucy running out and screaming. She did nothing of the kind. Instead, she just smiled. “You made a special close-up of… my tits.”

She looked at Harry, more immobile than the Statue of Liberty, Lucy with a sexy and innocent kind of grin on her cocksucker lips.

“Lucy, I don’t know how to say this, but…”

“You like my tits, Mr. C?”she crooned.

No response. “Uhm, uhm…”

She looked up, licking her lips.

“You can say so, if it’s true, Mr. C.”

Harry nodded slowly, clutching the plate.

Lucy looked down below Harry’s plate toward the growing bulge in his trousers.

“Yes, I do like your tits,” Harry said. “Very much.”

And as Lucy stood up, catwalking toward him, the cookies on his plate rattling against the glass, she licked her lips.

“You wank to pictures of my tits, Harry,” she asked.

Harry nodded. “Yes, I do. Often.”

“You print out pictures of me and squirt on them?”

Harry nodded again.

“I like that,” she said.

Harry chuckled nervously.

“What’s that in your pants?”

She took the plate, put it on the coffee table by the couch and slowly rubbed the very prominent thing that now more resembled a long coke can than a small fish.

“Something for me?” she crooned, stroking the bulge slowly.

“It’s growing,” she chuckled, waving her eyebrows, giving him a kiss. “Can I ask you a question, Professor Carruthers?”

“Uh-huh,” he groaned.

“How long has it been since someone gave you a blowjob?”

“Gosh,” Harry croaked. “Dunno …”

“Uuuh-ooh,” Lucy whispered, taking off her Malibu T-shirt. “You probably wanked yourself silly over my titties, squirting on my printed picture. Well, Mr. C., you sexy wanker.”

Lucy went down on her knees, unbuckling his belt with the look of a kid who just discovered that Santa was real.

“I want to taste that big dick of yours, baby,” she mused.

The zipper went down, the pants went down, the underpants went to the floor and when she saw his monster cock, as big as a foot and as thick as a coke bottle, she opened her mouth, giggling. It was with a smoothe grin that she freed a penis that simply bounced out and smiled at her with its eight inches and one happy eye on a happy plum sized helmet.

“Mr. C.! Now I am about give you a private lesson.”

Lucy carefully opened her mouth and wrapped her elegant cocksucker lips around his shaft, making little squeaking noises and smacking her lips in the process. At the moment Lucy Holmes took his Long John in her mouth, Harry saw stars. The way she sucked his cock had to be felt to be described. She literally embraced his penis with her mouth, letting it touch the back of her throat, making little groaning and squeaking noises as she sucked, occasionally letting the cock plop out with an elegant little pop onto her chin for a fine little lick of the tongue. A quick kiss on the one-eyed helmet, a gentle suck on the tip, a long lick at the shaft, a tender long slobber at his balls, taking one testicle into her mouth, bouncing it up and down with her tongue, then the other, grabbing his buttocks as she sucked. Then, she was back to sucking, harder and harder. Harry was amazed that he had not squirted yet, but she sucked so fantastically it made sense to wait and enjoy. While she sucked it, she massaged his balls, managing to circle the shaft with her tongue during her expertise sucking work. In fact, he felt his dick grow in her mouth only because she managed to give him such good oral sex. Lucy half-smiled while sucking, nodding ever so sensitively, her cock-hungry eyes glittering in moonlight from the window.

“Do I suck you well, Mr. C.?” Lucy said, licking his balls again.

“Oh, yes,” Harry said, suddenly free of fear. “You are a great cocksucker.”

“I wanna please you, Mr. C,” she teased. “Do I please you?”

Harry moaned something unintelligible.

Lucy slowly worked herself down to his long schlong and devoured it deep throat, balls and helmet and pubic hair and all.

“You wanna see me ride you, Mr. C.? My tight little arse ride your long and hard dick? Or are you in the mood to lick this good little girl’s clit first?”

Freedom made Harry invincible. “I think I wanna drink your cunt first.”

Harry had never ever seen a woman run so fast to the bed and Harry was not slow in responding, stretching out his tongue for a taste of some Yorkshire pussy.

Harry’s head literally disappeared totally into that furburger. Between every pussy lick, Harry had to take breaks for air. He was soaking wet, but her clit tasted so damn good. It was like a juicy fish filet and he wasn’t gonna stop licking and pleasing that sexy woman, sticking his long tongue way into her cunny, fucking her with his mouth. She grabbed his hair, pushed his face violently into her snatch and then begged for him to fuck her.

And fuck her, he did.

Hard.

Harry did not recognize himself.

First, she rode him, just like those sluts on Facial Fest. After a Blowjob POV, now an arse ride. “Am I fucking you good, Mr. C.? Am I your submissive little sex object?”

“Yes, Lucy.”

“Will you give me a good grade on my thesis, Mr. C.?”

“Yes, Lucy,” he said, looking at those wobbling buttcheeks. “And you get high honours in fucking. Fucking good grades.”

A while later, Harry turned around his randy little cockteaser, man-frigging one-night-hooker-fuck and shoved his prick into her pussy from the front. Seeing those incredible boobs wobble in front of his eyes was like going to heaven. It was a sight for the Gods.

He made her cum. It was a sight to die for, Lucy closing her eyes, raising her eyebrows, yearning and burning. It made him want to squirt, too. So he straddled Lucy funbags, fucked them, felt that burning sensation in his cock, slid up to her mouth, opened it, causing her to stretch out her tongue, begging for his sperm.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Lucy begged. “Wank on my face, you maggot.”

Harry’s hand movements now accelerated, his face grimacing, his head bobbing, his dick even bigger and bluer than before. Finally, his cock erupted, a long string of cum skyrocketing into onto her tongue. The second portion shot onto her left cheek, the final dessert of this three course sperm-dinner landing on her nose. Every portion of her face was covered in cum. She licked it all off, swallowing every drop. A stunned silence now came over the room, their mutual copulation inspiring us. His apartment became a symbiosis, the restful oasis of a green acre that had appeared after the hot fire of lust of a burning desire.

The load that came shooting out of his shaft, landing inside her mouth and all over her face, had made them connect.

Suddenly, with all of his sperm covering Lucy’s face, Harry retracted. He saw his upbringing, his sterile parents who never ever seemed to touch each other, his mother calling every attempt to copulate “sick” … and Harry wondered.

Lucy lay there, licking off his sperm, tasting it, savouring it, it seemed, lost in a world of sperm and post-copulation.

“Yummy sperm,” she swooned­. “I love the salty taste of sex. A real cock-tail.”

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed, lost in his world of post-horniness, that feeling he got after sex. Before an orgasm on a tissue: “Wow! I wanna squirt!” After orgasm on a tissue: “I wish I hadn’t!”

Lucy whispered: “Your cum tastes marvellous, it reminds me of that tunafish steak I had in Crete. You have such a great cock, Mr. C.”

There was no response from Harry, so big boobed Lucy looked over while licking off bits of his cum and giggled: “You didn’t like the sex?”

Harry looked over at Lucy, laying there, spread-eagled, pussy-lips spread, covered, cum all over. “Oh, you are a fabulous fuck.”

“So, where’s the problem?” she said, now cleaning off entire strains of sperm with her hand and licking the strains off.

“It’s a sin,” he said.

Lucy laughed. “Who says?”

“Society,” Harry says.

Lucy sighed. “Who are we hurting?”

Harry looked over at Lucy, surprised.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“Who are we hurting?” she repeated. “If it’s a sin, that is. I mean, that’s what I understand as a sin, something that hurts someone else. We are not hurting anyone, are we?”

Harry looked away, wondering silently to himself.

“I never thought of it that way,” he wondered. “No, we are not.”

“And we are just embracing each other, loving each other’s touch,” she continued. “With all the violence that occurs in the world, a little bit of nice and honest sex is not bad, is it? At least, I think it is pretty okay. You’re unattached. I am unattached. We’re just making love and that’s all there is to it.”

“My parents were very uptight,” Harry said after a moment’s pause. “I never even saw them embrace each other.”

“They were missing out on lots of great experiences. That’s probably why you are so shy of girls,” Lucy pointed out, sighing. “And be honest, Mr. C., without sex, we would have no humanity. Sex creates babies. Why do we love babies and think sex is a sin? That makes no sense. It’s like loving food and hating cooking. If we stopped having sex, humanity would disintegrate. We have to set our priorities straight. We call babies holy. Then we should call faithful sex holy, too. I believe in the eternal soul. I believe in reincarnation. I believe in heaven. I also believe in making love.”

Harry nodded, looking over at Lucy, suddenly brave, Lucy’s paradigm shift making him realize how strained he had been. “Damn it, you’re right. Sex is necessary.”

“And faith.”

“So we can have sex as long as we’re honest and faithful about it?” Harry mused.

“We have to,” Lucy shrugged. “Yeah. Violence is a sin. Sex is a necessity. Give me a kiss.”

Harry did.

“I came here to loosen you up,” Lucy winked.

“Here’s to Kama Sutra,” he giggled.

“And the eternal soul beyond sociological compartments,” she replied.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, the touch of their bodies sending signals to their souls that they were alone no longer. They became a couple, created four lovely babies, one boy and three girls, with their sex, and wrote books about the joys of marital love, reproduction, procreation and even one book linking inspired artistic creativity to creating a baby. Harry was a changed man with the signals they sent each other and others.

He held lectures on a regular basis about love in sonnets, nudity in art and sex in music and claimed how universal love was and the necessity for human touch.

He claimed that a person who accepted and respected sex as a part of his eternal being never ever could commit a crime.

“We cannot avoid what is a part of us,” was one of his credos, “we can only begin to understand how we can use our parts to benefit all.”

Harry lived a good and very fulfilled life.

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Paradise By Ty Vossler

An island paradise, all-inclusive, water sports, yoga, massage, aromatherapy…

The advertisement went on to describe a rich, natural experience waiting for adventurous couples.

After fifteen years of marriage, we deserved it, needed it. Lucia and I lived busy lives trying to balance work with family so that our three-year-old, Rita, would have memories of energetic, fun-loving parents when she was older. Yet, sometimes our best efforts weren’t sufficient to stave off evening lethargy. Lovemaking became ritualized, so that that every two weeks Lucia obligingly opened her thighs and said, “This’s just for you, Mr. Costner.”

Sixteen years ago Lucia obtained an educational visa from her native Mexico. I had just published my first novel, and was invited as a guest speaker for an English class at an adult school. I noticed Lucia right away sitting in the back, flashing her thousand-watt smile. She had inscrutable almond-shaped eyes, and short-cropped black hair. It all boiled down to chemistry—even as I delivered my lecture and started the class on writing project. There was just something about her. I pursued, she let me chase, and after a good amount of time, she slowed down enough for me to catch her.

# # #

After all these years, Lucia and I still love each other. After time, marriages evolve into a series of agreements, and sometimes they’re not healthy—companionship without passion, a sexless friendship. We were determined never to allow this. Middle age was upon us and we determined not to evolve into old fogies.

We live on a small family ranch in Tlaxcala, Mexico with Lucia’s mother, her stepfather and a younger half-brother. As teachers, we enjoy a simple life. Our combined earnings allowed us to travel a bit. Yet, disconnectedness had crept into our relationship—a natural consequence of responsibility. Occasionally, Lucia’s mother babysat, allowing Lucia and me to catch a movie, enjoy a quiet dinner, or sneak off to a motel for a few hours. Those stolen moments were spiritual, magical, yet far and few between. Just as we reacquainted, the date ended and we were thrust back into our busy worlds.

Clothing optional, said the ad, rekindle your passion, make new friends––couples only…

“It’s worth a try,” I said.

“Two days and nights—but it’s so expensive.” She countered.

“We’re worth it.”

“Rita will be in heaven. She’ll be the center of the universe for her grandparents.”

“Spoiled rotten when we return.”

“I’m going to try and lose my belly,” Lucia determined. Her figure was matronly after the birth of Rita.

“I think you’re just right,” I said.

“That’s because you still love me. I don’t want to walk around naked on a beach looking like this.” She went into the kitchen.

As Lucia blended a green drink to begin her diet, I set about booking tickets, and with a ceremonious final click our decision became irrevocable.

