(This story is a prequel to The Wedding stories. The characters are the same, yet the story is written from a different perspective)
My name is Cynthia Preston. I live in Pittsburgh, PA. In four weeks I’m getting married to a wonderful guy named Kevon Simpson. He’s everything any woman could want. He’s handsome. He’s smart. He has a good job and a nice car. His tastefully decorated (by me) apartment overlooks a lake. He ain’t no slouch in bed. I can’t tell you the number of women I had to fight off in order to hook him. I got game.
I also have three other lovers stationed in various cities around the United States–one in Seattle, one in Detroit, and one in Las Vegas.
Don’t get it twisted. I ain’t no ho.
Rather, I have a biological imperative that compels me to sample different men with different qualities. The men know nothing of each other. I’m fairly sure that each of them has a woman stationed in different cities that satisfies their biological imperatives.
Does this sound familiar? If you are a man reading this, it should. I have yet to meet a man that doesn’t have women stashed in different cities. He visits them. They go out to dinner. They fuck. And then it’s c’est la vie until next time. Everybody’s happy, right?
Except I’m a woman doing the same thing. That’s right, I have a man’s sex drive. I have to masturbate in the morning before work. I sneak into bathroom stalls to quiver my clit into submission regularly. I like the smell of my pussy on my fingers. The aroma ignites my sex drive. I fuck the men who I think can best subdue my raging libido.
Kevon handles the job nicely. He has the size and the stamina to keep me interested. However, ‘nicely’ doesn’t always feed the baby. Sometimes I need bigger. Sometimes I need faster. Sometimes I need smarter. Most times I need more often. If that makes me a ho, then you probably don’t want to read any further. Because I’m going to describe some shit that will twist your cap back.
Read my lips: I…LIKE…DICK.
You name the dick, I’ve got a hole for it. Pussy, esophagus, doodihole–it doesn’t matter to me. Ram it in there. And keep ramming until I say stop. I don’t want to get old and say I left some of my youthful passion on the table. I don’t want my pussy to dry up from inactivity. If I went a full week without fucking, well, you probably would take me for supercunt. I wouldn’t be a nice person to be around.
A woman becomes a ho when she allows men to use her sexual capacities to THEIR ultimate benefit. They call her. They fuck her. They send her on her way.
That’s not me. I MAKE the calls. I don’t take the calls.
I’m kinda like Nola Darling, you know, Spike Lee’s girl from “She’s Gotta Have It.” There’s things I need. Men have those things. (Some of them, anyway.) I’ve become an expert at picking out which men have the things I need.
Again, don’t get it twisted. I’m no material girl. Rather, I’m fully capable of satisfying my own material needs. I’m a Vanderbilt graduate, with a major in economics and a minor in English. I left school with a six-figure job in hand. I drive an Audi S5 coupe. I own a two-bedroom town home, again, exquisitely decorated. I own several properties (in conjunction with my father) in the ‘hood, from which I derive a pretty penny. The properties are all paid for. I rent to poor people. The state pays their rent every month on time, no questions asked. That’s right, my father and I are slumlords. I pay a guy to go out and fix plumbing and doorjambs and A/C and heating issues. I’m not driving MY car in THAT neighborhood.
I also drive a ’73 Dodge station wagon. Why, you might ask? Because men can be ho’s, too. I like to be underestimated. I don’t like to play all my cards up front. I damn sure don’t want a man seeing my portfolio and thinking he can push up on me and have me take care of him. Fug dat. Kevon and I dated for a year before I invited him to my townhome. He saw my station wagon and thought I was…needy. That gave me the opportunity to assess his character. He took me out to dinner. I took him out to dinner. He thought I was struggling to cover.
I was not.
He was with me the day I picked out the Audi. I paid for it–cash. No haggling. No “Let me go talk to my manager.” You should have seen his eyes bulge. That same day I took him to my townhome and fucked his brains out. He kept asking whether I’d won the lottery. No, son. I got it like that. And if you’re smart, you’ll keep a lid on it, the same way as I did.
But I digress.
I knew early on that I was different from other girls. While my college girlfriends were giggling and running game to attract attention from boys, I saw no advantage in that strategy. What did boys want? Obviously, it was what I had under my bra and panties. Conversely, I had a fixation on what men had between their legs. Penises always fascinated me. I didn’t have one, and it amazed me how they seemed so small at first and then, if I showed them mine, all of a sudden these amazing appendages ballooned into this steely arc, draining all the blood from its owner’s brains.
