0 comments/ 15076 views/ 2 favorites Black Book Diaries: 1 By: Trystero The stories that have the most impact on me are the true ones—or at least the ones with the claim or illusion of truth to them. Somehow, reflecting on these flesh-and-blood authors actually participating in the tales they tell here adds an extra element of eroticism that makes the story all that more evocative for me. So, when I considered the idea of composing my own stories, I was naturally and persistently compelled to draw from life. Leafing through my black book, I felt extremely fortunate upon realizing that I had enough encounters to constitute a body of work, more or less. For the fact is, and this is neither a boast nor a complaint, I've just been something of a hound these last couple decades. Don't get me wrong; I'm a nice enough guy, and have a great, great deal of respect and affection for women. One might even say veneration. But they get into my head from time to time—the smart ones, the beautiful ones, the creative ones, the shy ones, the tempestuous ones—and I get an overwhelming desire to fuck them. That desire often turns into an outright ambition. Somewhere along the way, and without really being conscious of it, I became somewhat adept at what is commonly called "the art of seduction." That's a rather hackneyed phrase; I don't know if it's an art, but it may qualify as a skill. Some women at particular points in their lives are more susceptible to being swept off their feet, as it were, but most are not. The key to seduction, then, has always been patience. Most women have a large emotional stake in sex, but a sense of trust seems to be the most critical quality that one has to establish with the seductee—enough trust to slightly temper the danger of what they feel themselves growing inclined to do. And with many of these partners, there was definitely an element of danger involved; many of them were married, with boyfriends, or lovers, and sometimes more than one. As I said, one rarely runs across an object of desire when they are entirely free of some kind of romantic complication or other. But to me, that's been part of the beauty and the challenge, not to mention a large part of their allure. The player on the make, looking for a boyfriend or fuck-buddy, inevitably lacked the kind of passion and abandon that many of these women demonstrated once they recognized their own desire and ultimately gave in to it. Sometimes, admittedly, it was even more than I bargained for. I began to understand at some point that so many women lack something in their lives though quite often without being entirely aware of it. Not all, of course. I have a number of very good female friends who, I could tell from the outset, were very content and secure in themselves, and had no need or interest, not even a repressed one, for me to insert myself in their lives (or in them) in that way. ********** Most likely none of the women in these stories, on the odd chance of coming across them and recognizing themselves (which I will naturally take the proper pains to prevent), would not be pleased or flattered to find themselves portrayed here, however flattering my version of affairs may be. Brenda would perhaps be the lone exception. I once worked in the marketing department of a large consulting firm when Brenda joined the company. Though she was young, her jet black hair was shot with gray: very dramatic, something of a Susan Sontag thing going on. She was much more sturdily built, however, with full, round breasts (as best I could tell from the conservative business outfits she wore) and a bit broad on the bottom—the classic pear shape. She had bright, clear gray eyes and, I thought, a wonderfully plump, sensuous lower lip. She seemed somewhat shy at first, natural for a newcomer, but was friendly and enthusiastic. Almost too enthusiastic, I thought; there seemed something a little false or contrived about it. But I learned a long time ago to avoid judging people too quickly; all people are ultimately unknowable, and always far more complicated than one could ever surmise. We had some brief occasions to work together, though nothing too involved. Work projects are usually a good way to get to know a woman fairly quickly; sharing a common goal and common effort is a bonding experience. You get to know a lot about a person in fairly short order. I hadn't really thought about Brenda in a sexual way at all upon first getting acquainted with her. I even considered that she might be gay. Mostly because, as I said, of her very conservative appearance: far more conservative that the other women in the office. She wore lots of long, heavy skirts, fussy pleated blouses, big jackets. She complained that none of these business clothes really fit her very well because she had recently lost a great deal of weight, and I was inclined to believe that might be true. I've known several people who were once heavy and even after losing a lot of weight still camouflaged themselves in oversized, unflattering things. We both found ourselves working together at a client site, and so began to drive back and forth together from our office to the customer's, and that's when I began to know her better. She liked to talk about herself, the things she was doing, her various non-work enthusiasms, and I was glad to let her. My contributions were usually jokes, observations, random opinions, and the occasional bit of flattery. She was pretty, and I began to think she was hiding something behind all those bumptious outfits. That particular project ended and she went off to work with a different customer while I returned to my office, but from that point we kept in touch somewhat regularly by e-mail. She would write to me asking for help, advice, or information, and I would always respond quickly and usually include pleasantries, remind her of some joke