# # #

It was surreal, departing from temperate Puebla and arriving to the humidity of the Mexican Riviera. We boarded a ferry in, Playa del Carmen, which floated us to Paradise Island, a tropical spit of private land cut off from the mainland by ten miles of turquoise water.  Dressed in a thin, flowery skirt and a red cotton blouse, Lucia looked younger than her forty-five years, and I was still fit at fifty-five.

There were about ten other passengers aboard the ferry. We conversed with an elderly couple that said they’d been returning to the island for the past fifteen years.

“What’s it like?” Lucia got right to the point.

“The fountain of youth,” said the woman.

“Like being a kid again,” said the man.

Lucia and I went to the front railing of the ferry and let the ocean spray mist our bodies. Rita dominated our conversations until we docked at the island. What was Rita doing at that moment? She was getting so tall, wasn’t she? We’ll have to find something to bring back for her. Should we call to make sure everything’s all right? It took some time for the jungle atmosphere of the island to trickle its way into our consciousness.

Attractive young men dressed in linen shorts and a Hawaiian shirts welcomed us at the dock. Waiters carrying a tray loaded with extra large margaritas followed him closely. Each visitor got the royal treatment. They all spoke Spanish, yet my grasp was good enough by then to understand.

Our host had large, brown eyes and an easy smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Costner, on behalf of our entire staff, welcome to Paradise. I’m Mario, and I’ll be showing you to your bungalow.”

“Thank you. Please call me, Wyler, and this is, Lucia.”

He shook my hand and kissed Lucia on the cheek. We gratefully sipped as Mario took us on a walking tour.

“Your things will be placed in your room for you.” He pointed out gravel trails leading to various locations on the island. We saw naked couples, young and old, walking hand in hand. Most were just like us—imperfect bodies. Yet none of them seemed self-conscious.

“I feel better now,” Lucia whispered. She had managed to lose some of the puffiness in her tummy, yet not as much as she’d hoped. Squeezing her hand, I smiled and bumped her hips with mine.

We were led to our bungalow, a handsome whitewashed stucco affair with a thatch roof, French doors, and large windows all around. Dominating the bedroom was a king-size bed covered with colorful throw pillows. Snuggled in an ice bucket was a bottle of champagne. The ambiance was beginning to humidify any concerns we may have had. The bathroom boasted a walk-in shower that doubled as a wet sauna, with a tiled bench wide enough to lie on.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the garden,” Mario said, opening double doors to the back yard. Orchids dripped from privacy walls—there was a large outdoor table with cushioned chairs and a private Jacuzzi surrounded by thick candles. Between two ancient Jacaranda trees hung a hammock built for two.

“Here’s my card,” the Mario smiled, “If there’s any way I can be of service, don’t hesitate to call.” He gave Lucia an uplifted eyebrow and excused himself.

“Mario wants to service you,” I chided.

“Mmm,” she moaned, “shall I call?” She held out the card.

I shook my head, “You’re all mine, Mrs. Costner,” and took her into my arms. Of course, I wanted her straight away. Lucia suggested that we stroll the island to allow the champagne to chill. We followed a trail—not remembering where Mario said it would lead. The island was small enough that we couldn’t get lost.

Being surrounded by so much flesh was intimidating at first. Yet everyone was very friendly, stopping to ask where we were from and how long we’d be staying. One man was strolling alone and he stopped to smile at us.

“Bit hot for clothes,” he said, “isn’t it?’

Lucia didn’t skip. She was out of her clothes in less than a minute. I followed her lead, not wanting to appear prudish.

Much better,” the man said, nodding at Lucia.

We continued on the trail. Songbirds filled the perfumed air and we heard the chattering of monkeys and parrots.

“Wonder what Rita’s doing?” Lucia asked.

“Enjoying a vacation away from her parents,” I said.

“Touché.”

The humidity made us perspire, yet the ocean breeze cooled like a ceiling fan. The trail terminated abruptly at a lushly forested oasis, fed by a ten-foot waterfall. On a manmade flagstone embankment beside the cascade, a couple was making love. We spied from a camouflage of orchids. A handsome middle-aged black man was attending to a beautiful brown-skinned Polynesian-looking woman. She groaned deeply and dug her heels into his lower back as he plunged forward.

“Oh god, that’s good,” she moaned, “I love your cock…mmm.”

They were sweating and oblivious to rest of the world. I stepped behind Lucia to put my arms around her. Their primitive utterances meshed seamlessly with the forest sounds of water, birds, frogs, and the clattering forest animals.

We watched for another minute before withdrawing soundlessly and finding the beach trail.

“That was—

“Pretty sexy,” I finished.

“Yes. Did you see his—?

“Very impressive.”

“She liked it.”

“Like to try it out?”

“Let’s find the beach.”

Along the way, I stopped to kiss her beneath a canopy of trees, smelling the ocean and feeling like Adam. I wanted her on the forest floor, yet she tugged me toward the sound of the sea.

There were about two-dozen others laying beneath the sun, or shaded by large umbrellas at wooden tables. Others swam in the clear waters of the Caribbean. A quaint little grass hut bar served refreshments, and cheery waiters kept everyone hydrated. It was all part of the package.

Lucia drew plenty of notice as we walked. Her large brown nipples were stiff and the gentle swell of her tummy curved down into a dark, natural thatch.

We walked to where the sugary beach ended in a border of large boulders. A natural stone archway led through to a thin, sandy path. We followed the weaving footpath around more boulders and stumbled upon another couple blocking the path.

“Oops,” Lucia said.

The woman stopped churning over her partner, “Hi…oyyy,” and she resumed, sending him in and out of with graceful, ballet-like movements. “Don’t go away…mmm!” She was a beautiful black woman with straight dark hair flowing midway down her back. Her Latin lover urged her on in Spanish.

“Que rico, ay si, eso se siento bien!”

“Like that baby?”

“Ay si…me vengo!”

“Yeah baby, cum…let me feel it!” She gave us an enigmatic smile as he growled and spurted. She lay for a moment on top, and then lifted off of him. “Let’s let these people by.”

The man got to his feet and smiled as Lucia and I walked past and found a plot of sand between two boulders by the end of the trail. I kissed her, and the memory of what we’d seen so far made my cock into stone.

Lucia and I assembled our clothes into a makeshift bed. Yet, rather than lying down, she bent over, placed her hands on top of a low boulder and splayed her legs. I opened her ass-cheeks, bent my knees and slipped in easily between the mocha-colored folds of her lips. She groaned deeply and reached a hand between her legs to massage her tiny pearl- drop. Within minutes her pussy was quivering. She gasped and I felt her flex around me. I watched her asshole contracting with each successive spasm.

“Ay-ay-ayyy,” her pussy squeezed as I drove to the hilt, tapping at her  tissue boundary.

The other couple watched. Lucia bent her knees so that I slipped out, and then she lay on the makeshift bed. I settled between her brown legs and she waved over my shoulder to our audience.

Provecho,” said the man.

I lifted Lucia’s knees, scooted forward and pushed inside. The natural sunlight illuminated every detail of her snatch. Again, Lucia found her tiny clitoris. Our climax coincided and I cupped her ass, pushed in all the way and growled, spurting over and over. I stayed hard until her final shivering follow-up. When I pulled out, a stream of semen tangled in the pubic hair around her slit, and dripped on our clothes. We were both sweating profusely.

The onlookers blew kisses and walked back toward the beach. I brushed sand from Lucia’s backside and she wiped semen from her trickling snatch with my underwear.

“Hey, why not yours?” I complained.

“You’re responsible for this mess, Mister Costner,” she reprimanded.

We followed the trail to the beach. Ironically, both couples we’d seen earlier were cooling off in the shallows. The black woman waved for us to join them.

“I need to rinse off anyway,” said Lucia.

It seemed odd being introduced in waist deep water to people we’d just watched fucking.

The waterfall lovers were William and Tasha. Enrique and Maribel were the beach couple. The men’s eyes roved over Lucia and I have to admit, she was the prettiest fish in the sea.

Lucia is able to carry out a conversation about almost anything, captivating others with intellect, humor, and her unconscious sensuality. She has what the French refer to as, je nais se quoi. I’m more of a listener, although I can hold my own if I have to. We briefly shared personal essentials. William was a retired professional baseball player. I knew enough about baseball to recognize his name, and impressed him by recalling that he’d won a batting title. Maribel was an architect, Tasha owned an import store, and her husband, Enrique, was a real estate broker. Obviously, they’d come to an adult understanding regarding the sharing of spouses. William laughed when Lucia told him she was a math professor.

“When I was playing ball, I couldn’t even figure out my own batting average.”

I shared a blog site where they could purchase or download my books and short stories.

“Brought my Kindle,” said Maribel, “I’ll check you out tonight.”

“Not tonight, baby,” reminded William.

“Oh, that’s right,” she nodded.

Enrique turned to Lucia, “We have the leisure hall reserved for tonight. Would you and Wyler like to join us?”

“What’s happening there?” The look of innocence on Lucia’s face was priceless.

“Ah, well, you never know what might happen,” answered Tasha.

Lucia smiled and waited for my input. The warm water was full of colorful fish and the moment was intoxicating. “Sure, we’d love to,” I answered.

The island leeched anxieties from our minds and a crisp, cool breeze whispered of adventure in Paradise. After a time, we said our farewells and agreed to meet at nine in the leisure hall.

On the journey back to the bungalow, we wondered about Rita. After a cold shower, we called home and listened to her adorable rendition of, Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Then my mother-in-law gave us a delightful summary of her day with Rita.

We optioned for clothes to have dinner. Lucia wore a spaghetti-strap red dress that showcased her smooth brown back, cut low in front to reveal other assets. I’m admittedly biased, but Lucia was the most delightful looking woman in the dining room. I opted for a simple pairing of beige linen slacks, and a black cotton shirt. We sipped a cold, refreshing white wine and ordered seafood dinner salads.

“What do you think will happen tonight?” Lucia asked as the setting sun painted the sky a bright orange.

“You never know,” I repeated Tasha’s words, and arched my eyebrows.

Lucia glanced at her watch. I held her hand, kissed her fingers and told her how much I loved her. She returned my sentiments. After dinner, we took a trail that the waiter said would terminate at the leisure hall.

I wondered if the other two couples had children. The subject hadn’t come up. Lucia and I loved each other, and our beautiful Rita completed us. The island was bridging a gap. The others were probably patching up holes too. Their means were unconventional, yet Lucia and I had enjoyed watching the unfettered freedom of their pleasure, and our subsequent lovemaking was spontaneously stupendous.

“Darling,” Lucia said as we walked, “what if something does happen?”

“How would you feel about it?”

“We love each other, right? It would just be—

“For fun,” I finished. “Let’s see how it plays out.”

Two monkeys darted in front of us, chasing each other. I was reminded of three brittle threads: Fear, Ignorance, and Guilt—puppeteers of modern society. On Paradise Island, primitive instincts were encouraged to frolic and chase, like the monkeys. Eating, fucking, and sleeping were the only valid currency.

Dense forest, heavily scented orchids and jasmine vines surrounded the leisure hall. Forest noises filtered through a light ocean breeze. A double door entrance was open and the inside was illuminated by dozens of candles. Hidden speakers played ambient music.

“Wow,” Lucia whispered. A small man-made cascade splashed from a wall into a pool filled with freshwater tropical fish.

Centered in the room was a large, circular raised platform covered with supple, black leather padding and throw pillows. A hookah pipe with six hoses and an ember pot sat to one side.

“I want one of those,” I gestured to the pipe.

“You had your chance when we visited Istanbul.”

“They sell them in Mexico too.”

We heard distant laughter, and soon the others entered. They were also wearing clothes.

“I never grow tired of this,” William lifted his hands in the air.

They climbed the dais to greet us warmly with hugs and cheeky kisses.

“Ah, the pipe, have you ever tried?” Tasha queried.

“In Turkey,” Lucia answered.

“Are you Turkish?” she asked.

“Mexican. Wyler and I visited Turkey a few years ago.”

“You have such a great look,” Maribel added, “You could be Indian, Japanese, Italian, Middle-eastern…”

William set up the pipe with tobacco that he’d brought with him. “Ah yes… the pipe,” he said.