I had a small penis at the top of my slit. It would get hard, but it never stretched upward the way a man’s penis did. No matter what I did, my clit just bobbed there between my pussy lips. I would rub her and rub her. It felt good, but it didn’t spray jism out, like a man. The thing about me was, my clit seemed to be hard all the time. I could be sitting in class and BANG!, she’s preening up, begging to be seen, rubbed, kissed or sucked. I could be swimming laps in the community pool and BANG!, she’s awake. Let’s not talk about riding a bicycle or attending aerobics class. It was ridiculous.
I wondered whether this happened with other women but, of course, I was too scared to ask. It seemed that my little girly penis was always demanding attention, the same way my girlfriends pranced about demanding attention from boys. I went from twiddling her several times a day to inserting my fingers to inserting various penis-shaped objects. Finally I dredged up the nerve to go downtown and purchase a good-sized rubber dildo. How old was I when I finally decided to entertain a real penis? You figure it out.
This went on for years. At some point I realized that I was effectively suppressing my libido. I was not dealing with its source. Even boys don’t masturbate 9-12 times a day. I don’t know how I got through college. I had this….this thing….hanging over my head. I had to force myself to concentrate on my studies. It was not easy.
Finally, I went to a doctor and described my plight. He told me that my symptoms seemed to suggest Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder (PGAD). Basically, women with PGAD suffer from the same libidinous knuckleheadedness as men. We get aroused if the wind blows, the only difference being cultural. Women who assuage their biological imperatives are not viewed as heroically dominating their sexual milieu, like men. Those women are viewed as ho’s. I grew up as a good girl from a good family. I spent years in Jack ‘N Jill. My parents threw me a Sweet 16 party. When I went off to Vandy I was still a virgin. I couldn’t afford to be seen as a ho. Despite this, my doctor advised me to stop masturbating and to start fornicating.
I took his advice to heart.
I also joined a therapy group for women with PGAD. There I met two girls who were destined to become two of my closest friends: Lisa Winchell and Nicole Hanson. The two women were sisters. Lisa was a black woman. Nicole was white. Without getting into too much detail, Lisa was “adopted” by Nicole’s family after her mother died. Lisa’s dad was in prison.
The three of us had one thing in common–our pussies dominated our lives. At the time, I was still looking for Mr. Right. I wasn’t going to give up the scootie to just anybody. Lisa and Nicole were well past this delusion. It was they who advised me of the “keep your men in cities where you DON’T live” strategy. The two of them lived in Seattle. They came to Nashville regularly to visit their men. They told me that this strategy is the best defense against being known as a “ho”.
One night the three of us were sitting around their hotel room smoking a joint. Lisa pops on a porn video. I was shocked to see Nicole and some big black guy fucking up a storm on the TV. The black guy’s dick was humongous. And that wasn’t the end of my amazement. I look over and both sisters are blithely twittering their exposed clits as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They were using the video as a masturbatory aid!
I’m not gonna lie–this aroused me to no end. This guy’s dick was as big as my favorite dildo. And to see two other grown women unashamedly masturbating? Well, I was in my element, let me tell you. I eased out of my panties and joined them. We started competing to see which of us could cum fastest! It was hilarious. That kinda bonded us as friends.
I asked Nicole after her video lover.
“Oh him? That’s Sacramento.”
“That’s his name?” I asked.
“No. That’s where he lives. I don’t really remember his name.”
I laughed.
“You made a porn video with a guy whose name you can’t remember?”
“He calls me ‘Baby’. Why can’t I call him ‘Sacramento’?”
It made sense. I continued:
“Where’d he get that cock? Jeez! It’s humongous!”
“You know, Cynt, I didn’t know he was that blessed going in,” she said. “He approached me one day when I was visiting someone else in Sacramento. He told me a joke. I told him a joke. One thing led to another. The next thing I know, his dick is in my ass. I waited for him to finish, then I called my other guy and fired him on the spot. Why not? He would have done the same to me had he found a woman more blessed than I.”
“Yeh, you got a point,” I responded. “‘More blessed than I’? Where’d you get THAT shit?”
We all laughed. While it was proper English, who the fuck spoke proper English while smoking a joint and discussing dick size?
It turned out that both Lisa and Nicole starred in various iterations of the same porn video. I was intrigued. Their partners were variously blessed. Big dicks, medium dicks, black, white, Asian, Hispanic. The only commonality seemed to be Nicole and Lisa’s virulently expressive orgasms. And they weren’t faking, either. They sweated and cussed. There were sticky insertions and pussy farts. There were close up shots of jizz spilling from every conceivable orifice. Whoever did the video made sure that the best parts of the action blazed across the screen. I couldn’t help but ask:
“Who filmed the video?”