we shared about someone, a bit more flattery that was a little flirty. She'd respond in kind, and sometimes the thread would go on throughout an afternoon. Things became even more flirtatious, and soon our e-mail exchanges were rarely about work. Still, I really didn't know if I wanted to fuck Brenda. Flirting with her, and seeing how far that could be pushed short of crossing some line, was one thing. Also, I knew she had very recently started dating someone, and that's typically not the most opportune time to try to pursue a seduction. People in the early stages of a relationship generally feel good about themselves, and are unlikely to be too distracted. I had recently quit smoking, and in addition to using the patch, I usually carried a pack of Life Savers with me to suck on during the occasional craving. One day, during one of our e-mail exchanges, Brenda asked me if I had tried Crème Savers, a creamy fruit-flavored hard candy. I wrote her that I hadn't; were they any good? "I'm sure they are," she wrote me. "I always enjoy having something creamy sliding down my throat." I honestly can't remember how I responded to her e-mail. I can remember that immediately after whatever I did write and send, I locked myself in the men's room stall and pumped a pretty substantial load into a wad of tissue. Suddenly the notion of Brenda sucking my cock, still somewhat occasional and abstract at that point, had become very vivid to me. At the time I was somewhat farther along in the e-mail seduction of someone else (a later story in the series) and had been composing a very erotic letter—a fantasy I was having about this other woman, and one that I hoped to send her soon, as our exchanges had recently become very intimate and things were heating up. Brenda's forwardness with the Crème Saver e-mail, however, had caught me a little by surprise—a pleasant surprise. The very next day, when she wrote me to ask me what I was up to, I responded that I was bored with work and so was wasting the company's money and entertaining myself by writing erotica. "Oh my God," she wrote me, "I write erotica, too! You can't tell me something like that and not share. You absolutely have to share." What I had written so far was pretty explicit, but I figured, what the hell; she had already offered a fairly unmistakable innuendo, and she requested it, so it wasn't like I was forcing it on her. And the information that she also wrote erotica, so uncharacteristic with the early impressions that I had formed of her, was too intriguing not to explore. Most importantly, I also knew that once I sent her a sexually explicit story fragment to read, I would be in her head, if I wasn't there already. I would gain a sexual role in her imagination. A couple hours passed after I sent her the story fragment before I heard back from her. I wasn't surprised by that. She may have decided not to read it at work (always a risk), or she may have read it and spent some time fashioning a response or, more likely, trying to decide whether or not she should send the response she fashioned. "I was going to save this to read until I got home, but I just couldn't resist," she wrote to me. "Now I wish I had waited, because I am SO wet." Included in her e-mail was a link to a Web site where, to my surprise and delight, she had posted a number of her own stories. I read them all that afternoon. Spent the entire afternoon, actually, pouring over those tales that I had to believe offered an uncurtained window into her erotic psyche. Brenda plainly enjoyed sex and enjoyed fantasizing about it in a variety of ways. Things had moved far faster than I expected, but then she turned out to be far more sexually sophisticated than I would have guessed. The gauntlet had been thrown down, as far as I was concerned. I wrote: "I devoured all your stories, lecher that I am, though I have to say that I only barely made it through the second one before I had to lock myself in the men's room stall and relieve my aching hardon. So I think your work produced the desired effect. Yes, I jacked off. Yes, there was a large load of cum." She responded: "The ladies' room here doesn't offer that kind of privacy, but don't worry, I'll take care of things as soon as I get home from work, thinking about you with your cock in your fist... whew! Glad you had fun!" The next day I didn't go into the office but made up some excuse and promised to work from home. I wrote Brenda in the morning, a fairly innocuous e-mail, and mentioned that I was feigning back problems, was at home all day, and would she be interested in having lunch—my apartment was conveniently close to the customer site where she was working. She seemed to hem and haw over this for a while, but then said she thought she could get away, and that she would stop at a nearby deli and pick up sandwiches for us. Eating sandwiches wasn't what I had in mind, but then again, I recognize the importance of appearances. So much depends on the mating dance. (I also considered the possibility that she might actually be hungry, as well.) And of course, I hadn't asked her if she would like to come over at noontime and fuck. An important part of the first stages of seduction, I've learned, is to leave open the possibility that, indeed, nothing might happen. Some people talk a good game, but getting cold feet is not unusual. She might not have wanted to come over and fuck; but she may have wanted to come over and test the waters, as it were. She may have just wanted to feel the temptation, the sexual tension; there is something to be said for sampling and savoring that, and resisting the urge is often an important prelude to ultimately giving into it. Or, she may have just wanted to walk in the door, push me down on the floor, climb on top of me, fuck my brains out, and then have a sandwich. Keep in mind, I still wasn't sure that I