Two Brown Pigskin Journals

My name is Jenny.

Everyone in my story is a consenting adult, over the age of 18. My story is also rather long, so please feel free to skip ahead to the good bits.

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By the third day of our honeymoon I knew I’d made a big mistake when I married Ian.

But first, some background.

I was born and grew up in Hereford in the English Midlands. In 1970, when I was 19, I went to work for the British government as a purchasing clerk.

I wanted to be fashionable and modern in the Era of Free Love — at least when it came to clothing and make-up. But then it came to The Big Thing — sex — I couldn’t be bothered. I was a virgin, not because of any commitment to abstinence but because I was lazy. I came from a good home and knew if I went to my GP for a prescription for the pill the doctor would tell my Mother. And she’d kill me.

My social life revolved around pubs. Different groups of patrons frequented different pubs: hunting-shooting people went to one pub, folks interested in rock music to another. My friend Cathy and I were interested in fashion, hair styles, and cosmetics and there was no pub for that — so frequented different pubs. We wore miniskirts, slinky Biba-inspired blouses, and teased our hair. We displayed a lot of our creamy white English flesh, and often went braless. Our perky young boobs would attract the young men, much to our amusement. They’d buy us drinks and stare at our tits when chatting to us. We thought them foolish — captivated by two small mounds of our soft flesh.

I would, when the man was keen and I found him attractive, go on a date. This normally consisted of a pub meal (or, if he was stingy, fish and chips) and a movie. We’d sit at the back of the Odeon and my date would kiss me and fumble around with my breasts and occasionally my crotch. This was all done strictly above my clothing, and I’d stop my date short if he attempted to venture further. On one occasion my date clumsily removed his erect penis from his trousers and (I think) wanted me to do something with it. I didn’t touch the thing, despite my date pleading that I do so, and it soon shriveled and receded back into his pants.

After six months of pub crawls and fumbling young men, mutual friends introduced me to Ian.

Ian was different.

He was mature — six years older than me. He was muscular and self-assured. He smelled clean. His hair was black, long, and wavy. He had long bushy sideburns, a black mustache, hairy forearms. He was a licensed electrician — and when he took me to dinner it was to a restaurant, not a pub. He had a car, so the fumbling took place in relative privacy, rather than back row of the cinema.

Ian was more persistent than the younger men about getting beneath my clothing, but I remained steadfast.

We dated for about a month, seeing each other two times or so each week. And then he stopped calling.

After a week or so I called him to see if he was alright. He said that he thought we should date other people. I told him that was fine but expressed my disappointment that he hadn’t simply called to let me know.

Post Ian I didn’t fancy returning to more fumbling. I thought it was time for me to think about sex, but if I shagged any of the young men In Hereford word would quickly spread that I was a slag. Everyone would want to ride Jenny, the new bicycle.

I hatched a plan to lose my virginity further afield.

The first part of my plan was to register with a different GP. At my first visit to the new practice the middle-aged doctor — who smelled like cigarettes — gave me a perfunctory exam (heart, lungs, temperature). I told him I wanted to be sexually active and asked for a prescription for the pill. He wrote one out and asked if I had any questions about sex. I told him I knew a little about the mechanics of intercourse from our sex education class at school. The girls were taught that our virginity was a blessing, and that we shouldn’t give it to some guy no matter how much he begged. Once given there was no getting it back.

The doctor timidly explained how Part A fit into Part B. It was clearly painful for him to discuss such matters, particularly with a young lady not wearing a bra, so I assured him I was already knowledgeable of the correct procedures. (I lied.)

The second part of my plan involved Giles.

Giles lived in London. I spoke with him several times a week as part of my Governmental purchasing duties. He sold laboratory tools and chemicals. He was single, almost 30, and had his own small flat in Kensington. He frequently chatted me up, frequently inviting me to London for the weekend. He was pleasantly surprised when one day he asked, and I accepted. I explained, however, that I would like to bring my friend Cathy.

“The more the merrier,” Giles replied.

I told my mother that I’d be spending the three-day Summer Bank Holiday with Cathy and her family. Cathy told her mother she’d be staying with me and my family.

On Saturday morning I packed a few clothes and my nighty in my backpack and met Cathy in town. We located the A419 heading south and began to hitchhike. As two miniskirted young ladies on the side of the road we had no problem stopping vehicles and eventually made our way the 140 miles to London. We knew nothing of the potential dangers of hitchhiking: we didn’t read the papers or listen to news. The folks who picked us up were older truckers, and I think (as I look back) they were being protective of us.

The trip took all day. We met Giles at (where else?) a pub at about 7:30pm. As is often the case, he didn’t look at all like what I expected. On the phone his voice was low and mellow, with an assured calmness. I expected a strong, quiet man with a dark complexion. But Giles was tall and gangly. He had a large forehead because his brown hair (which he combed straight back) was receding. He wore large eyeglasses (as was the fashion), a bright-colored Paisley shirt, and tight pants. And he was nice.

After a few pints we headed to Giles’ flat, picking up our meals at the chippie along the way. Giles, a gentleman, paid for our drinks and meals.

He lived in an old building, up three flights. The stairway smelled like boiling mutton with an undertone of mold.

Giles’ flat was small but tidy. There was a settee in the lounge, along with a coffee table, a small TV, and a single plastic chair. The small bathroom opened off the lounge, as did Giles’ bedroom. He had a single bed — neatly made up with a duvet — and a dresser.

We enjoyed our fish and chips — eaten out of the paper wrapping — and discussed our sightseeing plans for Sunday. Giles brought out a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream. Neither Cathy nor I had ever heard of Irish Cream, and we each enjoyed several glasses.

My plan was to offer up Cathy as Giles’ bedmate tonight. While not hugely experienced, Cathy was not a virgin. She’d also had her share of fumbling men, but on a few occasions — mostly fogged by a few pints — she’d let them slip off her pants and insert A into B. When Cathy got very drunk she grew licentious — whereas when I got very drunk I simply fell asleep. (Both were potentially perilous.)

Cathy was to be my Quality Inspector. I didn’t want to lose my virginity to someone who didn’t have a clue. Cathy was enthusiastic to accept this mission.

Giles, of course, knew nothing about this. He was simply happy that a young lady would be sleeping with him in his single bed and didn’t want to spoil things by asking questions. He’d pulled one girl tonight, and if he didn’t make any mistakes he probably pulled a second for tomorrow.

I went into the small bathroom first and did my ablutions. I changed into my nightie — essentially a long t-shirt — and sat on the couch. Giles fetched me a blanket and some pillows while Cathy did her ablutions. She put on a similar long t-shirt, went into the small bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. Giles did his ablutions last, and he walked out of the bathroom proudly naked.

I could see his skin was pale and almost hairless. He had nice pecs, a flat abdomen, strong arms, and what I assumed was a decent sized penis nestled in curly brown pubes. His cock was not erect, but I knew this would happen soon. As he walked into his room I saw he had a nice, firm bum.

Giles shut off the ceiling light in his bedroom and I shut off the light in the lounge. I was happy that he only closed his bedroom door half-way. With no curtains on his windows the flat was illuminated by the streetlights. I could see him ask Cathy to stand, and he gently pulled her nightshirt over her head and stood there admiring her nice body. I have nice boobs, but Cathy’s are larger with areola like puffy pink pillows. She’s a natural blonde with pale wavy pubes.

They hugged and kissed and then got under the duvet: my view now largely blocked by the door. I found the ensuing moans and grunts quite interesting and wondered if Giles would be able to make me moan like that when it was my turn — assuming, of course, he passed Cathy’s inspection.

The noises grew louder, and then stopped. I fell asleep, only to be awoken a few hours later by the moans starting up again.

The next morning naked Cathy walked out of the bedroom and gave me the thumbs up. She was followed by naked Giles. His white skin was reddened by the exertion and I could see fresh scratches on his back. They went together into the bathroom. There was only a small bathtub, but he’d added a hose contraption so you could take a shower. They did so together, and then dried each other. Giles gave Cathy a kimono-like thing that was hanging on the back of the door, and he wrapped his towel around his waist. He walked over, sat on the chair, and said he’d enjoyed his evening with Cathy very much, and hoped he could spend tonight with me.

I enigmatically said, “We’ll see.”

“Would you like toast?” he asked.

And the man in the towel made toast for the three of us, with Fortnum & Mason marmalade he said he’d received as a gift from his aunt.

Once dressed, and after the mandatory fussing with hair and applying fresh make-up, we spent the day sightseeing in London — Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament from the outside, Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus. We were more interested in Carnaby Street and Soho — but, being Sunday, most of the stores were closed. The few that were opened had darkened windows. Giles explained they were sex shops, so we gave them wide berth.

We had spag bol for dinner at a small Italian restaurant near the flat, washed down with Chianti. Giles paid the check once again, over our weak protests.

Once back in the apartment Giles brought out a bottle of Polish vodka and a carton of orange juice and we drank screwdrivers.

As it grew late, Giles looked at me and asked, “You ready?”

I asked him, “Are you?”

“Oh yes, more than ready.”

Cathy chuckled, and told Giles, “Do your best.” Thankfully she didn’t say, “I give you the girl, now give me the woman.” (I read that in a Mills & Boon bodice ripper, I think.)

Cathy came out of the bathroom wearing only white underpants and she sat on the couch. Fortified by screwdrivers, I came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my boobs and barely covering my pussy. I went to Giles bed — still unmade from the night before — and lay down on the right side. Soon afterwards Giles strode in, naked. He flicked off the ceiling light and made no effort to even partially close his bedroom door.

He crawled up the left side of the bed and raised himself up on both elbows so hie face was above mine, and we began to kiss. They were warm, passionate kisses, and I could feel his tongue gradually start to explore my mouth. I reciprocated.

He then asked me, with his mellow voice and assured calmness, “Ready?”

“I need to tell you something first,” I replied.

“Sure.”

“I’m a virgin. You’ll be my first.”

“Cathy told me. I’ll be gentle.”

“That’s great, Giles. I’m ready.”

“I’m honored to be your first,” he said.

He gently opened my towel, exposing me from head to toe. I felt a strange, pleasant sensation. He lifted his head further up to look at what he’d found inside the wrapper. He was unhurried — as if he was examining all the goodies on a buffet and planning what he wanted to eat.

Giles started to kiss me again, moving the fingernails of his right hand slowly down the side of my neck and on to my shoulders. Then slowly down my arm and over to the ribs on my side. He paused and waited some time before gently cupping my left breast.

“Oh, Jenny, so nice,” he whispered.

He discovered that while my nipples are small, they are hard-wired to my clitoris. He rolled my nipple gently with his fingers, and I began to moan. He then lay on his left side, facing me. He gently encouraged me to lie on my right side, facing him. We resumed kissing.