“I did,” they each offered.
Sensing an inconvenient pause, Lisa explained:
“I filmed her. She filmed me.”
That made sense.
“And the men agreed to be filmed close up like that?”
“I made him an offer he can’t refuse,” Lisa said, mimicking Marlon Brando.
I went back to watching their videos. I couldn’t get over how explosive their orgasms seemed. I’d had orgasms. But none of them seemed the out-of-body experiences yielded up by Lisa and Nicole. Their clits were atomic bombs. Their pussies were opulent vestibules of pain and pleasure. Clearly, I wasn’t in their league.
“Tell us about your first time, Cynthia.” Nicole asked.
I was, again, shocked. I had yet to have a first time.
“I…I…”
“Oh stop with the stumblebum crap, Cynt.” Lisa chastened. “Spit it out. You’ve just sat here and nutted while watching a porn video. Don’t get all prissy cakes now.”
“I…I…”
Nicole’s eyes widened.
“Lisa, I don’t think she’s had a first time yet.”
Lisa came to this realization at the same time.
“Fuck me! I think you’re right! Cynt! Are you a virgin?”
I looked down and to the left.
“No,” I replied.
“Bitch! Youse a lie!!” the sisters chortled in unison.
I just shook my head. Lisa and Nicole started chattering about how such a thing was possible in this day and age, especially a college girl suffering with PGAD. They were, at once, excited and embarrassed for me. I twiddled my clit to try to take their conversation off the subject.
“Detroit!!!” Nicole shrieked.
“OMG, YES!!” Lisa agreed.
I had no clue. The sisters were scheduled to fly back to Seattle in the morning. Detroit was several hours north of Nashville. I didn’t get the tie in.
Lisa snatched her iphone up and called their airline to switch their reservations from Nashville/Seattle to Detroit/Seattle. I still didn’t understand.
“ROAD TRIP!!!” the sisters shouted in unison.
The next morning the three of us were in a rented car headed for Detroit. The trip north was full of mirth. We gabbed about everything–except the reason why we were going to Detroit. That, apparently, was a closely held secret. I finally tired of asking and fell asleep.
We arrived in Detroit in the late afternoon and checked into a room at the Dearborn Fairfield Inn. I was starving. We called over to a deli and ordered Cuban sandwiches and Cokes. The room had two queen-sized beds to accommodate the three of us. I’m thinking: “I’m not sleeping in any bed with any grown-ass women, especially any women with pussies as hot as these two.”
If I had yet to entertain a dick, I certainly wasn’t going to entertain a pussy not my own. I wasn’t that far along yet.
Finally, I demanded to know the deal.
“WHY ARE WE HERE!?”
Lisa looked at her watch.
“You’ll know in fifteen minutes.”
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later there was a knock at the door. Lisa answered it. A large, muscular white boy stood there, dressed in blue jeans, a white wife-beater t-shirt enclosed with a short-sleeved button down plaid overshirt. He walked in with a knowing smile.
“Detroit!!!” Lisa squealed.
She hugged him tightly. Nicole jumped up and hugged him, too. This was some sort of a reunion.
“D, this is our friend Cynthia. She’s a newbie. We brought her all the way here from Nashville to enjoy your special talents!” Nicole said.
Detroit walked over to me, tipped my chin up with his index finger and kissed me dead smack on the lips.
“Howdy!” he said. “You’re a looker, ain’t you!!”
Here he looked me up and down, physically undressing me with his eyes. Usually, such forwardness would get me instantly moist. For some reason, Detroit was not the man I’d imagined. He wasn’t bad looking. But he wasn’t the guy I’d pictured being my first. Because, by now, I knew the deal:
Detroit was here to tap my ass. And my friends were here to watch.
I looked up and, to my amazement, both Nicole and Lisa were already butt-ass naked. Detroit started dancing around like some preternatural Chippendale, removing clothing as he went. I’m standing there, fully clothed, with a dry-ass pussy. What in the living fuck was this?
Lisa schmoozes her way over to one of the beds, lies down and cocks her legs open. She was a pretty girl with a foamy mass of curly hair and gelatinous tits. Her pussy was bald as an egg. Nicole’s pussy was fully shaved, too. I was the only woman in the room that went au naturale.