should fuck Brenda. I definitely wanted to. But I wasn't interested in a romantic relationship with her, and I didn't want something to happen between us that would prompt her to dump her new boyfriend and have any expectations beyond the physical. Thinking over all this, I knew I had to somehow convey this information to her in some delicate manner. Maybe I was the one getting cold feet. There were still a couple hours until she would arrive for lunch. I re-read some of our e-mails, and a couple of her stories, and jacked off again, hoping to take the edge off things. She did indeed arrive with sandwiches—smoked turkey, gouda cheese, avocado, dear girl—and we ate them at my kitchen table with a couple Diet Cokes. We talked about work. I asked her about her new boyfriend, and she laughed and described how, even after three dates, he still hadn't tried to kiss her goodnight, and how frustrating that was. She asked me for the first time if I was involved, and I explained (falsely: I'm a prick, I know) that I was, and quite happy with my situation. I thought I detected a bit of disappointment. But I had to be honest; I couldn't lead her astray or misrepresent my intentions. I wanted to fuck her in the worst way by now, but I've let that urge overwhelm my judgment and my sensitivity to another woman's situation before, and it almost always leads to something regrettable. She asked then about the erotica. I explained that I had an almost epicurean interest; I liked erotica, and I liked sex, and I liked it frequently. "I have fantasies and desires like everyone else," I said, "Or like I imagine everyone else has. Sometimes I just think mine are more... persistent." I cleaned up our lunch items. She stood near the sink and continued to chat with me while I loaded the dishwasher. "Well," she said, softly, "I guess I should get back to work." "Ug," I said. "Hey, why don't you just call in and say you're under the weather, and hang out here this afternoon?" She was leaning against the kitchen counter and I stepped toward her. "That would be wonderful, but I've got a meeting at 2, and then some other things I have to finish." "Too bad," I said. "I've got a bottle of wine with your name on it. It's a Cabernet, but it distinctly says 'Brenda.' In my handwriting, of course. In crayon." She threw her head back and laughed—that jet black hair, that shock of gray—and I moved in very close to her so that when she stopped laughing, her eyes were near and level with mine. "You might... try to convince me..." she said, and as if she were falling into a sleep, she gently closed her eyes. I could feel her breath on my face. "Okay," I whispered, and pressed my lips softly to her mouth. That sensuous lower lip. I felt it press against mine, lightly at first, but then more insistently. Then her mouth opened, and I felt her tongue, and I tilted my head to the right to taste her completely. We both began to breathe heavily, and she brought a hand up to my cheek and held it firmly there. "We probably shouldn't do this," she breathed as we broke briefly and then continued. "Probably not," I whispered back, slipping my fingers into her hair, lightly cupping the back of her head. "We could get fired if someone found out," she said. "Mmm... yeah." At that, I pulled away, breathing heavily. We were both still more or less at a right angle to one another against the corner of the kitchen counter, and I stepped away across the kitchen, backing up against the stove. "Yeah," I said, making as if to compose myself. At this point, I didn't want to press her. I wanted to see how interested she was in taking this anywhere, and also to tease her a bit. If she had any second thoughts or hesitations, I didn't want to just steamroller them by being too aggressive. It was her move, and I knew that if she made it, she was committed and there would be no turning back. "I guess it would be a little risky, considering all the circumstances," she said, though faintly smiling. "Awww... what the hell." She stepped forward briskly and grabbed my shirt front in her fist, pressed her mouth hard to mine. I cupped her ass in my hands and pulled her firmly against me, so she could feel my hardon through her heavy skirt. She reached down and rubbed my cock through the fabric, then quickly yanked open my belt, unhooked my pants. She fumbled with the inner trouser button, so much so that she started to laugh, broke the kiss, looked down and used two hands to finally unfasten it. Then she brought her lips back to mine and plunged a tongue into my mouth as she carefully drew down the zipper. Brenda moaned softly when she reached inside the waistband of my boxers and finally took my cock lightly in her fist, and I gave my own little grunt of pleasure. She curled her fingers around it, only enough to make the faintest contact against the skin, then slowly began stroking it before very carefully taking my lower lip between her teeth and pulling it slightly before breaking away. "Mmm, I want this," she whispered, then bent over and took my cock into her mouth. I tucked back the dark hair that had fallen across her face so I could see her lips on my cock. She ran her tongue-tip along the top of the shaft before very gently touching it to the glistening bead of pre-cum on the head. She flicked at the sensitive underside of the head a bit before placing the flat of her tongue at the base of my cock and licking slowly and firmly up the shaft. I was rock-hard and incredibly turned on by her ministrations, and thought that if I hadn't jacked off before her visit, I probably would have unloaded pretty quickly, standing there in that sunny kitchen, this dark-haired girl with whom I'd just shared lunch working her tongue and lips over my erect cock, making little murmuring sounds as if this was the only thing she wanted all along. I wanted to cum in her mouth, to