His right hand moved slowly from my boob down my abdomen to the outside of my left leg. He carefully pulled my leg so that it was on top of his. And then, from below, his fingers were on my inner thigh, then on the side of my vulva, then the other side, then lightly moving over the hair of my pussy.

He paused, took my left hand and gently moved it down to his penis. It surprised me — it was rock hard. It twitched slightly when I touched it.

He said “the head is sensitive, be gentle there. You can stroke the shaft.” I did.

A little later his hand returned to my pussy. This time the gentle movements over the public hair became fingers moving into my vulva.

“You’re so wet,” he said. I moaned.

As he had done with my nipple, he found my clit and gently moved it between his fingers. I moaned even louder. I thought I heard Cathy, in the other room, chuckling.

Next thing I knew he was back on all fours and turned me gently onto my back. But rather than getting on top of me, I was surprised that he slid down the bed. And even more surprised when he spread my legs and put his face into my pussy. I could feel his warm tongue moving slowly from my vagina up my vulva to my clit. He repeated this — but I wasn’t counting. It felt great, and I didn’t want it to stop.

He then raised his head and crawled on top of me, until we were face to face. He kissed me, and I tasted — for the first time — the unique transferred taste of pussy.

He whispered. “Ready?”

“Yes, oh yes,” I said, “now.”

“It might hurt. The pain won’t last.”

“Fuck me,” I commanded.

And he did.

There was no pain. I suspect if I had a hymen it had long since vanished as they sometimes do. I could feel his hard penis move slowly into my vagina, filling it with his warmness. It just kept going — but then it stopped — and he gradually pulled it almost entirely out.

By this point his hands were beside me, holding him up. I could look down, through my boobs, and see his dick gradually disappearing into my pussy, and reappearing. Even in the semi-darkness I could see it glistening with my wetness.

“Look,” I said. He’d been looking at my face and lowered his head so he could share my view of our coupling Parts A and B.

“You feel great, Jenny. So tight.”

“Oh, Giles, you feel SO good,” I whispered.

He varied the pace from time to time. Sometimes he only did short movements at the entrance to my vagina. I could feel the edge of the head of his penis. Other times he did long, slow, deep pushes. As his breathing grew more excited, he would slow down, often stopping completely. Then he’d start moving again, sometimes by first grinding in a circle against my pubic mound. I moaned, of course.

My arms were around him. I moved my hands down to his firm butt, my nails gently digging into his skin, encouraging him to thrust more. Deeper.

He then started, purposefully, to increase the pace. I looked down again and saw his dick moving in and out ever more rapidly. His eyes were closed.

“Cum inside you?” he asked, clearly breathing heavily.

I knew what this meant but had no idea what was best. My brief hesitation meant my answer no longer mattered. I could feel him pulsing inside me, throbbing, as he exclaimed “Yes, Gawd, YES!” He pushed his dick into me, as far as it would go, and held it there.

Cathy heard this and started to applaud. Heck, folks in the next building would have heard Giles. I was pleased I could bring so much pleasure to this kind man.

He then lowered himself down on me, still supporting most of his weight with his elbows and knees. He was still in me, but as the blood left his penis it fell out. He made no effort to get off me.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked.

“Oh yes, very much. Why did I wait so long?”

“You waited for me.”

He then rolled off, and we resumed looking at each other side-by-side. As I turned I felt his cum sliding out of my pussy onto the towel, still open on the bed beneath me.

“There are other positions,” he said. “I need to rest my dick a little, but we can try another if you like.”

“Yes, very much.”

We kissed.

“Would you like some water?” I asked.

“Yes, please. And there’s some brandy in the cupboard.”

I left him in bed and walked into the living room. Cathy was lying uncovered on the settee, with one of her hands inside her panties, in her pussy, moving rapidly. As I approached she also started to moan: it must have been contagious. Her moans grew louder, the movement of her hand faster. And then both stopped.

“Would you like some water or brandy?” I asked Cathy.

I could see her body gently pulsing and shaking. No reply.

I found a small tray in the kitchen and six glasses. I poured three of brandy, three of water.

By this time Giles, still naked, was sitting in the chair in the lounge. I distributed the drinks and sat next to Cathy. Her face was still flushed, but she’d regained most of her composure.

“Was it all you expected?” Cathy asked me.

“All, and more,” I replied.

As I spoke I noticed more of his white, sticky cum oozing onto the settee.

“How much of this is up there?” I asked, putting my finger in the cum. It was sticky.

“Lots, I hope,” Giles said, and Cathy laughed.

We chatted a little more, until Giles looked down at his dick — which was starting to swell.

“Willy is getting ready for Round 2,” he said, as he began to gently play with it.

He took me by the hand and said, “Come on, girl” as he led me to his bed.

I looked over my shoulder to Cathy and said, “See you in the morning.”

“Have fun, kids” she replied. “Play nicely.”

Once in the bedroom Giles gave me a big hug, his now erect dick folding up so that it didn’t stick into my abdomen. Clever design feature.

“What would you like to try? With you on top, or sitting on me, or doggie fucking, or with us standing?”

“I have no idea, Giles. Your choice.”

“Well,” he said, “last time I did all the work. Let’s switch so you’re in charge.”

I didn’t have time to answer before he was flat on the bed, with his head at the foot and his dick standing up like a flagpole. I wondered why he hadn’t put his head on the pillow.

“Okay, he said, straddle me so my dick is beneath you.”

I did as I was told. He reached down and put a couple of his fingers in the slit of my vulva, and then on his dick.

“You’re still nice and wet. Now slowly lower yourself onto my dick. I’ll move it so that it slides in.”

I did as I was told. There was no resistance, and his dick again filled my entire vagina.

“Now move,” he said, “Slide back and forth, up and down, or both. Anything that feels good. All good for me.”

I looked down at him and saw him smiling. I started to lower my face down to kiss him.

“No, no,” he said. “I’d like to see your pussy and watch your tits bounce while you fuck me.”

I remained upright and started sliding at first, then bouncing. I enjoyed the feeling of my boobs — not ample, but certainly adequate — coming along for the ride. He was obviously enjoying the show. And now I could see why Giles put his head on the foot of the bed: I looked forward through the bedroom door: Cathy was sitting on the chair, smiling at me, as she played with her pussy. I smiled back.

Giles reached up and cupped one of my breasts. He gently squeezed my small nipple between his fingers. This sent a bolt of energy right to my clit.

Giles seemed so sense this: he moved his hand down to my pussy. He found his way through the hair to my bouncing clit and rubbed gently.

I felt happy. I was making Giles happy. But I was starting to flag a little with all my bouncing. Giles seemed to sense this as well and he started moving beneath me — slowly at first, but then ever faster. I watched his pale skin turn red, heard his breathing quicken, and was surprised how rapidly he could move his pelvis up and down. I sensed he was about to cum — so I jumped up, off and back. His erect dick — looking larger than before — started to pulsate and squirt cum into the air, like a fountain. Three or four ribbons, all falling on his abs.

He grabbed his dick and stroked it, producing still more cum. And I could hear Cathy’s orgasm from the other room.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just wanted to see you cum. Is it always that much?”

“Usually more. This was our second time tonight, and it reduces each pop.”

I grabbed my towel, now on the floor, and wiped his tummy.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said, “I just need to go to the loo.”

I went to the bathroom and had a pee. My vagina was sore, no doubt the result of all the friction. I tried to blot my vulva dry with some tissue, without great success. The wetness continued to flow.

I walked past the settee and heard Cathy softly snoring.

I climbed into bed on my side and faced Giles.

“I had a wonderful evening, Giles. You were so gentle — so sexy.”

“Trust me, Jenny, it was my pleasure. I hope you won’t be offended, but you were a great shag. 10 out of 10. Remarkable for a novice.”

I gently rubbed his cheek and smiled.

I turned to face the other direction and backed into Giles so that he could spoon me. He put one arm over me, his hand rested on my tummy. We fell asleep. The first time I’d ever slept with a man.

I sleep soundly: I was spent from the sightseeing and the evening activities. Losing one’s virginity is hard work.

In the early pre-dawn light, in that limbo between dream and reality, I felt a gentle pushing near my vulva. As I awoke Giles’ penis found its destination and he gently pushed it into my vagina. I lay there, pretending to still be asleep, as he began a very slow rhythmic pace. He was trying to fuck me without waking me up. I should have been annoyed, but it felt so good.

After a moment, a minute, who knows, I started to moan.

“That feels so damn good,” I whispered.

“Good morning, Jenny. Your early morning wake-up call.”

It was slow and gentle and lasted a long time. There were some moans — as quietly as possible. And then came the tell-tale change in his breathing as he picked up the pace. And then I felt that lovely swelling as he pushed and shot still more cum into the most distant corner of my cunt. Some atavistic part of his brain made him try to push even further than physically possible, as though driving him to seed the very core of my body.

We stayed locked in this position until he lost his erection and fell out, followed by the inevitable flow of semen.

We all got up, did our ablutions, got dressed and did our hair and slap. As I reflect on this, I think how horrified I’d be to let anyone see me without my eye makeup and lippy, yet I happily let Giles look at the pink, moist, most intimate part of my body, and then ram his big prick up my cunt.

We went to a near-by café for full English breakfasts — eggs, fried bread, beans, bacon, sausages. Giles offered to pay our train fare back, but Cathy reminded him that trains don’t run on a bank holiday. We went back to the flat to pack our few things and get ready to start hitchhiking when Giles said, “I have an idea. Give me a few minutes.”

In about ten minutes he was back, grinning. “I’ve borrowed my mate’s car. I am your chauffer.”

“All the way to Hereford?” Cathy asked. “It’s about 140 miles — one way.”

“Of course, my ladies and lovers. It’s the least I can do.”

The three of us squeezed into his friend’s old VW Beetle. We drove via Oxford where we had sandwiches and pints at a pub along the river. We paid. I sat next to Giles most of the way, and he often put his left hand on my bare knee. By late afternoon we were in central Hereford. Giles parked in a layby and got out of the car to say goodbye. Cathy and I each gave him a long kiss and thanked him for his hospitality.

“Anytime you’re in London please be my guests.”

He gave me another kiss, and then whispered in my ear, “There are many more positions for us to try, Jenny.”

He got into the car and waved through the driver’s window over his shoulder as he left.

Cathy and I both made our way home. My parents asked if I had a good time at Cathy’s house, and if anything exciting happened.

“Just the usual stuff,” I lied. “Like your daughter losing her virginity,” I thought.

Cathy and I resumed our pub crawls and our occasional dates. After the events in London I was now happy to let some of the young men, the nicer ones (and a few of the bad boys), put their hands under my blouse and touch the bare flesh of my boobs. I asked them to please squeeze my nipples and they obediently obliged. While I didn’t remove my underpants, I let a smaller, select group put their fingers into the slit of my vulva. They were thrilled when I didn’t stop them from fingering me — and happily stuck one or two fingers into my largely dry cunt. They knew about Part A and B, but not one boy paid any attention to that little button hidden a few inches higher up my slit. Had they simply touched my clit — gently — they’d have found the magic button that opened my legs wide and made me quiver. They’d have heard me whisper “Fuck me. Fuck me now!” rather than “Okay, that’s enough.”