The fragrance of the pipe was sweet as we sat around it. I put the tip of a hose to Lucia’s lips and she inhaled deeply. When she exhaled, the cloud dissipated rapidly and she said it tasted of rose pedals.

The power of the vapor flowed quickly into our brains, and after three or four pulls the candlelight seemed to sway rather than flicker. Lucia leaned her head on my shoulder.

“What’s in this stuff?” I chuckled.

“Mind cleanser,” said Enrique.

“Spirit awakener,” added Mirabel.

“An aphrodisiac,” added William.

Lucia played her fingers in the air, “I’m floating.”

Enrique was kissing Tasha’s neck and shoulders as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse. Mirabel opened William’s shirt to trap a nipple with her front teeth.

I lifted Lucia’s face for a kiss. The mysterious vapor made our lips super-sensitive. I lowered a strap on her dress and took a brown nipple into my mouth.

Within the vaporous mist moans issued, along with sighs, and moist sounds. We observed each other. Enrique saw Lucia lift her dress over her head. Tasha’s eyes followed as I lowered my pants and Lucia leaned back on her hands and lifted her ass for me to pull her panties off.

“Gotta love that,” William smiled and nodded slowly as he gazed at Lucia’s snatch. Mirabel whispered something into his ear and his smile broadened.

I took Lucia into my arms and peppered her with kisses. My cock was pulsating— lifting with each beat of my heart. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Tasha take Enrique into her mouth. Lucia watched William lift Mirabel’s thighs to bury his face between them.

Time slowed to a single pulse. There were no questions, only answers lying everywhere around us. Moments focused and blurred as Lucia’s hand closed around my cock and jacked me back and forth. Then, there was movement—bodies shifting. Somehow I was on my back and Tasha was giving me head. Enrique was pushing into her from behind. Lucia was on my left with William between her legs. Her hands were flat against his chest as Maribel sucked her nipples. I saw William slide his knees forward. His mouth opened as if he’d found something he liked.

I didn’t remember us wanting this, yet we must have. Tasha was painting my cock with her tongue and I shut my eyes tightly. When I opened them, Mirabel was grasping William’s broad shaft and teasing it up and down over Lucia’s outer lips. She was thrusting desperately against him.

“Get inside…ohhh, get inside me,” she begged. Her eyes were glazed and she groaned deeply, rubbing her calves over his ass.

“You think you can handle this cock? You’re such a tiny little thing…” Mirabel teased.

“Ay, yes…I want it,” Lucia answered.

William pushed—Lucia’s head jerked back and her mouth opened wide. She gasped and drew a deep breath. Her eyes were tightly closed as William gradually disappeared down and in.

“Ahhh, now that’s some tight pussy…ahhh, Jesus.” He smiled over at me as reached Lucia’s boundary. She let out a long, staccato groan, and Mirabel kissed her.

“You did it…you took every inch of that big cock. Feel good?”

“Ayyy, yes…huh…ugh, ayyy…”

“Mmm,” William moaned. He pulled back and stroked forward.

Tasha paused on my cock because she was cumming. Enrique’s balls slapped against her ass and her orgasm was a high seagull cry. I reach up to twist her nipples and turned again to watch Lucia with William.

William drew back his impressive length and Lucia pulled him back in with her legs. He leaned forward for a kiss her and Mirabel was there—all three tongues lashed hungrily as he continued relentlessly, back and forth. Lucia was panting now—circling her hips—delirious.

“Ohhh… ayyy… huh, guh… oh, oh…” she crested and spilled over, “Oh guh… ayyy!” Her head thrashed side-to-side and she ground against him.

Tasha straddled me and lowered over my cock. Enrique put a dab of jelly on his cock and pushed into her asshole. I felt Enrique’s cock through the thin separating membrane. Tasha twisted her nipples and shouted, “Ohhh my god…ohhh, shit!”

Mirabel straddled Lucia’s face now, and Lucia was licking but had to stop when another climax loomed, “Hyyy, ohhh, ay, ay, ayyy!” Her climaxes was monumental. Her head jerked back, as William thrust harder.

“Uh, uh, uh, uh,” He grunted with every forward thrust.

Lucia gripped his shoulders, “Oh, uh, guh.”

Mirabel urged him on. I heard his balls slapping as he drove into her. Then Mirabel grabbed Lucia’s attention again. “Keep licking, baby…that’s it…yeah…don’t stop…lick my pussy!” Mirabel stiffened, shuddered and then bucked, “Yeah, ohhh yeah, oh right there… ooo, huh… ohhh, oh, oh, ohhh!”

Lucia’s tongue lashed at Mirabel’s clit. She tasted salty and smelled musky. She managed to free a hand and inserted two fingers into her cunt, curling them so that she could stimulate her G-spot. Lucia’s face was soaked with Mirabel’s juices. She turned her head and saw Enrique and Tasha watching her, mesmerized by the spectacle of so much primitive passion spilling out all at once into the room. She felt her juices traveling down her outer lips, into the crack of her ass. Her pleasure combined with everything that was taking place around her and she was surprised to hear herself crying out.

Within the misty vapors, a cacophony of moans sighs outbursts of pleasure. They were awash in the smell of sex—musky and intoxicating. They had become one, adding to the oneness. She heard Wyler growling as he spurted. Lucia transcended mere pleasure now. It was if she were experiencing a strong, continuous orgasm.

William shouted, “I’m gonna nut…oh Jesus…!” He arched his back, pumped his hips, “ohhh, oh shit…oh, oh, awww!” His ball sack lifted and flexed with the force of his ejaculation. Lucia was still cumming, forcing air and semen out from her taut lips.

Enrique grunted, pushed deep into Tasha’s asshole and let out a long groan. Cum dripped to my lower thighs and when he slipped out, it splashed on my legs. We collapsed into an exhausted heap of tangled arms and legs. William pulled back, and my ears were so sensitive that I heard the breaking of suction as his cockhead popped out of Lucia’s gaping cunt. Then there was the sound of semen-laden air frothing out of her. William lay on his side to watch.

Mirabel had her face there, watching her husband’s semen flowing from Lucia. “Dear god…that’s amazing. Push, Lucia…push it out honey.” Lucia pushed. There was the sound of more air escaping wetly. “Jesus, Will, you’ve been savin’ this up.”

“Come here you guys, you gotta see this,” William gestured.

The rest of us gathered to watch the spectacle of a seemingly endless flow of cum seeping from Lucia’s yawning cunt—stretched out by the thickness of William’s cock. Mirabel rubbed my back. “Don’t worry, baby, it’ll shrink back down in a few hours.”

Enrique used two fingers to gather a good amount of semen from around her cunt, and then placed it back inside Lucia. “Oh man, that’s so sexy.”

“Jeez,” said Tasha, Enrique’s ready to go again.”

Lucia’s mouth was still ajar. Her eyes were half open. She closed her legs and began wagging them side-to-side. “Think I’m finished,” she said.

Amazingly, I was hard again. Mirabel looked away from Lucia’s saturated snatch. “Wyler…somethin’ happening there?” She sidled toward me and pushed me to my back. Enrique stilled Lucia’s legs by placing his hands on her knees. Then he opened them and climbed between.

Tasha giggled, “After William… you’re gonna fall in.”

# # #

The cycle was sustained throughout the night. Whatever was in the vapor allowed continuity. When I finally had a turn with Lucia, her pussy was still gaping, and saturated with sperm. I easily slipped in and added more a short time later. Soon after, my cock was eased into Mirabel’s asshole with Enrique on bottom filling her cunt. It all became a blur after that. The last thing I remember was Lucia’s voice saying, “Slow… go slow… uhnn…”

# # #

I awakened within a tangle of arms and legs. Mirabel and Tasha were snuggled into William and Lucia was sandwiched between Enrique and me. She had her back to me with a leg draped over his hip. My cock immediately hardened, and I scooted closer. She twisted her head around.

“Wait,” she whispered. Lucia lifted her leg and I saw that Enrique was still inside of her. She gingerly disengaged and his cock slithered out to slap against his thigh.

Without a word, we wobbled to our feet, found our clothes and padded out into the beginning rays of dawn.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” Lucia complained with each step.

“You okay?”

“I think so. Nothing permanent.”

The sky was turning from pink to orange. Once outside, I took Lucia into my arms. She disengaged for a moment and used her panties to wipe fresh semen from her seeping snatch. Dry sperm covered her pubic hair, her thighs and ass. Even her tits were dotted with dried remains.

“Love you,” I whispered, holding her again.

“Te amo,” she returned, her head fitting against my chest so perfectly.

“Can you walk okay?”

“Think so,” she answered.

Returning to our bungalow, we showered and fell into a deep slumber, arms and legs akimbo. Late afternoon, we awakened and began the day with a long, lingering kiss. My hardness stabbed into her belly.

“How can you even…?” She pulled back and slapped at my cock.

“Guess the effect of the pipe hasn’t quite worn off yet.”

“That was––

“Amazing,” I finished.

“Can’t believe we…”

“Just did that,” I concluded.

“Wonder what Rita’s doing? Should we—?

“Let’s hold off a while longer.” I jabbed her playfully with my cock.

“Darling, I can’t possibly. I’m not even sure I can walk.”

“William,” I said.

“Mmm.”

“Did he fuck you in the…?”

“Mmm.” She nodded. “That’s the sorest part.”

The phone rang and Lucia answered.

“Hi…we’re both fine…tired and sore…yes, I think we can…okay…about seven… okay… ciao.”

“Let me guess—our new friends want to get together?”

Lucia nodded, “Just dinner. They’re exhausted too.”

“Don’t look at me,” I put up my hands defensively.

We took another shower, and as Lucia was soaping her pussy, she said, “It’s not as tender as I thought.”

I took her soapy body into my arms and kissed her. We were reconnected.

 

Not For The Birds By Andrew Miller

Janice sprinted into the living room, shot past Larry, grabbed a pair of binoculars from the book case. “Unbelievable,” she said, “unbelievable.” She raced toward the back porch.

“Something interesting out there?” Larry had the latest issue of Natural History Magazine in his lap and didn’t look up. “Fall migration’s about to start. Should be some warblers out there.”

The door banged shut behind her. “I’ll let you know.”

She and Larry had arranged the furniture on their porch, an old couch and three wicker chairs, so they could watch birds in their back yard. The had installed floor to ceiling screens on all three sides, which kept out mosquitoes and flies and provided a wind break during chilly weather. Janice adjusted the focus, sighted past three birdfeeders, a row of azaleas, a wooden trellis crawling with morning glories. Holy, holy shit, she thought, I wasn’t dreaming.

She held the binoculars steady, licked her lips, wiggled her butt. “Larry,” she called, “Come quick. Ya gotta see this.”

“Need the bird book?” He tossed the magazine on the table, got to his feet.

“Forget the book, come here.”

“Check that out.” She pointed toward the back yard, handed him the binoculars.

He began a sweep of the hedge. She shook her head. “Not there. The porch on the gray house.”

He let out a low whistle. “My God, look at that. Penis erecti.”

“Yep, subspecies: elongatus.”

“They are really going at it.” He held the binoculars steady. “A rare sight, this time of year, a pair of mattress thrashers. In full breeding plumage.”

“I knew you’d like the double breasted one. Gimme the binocs.”

“Not so fast. Now they’re doing it standing up.” He dropped one hand to his crotch for a quick adjustment. “She’s got her legs wrapped around his waist… clawing his back, sucking on his neck. Passion… passion… whew… he’s got his fingers up her ass…” He leaned forward, tugged at his pants again.

Janice squeezed the bulge in his trousers. “Come on, let me see.”

“Damn, wish I’d bought that tripod. It would be nice to have both hands free.” He passed the binoculars to her.

She zeroed in on their neighbors. “I don’t know what I like better, watching them or listening to you describe the action.” She adjusted the focus. “They’ll make an evening of it. See that bottle of wine on the table?”

“Sure.” Larry leaned forward, squinted through the screen. “Now what’s happening?”

“She’s strapping on a dildo.” Janice shifted left to improve the view. “And,” she glanced at Larry, “hers is longer than his.”

Larry pressed his forehead against the screen. “Longer than mine?”

“Oh, hell no. He looks like a Georgia peanut next to you.”