give her that "something creamy" sliding down her throat, but I also wanted to fuck her before I fed her my load. Now she was working the shaft in and out of her mouth, going about halfway down, occasionally following the path of her lips with a twisting pump of her fist. She was still bent over, and though I would have preferred her on her knees or squatting in front of me, it gave me the chance to hike up her skirt from behind, reach between her legs, and stroke my fingers against her pussy. Unfortunately, it was firmly girded beneath layers of pantyhose and panty, but that wasn't enough to camouflage the heat and the dampness between her legs. I decided to talk dirty to her; the people in her stories spoke that way to one another, as did the characters in mine, so I assumed that she liked it. "Mmm, Brenda, that's so good, baby," I whispered. "Yeah, suck my cock, honey. I want to fuck you. I want to feel my cock in that hot cunt of yours before you make me cum. Let me fuck you." I drew my hand up over her ass and grabbed the waistband of her panty hose, hoping to start working them down. She pulled her mouth from my cock and swiveled her ass out of my grasp. "Oh," she was panting lightly, "I can't right now," and she went down on her knees finally, still twisting her fist along the length of my cock. "If I let you start fucking me then I'll never get back to work this afternoon. I have my heart set on a mouthful of your cum." She brought her mouth back over the head of my cock and resumed sucking, bobbing on it a bit more rapidly, but still only taking it about halfway. Her new position on her knees felt better and was more exciting for me. She seemed so careful, however, to make sure I didn't feel her teeth that the friction of her mouth moving up and down on my cock seemed almost too light. "Oh, yeah, baby, that is so fucking good," I said. "Do you want that mouthful of cum, baby? Hmm?" "Yes," she gasped, and said between sucks, "Cum in mouth. Give me your load." "Oh yeah," I said, "I'm gonna give you a nice, creamy load of cum, baby." I needed to increase the friction. With both hands I drew back the hair from both sides of her face, held her head, and gently began pumping her mouth with my cock. Black Book Diaries: 2 The kitchen blowjob Brenda had given me was passionate and skillful; she seemed to have gotten some pleasure from it as well, and that made it all the more exciting and erotic for me. I had to have her again, and soon, because I knew things wouldn't and couldn't last very long between us. As I said, she had recently begun dating someone, and I didn't want to create any kind of situation that would derail that potential relationship for her. (Several years later, in fact, she ended up marrying the guy.) I didn't feel that way about Brenda, though I will admit that I was intrigued with the idea of something a bit longer term with someone so unabashedly sexual, and the fun we might have. But there were other things about our circumstances and personalities that I knew were not a good fit. We would have to leave it at playing out a few fantasies and then moving on. Four days after sucking me off in my kitchen, Brenda came to the office late in the afternoon for some meetings about an upcoming project. She and I met with our boss for an hour in the department's conference room, and Brenda, smiling creamily, took the opportunity of running her toe up and down my leg beneath the conference table the entire time. Sometimes I can't help but think that the business offices of white-collar America are the most fertile hothouse environments for relationships, romance, and all manner of sexual hijinx. I know that much of this has to do with the amount of time that one spends with one's co-workers, day after day, and the companionable relationships that one is practically forced into. But the real reason, I think, is the incredible tedium of the working world. Work can be interesting, but not steadily so, and so many hours of the day are dedicated to it that often one must find other ways to make the workday entertaining. Some people surf the Internet for sports or porn or God knows what. Some people play computer solitaire. I have always favored flirting my ass off and trying to get laid to make the day more interesting. Or, once actually engaged in a sexual relationship with a co-worker, looking for an opportunity to engineer a quick fuck during office hours. Our boss had another obligation following our meeting and promptly left for the evening when it was over. It was already a bit past 5 o'clock, and everyone else in our department had already gone for the day. "Well," I said to Brenda, "let's go to my office and I'll give you those files." I turned off the lights in the conference room, and as we walked toward my office past the cubicles, I called out to see if anyone was still around and then shut out the lights when I got no response. "Looks like we're the last ones," she said. Brenda leaned against my desk as I pulled some files from a cabinet and dropped them on the desk before her. She opened a folder and idly looked through some pages. "Let me know if you have any questions," I said, coming up beside her. "I have a question," she said. "Do you know the company policy for ... fucking in the workplace?" "Well," I said, moving around behind her, "there's nothing in the employee handbook. But I have a feeling they probably frown on that sort of thing." "Hmm. That's too bad. Even after business hours, you think?" "That's my guess. Probably not just fucking, either," I said. "For instance, even something like this," drawing her hair back and kissing her lightly on the neck, "would probably be inappropriate." "Mmm. Too bad." "And I probably couldn't do something like this, either," I said, sliding my hands around and cupping her breasts, squeezing them gently. "But it just