Ian must have heard that I was starting to “put out” because he sought me out in the pub one night and asked me if I’d like to go out with him again.

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

“How about dinner tomorrow?”

He picked me up at my house in his maroon Ford Corsair. We went to a Berni Inn and ate sirloin steaks with tinned peas and shared a bottle of plonk. I told Ian about the trip to London, leaving out any mention of Giles. Ian had never been to London, and said he’d like to take me there someday.

After dinner Ian drove me to a viewpoint where, in the moonlight, you could see the lovely Herefordshire countryside. But Ian was only interested in seeing more of me. We kissed for a few minutes before he started to gingerly unbutton my blouse. I think he expected me to say “no” at any minute. He looked at me hopefully. I looked into his eyes and kissed him again.

Blouse removed he fumbled with the clasp on the back of my bra before he finally got it open, and then pulled it off my boobs with remarkable haste. Exposed to the air, I rubbed both of my boobs. Ian took a long, lustful look.

“You’ve got great tits, Jenny. Such nice, small nipples,” and he then started kissing them. I’d not experienced this before, and I found it quite pleasant. Kissing and softly licking. And not just the front of my boobs, but the sides and between.

“Let’s get in the back,” Ian suggested. He beamed when I opened my car door and did as he suggested. He reached down to pull the driver’s seat forward and was already unbuttoning his shirt as he got into the back next to me. I’d not seen him shirtless before but knew from his arms he’d be hairy. And he was — a thick black matte on his pecs. I loved the muscular washboard look of his abdomen. Ian was a healthy outdoorsman: his tan arms and torso showed he’d spent a lot of the summer shirtless.

His interest returned to my breasts, and he gently bit my small nipples. That really sent a jolt of energy down to my clit.

One of his hands started to go up my skirt, but I stopped it. I didn’t want his cum to stain my skirt, so I unbuttoned it on the side. He pulled my skirt down my legs and off with the same speed he’d removed my bra and tossed my skirt onto the growing pile of discarded garments.

He unbuckled his belt and pulled his trousers down over his feet and added them to the pile. I could now see even more muscles beneath his naval: muscles in a “V” shape pointing directly to his cock. I later learned that this muscle is appropriately called the Adonis Belt. Its definition is partially genetic, but also a reflection of discipline in the kitchen and gym.

We both sat there in just our underpants. I could see Ian’s engorged cock was struggling to escape.

“You sure?” he asked.

“We’re back together?” I asked, always the pragmatist.

“Oh yes, Jenny. Yes! Condom?”

“Not needed, Ian. I’m on the pill.”

Ian was so happy he almost burst. Not only was he about to get laid, he could fuck bareback. It was like Christmas and his birthday came at once.

He reached over and with both his hands pulled my underpants down over my feet and tossed them with the other clothes. He wasted no time unwrapping his present.

He did the same with his underpants, his cock springing out. It rose from a thicket of curly black pubic hair and was larger than Giles’ penis.

I wanted it inside me.

I could lie down on the back seat, but it was a tight fit. With remarkable proficiency he adjusted me so that I was semi-reclining on the door with my pussy easy to access. He kneeled on the back seat, in front of me, between my legs — his cock pointing directly at my wet pussy. I could see a glistening drop of what I later learned was pre-cum form on his tip. I suspected he’d been in this same position quite a few times before.

I expected some foreplay, some gentle touching of my pussy, my vulva, my clit. But Ian Was Horny, a starving man. While not a virgin who knows when he was last laid? He reached out and put his hands beneath my butt, pulling me up as he maneuvered his dick. He then thrust forward.

He was off target, and it hurt us both. I used one hand to grasp him and move the head of his cock to the opening of my vagina. That was it — he was in, full hilt.

There was no varying of the pace, no shallow moves and deeper moves. No grinding. It was all just piston pumping, in out in out. I could see the strength in his arms as he continued to hold me up. His eyes were closed, lips tight — a man concentrating on his mission. At some point I sensed the tell-tale change in his breathing. He pushed hard, and I could feel the pulsing. We stayed in this position for a few minutes, until he fell out and released the flood of cum. He lowered my pelvis gently to the back seat.

He bent over me and kissed me. His thick chest hair tickled my boobs. I was starting to anticipate Round 2, but Ian started to put on his clothes. I was just getting started and would gladly have jumped on top of him and ridden him until his eyes popped out, but he either didn’t know that or didn’t care.

I got out of the car, went to the front seat, and dressed. I put my bra into my purse and left most of my blouse unbuttoned. I’d hoped for more massaging, licking, or maybe changing his mind about more fucking, but nothing was forthcoming.

He drove me home, gave me another kiss, and suggested we do this all again the next night, or at least repeat the part in the Corsair.

To make a long story short, my parents did not “approve” of Ian. I never knew why, because he was a hard-working, decent guy. After a month or so my parents told me I either needed to stop seeing Ian or needed to leave my family home. They said I was setting a bad example for my younger siblings.

Ian’s family graciously took me in. At first his mother didn’t like the idea of my sharing Ian’s bedroom, but Ian convinced his father that if he couldn’t fuck me at home he’d just fuck me somewhere else. Ian’s Dad liked me, in a lecherous old man way, and I think Dad liked the sound of moaning coming from Ian’s bedroom most nights. I tried to interject a few extra loud “Fuck me, fuck me harder!” exclamations for Dad’s benefit. Ian knew this and would smile.

This was an unworkable long-term solution, so Ian decided we should get married and rent a small flat. None of my family came to the short wedding ceremony at the Registrar’s Office, but our friends and his family were there. Cathy brought along a very handsome date — Giles. He’d come up from London for the occasion. He gave us four types of Fortnum & Mason marmalade as a gift, along with a bottle of Bailey’s.

We held our reception at the local pub, and Ian and I got totally pissed. This posed a problem. Ian gets loquacious and horny when he gets very drunk, while I get quiet and want to go to bed — to sleep.

We were still staying at his parents’ home, so that’s where we spent our wedding night. We’d started the habit — which I continue to this day — of sleeping in the nude. When we both got into bed I wanted to sleep, but Ian kept pawing me. Boobs, clit, cunt — it didn’t matter. He tried them all trying to find the one that would make me amorous.

My judgment was fogged by alcohol, but I did a quick cost-benefit analysis and calculated I’d be able to go to sleep faster, and have a more harmonious first day of my honeymoon, if I just let him fuck me. I laid on my back, spread my legs, and he did the rest. He quickly pumped his prick in my pussy with his eyes closed. No variation in the strokes — in all the way, out part of the way, in all the way.

“What is he thinking?” I wondered. “Is he remembering all the local girls he’d shagged in the back seat of the Corsair and would no more?” There were no secrets in a small town. I was acquainted with some of the lasses. They liked Ian’s body, but were unimpressed by his cocksmanship.

In a few minutes, probably less, he was finished. He squirted a gallon of cum inside me and rolled off.

We usually have a “fuck towel” on the bed when we have sex, but not tonight. I thought of getting up to wipe the cum on something (his underpants came to mind), but the room was spinning. I flexed my pelvic muscles and the torrent fell on the sheets. And, finally, I fell asleep on top of the large puddle as it soaked into the sheets and mattress below.

We’d booked a week-long honeymoon in the West Country, travelling in the Corsair, changing hotels every night. He grew impatient with me every morning. I took time with my auburn hair, my eye make-up, lip liner, lipstick, and Lipcote. As we’d foolishly planned a different hotel each night, we spent time packing and unpacking.

By day three of the honeymoon Ian announced that he thought we’d seen enough of the West Country and, accordingly, we returned to Hereford. I learned that his friends had planned a hunting and fishing weekend that conflicted with our honeymoon. He decided that killing deer, gutting fish, and sleeping on an air mattress in a tent was (to him) preferable to a honeymoon with me.

I quickly came to realize that Ian was boring.

Yes, he was a nice guy and he tried his best to take care of me, but he was obsessed with hunting and camping and the outdoors while I was interested in clothes and shoes and make-up.

He was also boring in bed. Okay, I didn’t have many points of comparison — I’d only fucked two guys. I usually fantasied about Giles while Ian was on top of me, pumping away. Ian didn’t last long at the best of times, and at other times came after a few thrusts. On one occasion he came after a single thrust.

We moved into a small flat. Ian worked hard, stayed faithful, but went hunting most weekends, leaving me alone. He’d bring home large slabs of venison or chunks of wild pork. One day he even shot a peacock (tastes like chicken).

Having hunted in every square inch of the Herefordshire woodlands, he wanted to travel further afield. He told me he’d applied for a job in New Zealand, and a month later announced that he’d been offered the job and we’d be travelling to mine in a remote corner of the South Island. Once the immigration details were sorted, his new employers would be sending us the tickets. One-way tickets.

-oo-o0-0o-oo-

Another three years passed.

S-l-o-w-l-y.

We lived in a house provided by the Company, shopped in a grocery store owned the Company, and went drinking in the Company pub. We were surrounded by lush forests, and Ian fit right in with an active group of hunters. He was gone most weekends, and our freezer overflowed with venison.

Our sex life had not improved. Once a week, twice if he was horny. His play book was simple: Kiss a little, squeeze boobs, twiddle nipples, jump on top, stick it in, up and down up and down, cum, roll off. Sometimes he moaned, I moaned less frequently. My play book: Lie still, fantasize about Giles, and squeeze my pelvic muscles to expel his jizz.

I did try to enliven things. On occasion I’d surprise him in the shower. He’d still follow the play book (kiss a little, squeeze boobs, twiddle nipples) and would then move me to the bed to jump on top, etc. I asked him if he could, instead, fuck me standing in the shower, or fuck me sitting on the bathroom counter, or turn me around, bend me over, and fuck me like a dog. But he never did.

As we still slept naked I’d sometimes see he had a morning erection — but was still asleep. On two occasions I quietly maneuvered myself on top and gently lowered myself to take his erection into my vagina. Each time he woke up, smiled, and with the agility of a gymnast managed to twist us and put me on my back without our becoming uncoupled. I found the move quite electrifying, but then we were back to up down up down, cum, etc.

This was a lonely place for wives, but I had a stroke of good fortune. The Company needed an administrator in the office, and I had acquired the requisite experience as a civil servant in the UK. While Ian was out each day wiring and fixing grimy equipment, I sat in the office looking at the Tasman Sea through a large plate glass window.

I reported directly to Scott, the General Manager. He was an American engineer in his mid-40’s. He was handsome: about 6’2″ with hazel eyes, a defined jaw, and salt and pepper hair beautifully trimmed (I learned his wife, Beth, had been a hair stylist back home in Honolulu). He wore Polo shirts — with the little horse logo — and had them in many different colors. He was a muscular guy — partially because the absence of activities here meant folks spent a lot of time pumping weights in the Company gym.