Larry nodded, stood a little straighter.

“Hang on, he’s down on his knees—great set of buns—ready for his pegging.” Janice moved closer to the screen. “I’d love to sink my teeth into one of his cheeks. Hard, firm, like they were chiseled out of oak.” She glanced at Larry’s pants. “Her fake schlong is ready for action… now she’s on her knees… she’s got both hands on his shoulder… pump-pump-pump… and rubbing his big dick…”

“We’ve got a live sex show. Didn’t have to pay a cent.”

Janice eyed Larry’s trousers. “Whatdaya think, big fella?” She kicked off her shoes, squirmed out of her shorts, black panties, slipped off her light blue polo shirt, unhooked her bra. She hopped on the couch, landed knees first, twisted her butt toward him. “We’ll do it while we watch.”

“I hear you. Damn, we need another set of binocs.”

Larry pulled down his pants, being careful not to damage Mr. Ready-For-Action. He jumped up behind her, scooted close, began to massage her breasts. He pressed in close, poked his rod between her cheeks.

“Slow down. Take off your shirt. Give me some chest-to-cheek grinding with your pecs.”

“Okay if I leave my socks on?”

“What do I care about your socks—get on with it.”

He tossed his shirt on the floor, bent at the waist, squeezed his pecs against her smooth, round buns. While he stroked her breasts with both hands he moved side to side, massaging her cheeks with his chest. She arched her back, raised her butt. He stroked her boobs, continued chest-rubbing. She said in a low voice, “Keep at it, big boy, I’m getting into the mood. A couple of times she felt his penis poke up her crack. She held out the binoculars. “Here, take them.” A few minutes later she turned her head., “Okay…”

He slid inside. In real slow; he knew how she liked it. He gripped the binoculars with one hand, fondled her breasts with the other, started to rev up. “I’ve—never—done–this—before,” he said between strokes. “Never—never—nev—er.”

She reached between her legs, gave his nuts a twitch. Uh-oh, she thought, getting to the hard-ball stage. Won’t be long now. “Slow down, I’m not ready for Mr. P to go limp, lose his umph.”

“Ok.” He eased out, watched the couple for a while, then continued, “She stopped pegging.” He pressed in close to Janice. “Their porch is like ours. Got a couch, table, and bunch of chairs. Except, they’ve got a hot tub. Maybe they’ll jump in later.” Larry slipped inside, moved slower than before. With his free hand, he touched her breasts, felt her nipples firm up.

Janice moved her butt in a circular motion, matching his rhythm. A warm feeling spread down her legs, up to her breasts. “Tell me some more.”

“She yanked off the dildo. Now they’re having a glass of wine.” Larry stopped thrusting, continued to fondle her nipples. “It’s kind of odd…every once and a while…one of them disappears behind some sort of partition…”

“Too get more wine?”

“Maybe, hard to say… okay… they’re getting at it.” He watched for a while, then, “Now she’s got one leg on this little table, and he’s about to go down on her.” Janice closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him inside, made all the richer by his description of love-making from afar. “He’s got his head between her legs—tongue’s a flying—she’s gripping his neck, scratching his back, moaning and writhing…”

“Let me see.”

She took the binoculars. “Ooooo, very good, his butt’s writhing and twisting all over the place… look at that cheek separation.”

Larry slid out, then pressed his chest up close, wrapped his arms around her. Do you know those folks?” His voice was low, husky. She could tell he was close.

“Sure, its Ann and Henry Scott. Don’t know him, but I see her at the gym. Sometimes we go for coffee.”

“Does she walk around naked in the locker room?”

“All the time. And plays with herself in front of the full-length mirror.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You wish.”

Janice flipped over, positioned herself on the arm of the couch so she could see the neighbors. “Do me like Henry is doing Ann.” She squinted through the binoculars. “Gotta make sure they are in view before licking begins.” She shifted position, then motioned him closer. “Come on.” She slipped her legs apart, pulled Larry’s head toward her crotch. “Put that tongue in gear. Our neighbors are ahead of us.”

She slipped her palms behind his neck, locked her fingers. She felt his tongue dance up and down her thighs, tiptoe over her pubics, then zoom straight to her hot spot. Janice sighed, swiveled her hips, sucked in air. His fingers began to tease and tickle, wander about, probe here, probe there. She closed her eyes, stretched her legs, flexed her toes, dug her fingers into the cushions, raised her butt, began to moan.

#   #   #

Larry felt her chest heave, her body tense. She’s getting close, he thought, I gotta go slow, steady, not spoil it by making unexpected moves. He knew she was at a critical stage. Any unexpected motion, distraction from anywhere, would wreck everything. She’d lose her footing, slide off the mountain without ever reaching the summit. He felt her fingers on his scalp, gentle, soft, now on his shoulders, slight pressure. Closer, closer, her fingers said, go a little deeper, but stay gentle. He shifted his position. He knew that the contractions were about to start.

The liquid, rich, whistling notes of the Baltimore oriole are the most beautiful of any American songbird. A series of chirps and trills up and down the scale, part warble, part bubbly gurgle, unlike any musical instrument. Larry had found the ring tone for her on a bird-watching website. She was enchanted by the song, happy to use it instead of any of the preprogrammed ones from the manufacturer. Whenever someone called, she delayed answering for as long as possible, just to hear the oriole’s melodious call.

That wonderful song came from Janice’s phone, which lay on the table in the living room.

Larry’s eyes snapped open. “What the fff…. Let the damn thing ring!”

She sat up, pushed his head aside. “I better get that. Might be Mom.”

Janice bounded into the living room, grabbed the phone, hustled back to the porch. She flopped down on a chair opposite Larry. He clenched his teeth. God oh God, he thought. How did this happen? What class double A jerkoff is calling? If they had only waited five more minutes.

She pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is your neighbor, Ann Scott. We see each other at Love Your Body Health Club. Remember?”

“Oh yeah. Hi—how’s it going?” She mouthed to Larry, who was slumped on his side, “This will be quick.” She winked, spread her legs, gave a couple hip thrusts.

Ann had more to say: “Henry and I were wondering— are you guys bird watchers?”

“Yes, yes we are.” Janice slid her legs together.

Larry groaned when he heard, ‘Yes we are.’ Oh no, he thought, we’re going somewhere. He looked at his penis, beginning to shrink and shrivel. Soon it would look like a button mushroom that had been abandoned for weeks behind the potato salad on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Larry took a deep breath, let it out slowly. His sex plans had taken an unexpected nose dive. The phone rang when Janice was seconds from an earth-trembling climax. What was supposed to happen—if the phone hadn’t rung—was to bring her to a screaming climax, let her recover, then slip inside, stroke slow and steady, slow and steady, for as long as possible—she’d be climaxing all the time of course—then throttle up for one gigundamunduss, super long, off-the-Richter-Scale organism that would blast their heart rates off the charts, leave them both panting, near death. To miss all that, just because of her Mother on the phone?

Janice took a deep breath when she heard: “We saw that you were watching us.”

“Oh yeah?”

Larry didn’t notice the anxious look wash over her face; he was still agonizing over his shattered plans. They’d open that bottle of Merlot, break out the special cheeses and crackers, the red grapes. Legs tangled up, they’d eat cheese, drink wine, watch their neighbors go at it while he repressurized down below for the next tumble. Grape juices would meander down her chin, drizzle onto her boobs. She would get up every so often, pour them more wine. He could watch her bustle about with no clothes on—luscious, bouncy.

“We’re bird watchers, too. And, we have a 40-mm spotting scope. Great for detail.”

“Uh-huh.” Janice continued to hold her breath.

“Yeah, it’s hidden behind this partition. Don’t want to spook the birds.”

“Yeah…”

“And, we noticed that Larry has a weird line of freckles across his chest.”

“Uh-oh.” Janice frowned, rubbed the back of her neck. She squinted through the screen at their neighbor’s porch. Laughter on the other end of the line.

Larry closed his eyes, continued to dream about the lost sexscapade. After hors d’oeuvres they’d order pizza from Gino’s, slice up some heirloom tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden. Stay naked all evening. Eat on the porch. Light candles, rev up the CD player. It could be a two, maybe three-orgasm night. Finish up by watching an old Sopranos episode. Then a mutual shower. Maybe she’d even suck a little, do a bonus soap-off to tide him over ‘till morning.

“And we’ve been watching you watching us.”

“Oh wow.” Janice sat up straight.

Larry saw her snap to attention. Oh no, he thought. New plans for the evening—but what could be more fun than sex? It might be her good-for-nothing brother Alfie, wanting to go bowling at Bubba la Flubba’s Magic Lanes, five hundred feet from the end of Runway Five Zero at the international airport. If I drive, Alfie will spring for the shoes, plus a round of heart-burn hotdogs and all the diet soda we can drink.

Janice began to exhale as Ann continued, “That’s okay, don’t worry about it. Anyway, it got us thinking. How would you and Larry like to come over, sit in the hot tub with us?

Janice smiled and nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“And we can…do whatever. Henry and I are fine with this. Okay with you two?”

“I’ll ask Larry, but pretty sure the answer will be yes.”

“Your man Larry has a scrumptious ass, by the way.”

Janice nodded, smiled, flexed her toes.

Ann continued: “How about staying for dinner? We’ve got a couple of rotisserie chickens on the spit.”

Janice leaned forward in the chair. “Sure. Can we bring anything?”

Larry heard ‘bring anything?’ and groaned. This is worse, he thought, no one brings food to a bowling alley. Not even la Flubba’s. Sounds like dinner at her Mom’s. Tuna-noodle casserole buried in soggy potato chips, a basket of rock-hard biscuits. No beer or wine, only lukewarm tea with no ice. For desert, a mushy apple pie made from some cheap canned filling. Her father waving his arms and yelling about fantastic life was when he was a kid. How he doesn’t give a flip about computers, email, smart phones, Facebook, or texting. Janice’s brother griping because can’t find a job, doesn’t have a girlfriend, can’t drive more than 100 miles without putting two quarts of oil in his old Chevy.

His penis, shriveled and limp, lay like a jellyfish, stranded on the beach at low tide. How can I get out of this family dinner? Janice already said ‘yes.’ Isn’t it time for my prostate exam? Maybe I’ve got a couple more wisdom teeth that need extracting. Aren’t I supposed to be making ‘Bag Your Dog Turds’ posters for the Bird Club?

Janice nodded as she listened to Ann: “Bring some cucumbers and fancy tomatoes from your garden. I’ve got rice pilaf in the crock pot.” Janice saw the pained look on Larry’s face. “And bring towels, anything else needed for a fun evening—know what I mean? It’ll be the four of us.”

Janice nodded. “Sounds fabulous, more than fabulous.”

Larry stared at the ceiling. His charger, once stiff and hard like a hickory stick, had shriveled to nothing, lay hidden under its pubic hair blanket. How did this happen?

Janice smiled. “Okay, we’ll be there in thirty minutes or less. Bye.” She dropped the phone on the table, jumped to her feet, winked at Larry.

“You’ll never guess what’s cooking for the rest of the day, maybe the rest of the night.”

Dirty Harriet Explores the Internet By Dirty Harriet

I switched on my iMac, pulled my short black skirt up to my waist and sat down at my desk. The 27 inch screen glowed at me, and I quickly opened up the Safari browser and clicked on the link in my list of favourites.

I settled into the seat of my chair, the tops of my warm thighs sticking to the leather. I leaned forward a little, feeling my cheeks spread just enough and then I settled back gently, spread against the cool of the seat leather.

The fingers of my left hand gently stroked against my left thigh. My right hand flickered, controlling the magic mouse, shifting it swiftly across the screen, pulling up my favourite webcam website and logging in with just a few clicks.

I changed the basic view to my personal preference, and then found my saved performers. Almost a hundred photos sprang up, each time I hovered over a photo it turned into a live-view of the performer if they were online.

I scanned them all quickly. Mostly females, a few well-muscled men, half a dozen couples. That was what I was looking for, but none of my favourites were online.

My left hand turned into a claw and grazed my thigh.

I wasn’t in the mood to wait.

I clicked live-cams, changed the setting from girls (who I had been looking at a couple of night ago) to couples. There were about twenty to choose from. Some too old, some too fat. Some just not attractive enough.