seems like a friendly gesture," she breathed, closing her eyes and tipping her head back a bit. "I know. But it could easily lead to me, say, opening your blouse," I whispered, undoing the buttons of her blouse and pulling her it up out of her slacks. "And massaging your breasts." Brenda reached up and unhooked the front clasp of her bra; her full, heavy breasts slipped down into my hands. "Mmm," I said, "and see, this would be completely out of line." "A shame," she said, pressing her ass back against the hard cock in my trousers. She bent forward then and propped her arms on my desk. I leaned across her back, still rolling her breasts in my hands, circling her nipples with my fingertips and then pinching them lightly. I ground my hardon against her ass and then leaned across her back to whisper in her ear. "I know," I said, "but I'd be fired faster than you could say 'Update your resume and fuck my hot cunt.'" "Oh God," she sighed. I lowered the zipper on her slacks, undid the clasp, and pulled them down over her broad round ass. She was wearing a black thong, and I ran my fingers underneath the length of the gusset, over her asshole, and then across the lips of her wet pussy. She grunted softly as I slipped a finger inside her, her wonderful slick heat, and then added a second finger. I finger fucked her slowly, opening her up. "Uhh...uhh...yeah... that's good... yeah... fuck," she moaned in time with my thrusts. "Jesus..." she said, starting to thrust back against my fingers. Suddenly she swept all the file folders from the desk and lay forward across it. "Update your resume... uh... and fuck my wet cunt," she said forcefully, which was an incredible turn on. "And not in that fucking order." I quickly undid my belt and yanked down my pants and boxers. I took my cock in hand and gently ran it up and down the crack of her ass, then brought it beneath her, pressed the head against her clit and rubbed there. "God, don't tease me now," she said. "Just fuck me. I want to feel your cock in me." I like to think that I'm a gentleman, and with a request such as that, I don't normally need to be asked twice. But I just don't get tired of hearing a woman ask me that, and sometimes I want to be asked twice. "Again," I said, and slapped her smartly on the ass. "Oh. Fuck. Fuck me. Put your cock in me. Fuck my pussy. I need you to fuck me." I tapped my cockhead on her clit a couple quick times and then slid the length of it into her very wet slit. "Ohhh, God," she exhaled as if I'd just loosed something from her. I pumped shallowly and slowly at first, spreading the cheeks of her ass. Then I slapped her ass sharply and began fucking her fast and hard. Her cunt was a comfortably snug fit; she was positioned a little higher than me, and I had to bend my knees slightly to get the length of my cock all the way into her. Brenda was wonderfully responsive, an excellent and engaged fucker. I held her hips and pounded into her, my abdomen thwacking against her fleshy ass. She kept knocking shit from my desk to the floor as I pistoned into her. Keeping my knees slightly bent was an awkward position; my thighs felt like iron and were starting to ache. "Turn around," I said, and Brenda quickly stood upright and turned around to face me. She pressed her ass against the desk and spread her legs. I stroked my fingers over her pussy and then pushed into her from the front. This was the first full-on look I'd gotten at her breasts, and they were lovely; round, heavy, slightly sloped. I sucked her left nipple in between my lips, then squeezed it gently between my front teeth, just enough to make her spasm a bit. Then I reached behind her, put my hands on her ass just below the small of her back, and started fucking her hard once again. "You like that?" I panted, driving into her as hard as I could, making her tits joggle with my thrusts. "You like getting fucked in the office? Huh?" Sweat was dripping off my face onto her breasts. "I want to come," she breathed. "Fuck, I want to come." "Come for me," I said, because I was getting close myself and didn't want to finish ahead of her. I was entertaining ideas of her on her knees again, taking my load in her mouth when I was ready. But first I wanted to see and hear her cum. "Stroke your clit, baby," I said. "I want you to come while I'm inside you. Come all over my fuckin' cock, baby. C'mon, gimme your cum." Brenda's eyes were squeezed tightly shut and she was stroking her clit furiously with her middle finger as I fucked her. Stray strands of black and gray hairs were plastered to the sweat on her neck and throat. She tried to wrap a leg around my waist and I held it up for her by the crook of her knee. I tried to take in the whole vision: her face in the throes of sexual passion, her trembling breasts, the muscles in her belly drawn taut, my cock pumping in and out of her... "Brenda, you look so sexy getting fucked, baby. This is so fucking hot," I said. And it was, this was true. She opened her eyes and looked at me. Her look was beyond the clichéd "smoldering": dirtier than that, almost leering. "I've wanted to fuck you right here since the very first time I met you in this office," she said in a throaty voice. "Jesus," I said. This was all too much for me and I pulled out of her immediately, thrust my fingers inside of her. "No!" she said, "No, what's wrong?" "Too fucking exciting," I panted, pressing three fingers in and out of her as quickly and deeply as I could, "I'm going to come. I don't want to come yet. Don't worry, baby, just give me a minute..." I kept finger-fucking and encouraging her as she continuing stroking her clit. "Oh, yeah, Brenda, you're so fucking hot, you're gonna make me blow my load. I wanna see you come. C'mon, baby, gimme your cum..." She was grunting softly, holding her breath for several seconds and then exhaling deeply, like she was