There was a small Company pool and Scott and Beth were often there on weekends. He wore a royal blue Speedo that barely concealed the point of the “V” in his well-defined Adonis Belt.

Beth was younger than Scott. They’d met when she cut his hair at a hotel in Honolulu. At the Company pool she often wore a fuchsia bikini — the top resembled two scallop shells holding up her voluptuous breasts. She rarely went into the water, preferring to sun herself. When she lay on her tummy Scott would unfasten the top of her suit and apply lotion to her back. She’d sometimes fall asleep and turn on her side, exposing her boobs to an appreciative audience. Scott would finally notice, and quietly turn her back on her tummy. Ian would have enjoyed the show if he wasn’t off killing forest animals.

Ian and I joined Scott and Beth for dinner at their home on several occasions. The Company restaurant was small, and the fare limited, so folks tended to have dinner parties. We’d reciprocated with dinner at our Company house. We served venison.

As time passed my sex sessions with Ian changed somewhat. I no longer fantasized about Giles. The images I now saw on the inside of my eyelids were of Scott fucking me in the shower, on the kitchen counter, and on the sheepskin rug. Every home in New Zealand has at least one sheepskin rug.

I desperately wanted to have more sexual experiences. I realized that I’d refused too many young men in Hereford who were keen to shag me, and I’d married Ian too soon. I set my sights on Scott to expand my horizons in this remote Company town. Being fucked by Ian was unsatisfying — I was hungry for more. Jenny was Horny.

The cosmos obliged me. One day, while having a cheese toastie in the Company restaurant, Beth came over to sit with me. She said she needed a break from the small, closed town and would be spending a few weeks in Hawaii with her brother. She explained Scott couldn’t join her as there was no Assistant General Manager to mind the shop.

“Please check in on Scott for me while I’m away,” she asked. “He might appreciate a home cooked meal or two.”

I told her I’d be glad to oblige. She had no idea what I planned to serve Scott for dessert.

Beth left on a Thursday, and Scott accepted my dinner invitation for Saturday night. I forgot to tell him that Ian wouldn’t be there — he would be off in the woods, as usual, hunting.

Scott rang my doorbell at 6:00 pm. I opened the door to find him wearing a bright orange Polo shirt, handing me a bottle of Barossa red from the Company store. How appropriate — Frank Sinatra always wore something orange because he believed it to be the color of happiness.

“Come on in and make yourself comfortable,” I said. “May I get you a G&T?”

“Yes, please. With lots of ice if you have it. Remember I’m an American.”

“Slice of lime?”

“Yes, please. Hey, where’s Ian?”

“Sorry, he’s not here. He really wanted to join us, but he’d promised his friends he’d go hunting with them. He won’t be home until tomorrow night.”

Scott looked a bit uncomfortable but made no effort to leave. I’m sure he thought, “She’s happily married. I’m happily married. What could possibly happen?”

I handed him his G&T and sat down. We had a three-person settee in our lounge and a couple of chairs. He sat at one end of the settee, I sat at the other. I was wearing jeans and a Company t-shirt. White t-shirt, navy and yellow Company logo, a size too small for me, no bra beneath.

His G&T was mostly G. Because I’m a sleepy drunk — and didn’t want to be sleepy tonight — mine was only T.

We chatted about the challenges of living in a remote Company town, about Hawaii, and about my life in the UK. I heard a “ding” in the kitchen and excused myself.

I make a great roast dinner. I can do it in my sleep. I’d splurged at the Company store on a nice standing rib roast. Ian never came home with a slab of beef, and Kiwis preferred lamb. I read somewhere that Americans like beef — home on the range, cowboys, heehaw, all that stuff.

I’d roasted potatoes in duck fat (ducks provided by Ian), and steamed some fresh broccoli. I brought the roast out on a serving platter with a carving knife and fork. I wanted Scott to feel like he was master of the house — at last tonight. Slicing a roast surely must boost a man’s testosterone.

Scott carved and we ate. The beef was a perfect medium rare, and I’d made some au jus gravy. We drank his red wine, and he carved some more beef. The wine bottle was drained, and I suggested we move back to the settee for dessert.

“That was a great dinner, Jenny. You really know how to cook.”

“Oh, thanks Scott. We have weekly roast dinners in England, not just at Christmas, so I’ve had lots of practice.”

I walked over to our liquor cabinet and asked Scott, “Would you like to join me in an after-dinner drink? I have several bottles of single malt Scotch or brandy.”

“I really shouldn’t — but there’s no work tomorrow and I’m not driving anywhere. But could I possibly have another G&T? That first one was delicious.”

“Oh good, I’d enjoy one as well. Coming right up.”

“What type of gin do you use?”

“Plymouth. It’s a different type of gin. The others are all London Dry.”

I brought Scott his G&T and went back to the kitchen to get dessert — fresh strawberries, brown sugar, and cream.

I put the bowl of strawberries and smaller bowls of whipped cream and brown sugar on the coffee table in front of us and went back to get my tonic drink.

“I’ve never had strawberries served like this,” he said. “What do you do?”

“It’s easy. You roll the strawberry in the brown sugar and then into the cream. And then you eat it.” I demonstrated putting my strawberry into my mouth as sensuously as I could.

We ate strawberries, drank our cocktails, and I could see that Scott was getting merry.

“There is a better way to eat the strawberries,” I said.

“Really? How?”

I leaned forward and prepared a strawberry and then scooted to his side of the couch and gently put it into his mouth. He looked surprised, and I half-expected him to stand up and flee.

Instead he said “Mmmm. Let me try with you.”

He rolled a strawberry. I put my tongue out and curled it slightly. He put the strawberry on my tongue, and I lifted the end and put it into my mouth. I moaned a little and licked my lips slowly.

We fed each other strawberries a few more times. When I was my turn to fed him the next strawberry, I deliberately put cream on his lips as I popped the strawberry into his mouth.

“Whoops,” I said, “let me clean that off.”

I bent over and slowly licked the cream off his lips. This morphed into a kiss and soon progressed as he explored my mouth with his tongue. This guy could kiss well. I was eager to see if he could also fuck well.

Ian started to touch my boobs through the Company logo. I took my shirt off and my firm tits, with their small nipples, were in front of him. He bent forward and put some of the cream on his fingers, and gently put it on my boobs.

“You showed me a new way to eat strawberries. Let’s see how the cream tastes on your luscious tits.”

And he began to gently lick one boob, while he caressed the other with his hand. It didn’t take him long to discover my nipples were very sensitive and sent erotic pulses directly to my crotch.

After a few minutes I said, “Not here. Come to bed.”

“But it’s your marital bed,” he protested. But not too much.

I was now standing over the settee, over him. I took one of his hands and he stood up. I led him down the hall to what I hoped would be my classroom for the evening..

I’d recently seen Cabaret at the Company cinema and copied the idea of scarves on top of lamps. I’d put dark red scarves on the top of the two bedside lamps, hoping they wouldn’t catch on fire. The room was now dark and had a seductive red glow. Liza Minelli would have felt right at home.

We stood at the foot of the double bed and kissed. I pulled his orange Polo shirt over his head, and he unfastened my jeans and nudged them down. He cupped my ass with both of his hands and pulled me towards him. We kissed with even more passion than before.

I unbuckled his pants and pulled them down. He wasn’t wearing underwear — “I always go commando” he explained as his dick sprang free. It certainly didn’t disappoint, but it did surprise. He was circumcised so I could see the entire head of his penis. I wondered how this might affect fucking. Would it feel differently inside me? The ridge of the head — above where head joined shaft – looked quite prominent to my inexpert eyes. I’d read some books on the anatomy of the male penis and knew some biological anthropologists thought this ridge, called the corona, evolved as a “scraper” to remove competitors’ semen from the vagina. Scott’s “scraper” looked like it was up to the task, but Ian hadn’t fucked me a couple of weeks, so any remnants of his seed had long since shriveled and died.

Would Scott’s dick be less sensitive because it wasn’t usually protected by a foreskin? And what did the biological anthropologists say about foreskins? Why do British guys have them, and Americans don’t?

Before he pulled down my knickers he said, “Oh, I forgot something.” He scurried out of the room with his cock happily bouncing and pointing the way. He was back in a flash with the bowls of brown sugar and cream. I was confused but was soon distracted by the swift loss of my underwear.

Scott asked me to lie on the bed on my back. I obliged. I spread my legs instinctively and he could see the pink of my labia. I thought, “Here we go again. Little foreplay. He’ll soon submerge his nice cock into my pussy and after a few grunts and groans it will all be over.”

He lay beside me on the bed, with the two bowls.

“You showed me a new way to eat strawberries. Let’s see how this method works when you suck my dick.”

Suck his dick? What? I’d heard about blow jobs, of course, but naively thought that meant that the woman blew on the guy’s prick. Like blowing out a candle.

“I’d love to try, Scott. I love the look of your dick. But I’ve never done this before.”

“I’ll happily show you. First, no need to shove all my cock into your mouth. Most nerve endings are in the head. The real sweet spot is the small V notch on the bottom.”

He moved his penis to show me the little notch. He squirmed a little when he touched it with his finger.

“Your tongue is the secret. Keep it soft and use it anywhere you like. Put my cock in your mouth — not too deep — and purse your lips like you are saying the word ‘Purple.’ This makes your lips full and creates good suction. Please try to keep your teeth away from my dick.”

“Will you cum in my mouth?” I asked.

“Only if you want. For me a BJ is an appetizer and I usually don’t cum. I hold on until the main course. I’m not a young buck anymore, and it takes me a while to cum a second time. If I do get to the point of no return I’ll tell you. You can then tell me to pull out or say nothing and I will squirt in your mouth. But if you want it out, say it quickly.”

“How much will there be? What’s it taste like?”

“It will seem like a lot. It’s a protein, so it tastes like chicken,” he joked. “But we’re going to improve the taste with brown sugar and cream.”

And, with that, he took a big dollop of the remaining whipped cream and put it on his erect cock. It covered the head and started to drip down the shaft. He then sprinkled on a generous amount of brown sugar with his fingers.

“All yours, Jenny” he said.

I sat up and moved to the foot of the bed. His cock was beneath my face, but I could still look up and see his face.

“Here goes,” I said, and put about a third of his cock in my mouth. It tasted good but felt strange.

“Stroke the shaft,” he suggested, and I obliged. I made a circle with thumb and finger around his cock and began to slowly move my fingers up and down. I could sense his legs tighten and he rose his pelvis up a few inches.

“Jenny, use your tongue.”