I thought about checking out the girls, may be I could see one of them instead.

I checked my saved performers, but there wasn’t anyone there who would do it for me.

I could try downloading some porn, but I checked the time. It was late. My need was now.

My left hand continued to stroke, my right hand eagerly searching for someone to help get me off.

Then the notification popped up.

Bisexcouple1 had come online. They were one of my favourites. I couldn’t help but grin.

I clicked on the notification and it took me to their free live preview.

My left hand was working its way up inside my left thigh. I could feel the heat there buried between my legs, I could feel the ache. I tensed my thighs together, squirming in the seat.

I typed out hi, hru? (how are you).

They responded enthusiastically, I was a regular and they remembered me.

I’m wanting some nasty action, you guys ready for prvt (private), I typed.

For you always, they typed back.

I clicked on the button that said “private show” and the screen blinked and we were suddenly together. Just the two of them and me. No one else to annoy either of us or to interrupt.

She had long black hair almost to her slim waist. She wore a virtually see-through skin-tight body-suit, showing off her ample breasts and long slender legs. She had a pretty face and dark gorgeous eyes. He was slim, a little older than her at 26. Short hair and a big cock and loads of energy.

We wave at each other as my webcam clicks on, now they can see me and I can see them.

She blows me a kiss, then he disappears off-screen to work himself to hardness while she seductively removes the bodysuit. Her body makes me want to touch her, her alabaster skin looks so soft and clean. I want to lick her. To kiss her. To touch her and feel her body against mine.

My fingers press against the lips of my vagina as she undresses.

Then he is there. I can’t remember either of their names. If I wasn’t so horny I could talk to them and get to know them a little better. I know they are married and live somewhere in Romania, that’s as much as I remember. What I care about is that they are sexy as hell.

What you want us to do for you today darling, they ask me. It’s almost always her typing. I think her English is better, but both of them understand all of my instructions.

Just the usual I say, suck his cock as deep as you can for me. Then I want you to fuck doggy style and I want to see that pretty face up close and I want him to fuck you as hard as he can. And then I want to see him cum over that pretty face for me.

I put a smiley face after my instructions.

She looks at me and winks, and her husband has come back onscreen, his cock big and hard and pointing up at her face. She grabs it and takes it into her mouth. She devours it. She sucking the end of it, nibbling it, kissing it, licking it. Then she takes it deep into her mouth. All the way. She gags and releases it. Then takes it deep again. They know exactly what I like.

She continues with the deepthroat. Taking him as deep as she can, until she can’t take any more. She gasps and his massive cock pops out. Her breasts heaving as she wrestles to breath. My fingers feel the trickle of wetness between my thighs, then press against the lips of my vagina again.

He takes hold of her head and pushes her face into his crotch, his cock entering her mouth, going deep into her throat. She struggles to release herself but he holds her there as she struggles and my fingers enter me.

He holds her head and throat-fucks her. His cock moving in and out of her wide-open mouth, her head angled up so he can enter her as deep as possible and look down into her pretty eyes. She chokes and pushes him away, wiping tears from her eyes and spit from her chin. She smiles at me and I smiles back. She is so pretty. She looks beautiful with tears in her eyes and cock in her mouth.

Two fingers slip inside my vagina, my thumb and the palm of my hand resting against my clitoris, gently brushing it.

He pushes her head down onto his cock and holds it there while she struggles to release herself. Her hands pushing at his thighs. She looks like she is choking on his cock, and then he lets her go and she gasps in a breath. Her eyes continue to water, and she wipes her eyes as he gently slaps her cheeks with his cock.

You want doggy now, she asks.

You like to suck that big cock, I ask her.

I like it so much, she says, licking her lips. She’s so sexy without even trying.

Yes please, doggy style, and fuck her hard, that’s how I like it, I tell them.

Wish you were here, she tells me.

Me too, I tell them.

She positions herself in front of the camera so that she is facing it. I get a nice view of her face and her breasts are clearly visible. Her arse is there just in front of where he kneels, behind her. He gets into position, inserts his big cock and as he enters her I slip another finger inside myself, pressing more firmly with my palm against my clitoris.

He smiles at me, he is shy and quiet and not normally one for engagement.

Fuck her hard for me, make me fucking cum on your big fat cock, I type.

He nods eagerly. She licks her lips and smiles at me.

He slams his cock into her. Then another hard slam. Immediately they are fucking. Working their bodies against each other. Grinding into each other.  They work up the speed and ferocity, he is banging her hard, their bodies slamming together until I can hear it, his cock slapping deep inside her. Her face is a picture of pleasure and pain combined. My hand is slapping against my crotch, my fingers delving deep inside, my palm pressing against my clitoris. My right hand leaves the mouse and flicks against my blood-filled nub, pressing, pushing, flicking, brushing.

He is fucking her hard, her tits are banging against each other. Her face is screwed up, a little bit of pain, plenty of pleasure. He pulls her hair and her face lifts up, her back arches and her breasts heave towards me. She looks at the screen, watching me watching her. My hand flaps faster and faster.

The right hand fingers flickering, brushing against my clitoris. Pleasure building.

They briefly pause to get their breath back, big deep breathes, and then start again. He’s banging away into her backside. He pulls her arms back behind her, fighting to dig his fat cock deeper inside her. Her beautiful breasts slapping up and down. She is heaving against him, he enters her so deep it hurts now, but she’s enjoying it as much as I am. She is really being fucked now.

My fingers work my vagina, left hand slapping slapping slapping, three fingers working inside me, in and out, in and out. Like his cock inside her. My right hand working my clitoris. Pleasure bubbling.

Then he pulls out, he stands on the bed in front of the camera and she is there, kneeling before him. She quickly adjusts the camera and opens her mouth. He tugs on his cock hard, she takes his balls in her mouth, and then pulls him closer to her with her hands on his buttocks.

He cries out, sperm shooting over her pretty face and she smiles as the last of it drips down into her mouth. She licks it around her lips.

And that’s when the explosion in my groin takes over and I cry out, my fingers slipping out as my vagina tightens, my clitoris throbbing ecstasy through my entire body.

She uses her finger to collect his spunk and licks it from her fingers. My left hand goes to my mouth and I lick my finger, tasting my pleasure just as she tastes his.

Thank you, you sexy bitch, I tell her.

Always a pleasure for you darling. Hope to see you again soon.

I nod, they will see me again.

My leather seat is damp with my sex juice. I’d better clean up, I think and click off. My pleasure reached.

Work By M. Earl Smith

It was 11:30 on a dreary Friday morning in November. The thermostat had dropped almost thirty degrees in the past month, and the coolest days of fall were upon us. You were sitting at your desk, working away on some worthless spreadsheet, when the text message popped up on your screen. It was, of course, from me.

“Go back to the same locker room and take a selfie for me.”

Shaking your head, you looked at the clock and laughed. “Y”

“Trust me on this one.”

Sighing, you went to the aforementioned room and positioned yourself in the mirror. With an exasperated look on your face, you lined up the picture. Little did you remember that this was the weekend I was due back from Philadelphia. As you hit the shutter button, I clicked the door locked, and stepped around the corner, draping my arms across your shoulders as I did.

You started for a moment, but, upon seeing who it was, you grinned, and craned your neck upwards for a kiss. Our lips locked, and my hands slid from around your neck, starting at your hips, which I used to pull you against me, so you could feel how hard I was. Grinning, I slid my hands under your shirt, under your bra, and on to your breasts, where I teased your nipples between my thumb and forefinger.

“I want you. Right here, right now. It’s been a month, and that’s far too long.” By this point, I was whispering in your ear, nibbling as I did so.

Without a word, you reached behind you and, unzipping my pants, pulled my cock out, working it with your hand in slow, steady strokes. Someone knocked gently on the door, but we both managed to ignore it as I worked your pants down your slender hips and onto the floor.

The knock came again, a little more insistent, but we ignored it as the person let out an exasperated mutter and went on their way. After a few more strokes, you grinned, and slowly started to bend at the waist as I pulled your panties to one side. After rubbing your pussy with my two fingers a few times, I chuckled, and quickly slid my cock into you, reaching forward to take your hair and pull you gently back.

The month apart hadn’t killed any passion between us, as we both came hard and fast right where we stood. As we finished, the knocking started again, almost at a pound, as we both giggled and worked our pants up. I used your hair to pull your mouth around to me, and after a passionate kiss, I let go.

“Text me later.” I said simply, tossing the name badge I had used to gain entry to the building in a trash can. You followed me to the window as I crawled out, jogging across the parking lot to climb onto a motorcycle. Tossing my helmet on, I fired up the bike and peeled out.

 

Hide and Seek By Ty Vossler

A beautifully hand-written invitation was put in Lucia’s graduate student mailbox. She shared it with me when she returned to our tiny Binghamton, New York apartment:

Dear Lucia,

You and Wyler are cordially invited to attend our fifth annual Summer Solstice Festival in our home on the night of the twentieth, beginning at 9:00 PM. Bring your appetite, a favorite wine, and an open mind. We hope to see you here!

—Ben Thomas—

An email address was provided to RSVP.

“I wonder what he means by an open mind?” I asked.

“Sharma was impressed that I was invited,” she said, “He’s heard that it’s an exclusive gathering.”

It wasn’t surprising that Sharma, also a graduate student, knew of the event. He enjoyed keeping up with all the latest gossip.

“Why did you get one?  Ben Thomas isn’t your Ph.D. adviser.”

“I haven’t a clue,” Lucia answered.

Of course, I had my own theory. Lucia is a full-figured, exotic-looking Mexican. Her dark, short-cropped hair, almond brown eyes, and soft, full lips scream of potential. You won’t see her on the cover of a checkout stand magazine, but she has je nais se quoi—that special aura that attracts men. Marriage isn’t much of a deterrent for the men who recognize it. I further postulated that Dr. Benjamin Thomas was smitten.

Lust-worthy wives offer certain advantages. After watching another men devour Lucia with his eyes, I am the one she goes home with and then the fireworks start. I often use fantasy to ignite fleshy conflagrations. Lucia has only to conjure a recent admirer, and we’re off to a blazing start.

The night of the party, Lucia allowed herself a lot of time to prepare. When she was ready, I was astonished by the results. An East Indian skirt showcased the outline of her strong, thick thighs and the generous curvature of her ass. A red stone necklace dripped down into the V of an orange blouse that she had purchased in Oaxaca, Mexico. Her earrings matched the necklace and she wore a tinkling ankle bracelet that she had purchased at a yard sale. Lucia didn’t give her face much attention—a little moisturizer, red lipstick, and voila.

I wore the New York look––black on black, always fashionable. Lucia stepped close to adjust my collar. Then she buckled on a pair of metallic gold high heels. I had a strong urge to coax her into bed for a quickie.

“Lord almighty,” I drew her into me.

“Wyler,” grabbing a small black purse, “we’ll be late.”

# # #

We arrived at 9:30—fashionably late in England, unconscionably late in Germany, and an hour or two early by Mexican standards. Although we were there to celebrate the summer solstice, unseasonable clouds had developed in the moonless sky. Ben Thomas greeted me with a firm handshake us and kissed Lucia’s hand. I presented him with a gift bag of wine and he ushered us into the living room, where a barrister served drinks. There were half-a-dozen couples milling there, and other voices wafting in from adjacent rooms.

“We are so glad you could come. You’re in for an interesting evening. Please, explore the house and meet the other guests. After-dinner amusements will require that you both have a precise knowledge regarding the layout of the house.” He held his hands up defensively, “I can’t say any more than that.”

“It’s a lovely home,” Lucia said.

“Thank you,” said Dr. Thomas. “Other than the fact that winter power bills are highway robbery, Giselle and I enjoy it.”

Many of the homes in Binghamton are two-story Victorian’s with large front porches, full basements and attic space. The cost of upkeep had kept Lucia and I from considering purchasing one.

The doorbell rang and our host excused himself saying, “I’ll sound the gong when dinner is served.”

“A gong?” I whispered to Lucia.

“Shhh,” she admonished, “someone will hear you.”

Lucia and I wandered the house, and judging from the others it was a couple’s only affair. Each guest gave us a thorough appraisal.

“Do you know anybody here besides Dr. Thomas?” I asked.