getting close. "Fuck, I need your cock in me," she panted, "I don't care if you come, just stick your cock in me." I replaced my thrusting fingers with my cock, hoping that edge had worn off enough that I could fuck her again for a while. But I had gotten so close so suddenly before that I was still extremely sensitive, and had only resumed a hard fucking of her when I felt that deep, rich churning rapidly swell within me. "Fuck, Brenda, I'm coming, baby. Oh, fuck..." The first spasm felt strong and full, like I'd shot a hot jet of cum all the way up the back of her throat. Then a second, a third... "Fuck, baby. Fuck..." The fifth spasm finished me off. My cock was still mostly hard but, I could tell, not as thick anymore, not as engorged. I slipped two fingers into her pussy along the underside of my cock to try to keep her filled as she continued frigging her clit and thrusting against me. "That's it, baby, come for me," I said, and then decided to take a slightly different tack and lowered my voice. "C'mon you horny cunt. Come all over my fucking cock. You got your pussy filled with my hot cum right here on my desk, just like you wanted..." Brenda grew intensely quiet, holding her breath, then quickly reached back with her free hand and braced herself on the desk. "Ohh...fuck! Yeah. Fuck! Omigod," she started coming. Her head jackknifed forward and I only just got my own head out of the way in time or she'd have probably broken my nose. She was squirming and I had to put my hand on the small of her back to keep from sliding out of her. I continued to thrust up as best I could into her throbbing, orgasming pussy. I love it when women come. I mean, really come. Sometimes that's just as exciting for me as anything else that happens in a hook-up. Knowing that I've participated in any way to help them feel something so pleasurable is extremely erotic and satisfying. Sure, I'm greedy when it comes to sex, but only in that I want a lot of it. In the end, I'm not content to just have my way with things and be done with it. I'm sure that I've been hoodwinked in my time, especially with women who I haven't been with very often—it takes a while to get to know someone, to know what works for them. And I know that sometimes, for a woman, it's just not happening for whatever reason. I'd always rather that she be honest with me and either tell me what I can do to help her, or to tell me that we just need to stop because she's not going to get there. I think that's one of the reasons why, though I find pornography stimulating, it's not completely satisfying. At least, professional porn. You rarely see genuine female orgasms. Amateur porn often seems more satisfying in that regard. In her own pantheon of orgasms, I couldn't tell you how Brenda rated this one, but I have to say that I found it an incredible turn-on, and I have little doubt that it was the genuine article. She was breathing heavily; her throat and chest were splotchy with red, and breasts were slick with sweat. I took them in my hands and massaged them. I bent my head and softly sucked at one of her nipples which looked swollen, engorged, the areola slightly larger. As I did so, she ran her fingers lightly through my hair—a sweet, affectionate gesture. Epilogue of Brenda Brenda and I got together a final time, one night not long after this, at her apartment. Dressed in only sweatpants and an old t-shirt, she reclined on her couch, her feet in my lap, and read an erotica story to me that she had been recently working on. It was, in parts, a homage to our two encounters, with details altered but most of our actions intact. It was fascinating to listen to because it was the first time I got to hear a woman's detailed response and reaction to sex I'd had with her: how she felt, and what she was thinking. She never got to finish reading that story because partway through, I started working down her sweat pants and licking her already wet pussy. Soon we were both completely naked, in her bed, fucking until 1 o'clock in the morning. She came when I ate her out. I climbed atop her and fucked her then, pinning both her wrists to the bed with my hands—she liked that. We finished, finally, with Brenda on all fours getting fucked from behind, during which she came again, as did I, pumping my load inside her. "It's kind of weird," she said afterwards. "I'm dating this guy who I really like, and I can't even get him to kiss me goodnight yet, and in the meantime, here I am fucking my co-worker friend. Who's... attached, right?" I felt some guilt then, wondering if I had been sending some other signals, or if she thought my eagerness to fuck her hinted at something more after all. But I didn't feel any differently about a romantic relationship. I knew a few things about myself, and though Brenda might be disappointed at that moment, she'd be downright hurt later, and regret having missed out on this other chap who, as I mentioned earlier, had more stable intentions and designs. Brenda was great, though. Being steadily involved with someone so sexually charged, so erotic, was tempting to me. Some of her stories had involved threesomes, and when I considered the adventures that could perhaps be had with her... I ran into her a couple years later in a neighborhood bar when she and her now-fiance were having lunch; I'd popped in there quickly for a six-pack of Guinness. He looked a little on the squirrelly side, with a bad haircut, but I'm really not one to judge. A few years after that, I received as e-mail from her (along with everyone else in her contact list) updating all on her new, married name. I e-mailed her back and had lunch with her one day soon after. She'd lost more weight and looked good, though she seemed nervous and had a bit of that overly enthusiastic thing going on again. But, as far as her enthusiasm went, who am I to complain? Black