I had to move some of his cock out of my mouth to be able to freely move my tongue. I started slowly, using my soft tongue to explore the smooth skin of his glans. I also enjoyed the taste of brown sugar and cream, and, beneath, the earthy taste of a man. When I rubbed my tongue slowly along the ridge of his glans — the corona ridge — I looked upward and saw him looking at me appreciatively.

“Yes, Jenny, more of that. Oh yes, your tongue feels great.”

I obliged with more of that, paying particular attention to the hyper-sensitive frenulum — that notch on the bottom of the corona. I thought “purple” and pursed my lips accordingly. And began to gently suck.

“Yes, Jenny. That’s it. So good,” he said, between moans. I looked up and he was still looking in my direction, but with eyes that were no longer in focus. No doubt the gin was partially responsible, but I was proud to have a new skill to drive a man to orgasm.

At some point, after some amount of time, Scott said, “God, I’m cumming.”

He tried to pull his cock out of my mouth, but I just moved my head so that It stayed in place.

“Here it… ” he ejaculated, literally.

I felt his cock tremble and felt it swelling further. It erupted, shooting multiple ribbons of warm cum into my mouth, down my throat. It tasted vaguely salty, but like nothing I’d tasted before. A delicate, sensual taste and texture. I wanted to have all of it — and swallowed.

“Oh, Jenny, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m glad you liked the appetizer,” I said.

“I loved it. I can’t believe that was your first blow job. You were so good.”

“You gave me good instructions. I thought you’d hold on for the main course.”

“I usually do. But Beth has been preoccupied with her trip to the States. I haven’t been laid for a few weeks. We were going to have a farewell fuck the night before she left, but I fell asleep.”

“I hope you stay awake tonight.”

“Oh, I will. My turn now with sugar and cream.”

He gently rolled me onto my back, and gently pulled me so my pussy was right on the edge of the bed. He fetched what was left of the brown sugar and cream and gently put cream then sugar on my bush — on the mons pubis (I read a book on the vulva as well).

“Best cream pie I’ve seen,” he said, and laughed. At the time I didn’t know why he found this funny, but I do now.

He kneeled between my legs and began eating me. He used a soft tongue. He first put it on, but not into, my vagina, and then slid softly up my vulva until he stopped on my clit. He then vibrated his tongue slowly, causing the room to sparkle and swirl.

He repeated this many times, and each upward slide was better than the last. I was ready, overdue, for the main course. I gently grabbed his well-coiffed hair with both of my hands and pulled him upward. He slid up my body in an almost reptilian fashion.

When our faces met, I whispered, “Now, fuck me now.”

“I can’t.”

What?

Was the gin wearing off? Was he thinking about Beth as he lay atop me in my marital bed? Less likely was he thinking about cuckolding Ian in the guy’s own home, own bed?

“Not hard yet. It takes time.”

“When?” I remembered Giles was ready to roll again quite quickly. This was never an issue with Ian — he never even thought of having a second shag.

“Not that long. I know something that will speed it along,”

“Yes?”

“Let’s have a warm shower. It will get all the cream and sugar off us and will be fun.”

I thought about Giles and Cathy having a shower together in London. At least the Company house had a nice tiled shower, and I thought Scott and I would both fit.

“I don’t like water in my face and don’t want to get my hair wet,” I said.

“Not a problem. Come on, let’s go,” and he headed to the bathroom. The layout of all Company houses was the same, so he didn’t need directions.

I grabbed a couple of large, fluffy towels from the airing cupboard and joined him. He already had the shower running and warmed up.

“After you, my lady,” he said, and gestured to the open shower door.

I gently grabbed his limp cock and tugged him along with me.

I had a liquid soap dispenser in the shower. I squirted some into my left hand and some into his. I concentrated on thoroughly cleaning my focus of attention — his willy. He focused on cleaning, and re-cleaning, my tits.

I soaped and cleaned his back. He did not reciprocate — apparently my boobs and pussy needed additional lathering.

As we hugged each other I felt something moving between my legs.

“See,” he said, “I told you it wouldn’t take too long.”

With that his kisses grew more urgent, his tongue more probing. He put his right arm under my left thigh and pulled my leg up so that my knee was above his waist. He scrunched his tall body down a little, so his dick was pointing right at the entrance to my cunt.

“Would my lady like to fuck?”

“Here?”

And with that he pushed, and I felt his dick — with its pronounced corona — fill my pussy.

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

Like Giles, he varied the pace. Slow and gentle, then stopped, then fast and hungry, then stopped. We were face to face and kissed, but it was hard to concentrate on tongues and his cock at the same time. As he thrust I was pushed up against the tiled wall of the shower. And, shortly, we started to run out of hot water.

“Can you shut off the water?” he asked. I had both arms over his shoulders, but I was able to turn the tap.

“Hold on,” he said. He put his left arm under my right thigh and lifted so both my knees were above his waist. I’d put my arm back and I encircled his shoulders. He kept thrusting, and then started to walk across the bathroom floor, heading back to the bed. We uncoupled as he lowered me down to the mattress — I was on my back, in the position Ian favored, and instinctively spread my legs.

Scott said, “not tonight, Jenny. Up you get.” He positioned me so I was on all fours, with my ass at the edge of the bed, Scott behind me.

Looking over my shoulder I watched as he held his cock in his right hand, rubbed it vigorously a few times, and submerged it into my vagina. He needed to lower himself a little — in this position my vagina was not parallel to the bed but slanted up about 45 degrees. He adjusted for this. I was still soaking wet and loved this new feeling.

As he started to pump I realized that I could also rock back and forth. It took a little while for us to get into sync, but when it happened it was fantastic. I was surprised, and electrified, when he slapped my ass a few times.

He initially held me by my waist, but then he bent over at his hips and started to fondle my right breast. I found I could lower my head and look along the length of my body to see his muscular legs and watch his scrotum happily bouncing as he fucked me.

The moans increased, and then the tell-tale change in his breathing.

“Fill me, Scott. Cum inside me.”

And as his pace quickened his cock swelled, and trembled, and then he shot all he had into the depths. He kept pumping, although slowly now, and then stopped. We remained together, like two dogs, until he fell out. I squeezed my pelvic muscles and what felt like a pint of semen fell out of me and onto the marital bed.

I rolled over on my back and Scott lay beside me. He was still breathing heavily.

“Fantastic, Jenny, fucking fantastic. I haven’t felt like this is a long time.”

“Don’t you have fun with Beth?”

“Absolutely. She’s really a hot lay, and happy to spice things up. But my inner caveman wants to screw more than one woman. Heck, my caveman wants to screw them all.”

“Have you fucked other women since you married Beth?”

“I’m not proud of this, but yes. A few. I had quite a lengthy affair when we were in San Diego, and Beth grew suspicious. She made me promise to end things, and to stay faithful. And I have. Until tonight.”

“Tell me about the lady in San Diego?”

“She was about 30, the account manager for the company that cleaned our offices. Gorgeous Mexican lady, a little plump, with large fake boobs. Double D’s I’d say. She visited the offices after hours to see how they’d been cleaned by her team. One night I was still there, working on a project. We started talking, then went out to get a couple of beers, and then went to a motel where she fucked my brains out. She had a ton of energy and was ready for anything. I loved it.”

“She sounds special, Scott. I’ve only fucked two men. Oh, wait, now three. The first was a one-night stand in London. He was gentle and kind, and we tried different things. Then Ian. He’s a nice man but doesn’t seem all that bothered about sex. We fuck about once a week, usually when I ask. And then it’s by the numbers, little foreplay, same Missionary position, he cums, and that’s it.”

“No wonder you seduced me. I knew you were spiking my drinks, but I didn’t care. I’ve wanted to fuck you from the moment I first saw you. And when you invited me to dinner I hoped this was the night. You could have saved your Plymouth gin.”

“Don’t worry, I saved some by not drinking any.”

He laughed and reached over and put his hand on my tummy.

“So now what?” he asked.

“Can you stay the night?”

“If it were earlier I’d have gone home. But if folks see me walking to my house now they will surely talk. So here’s my plan. I stay here until morning and you then lend me one of Ian’s t-shirts. I came here in an orange Polo, so it won’t look like I stayed the night if I’m seen walking in a different shirt. And I’ll take an indirect route.”

“Devious,” I said. “I like it.”

“I’d love a Coke if you have any. Lots of ice.”

“Sure, I was sure to buy some. I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t have a robe. Ian and I slept naked and often walked around the house in the nude. Off I went to the kitchen. I brought back a tall Coke for Scott, a glass of water for me, and some spice cookies I’d baked the day before.

“Do you think we could have another go?” I asked.

“Oh, dear Jenny, I’d love nothing more. But I think my old cock needs some rest and recuperation.”

“Let’s get under the covers.”

And we went to sleep with him facing me while I lay on my back. He’d put his hand back on my tummy.

On Sunday morning we started stirring at about ten. I pulled off the covers but made no effort to move. I wanted to admire Scott’s body, his defined muscles, his gentle hands. And the pronounced “V” pointing to his beautiful penis.

“Shall I cook us breakfast?” I asked. “I need to clean the kitchen a little first. It won’t take long.”

“That would be great, Jenny. But I had something else in mind first.”

He slid over and pulled me towards him. One of his arms was beneath my head, the other on my ass.

We began to kiss. I felt him grow between my legs, and instinctively put my free leg over him. His dick was now close to my pussy, and I was already wet.

And then it was in. It felt so wonderful.

He managed to roll me over on top of him. I looked down at his handsome, happy face. He smiled at me and said, “All yours, Jenny. Giddy up.”

And I did. He’d grab my boobs. He’d massage my clit — all while I was bouncing happily up and down. His breathing changed, his hips thrust upwards, and he started to shake as he again filled me with cum.

We cuddled, I cooked eggs, potatoes, and sausages, I gave him one of Ian’s old t-shirts and a grocery bag for his Polo.

At the door, as he was about to leave, he gave me a long kiss.

“You know,” he said, “we can never talk about this. Beth must never know, and I assume you don’t want to tell Ian.”

I said I understood, but I really didn’t give a shit if Ian knew or not. Perhaps if Ian knew he’d been cuckolded by his boss he’d up his game. Or perhaps he’d just dump me — here in an isolated Company town.

“So, no foursomes?” I asked.

“For dinner, yes. For fucking, no. For my part I’d happily give it a go. I’ve suggested threesomes to Beth in the past. But she’s too conservative.”

We kept our promises to each other. We continued to work together as though nothing out of the ordinary happened at dinner.

I did make one change in the bedroom. The next time Ian wanted to fuck, I stopped him before he climbed on top of me and turned him over. I straddled him and said, “My turn to do the riding.”

Ian looked bewildered, but as I slid him into me and started to slide and grind and pump he said, “Jenny, this feels great.” And then he shuddered, filled me with cum, and I rolled off.

-oo-o0-00-0o-oo-

I have one more story to relate in the saga of my boring marriage.

My trip to Hawaii.