“A few just in passing, but there are no other mathematicians.”

We ascended the squeaky stairs to the second floor and poked our heads into the rooms. The bedrooms were richly appointed with canopy beds, Berber carpets, and lustrous antique wood furnishings. Fresh flowers topped each nightstand and a collection of nude oil paintings graced the walls.

Lucia pointed, “That’s Giselle, Dr. Thomas’ wife.”

I stepped closer. Mrs. Thomas was recumbent on brightly colored throw pillows, one leg lifted to reveal her blonde, sculpted pussy.

“Hmm, where do we find pillows like that?” I joked. Lucia poked me in the side.

The bathroom fixtures were gold, and the Turkish-style bidets impressed Lucia, as did the walk-in showers, tiled with coupled Hindu’s in various positions. The den was nearly wall-to-wall bookshelves. In addition to a great many science and mathematics books, a large collection of erotic literature and tabletop art volumes graced the shelves. Above the worn brown leather couch hung other nudes. “That’s one of the other guests,” I observed.

“The woman in the red kimono,” Lucia noted, “I think she’s married to the Chinese professor.”

“Excuse me,” a well-dressed man, hired for the occasion, walked to the picture window facing a large wooden desk. He closed a pair of wooden shudders and drew a heavy set of purple curtains that fastened with Velcro. Then he smiled at us and left.

“Strange,” I said.

“Maybe we’re in for some bad weather,” Lucia suggested.

The gong sounded. We descended the stairs hand-in-hand into the living area and were greeted with pleasant smiles all around. Doctor Thomas stood next to the gong that was perched on a small secretariat. He was holding his wife’s hand.

“Giselle and I wish to welcome you all to our humble abode. Dinner is served!” He announced.

Lucia and I were ushered to opposite ends of a long dinner table. Everyone introduced themselves by name and country, and I hopelessly tried to memorize each. The woman seated to my left wore a stunning black dress, v-cut in the back. She held out her hand and I wanted to kiss it.

“Hello, Wyler, I am Nonna, You are a writer,” she said.

“Yes,” impressed that she knew my name.

“I teach physics at the university,” she added.

“I was never too good with the sciences,” I confessed.

“Most artists are right-brained.”

“My wife—

“Is Mexican and she is finishing a doctorate in Mathematics,” Nonna finished, “That is her talking my husband, Donovan. No doubt you saw some of his paintings upstairs.”

“Yes, indeed, they are very impressive.”

Nonna lifted an eyebrow, and raised her glass, “Here’s to the arts and sciences.”

I wondered how she knew so much about me? We clinked glasses, and I saw that Lucia was sandwiched between conversations—Donovan one side and Ben Thomas on the other. I noticed other ladies present were represented upstairs on canvas.

The man sitting to my immediate left was Alwin, a sociologist, who had recently published a book about the effects of technology on pro-social behavior. We exchanged cards.

I told him, “You may not believe me, but I actually shot my television seventeen years ago.”

“Bravo, Wyler” Alwin laughed, “I merely tossed mine into a dumpster.”

Giselle, sat directly across from me. She smiled and lifted an eyebrow. As dinner concluded, her husband stood and tinkled his glass with a fork.

“Esteemed colleagues, it is an honor to have you in my home to celebrate this year’s summer solstice. A little background might be appropriate for our first-time guests, Lucia, and Wyler.” All eyes turned toward us. “The word solstice originates from the Latin, sun stands still. It occurs in December and June when the earth’s axis tilts toward or away from the sun,” he looked directly at Lucia.

“Tonight, summer solstice campfire celebrations will burn in cold northern countries such as Iceland, Poland, Latvia, Denmark, and Sweden. The holiday is more common in northern communities, such as Reykjavik, where the sun barely sets on the solstice.” His eyes rested on me and then gazed around the table.

“The rock formations at Stonehenge are a solstice party hot-spot, with as many as 30,000 revelers awaiting sunrise on solstice morning, including hippies, ravers, and modern Druids. A similar sunrise watch occurs in Orkney, Scotland and continues with a weeklong music, literature and drama festival.”

Doctor Thomas paused, gazing at his guests. Some were nodding, yet others merely smiled. “Look around you. China, Sweden, Germany, Mexico, North America and Turkey are represented here tonight.”

“You forgot Ireland,” complained Donovan.

“Forgive me, Donovan,” Thomas pursed his lips into a smile, “and Ireland.”

“Everybody always forgets poor old Ireland,” Donovan finished.

“You are no doubt wondering what is in store for us on this summer solstice?” Ben Thomas continued. “You will find out after dessert.” He smiled knowingly and sat.

We were served hazelnut mousse and I was drawn into several interesting conversations. A distinguished middle-aged Chinese professor named, Jian, swallowed a blue pill and said that he had read my novel, The Journal of Desperate Living.

“Ah, so, you’re the one,” I said—a standard writers joke, but he laughed all the same.

“I enjoyed it very much,” Jian added.

My ego swelled along with my stomach. We were offered a choice of after-dinner drinks. Everyone imbibed slowly and no one appeared to be tipsy. Lucia had warned me to go easy because I get drowsy when I overindulge.

As plates were cleared, the other guests spoke in hushed tones. An atmosphere of expectation suffused the room. Lucia blew me a kiss.

“Shall we retire to the living room?” Giselle suggested, taking her husband’s hand.

Some of the furniture had been pulled back and replaced with leather beanbags placed in a circle at the center of the large living room. Again, Lucia and I were seated away from each other. She sat with ankles crossed. When everyone was comfortable, the lights dimmed. I observed that all the windows were shuttered and curtained. Then the lights were doused and the darkness was stygian.

A small overhead theater light slowly intensified, illuminating our circle. Giselle spoke, “Friends, for most of you this celebration will add new experiences to others you have enjoyed,” she paused while everyone smiled and nodded. “Tonight, we are honored to have Wyler and Lucia with us.” Polite applause followed. “Before we embark on tonight’s amusements, I must advise our new guests of the golden rule—weather or not you choose to participate in tonight’s activity, you must give your solemn oath never to share your experience with anyone outside of this circle.” She looked first at Lucia and then to me. We both nodded in agreement. “Very good,” she gestured to her husband, “Ben?”

“Thank you, darling,” he kissed her hand. “As always, it is perfectly acceptable if you choose not to take part and no questions will be asked. You may take your leave with our blessings.” No one budged. I cleared my throat and everyone watched me for an embarrassing moment before Ben continued. “Tonight’s game is hide-and-go-seek.” There were giggles from the other guests. “As you can imagine, our version is quite distinct from the game we played as children.” More sniggers. “All clothing must remain within the circle. You may wear jewelry, but timepieces are not permitted. Each of you will be blindfolded and escorted to a location within the house. The power will be turned off so do be careful. Once everyone is placed, the gong will sound and you are free to seek. Are there any questions?” Dr. Thomas finished.

Lucia timidly raised her hand and everyone smiled at her. “What are we seeking?” Ben lifted an eyebrow. “Oh,” said Lucia.

What a mixed bag of feelings we carried. Of course, Lucia and I had indulged in sharing fantasies to stimulate the appetite. Yet, here we were faced with the opportunity to act out our whimsies. The good-looking Nigerian Economics professor with his exotic Turkish wife, a lovely Swedish architect with deep blue eyes, Donovan the artist, the Chinese couple and the others swiveled their heads between the two of us. Lucia fidgeted with her necklace and looked at me.

“Wyler and Lucia,” Ben Thomas looked at us each in turn, “will you be joining in tonight’s festivities?”

Neither was sure how to respond, and yet the atmosphere was infused with spontaneity. I watched Lucia’s head begin nodding and I followed, not wanting to appear foolish.

Thomas stood, “Excellent,” he said, “Shall we?” He slipped out of his clothing and the others followed. Lucia and I were slowest to finish. Being surrounded by so much flesh was daunting. Each body was beautiful in its own way. Of course, Lucia drew the most ogles. The Nigerian had a thick, attenuated shaft of ebony and his tiny Turkish wife sported a manicured snatch and childishly small tits. She contrasted sharply with Lucia’s untamed triangle and larger breasts, accentuated by large, brown nipples.

Benjamin produced a box of airline quality blindfolds, and addressed his wife, “Sweetheart, please escort Lucia and I’ll go with Wyler’s.” Blindfolds were passed around, “You may remove your blindfolds once the gong has sounded.”

“A final reminder,” said Mrs. Thomas, “talking would, of course, ruin the effect, so any sounds should be related only to—”

She didn’t need to finish. Ben Thomas slowly led me away from the circle, stopping for a moment to give me a few disorienting twirls before continuing. After a short while, he whispered for me to sit and I was greeted by the comfort of a leather chair somewhere downstairs.

“Bon voyage, my friend,” he whispered, patted my shoulder and was gone.

Sitting alone, I began having serious second thoughts. I imagined Lucia groping in the darkness, contacting flesh, finding another pair of lips, tasting an unfamiliar tongue, a stiff cock pushing into her warm pussy. These thoughts made me dizzy and I resolved to find her before someone else did.

Some minutes passed before the gong sounded and when I removed my blindfold it was pitch-dark. I stayed put until I was oriented, listening for movement. Old houses are never quiet. They snap, crackle and pop like a bowl of Rice Krispies. It wasn’t long before someone touched my arm. I reached out and felt thick arm hair. His hand patted mine and he retreated in search of softer flesh.

Now there were noises all around me and I listened for Lucia’s ankle bracelet. To my left, I perceived a deep sigh, followed by moist kisses. A man’s soft moan intensified into a deeply satisfied groan and the woman responded in kind.

Lucia’s ardent voice is a fingerprint and I would know it anywhere. This woman wasn’t Lucia. I groped until I found the stairs. Lucia and I had been strategically separated all evening, so it was logical to assume that she was upstairs. On hands and knees, I ascended carefully. At the top, I sensed a presence, groped with my hands and contacted soft skin. Feminine arms pulled me in until we were lying side-by-side on the wooden stair landing.

She pressed a nipple into my mouth. Then her lips found mine and she tasted good. Her tongue was soft and playful. She lifted a leg and my cock was deliciously sheathed in her pussy. As we fucked, another hand located us—a woman’s. Keeping my cock inside, my lover rolled on top facing away and the newcomer positioned her body so that she was able to suck my balls, which caused me to cum almost immediately. My lover was climaxing too, and I was able to stay hard enough so that her contractions didn’t spit me out.

After I slipped out, the women stayed together, kissing as I continued my journey to find Lucia. I felt the open door to one of the bedrooms. Inside, bedsprings squeaked and I discerned labored breathing—the rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh. A woman issued high, piercing seagull cries—not Lucia’s.

There was a myriad of sound all around—panting, groaning, sharp cries, laughter and none belonged to Lucia. I found another bedroom. At first, I thought it was empty, but then I heard a slurping sound. A man gasped, grunted and the sound stopped. There was movement on the floor and I heard the bathroom sink running—sounds of rinsing and spitting—not Lucia.

I crawled to where the office was and was immediately rewarded by the spicy odor of books. Soft moans were coming from the leather couch and I crept inside. I perceived a tinkle of jewelry. A portion of the curtain joined by Velcro was slightly agape, allowing a sliver of the streetlight to filter in. I could now distinguished silhouettes on the couch.

The leather squeaked and Lucia’s ankle bracelet tinkled as her hips churned over him. “Ayyy,” she moaned.

“Oy, sweet Jesus,” the Nigerian’s voice was deep and filled with passion.

My throat felt as if I had swallowed a spoonful of gravel. The shadows moved together, I heard Lucia taking a deep staccato breath followed by a deep, guttural homage to ecstasy.

“Ay, ay, ay, ayyy!” Her hands rested on his chest and she rocked as her orgasm squeezed his cock.

The Nigerian lifted for a moment to suck her tits, and then lay back down. He grunted loudly, growled and poured into my wife. I tried to remember his name—the name of this man who was cumming inside my wife.

“Yes, baby,” she urged, and she climaxed again.

Their lovemaking was followed with tender kisses, “You’re an angel,” he whispered.

“We have a mess to clean, Musa” she replied.