Book Diaries: 3 THE LAST TIME We'd just finished having lunch together, a local café in her neighborhood, Friday afternoon. We used to work together several years ago; now we just got together once in a while to catch up. The day was warm for mid-October, and clear, with that wonderful golden light. I was parked around the corner. She lived only a couple blocks away. I used to live in this neighborhood at one time, back when we both worked at the same company, and sometimes we would carpool, so I knew where her house was. We were standing on the sidewalk. "Soooo," she said, kind of looking around. She was always awkward about it, after we'd met up. She'd never say what was on her mind, just laugh nervously a lot. Laugh and kind of look around, look at me, look around some more. Sometimes I wouldn't do anything until she said what was on her mind, even though I knew what was on her mind. I'd make it say, say the words. Other times I'd just ignore it. "Let me give you a lift home," I said. That laughing again. Of course I was being facetious. By the time we walked to my car, she'd be halfway there. "Come on," I said. "My car's down this way." I drove the block and a half and pulled up to the curb in front of her house. "Well," I said. "Thanks for meeting me for lunch. Sorry it's taken so long for us to manage to do this again." "Sooo," again with that, the finally, "Do you want to come in for a minute, see my house? You've never been in it. Or do you have to get back?" "You've never invited me," I said. "I mean, sure. I can come in for a minute. You can show me your remodeled kitchen; I've only heard about it. I've got some stuff I have to finish this afternoon that I have to get back for, but I've got a little time." We walked around the downstairs, the living room, the back deck, and finally the kitchen and the work they'd had done. Then it was that awkward departure point again. "Well," I said. "Guess I need to get going. It was good to see you." Gave her a hug and then, because she wanted me to, a kiss on the lips. She made that nervous laugh, so I kissed her again and she kissed me back. I reach around and put my hand on her ass to pull her in. We stayed like that, at the entrance to her kitchen, kissing, her breath quickening, tasting like the beer she drank with her lunch. "You really need to get going?" she said when we broke. "In a bit," I said. Sorry, but I always like to leave myself a bit of a window, as it were, with my more recreational female friends. Then I kissed her again. "What are you thinking?" she said. "A couple things," I said, looking around a bit, at the clock, in the direction of the door. "Derek's out of town," she said finally. "He had some time off and went to visit his family for the weekend." I already kind of knew that, since she never would have invited me into her house if there was any chance of her husband coming home early from work. "Well, that was one thing I was thinking," I said, looking her in the eye now. "What else?" she said, a little more of the nervous laughter. I put my hand between her legs, in the crotch of her jeans, and pressed. She stopped laughing. "About you," I said, low and whispery. "On your knees. Looking up at me while I fuck your mouth. Watching your lips. Going up and down the shaft of my cock. Watching you lick it. Suck it. Until I shoot a thick load... of warm cum... down your throat." Still pressing the heel of my hand against her mound. "Or on your face." "Let's go upstairs," she said. She led me to her bedroom, a messy affair of mismatched furniture and scattered clothing, an unmade king-sized bed that was too large for the space, a lot of clutter and dust. A couple of former academics and midway through their forties, and she and her husband still lived like college students, I thought. But it didn't matter. I wasn't going to be navigating this place nor spending much time in it. I took off my jacket and lay it on a chair next to the vanity. She was standing, backed up against the side of the bed. "This is freaking me out a little," she said. "Being in my own --" "Take your jeans off," I said. She pulled down her jeans and kicked them aside. I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her to her knees, unbuckled my belt and lowered my trousers and shorts. She liked this; she liked to be pushed to her knees or told to kneel down. My cock was half hard and I stroked it slowly in front of her face. "I want you to suck my cock," I said. "Okay," she murmured, glancing up at me and then back at my dick. Her hair was brown and cut in a bob, and I ran my fingers through it before gently clutching a handful of it at the back and pulling her forward, feeding her my hardening cock with the other hand. She took the head between her lips and began to softly suck. I let go of it and she wrapped her own fingers around it. She began moving her mouth and tongue back and forth the length of the shaft. She sucked me at her own pace for several minutes. "Put your hands on my hips," I said. "I'm going to fuck your mouth." I put my own hands on either side of her head and slowly began to fuck her mouth. She made a muted little grunt at each thrust. When I was getting close to coming, I pulled my cock from her and told her to lie back on the bed. I pulled down her underpants, then put my hands under the crooks of her knees and spread her legs apart. She wasn't big on tidiness in other respects either, and the ample thatch of pubic hair glistened with her wetness. I knelt down between her legs and smoothed my fingers over her lips, spreading some of the moisture around before bringing the tip of my tongue to her slit and working it in. I licked up with some pressure, flattening my tongue hard against her clit and then flicking it with the tip. I lapped at her cunt, getting a rhythm going, and then slid two fingers inside her. I