In the months after my night with Scott, I grew increasingly restless and claustrophobic — with the Company town and with Ian. I desperately needed a break from both.

One Saturday I had lunch with Beth at the Company restaurant. I told her about my dreary sex life with Ian — and told her I needed to get away to re-charge. As far as I could tell she had no inkling of evening with her husband.

“Why don’t you go to Hawaii? My brother Jeff is rattling around in a big house in Kahala. His wife left him about a year ago, and he loves visitors. Particularly if they are female and attractive.” (I am not known to blush, thankfully, but I did feel a little tingle.)

Honolulu is a non-stop flight from Auckland, and Air New Zealand often has special low fares.

I told her a week or two in Hawaii sounded fantastic.

These were the days before e-mail: it took several weeks for her to set things up with Jeff.

Ian hated the idea, but not because he thought I’d be unfaithful. That would never dawn on him, unfortunately. Perhaps there would be more zip in him if he was worried I would stray. Ian’s objection was more pragmatic: he hated spending money, particularly on me. The fact that I just needed to pay for the flights and for my food made the trip more palatable to his wallet. And spending money on my fare gave him an excuse to buy a new shotgun he’d been coveting.

Off I flew.

I left Auckland on Saturday and arrived in Honolulu on Friday morning. I took a taxi to Jeff’s house where I was met by his son Rex. When he opened the door I took a deep breath. Rex was dressed in only a swimsuit. His muscular body glistened with sweat and suntan lotion. He had tussled long blonde hair, blue eyes, and an easy smile. He also was blessed, as were most Americans, with shiny white teeth.

“Aloha, Jenny. Welcome to Hawaii.”

He kissed me on both cheeks and carried my suitcase to my room. It was sparsely furnished but filled with sunlight and the smell of plumeria. It had a large sliding glass door that opened to the outdoor lanai and pool.

“The bathroom is down the hall, across from my room. My dad will be home later this afternoon and is looking forward to meeting you.”

“Thanks, Rex. One problem with the bathroom. I didn’t pack a robe.”

“No sweat, I’ll get you one. But I doubt you’ll need it. Anything else?”

“I’d love a cold drink.”

“Sure, let me show you the kitchen and the pool area.”

He poured us two Cokes, demonstrating the ice maker on the door of the refrigerator.

“You can have cubed ice, crushed ice, or a mixture of both. Please help yourself to whatever you want in refrigerator or panty, anytime. If you need something special, just write it on the list attached to the door, and we’ll pick it up on the next Costco run.”

Rex took me out to the large rectangular pool. It was surrounded by sun loungers and, beyond, gardens thick with tropical greenery. There were six sliding doors that opened from house to the pool, including mine.

A lady lying on one of the sun loungers. She was topless, with a deep tan. Her boobs were showing the effects of gravity, and her skin the effects of leading a long, dissipated life. She was coated with suntan lotion, and gently snoring.

“That’s my dad’s girlfriend. Sorry, I don’t know her name.”

Rex excused himself, and I went to unpack. It was mid-afternoon, but I was tired from the long flight so kicked off my shoes and lay down on the bed. When I awoke it was dark outside, and the pool was illuminated by luau torches. I could hear the loud, happy voices of folks who’d had a little too much to drink.

I went to the loo down the hall, peed, brushed my teeth and refreshed my makeup. I went back to my room and changed to another sundress, opened the sliding door, and headed out into the balmy tropical evening.

Rex saw me and shouted, “Hey, Jenny, over here. Come meet my girlfriend.”

Rex was now wearing a brightly colored aloha shirt and khaki but still barefoot. His girlfriend was strikingly beautiful — blonde, tall, long arms and legs, full “pouty” lips. She had a plumeria blossom behind one ear, facing backwards. She looked like she’d be fun, but also a handful.

“This is Donna. She’s a student at Oberlin in Ohio and is here for a semester to study Hawaiian music.”

Donna air kissed me on both cheeks and smiled.

Rex told Donna, “Jenny is from England but lives in New Zealand. She works with my uncle Scott.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Donna. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Why is the flower behind your ear facing backwards?”

“It’s an island tradition. It tells guys to follow me.”

Rex smiled at her and patted her bum.

After more chitchat Jeff came over with his unnamed girlfriend. She’d put on a t-shirt and looked a bit bleary.

Jeff introduced himself and said, “and this is my girlfriend.” I don’t think he knew her name.

The perfume of the evening now included the smell of meat on an unseen barbeque. We were soon enjoying plates of thinly cut teriyaki steak, steamed white rice, and macaroni salad with crunchy celery and shredded carrot. Veggies don’t seem to be an island tradition.

The unnamed girlfriend was in residence, and arrangements were made for her to take me on what they called “the little circle island” the next day. After a while the party broke up, and folks went to their respective bedrooms. Donna tagged along with Rex. I later saw her walk, naked, from the bathroom to his room, and a little later I heard the characteristic noises of spirited lovemaking. The walls of the house may be thick hollow tile, but all the windows were open.

I slept well.

Saturday. The plan was for me to meet the girlfriend at 8:00 am for the tour, but she didn’t show up until just after 10:00 am. There were lots of magazines in the lounge, so I kept busy. I’d never seen Cosmopolitan before and enjoyed the articles about seduction and shoes.

Girlfriend didn’t say much, nor smile much. We went to the garage and got into a bright yellow Mustang convertible — top down.

The “little circle island” was gorgeous, but the ride in the convertible was windy and screwed up my hairstyle. We had lunch at Buzz’s near gorgeous Lanikai Beach and headed home through a tunnel punched half-way up the steep green mountainside.

Just before we got back to Jeff’s house, the girlfriend asked me if she could borrow $250. I apologized: I explained I had limited funds and a husband who would be very grumpy if loaned it out. She shrugged, indifferent, and headed somewhere inside the house.

I put on my bikini and spent a few hours reading my book by the pool. I wasn’t hungry after our big lunch, so went to bed early.

Sunday, and the pool was popular. Jeff was there in a royal blue Speedo, just like Scott. Perhaps Beth bought two and gave one to her husband and the other to her brother. I’d learned Speedos were called “budgie smugglers” in Australia. From what I could see Jeff was smuggling a rather large budgie. He wasn’t particularly muscular, more lithe. He didn’t have an abdominal “V.”

Girlfriend was laying on her sun lounger, topless, more suntan lotion. Said nothing.

Rex and Donna were there. She was in a stunning bikini — bright green. The part that covered her pussy was the size of a playing card. Her tits filled the top of her suit. She was working on her tan: her body was covered with lotion, and her skin was in the process of morphing from pink to golden bronze. Rex couldn’t take his eyes — or his hands — off her.

My bikini was new. Company store didn’t sell bikinis, so I purchased it from a catalog. I’d misjudged the size — the top was a little too small for my breasts, and I could see Rex and Jeff having a good stare at the overflow.

The cold Heinekens were flowing, as were pupus (which I learned meant hors d’oeuvres) of raw tuna on a little slab of sticky white rice.

I lay on my back on a sun lounger and applied suntan lotion to my arms, chest, and legs. “Don’t forget the tops and soles of your feet,” Rex suggested.

An hour or so later, Jeff suggested I’d had enough sun on my chest and asked me to turn over. He said he’d put suntan lotion on my back so it would be fully protected. What he didn’t tell me was that he couldn’t apply suntan lotion without untying the top of my bathing suit. He sat on the sun lounger and applied the lotion liberally, including the back of my legs and bottom of my feet. In reviewing his work, he decided that my side boobs were in imminent danger of burning, so he thoroughly applied lotion to them as well. It felt good.

After I baked a little longer, and had a few more beers, I needed to cool down. The alcohol and the sunshine had me buzzing. Jeff was already splashing in the pool and I decided to join him — with a grand entrance from the diving board.

As I got up from my sun lounger I fumbled to re-tie my bikini top.

“No need.” Jeff said from the pool. “We’re all friends here.”

I stopped for a moment. I was here, in Hawaii, to relax, to try new things, and to get away from Ian. What the hell? Why not show off my tits? I’d been told they were nice by many suitors in Hereford pubs — and I thought so myself.

So, topless, I got on the diving board and walked it like a runway model. I stopped at the end of the board, my back ramrod straight, and did jazz hands. Jeff and Rex whistled and applauded.

“I’m ready for my close up,” I said and dove into the blue water. It felt great — not too cold, but cold enough to refresh.

I swam a few wobbly laps of the pool which ended in the shallow end where Jeff was standing. The water covered him up to his armpits.

Donna, standing on the pool deck and now topless, asked Jeff and I if we’d like Mai Tais. We both accepted. I thought her tits were magnificent: rose pink areola lighter than her skin.

She brought plastic cups filled to the top with crushed ice and a delicious concoction of dark rum, pineapple juice, and other nice things – all topped with a maraschino cherry.

Jeff and I stood in the water, drinking our Mai Tais. He put his cherry in my mouth, and I put mine in his. I made a small production of licking my lips.

Donna soon brought a second round.

As I chatted with Jeff I became aware he’d moved still closer. Soon he bent forward and rubbed his nose on my nose.

“It’s a Hawaiian kiss, Jenny. Or an Eskimo kiss. I can’t remember.”

I bent forward and gave him a kiss on his lips. “It’s an English kiss. Or a New Zealand kiss. I can’t remember.”

He smiled, and soon he had his lithe arms around me, and we were French kissing. Both of us could remember the nationality of that kiss.

It didn’t take long for me to feel Jeff’s hands on my boobs beneath the water. The inevitable squeeze of my small nipples sent shockwaves to my pussy, and I moaned.

Donna said, “Sorry to interrupt you guys, but I brought more Mai Tais.” I felt a little self-conscious of the public display of affection. Jeff and I accepted the third round and consumed the cocktails quickly. The rum warmed me, and the world started to sparkle. I was surprised that I wasn’t getting sleepy. Perhaps Mai Tais have a magical ingredient that allowed me to get drunk but not sleepy. They certainly have an ingredient that made Jeff and me horny.

Jeff went back to hugging, and now I felt his hands exploring my butt.

Two can play at this game, I thought. I put my hands inside his Speedo and started to explore his butt. It was smooth and firm. Good for thrusting. I squeezed and gently scratched it. I then did something even I didn’t expect. I put my hands on the elastic waist of his Speedo and pulled his suit down.

“Yes, you go girl!” Jeff exclaimed. His budgie was freed. He pulled the Speedo over his feet and tossed it in the vague direction of his sun lounger.

We positioned ourselves so his erect cock fit between my legs. I slid back and forth, and Jeff said loudly, “That feels fuckin’ fantastic!” I looked over at his girlfriend, and she seemed to still be in her trance.

“Should we go to your bedroom?” I whispered. I came to Hawaii to fuck as much as I could.

“Why? We’re in Hawaii. We fuck outdoors.”

“In the pool?”

“No, that sucks. The pool water just makes you dry.”

“Where?”