Musa, I thought, the man who caused the mess. A man’s heart is a mysterious world. Instead of waiting my turn with Lucia, I left. Finding the stairs, I fumbled my way down until I reached a couch. Pre-cum oozed from my cock. I wasn’t alone for long. A hand touched my thigh and grasped my cock.

She took me into her mouth, painting the underside of my cock, jacking me until I was pulsing in her hand, and then she straddled me. I slipped in easily, clearly aided by another man’s spunk. I pictured Lucia as this mysterious woman sent me in and out. I twisted her tiny nipples as she toiled and she came repeatedly before I added fresh spurt. I guessed her to be Musa’s Turkish wife, Sabella.

We kissed farewell and she continued her wanderings. Done in, I resolved to return to Lucia. She wasn’t there, so I sulked self-indulgently on the couch. After a few minutes, I stood to leave, feeling confident that I could find my way without going on hands and knees. I paused at the curtains and refastened the Velcro. Someone appeared, as I was ready to leave, so I stepped into the darkest corner. He went passed without noticing me, and stood by the window next to the desk. A short time later her ankle bracelet announced that Lucia had also returned. She carefully made her way to the desk.

“Psst!” she said.

“Here,” he replied.

My Velcro repair work didn’t last and again, a sliver of light entered the room. Lucia was seated on the desk. Musa lifted her legs by the knees and Lucia groaned deeply as he pushed inside. He stroked back and forth to the rhythm of her grateful responses.

A large lump, more like a rock developed in my throat. Occasionally air escaped from Lucia’s pussy as the Nigerian delivered deeply. Lucia cried out and Musa grunted and groaned in a shivering voice. Then, after a short time to catch their breath, he pulled out.

“I found some tissues,” Musa said in a low voice.

“Thank you,” Lucia replied.

“How many others—?” Musa wanted to know.

“Doctor Thomas.”

That was no accident. How did it go?”

“Quickly,” Lucia said.

They both giggled, having broken all the rules of the game in one fell swoop.

“I had better be going,” Musa said.

“Why?” She replied, and I heard her kissing him again.

“To find my wife. Perhaps next week we can have lunch.”

“Okay,” There were kisses again and my erection mocked me.

The Nigerian helped Lucia down from the desk, “Are you coming?”

“No, I think I’ll rest here for a while,” she said.

“Mmm, if I don’t find my wife I will return.”

Another kiss, and then I saw him leave. Lucia sat on the sofa, and I stood frozen in the corner until I heard the deepening of her breathing and knew that she had fallen asleep.

I waited another five minutes before taking her into my arms, “Hit baby.”

She lovingly stroked my hair, “How are you?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” She detected hesitancy in my voice.

“Yes, what about you?” I asked.

“I need to find a bathroom.”

I kissed her softly, smelling sex—the intoxicating combination of body chemicals, colognes, and perfumes. I brushed my fingers over her body and felt a wad of tissue between her legs.

“Let’s find you one.” I took her hand and we found an empty bedroom. Commandeering a shower I lathered her body and desperately wanted to fuck her, to conquer her, yet my cock was out of fuel.

Afterward, we climbed into the empty bed and Lucia soon drifted off. My brain prevented me from joining her right away. I replayed her reaction to having the Nigerian’s cock inside her. How would I compare after an experience like that?

When we awoke, our clothes were neatly stacked on a chair and the smell of coffee wafted from downstairs. Early morning light filtered in through the open bedroom curtains.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning, my love,” Lucia stretched luxuriously and pecked my mouth.

“How do you feel?”

“A little tender.”

“How many—?” I already knew the answer.

“Three,” she said, “and you?”

“Two—it’s different for men, you know. We only have so much ammunition.”

“It was like a dream.”

“Yes, it was surreal. I tried to find you.”

“You finally did.”

Lucia and I dressed and went into the kitchen. Most other guests had returned home. Dr. Thomas was in the kitchen wearing a robe and concocting a large omelet.

“Top of the morning!” he enthused. “I’ll wager you’re both starving. Such a night makes for mighty appetites.”

Before we could answer, his wife, Giselle, breezed in, “Buenas dias,” she greeted, kissing her husband and giving us pecks on the cheek. “I’ll make a green juice.”

“Let me help,” said Lucia, and they began chopping vegetables.

Benjamin motioned me over to a strange looking contraption, “Ever had coffee made with a French press?”

“No, how does it work?”

He showed me, and in no time we were sipping the best coffee I had ever tasted.

“Quite a night, eh?” Benjamin lifted his eyebrows.

“Unforgettable,” I answered.

“I already have an idea for next year,” Giselle said.

“She’s the creative one,” Benjamin gestured with his head.

The Nigerian professor entered with his petite Turkish wife. I watched Lucia’s lips curl into an enigmatic smile.

“Good morning everyone,” Musa blew a kiss to the whole room with both hands. When he kissed Lucia’s cheek I saw him whisper something. Lucia smiled and blushed.

“Wyler is making more coffee, Sabella,” Giselle informed her.

Musa’s wife pressed in behind me to peer over my shoulder as I practiced my French press skills, “Mmm, smells lovely,” she moaned.

“It’s nearly ready, Sabella,” I said, happy to say her first name.

Donovan the artist trudged in without greeting anyone and helped himself to Ben’s coffee mug.

“Barbarian,” remarked Giselle, “where’s your wife?”

“Still asleep,” he grumped. He shuffled over to kiss Giselle’s cheek and waved a feeble greeting to the rest of us.

“What the world needs now is love, sweet love,” Ben sang to Donovan.

Donovan murmured something as he sat on a barstool, then whirled around to face Lucia, “I’d like to paint you.”

“I had a feeling you might,” Lucia replied.

I imagined Lucia joining others on the time-honored walls. Giselle looked at me wistfully and her husband eyed Lucia furtively.

“This coffee is from Kenya,” Giselle told Musa.

“Ah yes, some of the best coffee is found in Ethiopia and Kenya,” Musa said.

# # #

After breakfast, Dr. Thomas walked us to our car. The morning air was fresh—the birds were out in force and a light breeze stirred through the pine trees that forested the neighborhood.

“We have bi-monthly get-togethers. Now that you’re in the circle, there are marvelous opportunities to be had. By the way Wyler, I was wondering, do you play golf?”

I barely heard him because I was busy wondering what Musa had whispered to Lucia in the kitchen.

The Wonder of Women By Charles E.J. Moulton

I have always been psychic. Feeling people. Spiritually, I mean. I go into a room and immediately feel the atmosphere. If it’s good, I am flying, baby. If it’s bad, I am down to the ground.

To top that off, I admire the female anima, the suave caress of the female soul, the force that inspires us to create art, make music, make love, write poems.

Often, when I sit in the bus, and a beautiful woman comes and sits down, that female anima comes gleaming and glittering over at me. So, ever so subtily and carefully, I study her, looking at the curve of her breasts, the swaying of her buttcheeks, her lips and how they would feel around my hard cock. In my mind, I spread that girls legs, lick her pussy only to shove my hard dick into her throbbing clit. I have made love to hundreds of women in my mind like that, squirting cum into their hot and willing mouths.

But it isn’t just their bodies that arouse me. In fact, it’s the anima that raises my prick: that endearing magic of elegance, eloquence and arrogance that signifies the female spirit. We men love to obey them, kiss them, unwrap them and fuck them until they beg for more. Their beauty is endless and therefore endless in arousal, always begging for more. The female energy invites you into endless copulation, just as endless as the soul is endless in conciousness.

Wonder, oh, the wonder of wonderful women.

As I was sitting in the bus today, not only did I study the girl that came up and sat opposite me, the curve of her boobies and the swaying of her arse. I also imagined what it would be like to be her, have a hot and bothered male with a growing cock studying you like a meaty and marinated steak.

Then I closed my eyes. I imagined myself not having a penis, but a vagina. Then I imagined having round hips, big tits and erect nipples. I imagined myself making myself up every day, choosing a bra and panties and a skirt and then walking out in high heels and having all those men rubberneckin’ me, looking at my tight butt, dreaming of sticking their fat schlongs in my hot little fanny.

I imagined what it felt like to have that long hard dick shoved into me like I had shoved my cock into dozens of pussies before.

Had I been my dream fuck, having my stern rod catapulted into my hot cunt, what would I have felt? How does it feel to have a long hot banana shooting up and out of your crack?

As I sat there, fantasizing about my dream fuck, I realized that, believing in reincarnation, that I might have been a woman in a previous life, with all that entails, the ups and the downs, the periods and the hormonal outbursts.

And I realized that sex connects souls. It focuses two people’s emotions with one purpose: symbiosis. Unity. The act that binds a couple, at best, produces a baby. Sex is nature’s necessity, a foundation for our survival. It is peaceful and built into our DNA.

I believe in reincarnation, in the existance of the afterlife and in a concious and emotional God that put his energy into everyone’s emotions: a source we can tap into whenever we want. A source we need no religion to find.

Soul.

I also believe in logic.

What was before the big bang and where does the universe end? Microcosmos vs. Macrocosmos? These questions have one answer: a divine intelligence.

I also believe in Jesus’ resurrection.

Jesus chose a woman to spread the word of his resurrection: Mary Magdalene.

There were more gospels that were not published. The patriarchal priesthood would have been out of a job if the anima had ruled as it would have deserved.

The male priests grabbed the trophy of priesthood, although women clearly were wiser.

Adam and Eve’s shame was their downfall. Or does an animal feel ashamed when creating a baby? So why do humans love babies but discard how they are made?

Sex is kissing, hugging, loving.

Why do we cheer in movies when someone is killed and cringe when they make love?

Weren’t we taught to love one another?

Violence is sin.

Faithful sex is not.

Think about it.

It’s just simple logic.

Cabin By M. Earl Smith

All in all, I couldn’t help but laugh. After all, you were turning out to be bolder that I had imagined.

You responded quite well to the reduction of my paranoia, as well as a decrease in attention. Perhaps a lot of that was my worrying about losing someone as amazing as you in my life, but either way, I was an old hand at this game, and I should have known better. The old adage was true: when you were relaxed, and spending most of the time having a good time as opposed to worrying about what the future would hold, things went a lot smoother than when I was whining about this or that. For the first time in a long time, we were both having fun.

It was of little surprise, then, when you texted me and asked me about having a drink. You bragged a few weeks ago about having moonshine at home, but I was skeptical as to if you had ever partaken. I, on the other hand, was familiar with drinking. It had bothered you, you said, so I was careful with the scenarios that I allowed alcohol to become a part of.

I was already at the cabin, sitting at the table, thinking, when you arrived. I smiled, and hugged you before putting my hand around your waist, to lead you in. Once inside, I placed an arm gently on either side of you and grinned, leaning in to kiss your neck. You moaned softly, letting this go on for a few minutes before placing a hand on my chest, slowly moving me back. I did as you wished. You smiled, and offered me one kiss before nodding at a brown bag on the table. “Did you rent this place for the night?”

I grinned, and nodded, handing you my keys. “Put these with yours. If we are drinking, nobody is driving.”

You laughed, as if you knew something that I didn’t know, and walked towards the table. Looking in the bag, you pulled out two bottles. One was a simple bottle of vodka, one of my favorites. The other, you noticed with a chuckle, was a bottle of chocolate liqueur.

“I guess I know which one is for who,” you said, removing two shot glasses from the bag.

I laughed, and removed my jacket and tie, tossing them over a chair. “Given your relative inexperience, I figured you should start light. After all, this is just a little fun. Speaking of which, let’s turn this into a game. We will each pour a shot, and one asks the other a question. If it’s true, the person who was asked has to drink, and if it’s false, the person who asked the question has to. Fair enough?”

You giggled, and sat down. “I have a feeling you’re not going to fare well, old man” you teased, filling each glass up to the brim with the chosen drinks. “I get to ask first. You kissed your first girl before you were sixteen, right?”

I smiled, and reached for the vodka. As I did, you put your hand over mine, a fierce look in your eye. “Merle, you’re not a mean drunk, are you?”

I tried hard to restrain my laughter. “Mean? No. I’m actually a silly drunk. I grew up in a family of mean drunks, and I went the other way with it. Why be angry when you’re giddy? Truth be told, I rarely get drunk at all.”