Detroit finally gets down to his skivvies. I noticed that he had a vegetable or something in his drawers.
“This is as far as he’s going to go. He can’t afford to show that Polish sausage hiding in his bikini bottoms.”
But no. He squeezes out of his drawers and out pops this magnificent purple beast, twelve inches long, thick as a Coke can, not fully hard, uncircumcised, swaying side to side like a monitor lizard. Detroit starts rotating his hips and his dick starts twirling like a baton.
If I was dry before, I have to say I was no longer afflicted with that particular malady.
Detroit hops up between Lisa’s legs, face down, ass up, and starts going to town on her pussy. He’s licking twat to beat the band. This was interesting. Nicole hops up behind him, pries his buttocks open with her thumbs, and starts humping his ass with her clit. This was MORE than interesting.
I took out my iphone and started filming.
That white boy sucked Lisa’s pussy like it was the last chicken wing at Lavell Crawford’s family picnic. She was HOLLERIN’, let me tell YOU.
When she couldn’t shriek anymore, he snatched Nikki up and sucked her pussy raw, too. Sump’n told me to go peek outside the door, using the peephole. Sure enough, there’s four guys out there in the hall, got their ears to the door. They’re snickering and going on. Their hands are in their pockets playing pocket pool with their dicks. Nicole’s not paying them the least bit of attention. She’s fairly howling. She’s got her thighs locked around Detroit’s ears like a vise. And Detroit’s dick ain’t seen pussy the first. It’s rigid like a mutherfucker, PLEADING to get wet. I almost felt sorry for him. But it looked like he knew what he was doing.
I started taking my clothes off. I had some wet for his ass.
When Nicole finally slumped, I didn’t wait for Detroit to come looking for me. I grabbed him by the back of his neck and dragged him over to the other bed. I threw him in, hopped up on that rigid dick cowgirl (like I knew what I was doing) and slammed it in, all twelve Coke can inches, in one go. I smashed his balls on the first stroke. His eyes got real big. On everything I love, this was the first time I’d had a real dick up in my pussy. I could almost feel steam firing from between my quivering buttocks.
But I didn’t let that stop me. I was going to fuck this white boy into next week. I hoped he was up to the task.
So I’m going along. I’m humping and grinding like a porn star. I’m climbing the ladder to ecstasy. My eyes are fluttering. Pretty soon I notice this guy’s dick has gone soft! He’s cum in my pussy!
OK. No problem. I’d heard some guys might do that. Selfish bastards.
So I start giving him the clench. I’m snapping at his dick with my pussy, hoping to get him hard again. I’m clenching and I’m clenching. He’s a big, healthy farm boy. Soon enough he starts coming around. His dick firms up. And I start pounding that pud again.
Five minutes later this mutherfucker has gone soft again! I can feel the sticky draining out of my cunt. And I was right there, too! Don’t you know I was mad? Now I got to go back to the clench. And there’s no telling how long it’ll take for him to come around. His eyes have rolled back in his head. What a bitch!
So now I’m socking it to him. Kakaichow!! Kakatykakaichow!!
“FUCK ME, YOU MUTHERFUCKER!!!”
My ass is raising up and down. Sometimes his dick flops out and I have to point it back in. This was my first time? I was going to git me a nut, come hell or high water.
KAKAICHOW!! KAKATYKAKAICHOW!!!!
I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Mr. Polish Sausage had metastasized into Mr. Vienna Sausage. I remembered that Detroit seemed to be invigorated by the taste of pussy. So I hopped my happy hips up and slammed my pussy into his mouth. I humped his face for a while. But he didn’t have near the cunnilingual enthusiasm he’d shown for Lisa and Nicole. It occurred to me that their pussies were piebald, shaven cleaner than a baby’s bottom, while my pussy sported a full African jungle from my navel to my taint, and partway outward along my thighs to boot. Some guys don’t like getting bearded. (I’ve since learned the value of a nice trim).
Frustrated, I turned him over, scooted his ass in the air and gave him the Nicole Hanson treatment. I spread them ass cheeks with my thumbs and eased my clit right up into that stinkin’ doodihole. I poked her inside. Detroit tensed up like a bucking bronco and clenched on her.
And that, my friends, is how I busted my first nut with a man.
I looked up and found that Lisa had filmed the whole episode with her iphone. Was I embarrassed? No. I’d fucked the shit out of this guy. And when he couldn’t stand up to the heat, I ranged that rump like a seasoned pillow biter.
I betchu he won’t soon forget his first experience with the virginal Cynthia Preston.