“We’ll get out of the pool and you strut you stuff over to your sun lounger. Position yourself however you want. I’ll fit in and fuck you silly.”

It wasn’t the most romantic invitation, but I liked Jeff and I was growing to like fucking. Three Mai Tais further reduced my inhibitions, and I reminded myself I was here for excitement. I started to walk in the shallow end to the steps that led out of the pool. I was so focused on having sex that I barely thought about the others who were there. What the hell, let them watch the show. I thought about Cathy watching Giles fuck me, and that turned me on even more.

“Wait. Jenny, you’re forgetting something?”

“What Jeff?”

I was puzzled, but he swam over, underwater, and pulled my bikini bottom down and off. He placed it on his head.

As he’d instructed I walked slowly and seductively (whatever that means) to my sun lounger. I lay down and spread my legs so wide I could put my feet flat on the deck on either side of my sun lounger. I touched my labia and felt they were open.

Once I was down and ready, Jeff arose from the water with his prick pointing straight forward. He puffed up his chest and grabbed his prick with his right hand and began to pump it with exaggerated motions.

“I’m coming, Jenny. Brace yourself.”

And there he was, at the foot of my sun lounger. He stood for several minutes so I could have a good look at his body, and he could have a good look at mine. We both knew sex was now inevitable, but there was no need to rush. I stared at his prick, thinking how nice it looked with its exposed glans.

He gently put his knees between my legs and pulled my ankles up to his shoulders. His prick and my vagina were close — oh so close — but not coupled. I thought about jets refueling in flight.

I saw Donna coming to our assistance. They say it takes a village. She reached in and grabbed Jeff’s prick.

“Here, I’ll help,” she said, as she guided him to the target. Once there he pushed. It felt like his cock would go all the way up to my throat.

Jeff smiled, moved back and forth a little, and then crossed my extended, raised legs. Suddenly my cunt was much tighter, gripping his dick with new enthusiasm.

“You’ve got great tits, Jenny. And those cute little nipples. I’d love to suck them.”

“Later, if you’re good,” I said. I looked down and saw his prick going in and out and in again into my pussy. He was holding most of my weight with his arms, and it didn’t seem to faze him.

“Your cunt is so smooth, so warm. I love fucking it.”

“Mmmm,” I eloquently replied.

“Does it feel good for you? Do you want it faster, slower? Do you want me to pull out and we’ll do it doggie style?”

“You feel fantastic, Jeff. Shut up and keep pumping.”

“When I cum — in or out?”

“It’s your cum. Squirt it where you want.”

I looked to my left and saw Donna standing there, watching. She’d removed her tiny bikini bottom and her hand was rubbing her clit enthusiastically.

Jeff noticed her and smiled. “You’re next, honey.”

Donna looked surprised. “Sure Jeff, if you can get it hard again.”

But Jeff was now too immersed in fucking me to converse. Just groans and moans, and then, “I’m cumming. Fuck yeah. I’m cumming.”

I felt his cock surge and tremble and then ejaculate five or six times. He gently uncrossed and lowered my legs. His prick was literally dripping with my wetness and his cum.

He carefully got off my sun lounger and moved over to Donna. She was now lying on her sun lounger with her legs spread, still rubbing her clit. Even lying on her back her tits pointed heavenward. Magnificent.

“Give me a few minutes, girl,” he said to Donna. “It will rise again.” With that he pushed his head between her legs, next to her hand, and started slurping and sucking.

In a moment Rex sat on my sun lounger and handed me a small drink.

“What’s this, Rex?”

“It’s Hawaiian moonshine — fermented from ti root. It’s called Okolehao — tastes funky and earthy. The song says, ‘And when my dream of love comes true, there will be Okolehao for two, it’s just the old Hawaiian hospitality.'”

I drank my Okolehao. It certainly wasn’t smooth but was very warming.

“It looks like you had a great time with my Dad,” Rex said, “I loved watching him pound you. You were so into it.”

“Jeff certainly scratched my itch. Are you OK with him fucking Donna?”

“Yes, because he told me he was OK if I fucked you. Donna is a hot lay, and has a great bod, but she lacks your enthusiasm.”

“I’ve learned that I love to fuck, Rex. I’m hungry to try new positions, new moves. Unfortunately, my husband is not so keen.”

“What a dickhead. How could he not want to fuck you every day, twice a day?”

“I don’t know. I’ve tried everything to turn him on, but he seems content with vanilla sex.”

“Jerk. I love all 31 flavors.”

“Can you show me another flavor, Rex?”

“Oh yes, Jenny, as many new flavors as you want.”

For a moment he was distracted by Donna’s shouts of, “Shit, shit, shit, Jeff. I’m cumming.”

“Sounds like Dad is working hard for Donna,” I said.

“More on top of Donna than for Donna. He hasn’t really started to fuck her yet. Let’s move into the house. I love watching others fuck, but I’m not so keen on their watching me. My Dad always wants to critique my performance.”

“Of course. Lead on, sir.”

With that Jeff got up and walked towards my sliding door. I followed like a puppy, with Jeff’s cum dripping down my leg.

We walked through my bedroom and down the hallway to Rex’s room. As he opened his door I smelled the funk of unwashed gym socks, sweat, suntan lotion, and recent sex. His bed was covered with rumpled purple satin sheets and a dozen or more cushions of various sizes and colors.

His walls were decorated with about a dozen framed, square black and white photos of nude women. Some of the ladies were reclining on sun loungers by the pool. Others were spread-eagled on the bed. All the ladies looked blissful and were beautiful.

“These photos are good, Rex. Did you take them?”

“Yes,” he said proudly. “These and more. I’ll show you others… after.”

“I’d like to see them.”

He took me by the hand and encouraged me to lie on his bed. He put a couple of the cushions beneath my head: they were still scented with Donna’s perfume.

He sat beside me and asked, “Have you heard of tantric sex?”

“No. What is it?”

“It originated in India. Tantra means woven together. It’s slow sex — orgasms are not the objective. Tantric sex is meant to move sexual energy throughout our bodies to promote well-being.”

“Sounds complicated. And I like orgasms — a lot. Can’t we just fuck?”

“Yes. I’d be very happy with that. But I think you’ll like the tantric experience. Let’s give it a try — but tell me at any time if you’ve had enough. I’ll then jump on you and start shagging.”

“OK, tantric it is. What comes first?”

“I need to be in tune with your body to honor it. This involves a massage.”

I felt a warm fuzzy. I’d had precisely one massage in my life — in a gym after a workout. I liked it, but Ian complained endlessly about its cost.

“Let’s get into the hand-on-hart position” he said. “We both sit cross-legged on the bed and put one hand on each other’s hart. Then we look deeply into each other’s eyes.”

Rex pulled off his swimsuit revealing the nicest cock I’d seen so far — although I still hadn’t seen many. I was beginning to like circumcised penises: they look clean and ready for action.

We both shuffled on the cluttered bed, and soon we were hand-on-heart. I looked into his blue eyes and could feel my pussy getting wet again. Very wet. And with my peripheral vision I could see that his cock was growing hard.

“Now let’s try to synchronize our breathing,” Rex whispered. “Use your diaphragm. Breathe through your nose.” I continued to stare into his eyes, and shortly I was aware that we were breathing together.

After a few minutes, Rex asked me to lie comfortably on my stomach. I obliged.

I’ll start with a massage oil made with sweet almond butter, Clary Sage, and Wild Orange. The Clary Sage is meant to decrease your inhibitions and boost your libido.”

“Rex, in case you hadn’t noticed my libido is on its highest setting. I’m horny as hell.”

“The Wild Orange” he continued “creates joy and gets your juices flowing.”

“They’re flowing. I promise.” I had a flashback of Scott’s orange Polo shirt.

Rex began slowly massaging the scented oil into my shoulders and back. It felt wonderful. He gradually moved down and massaged my butt and the back of my legs. My skin was tingling.

“Now, Jenny, please turn over. Onto your back.”

I obliged.

“I find this part of the massage feels even better.”

He started at my shoulders and neck, and then began to slowly massage my breasts. And massage them some more. He massaged my nipples and they sent the customary erotic telegram to my pussy.

He gently massaged my stomach and when he got to my vulva he explained, “This is your yoni. It requires special attention.”

“Yes it does.”

He gently rubbed the tingling massage oil on my outer labia, and then my inner labia. I was a happy camper. And then moved down my legs to my feet.

“Are you alright, Jenny? Do I continue?”

“Yes, yes. Please.”

‘Now the massage becomes body-to-body.”

He rubbed the oil onto his chest, arms, and legs and slowly lay down on me. While he supported most of his weight on his knees and elbows, his chest was still gently pressing down on mine. He began to slowly move up and down, side to side, on my oiled body. I could feel his lingam (which, incidentally, means “wand of light”) move against my yoni. Tantric massage is meant to take a long time, and I didn’t want this to end.

I wanted more of the tantric experience, so was surprised when Rex suddenly stopped and said, “Damn it, Jenny, If I don’t take you RIGHT NOW I’m going to cum anyway.”

“Is there a special tantric position? Something new.”

“Yah Yum,” he said.

“The what?”

“I’ll show you. First I need to get back to the crossed leg position.” He quickly got off me, his cock as hard as a rock and his body glistening with sweet almond butter. He was a man on a mission.

“Now,” he said, “you sit on my cock and put your legs behind me.”

I did as asked. With all the oil and my natural wetness his swollen wand of light easily slid into my yoni. I felt its warmth and fullness.

“Start synchronized breathing, move very little,” he said. I put my hand on his heart, and he put his on mine. We looked deeply into each other’s eyes for a few minutes.

“Screw this!” he suddenly blurted. “I’ve wanted to fuck you from the moment we met yesterday. I’m not waiting any longer.”

He put his hands in my armpits — the only part of me that wasn’t slippery — and lifted me off his wand of light. I again found myself on my back, legs spread. Rex climbed aboard. But there were some differences between Rex’s position and the normal missionary fuck.

First, he’d shifted his body upwards so that he was riding me high, his chin above my head and his chest in my face; and

Second, he had me raise my butt as he shoved one of the many cushions beneath my ass.

He asked me, “Now?” I replied by bending my face upward to give him a deep kiss.

As soon as our lips touched the tip of his lingam was inside my yoni. His upwards shift in position and the cushion resulted in more of an up-and-down, vertical motion than I’d experienced before. The shaft of his cock slid up and down my vulva and rubbed my clit. My yoni wasn’t penetrated deeply, but my clit was tingling with all the new-found attention.

“This is ‘grinding the corn,’ Jenny.” There was none of the usual thrusting — not yet. This was a deliciously slow fuck.

He was the miller with the corn — for a while. But I sensed he was really horny and wanted a spectacular release.

“Stop grinding, Rex,” I said, “Pound the shit out of the corn.”