You smiled, and moved your hand. I picked the shot up and downed it, wincing as I did so. The vodka was smooth, but strong, and it sent a warm shock through my system as it went down. Shaking my head, I poured myself another shot and looked straight into your beautiful blue eyes.

“You’ve tried smoking at least once in your life” I said slowly, asking a question that I won’t mind hearing the answer to.

You giggled, and nodded towards my glass, pushing yours away slightly. I shook my head, a little surprised, but, of course, I believed you. With a grin, I raised the second shot in a mock toast and downed it. The second goes down much smoother than the first, and the sting of the alcohol brought a flush to my cheeks that is noticeable even with my beard. Wicked delight danced through your eyes as you refilled my glass.

“Your turn to ask” I said, trying to conceal my giddiness. I was far from drunk, but I felt the effects of the alcohol. The next question, however, sucks all humor out of the room.

“You fell harder for me than you did her, didn’t you?”

All I could do, for a long minute, was stare, so much that you started to reach for your glass, a bit of disappointment in your eyes. I cleared my throat and shook my head, reaching for my own glass, admitting to you that you had a greater hold on me than anyone else ever had. As I went to drink the shot, you reached across the table, pulling it away from me. As you set it on the table, you pushed my chair back from the table and straddled me.

I sighed, saying nothing. I wrapped my arms around your waist and started kissing your neck, hitting the spots behind your ear and along your jawline that made you quiver with anticipation. As I leaned in, you whispered the words in my ear that you knew drove me to the brink of madness with passion for you.

“Quit being a chicken and kiss me.”

The green light given, my lips locked with yours, holding the first kiss for a long time as our jaws worked in unison with one another. Soon, my tongue slid into your mouth, intertwining with yours as you softly pressed your body to mine. I ran my hands under your shirt, along your hips and sides first, before gently reaching up to unsnap your bra. Pulling it loose, I sat it aside and ran my hands along your breasts, feeling your nipples harden at my touch. You tensed a little, as if unsure what to do, before wrapping your arms around my neck, to continue kissing me.

I stood, cupping my hands on your ass I did. You emitted a little gasp of surprise, only to grin and kiss me with more force. It was so intense that I had to stop for a moment to catch my breath, and to reposition my hold on you. The kissing intensified with each step, your legs wrapped around me as you pushed your pussy against me, fabric on fabric. Finally, I made it to the bed, to gently lay you down.

Free from my grip, you slowly crawled to the top of the and looked at me, curled up, not sure what to expect next. I crawled up next you, face to face, and start kissing you again. You returned my kisses, as my hands run up your legs, softly rubbing your pussy through your jeans. You pressed yourself into my hand and kissed on. I slowly moved one of my hands up and unbuttoned your jeans. You froze, reaching your hand down to clasp over mine as you, in a rare moment, looked me in the eyes.

You stared at me for a long second before you slowly started to work your jeans off of your slender, curved hips. It was with a faint surprise that I noted that your panties came off at the same time, and as you slid them past your ankles, to carefully be set aside next to you, I gently started to slide the tips of my fingers up and down your thighs, allowing them to trace occasionally across your pussy, leaving you to wonder if it was intentional or not. This went on for a few minutes before I started to slowly trace circles around your pussy, rubbing along your lips and your clit softly. Another moan of pleasure escaped from you, and you bit your lip as you stared at me in anticipation.

My index finger focused on your clit, rubbing it softly in slow, circular motions as I tickled along your opening with the tips of my fingers on the opposite hand. By this point, your pussy started to grow wet, and it was plain to see that you enjoyed being teased in this way. My hand rubbed up and down on your clit, and, with a steady hand, I slid two fingers into your pussy. You moaned softly, and started to work your hips against the soft thrusts of my hand.

My hand never left you. In a swift motion, I positioned myself between your legs and, with a chuckle, my tongue moved in, to nibble at your thighs for a second before moving northward. In a matter of moments, my tongue replaced my fingers on your clit, and you quickly grew wetter as the tip of my tongue flicked softly against you. You growled in delight, and ran your fingers through my hair.

I took my time, my fingers working in and out of you slowly as I built you towards your climax. My tongue never ceased in its endeavors, and you soon started to softly buck your hips against my mouth and hand as anticipation built within you. You moaned louder, and I felt your thighs tighten around my head. Arching your neck and back, you let out a shriek of pure delight as you reached your climax, coming all over my face and hand, as well as the sheets below. I chuckled, even as my mouth was soaked with your juices, as I continued to lick and finger you for a few more moments, even as you ran both fingers through my hair and trembled under my touch.

I laughed as I finally pulled away. As I looked up, I saw a smile on your face, even as your skin trembled under the effects of what you just experienced. As I crawled into the bed next to you, I grinned, and took you into my arms.

“Worth it?” I said.

You nodded, saying nothing. After all, no words were needed.

Dirty Harriet Discovers Porn By Dirty Harriet

The first time I watched porn was with Mike, my… well, friend with benefits is probably the most accurate description. He was my ex-bestfriend’s ex-boyfriend. His cock was the first I ever sucked. Mike’s best friend Dave’s was the biggest cock I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and I sucked his cock too.

That makes it sound like I’m a bit of a slut, but I never had sex with either of them. More by Dave’s choice than mine, I would have fucked that boy until I couldn’t walk, but the complicated relationship I had with Mike put a stop to that.

I headed round to Mike’s house, where we normally engaged in oral activities, and the boys were both in Mike’s bedroom watching porn when I walked in.

To be honest it wasn’t quite what I’d expected.

I’d interrupted the boys as they wanked and watched porn on Mike’s laptop, and although they slowed what they were doing they never stopped. I waited a couple of minutes while they slowly wanked and watched and looked at me.  And then I shrugged and sat with them and watched as this poor girl was fucked in the mouth, in the pussy, in the arse and then the pussy and mouth, and arse and mouth, and pussy and arse, and basically every filthy combination you could think of.

It made me feel dirty to watch the sex on screen. It was kind of horny, in a strange and unnatural way that I had no control over. But it didn’t put me in the mood, if that makes sense.

The boys seemed to enjoy it, and the two well-muscled and well-endowed men on screen spunked all over the girl’s face after they fucked her raw.

At the time it seemed pretty weird for me to watch people having sex. Sitting between two horny teenagers while they wanked was much sexier to me than whatever was happening on screen. I wanked them both off, Mike’s sperm drenching my hand, and then Dave’s. Oh, Dave, I still think of that cock regularly. It wasn’t that it was attached to a wonderfully attractive black man, or that it was twice the size of Mike’s normal sized penis, it was the hot, fat, thick veins that made it feel alive when I took it in both hands and stroked it until it jerked and spewed his orgasm all over me. That time I asked Dave to look at me just as he was about to cum and when he did I kissed him, our lips met, parted, and his tongue entered me. That was my first time watching porn and, more importantly, it was my first proper kiss. And it was with Dave. All while Mike cleaned himself up in the bathroom.

Sadly I never got another opportunity to kiss Dave like that. I would have loved to have kissed every part of him, but he dumped me a few weeks later. We weren’t even going out and he dumped me, the bastard.

The next time I watched porn was at University. My roommate, Jamie, was a lovely girl, but she was a massive lesbian and a complete perve. I couldn’t even remember the number of times she asked if I wanted her to lick me out, if I’d like to try lesbianism, or if I wanted her skilled fingers to make me cum. Sometimes I wish I’d started my lesbian adventures with Jamie, but it wasn’t to be. A young man by the name of Ben got in the way, love and all that kind of stuff. So, Jamie never got to taste the delights of my pussy and I never got to have her tonguing my vagina.

But Jamie was responsible for my interest in porn. You see, apart from offering me all manner of lesbian action, she used to study, and I really do mean study, all kinds of lesbian porn. And one morning she rushed out of our dorm room, heading to her lecture, grabbing her bag and a bagel on the way and she had left her laptop on, with a full screen of these two beautiful girls kissing.

I rubbed my eyes and it took me a moment to realise it wasn’t her screen-saver and the two girls were touching, caressing each other while they kissed.

I groaned, turned the other way, but I could hear the soft moanings of lust from Jamie’s headphones on the desk. It was like listening to lovemaking in the room next door. Soft, muted, but definitely there.

Ignoring it wasn’t going to work. Already the soft sounds of murmuring, the gentle moans, the heavy breathing, the delicate sexy eastern European accents. It was so much sexier than the brutal, raw fucking of the porn I’d watched with the boys just a few years ago.

So I turned back to look.

They were in a beautiful gazebo, surrounded by pretty flowers.

The brunette was peeling the blonde’s shirt off. They both looked like high-class waitresses, in tight white shirts that were a little too small, and one wore a tight pencil skirt that would be almost impossible to walk in, if she’d been able to walk with her six-inch stiletto heels. The brunette was in a mini-skirt was the gusset of her black lace knickers clearly visible. They were both beautiful.

I vaguely recognised one as Eve Angel, from a poster Jamie had on her wall. I didn’t recognise the blonde.

Eve kissed the voluminous breasts of the blonde, who arched her back in pleasure, her fingers reaching between Eve’s legs and stroking against the delicate fabric barely hiding her modesty.

They kissed again, their soft lips meeting, their tongues poking out of their mouths to gently touch and lick each other.

Then the blonde opened Eve’s shirt, releasing two perfect, natural breasts. No bra. The nipples pointing up into the blonde’s face and she took one in her mouth, gently squeezing the other breast, and Eve’s mouth twisted in pleasure and she gasped.

I couldn’t help myself, I threw off the bed covers and sat at the desk in my pyjamas.

I gingerly put on the headphones and the soft moans and gasps of pleasure were suddenly diving straight into my head. Every soft moan, every groan of ecstasy sending ripples of enjoyment through my body.

My right hand slipped between my legs, beneath the fabric of my loose pyjama bottoms. The flesh hot and soft, my fingers brushing through my soft pubic hairs and continues down.

On screen the blonde is now on her knees, Eve’s tiny skirt hiked up to her hips. Her legs look beautiful in stockings and garter-belts. The gusset of her lace knickers pried aside and the blonde’s tongue flickers at her clitoris.

Eve’s cries of joy and bliss are sending hot peaks of pleasure through my blood, and my fingers dance across the lips of my labia. I can’t control myself, my pleasure is Eve’s pleasure. The blonde’s fingers explore beside her lapping tongue, and I want to feel that too. Eve looks at the camera and as she is looking at me, my finger enters my vagina, my thumb presses against my clitoris, and my left hand also goes inside my pyjama pants.

A finger explores Eve’s pussy onscreen. My left forefinger enters my vagina, my right hand flickers across my clitoris, flicker, brush, flicker, press.

Already I’m breathing heavy, as is Eve on screen. Her friend’s head is buried between her thighs, licking, lapping, fingers exploring, spreading the moist flesh and exposing Eve’s bud.

Eve’s head rolls, she squeezes her left breast with one hand, her right hand pushing the blonde’s head deep between her legs.

Her hips arch, her back arches, she grinds against her friend’s mouth. Eve’s mouth opens gasping.

I’m gasping, two fingers inside me, my right hand skipping across my clit, brushing, rubbing, touching, flickering.

Eve’s panting is getting louder, I know mine is too although I can’t hear it outside of the headphones.

I lick my lips as the blonde takes a momentary break and pushes another finger inside Eve who groans, twisting her leg and lifting it over the blonde’s shoulder. The blonde dives back in, her chin wet with saliva and love juice.

I wish I could taste it.

I push another finger inside me, feeling the stretch and enjoying it. Feeling full, feeling satisfied. I press harder against my clitoris, fingers skipping across it with increasing rapidity.

Then suddenly I’m there, the build up peaking immediately, and lustful pleasure flooding me. My tightening vagina pushes out my wet fingers, my clitoris explodes with ecstasy, sending surging ripples of pleasure through my hips and thighs, down my legs to dissipate and I gasp, pulling off the headphones and dropping them on the desk, realising I’ve cried out in joy and suddenly aware I’m in a dormitory filled with people and thin walls.

On screen Eve cries out in pleasure and I press the pause button, her beautiful face on screen twisted in delight.

I pant a little, decide to ask Jamie if I can borrow her laptop later, kiss the screen and Eve Angel’s beautiful lips, and decide that may be porn isn’t that bad after all.