With that he slid back down on my body so that his wand of light penetrated my channel to the very heart of its darkness. (Sorry Joseph Conrad.) He extended his arms and legs thereby hovering above me: the only place we touched was penis in pussy. He lowered his head to look down on me and down further to his piston hammering away.

I felt we’d been play fucking for hours. Now we were down to real fucking. I remembered the corona on the head of a cock scraping semen of past partners out of a vagina. I was sure that Rex had scraped every molecule of Jeff’s cum out of me.

“I’m cummmming,” he shouted.

My vagina was instantaneously filled with fresh cum. A lot of it. I was a happy camper.

He rolled off and lay beside me. I let his cum dribble out and onto his satin sheets, where it joined many similar stains. He’d been busy with Donna or doesn’t change his sheets often enough.

“Oh Jenny, that was so good.”

“Not sure about the tantric stuff, Rex. I guess I’m a more conventional girl.”

We lay side by side, without speaking, until it started to get dark outside. We snoozed. He snored quietly.

We were awakened when Jeff opened the door and turned on the ceiling lights.

“I see you kids have been playing. But it’s time to get moving. I had a great month at the law firm, today was a great day, and I want to take us all to The Maile Room.”

I later learned this was the best restaurant in town. Jeff explained that gentlemen would need coat and tie and ladies would need cocktail dresses.

“Jeff, I packed light. I just have a few sundresses.”

“No problem, Jenny. My girlfriend is about your size, and she has a closetful.”

I went to the bathroom and then back to my room to put on a t-shirt and cotton shorts. I wondered where the two parts of my mail order bikini had landed.

Girlfriend sullenly showed me a dozen dresses. I selected one of yellow chiffon, cut deep in the front and framing my cleavage. The style resembled the dress Marilyn Monroe wore when she stood over the subway grate.

Rex and I shared the bathroom. We had a quick shower together — a functional affair, designed to get us clean rather than to get us off. I set about drying and styling my hair and putting on makeup. The small bathroom was warm, so I wore only a pair of white Sloggies. As Rex did his ablutions I could see him staring at my breasts. Guys just can’t help themselves. He reached over and cupped one with his hand and gently twirled the nipple.

Donna was with Jeff in the master bedroom. She seems to have effortlessly moved from son to father, as I replaced her in Rex’s bed. I learned that swapping partners was a frequent occurrence at Jeff’s house. All pussies where fair game.

I have no idea where Girlfriend got ready, but when it was time for us to leave in Jeff’s car, she materialized.

Jeff drove us to the Kahala — about five minutes away. He left the car with the valet and we went down the orchid-lined stairs to The Maile Room. Our dinner was fantastic, attentively served. The cocktails and wine flowed freely, and over after dinner drinks Jeff said, “We need to cap this day with something special. Fucking in the moonlight on the beach?”

Donna — sweet faced Donna — said, “I have another suggestion. Let’s build the Eifel Tower.”

We all looked confused, but she would only say, “You’ll see. You’ll love it.”

We returned home and convened in the lounge. There were multiple couches and chairs and the centerpiece was a large white ottoman.

Jeff made drinks from the liquor cabinet, and then said, “Okay, Donna, what’s this about the Eiffel Tower?”

“It’s simple, Jeff. We strip down. I’ll get on all fours and you fuck me behind. At the same time, I’ll be blowing Rex. And the two of you — father and son — will high five above me. You’ll look like the sides of the Eifel Tower /_ or )_(

“Afterwards,” I added, “I want to make a tower too. How about if the guys switch, with Rex fucking me and I’ll blow Jeff?”

“Fantastic. Mais oui!” said Jeff, as he started to remove his tie and dress shirt.

Rex said, “Not so fast, Dad. I’d like to add something to the tableau.” He scurried towards his room and returned a few minutes later with a tripod and his Hasselblad camera. “We need to record the event.”

He went back to his room to fetch a couple of light stands with strobe flash units.

Rex quickly set everything up and showed Girlfriend how to release the shutter and advance the film. She’d done this many times before.

The ottoman was the perfect stage. Jeff served more drinks and turned up the volume on the stereo. I head Bolero. Really?

Donna shed her cocktail dress. None of us were surprised to see she was braless and minus her panties. While they thought they were being so subtle, we all knew Jeff was fingering her at dinner.

Jeff quickly undressed. Rex undressed faster because he’d gone commando.

“I hope after all the booze and fucking today I can get this old thing up,” Jeff said. But he took one look at Donna’s sumptuous breasts with their rose-pink nipples and his cock began to quiver and grow. I watched and marveled: it was like one of those time-lapse movies where the seed breaks through the ground and grows into a plant in 20 seconds.

Rex had no concerns. He seemed to be almost constantly hard and ready-to-fuck.

Donna assumed her position in the center of the ottoman. Jeff bent down to take a good look at her ass as Rex moved his dick to be near her face. The expectation was that Jeff would fuck Donna doggy-style — dick-in-cunt. But, fortified by drink, he had other ideas. He had a small jar of lube, and quietly rubbed it on his erect prick. As he got ready to start, he also put lube on Donna’s butt hole and asked, “Hey, Donna, do you mind?”

“Have fun, Jeff. Just be slow and gentle.”

I’d never been fucked in the ass — it held no fascination for me nor for Ian. And I’d certainly never seen anyone else fucked in the ass — until now. I thought it would be disgusting, with shit all over the place. Or that Donna would scream in pain. None of this happened. It took Jeff a while to get inside Donna — it seemed to involve lots of preliminary moves with lube, fingers, more lube, and tentative pushes. Donna was oblivious — she was busily sucking Rex’s cock. Once Jeff was inside Donna began to move back and forth — which moved her head and ass. Rex and Jeff were in heaven, rolling their heads and eyes to the ceiling.

“Don’t forget the photos,” I said. Girlfriend clicked a few frames.

“Keep some film for the high fives,” I added.

And in time, Rex and Jeff were in the /_ position, high fiving madly. Rex came in Donna’s mouth (whereupon she spit it out on the ottoman), and Jeff came on Donna’s back. For an old guy, who’d spent the day fucking, he shot out four or five ribbons of cum, the first one almost hitting Rex’s chest.

The three players in the tableau disengaged. Jeff asked if any of us wanted ice cream.

“Not vanilla, I said,”

He brought pints out of the fridge and a bunch of spoons. It was the first time I’d tasted coconut ice cream, and something called Rocky Road.

We sat on the settees and reminisced about the day’s activities. Everyone was naked except for Girlfriend and me. We were waiting for Jeff to re-set.

But it just wasn’t happening.

Donna helpfully said, “I have a revised suggestion.” She had me take off my dress (I too had no bra but wore my Sloggies) and move over to the ottoman. She positioned Rex behind me, telling him to fuck me from the rear. His cock was already showing signs of rejuvenation.

“In my cunt, Rex, not my ass.”

“Roger that,” he said, and I hoped that meant OK in American.

“Now I’ll stand in front of you, Jenny,” Donna said.

Confused, I said “why?”

“Because you’re going to eat my pussy,” she replied.

I am? I’d never been attracted to ladies — never kissed one (other than my mother and sisters). I occasionally danced with girls in the pub pre-Ian, but it was always playful and non-sexual. The same could not be said of cunnilingus.

But I was drunk, and the crowd was encouraging. I’d done things today I’d never do in my everyday life. Eating pussy would just be another new experience. And, besides, Donna was beautiful — and if any pussy looked edible, hers did.

With some difficulty Rex slipped into me. My vagina, in the doggie position, was not horizontal but angled up at about 45 degrees. For successful entry, the gent needed to come from the south-west rather than due west. Rex quickly figured this out, and successfully modified his stance.

Donna jumped on the ottoman and pretty much slapped her golden pussy into my face.

I was surprised at all the hair. This wasn’t an issue when I give a blow job. I was also surprised at how easy it was to part her labia with my tongue. The taste was interesting — remnants of today’s sex (but not of Jeff’s recent ass fuck — different orifice) and the delicate, salty taste of her wetness. Not earthy, mut more of the sea. I found her clit — it was quite a bit larger than mine and not covered by a little hood of skin. It was right there for me to lick, and I did so with gusto. She moaned, and I could tell (though it sounds trite) that she was growing weak at the knees.

Jeff gave Rex and Donna their cue for their high fives, and I saw the bright flashes of the strobes. I felt Rex pull out and then felt his warm cum hitting my back.

Donna, above me, said, “Don’t stop. So close.”

I continued doing what I was doing. As my tongue flicked across her clit she trembled. And then Donna orgasmed. I’d never, up to this point, had a real orgasm, nor had I seen one. But there was no mistaking the real thing — her breathing, her moans, the tightening and loosing of her tummy and vagina. I was pleased as punch — I had, all by myself, given a girl a Big O on my first attempt.

On that happy note the party broke up.

Rex invited me to sleep with him, but I longed for clean, dry sheets and knew if I slept with him he’d wake me in the morning with puppy dog eyes.

-oo-o0-00-0o-oo-

I’d only been at Jeff’s house three days and had six to go. What more could happen?

Donna and I became good friends. She was six years younger than me, but far more sexually experienced. She’d grown up in Chicago, where there were far more suitable partners than in Hereford, and much less gossip.

She kept a diary, about the size of a paperback book bound in brown pigskin. She let me read it. She wrote a paragraph each day about her activities and observations. She also kept track of her periods and her sexual encounters. She logged her partner’s name, his size (on an A to E scale), his sexual prowess (1* to 5*), and the positions used. Occasionally there were several partners on a single day, usually (she said) in a wild group session.

I was surprised to note that men with small dicks seemed to have great prowess, while hung guys were usually less skilled at pleasing Donna. And the sheer number of positions was bewildering to me.

We went shopping at Ala Moana Center. She kindly bought me a similar journal at the Pocketbook Man and a copy of The Joy of Sex at Honolulu Book Store. I bought her lunch at the restaurant at the Academy of Arts. She also took me to a hula halau dress rehearsal, and we caught a movie and ate American popcorn with butter and salt.

One morning I said I’d like to swim at Waikiki Beach.

“Sure,” Donna said. “How about now? Put on your bikini with a cover-up and let’s go.”

“Do I need a towel?”

“No, they have them there. But bring lots of sunscreen.”

Donna drove the Mustang down Kalakaua and parked it with the valet. We strode into the Surfrider Hotel like we owned it. I was pleased to hear a few wolf whistles as we walked down to the beach.

The Surfrider has an area on the beach reserved for hotel guests. This enclosure is separated from the public beach by rope, held about a foot above the sand by the occasional small post. A beach boy helped guests find the best sun loungers, and then set-up each longer with a terry cloth cover and a bunch of Surfrider beach towels.

When Keoki, the beach boy, saw us his eyes brightened. He was a large Hawaiian guy, broad shoulders, with the deep tan that comes from working shirtless on the beach every day.

“Aloha, ladies,” he said, “nice to see you. Just the two of you?”