alternated tonguing her with some light sucking of her clit. She had her arms outstretched and was clutching and kneading fistfuls of sheet. She usually came fairly quickly and without much effort, but I could tell she was having trouble. Maybe it was the unusual circumstance of being in her own bedroom. After a bit, I added a third finger, stretching her pussy, and began fucking her more rapidly. I left off licking her clit and began frigging it with the thumb of my other hand. I could feel her body seem to quake and then stiffen, quake and then stiffen, approaching that crest, and as she finally started to come, I brought my tongue back in contact with her clit and licked it rapidly while she grunted and bucked against me. While she was still stretched out on the bed with her eyes closed, panting lightly, I stood up and slid my stiff cock inside her. I'd never fucked her before, but I didn't ask, I just did it. Her pussy was sopping. She seemed almost oblivious to the fact that I was inside her, so I slammed myself hard into her and she grunted from the impact. I fucked her roughly like that for a good five minutes before pulling out and telling her to get back to her knees. She slithered down off the edge of the bed to the floor. Her forehead glistened with sweat. Her hair was disheveled, sticking up in the back. Her eyes were glazy and only half open. She looked like she was drunk. "I want to finish you," she said and reached for my cock, took it in her mouth and began bobbing along its length. "That's it," I said. "Suck it. Suck my cock, baby. Suck it and make it come." I grabbed handfuls of her hair and set the pace, easing her mouth back and forth over my cockhead. "I haven't come in over a week," I said. "I hope you can handle it." "I want it," she said between sucks. "Fuck it with your mouth," I said through my teeth. "Fuck that cock with your mouth like you want that cum." Her eyes had been closed all the while but when I said that, she opened them and looked up at me, looked up at me as I pumped my cock between her lips. If it wasn't a genuine pleading look, it was a good bit of faking and that was enough for me. My legs were trembling. "Yeah," I grunted. "You're gonna make me come. Fuck." I came in her mouth. She held the head of my cock between her lips as it pulsed several shots of warm semen over her tongue, and I grunted and coarsely told her to swallow it, get it all, that's it, swallow that fucking jizz that you've been waiting for. "Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmmm," she kept repeating When I was finished, I pulled my spent prick from her mouth. "Fuck me" she whispered and shuddered a little, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. "That was a big fucking load." THE TIME BEFORE THAT Our original plan was to have a drink for Happy Hour at a place that was on her way home from work and not far from where I lived. But when I met her out front, I changed my mind and told her to come with me. "I have good liquor at my house," I said as we pulled away from the curb. "Is your... are you..." she was stammering a little, once again, not getting the words out. "Yeah," I said. "I'm in bachelor mode for a couple days." We'd had a couple glasses of scotch, and then I took her upstairs to my bedroom and told her to kneel down. She was still in her work clothes, jacket and skirt and blouse. "I wanna suck you," she said. I knew that she was at least a little drunk, but she might have been more than I realized. "I know," I said, taking down my pants and stepping towards her. "Just stroke it a little first." She took my cock in an underhand grip and gently pulled on it. She slipped her other hand down the front of her slacks and started rubbing herself. "I want it," she murmured. Her eyes were closed and she had a dreamy look on her face. "I want... cum." She opened her lips, took my cock between them, and began to suck it softly. She played the tip of her tongue over the cut of the head, making soft little slurping sounds that, quite honestly, heightened the excitement for me. Then she began to move her lips more firmly over the head and the shaft, picking up the pace. "Oh, yeah," I whispered. "That's so good. I think we're going to have to have you suck my cock much more frequently. This needs to be a regular thing for you." "Really," she said, her eyes still closed, continuing to suck me. "Yeah, I think you need at least two or three loads of my cum a week." "Mmmm-hmmmm," I liked the idea of a cum slut who'd be happy to service me on demand, but I honestly didn't think Jan would be the one to fill that role. Talking about it turned me on, though, and Jan—or, slightly buzzed Jan—seemed to be enjoying the notion as well. She was making little mewling sounds of pleasure as she worked her lips and tongue over my cock. I needed to get a little whiskey in her more often, I thought. It seemed to whet her appetite for the cum chaser I was about to give her. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back slightly. "Open your mouth, baby," I said, taking my cock from between her lips and stroking it. She looked up at me a bit sleepy-eyed and opened her mouth. I placed the head of my cock against lower lip and began ejaculating, pumping out a generous load that covered her tongue with a thick, milky coat, grunting with each throbbing shot. "Mmm, very nice," I said. "Swallow that, baby." AND THE TIME BEFORE THAT We were sitting in the front seat of my car, in an underground parking garage in the city, very near where she worked and I'd just bought her lunch. She had a good grip on the parking brake lever between our seats. Her pants were undone, and I had two fingers inside her pussy, which was extremely wet. Her eyes were closed. She was panting lightly. I finger fucked her as best I could. It was late spring and warm in the car. I slipped my other hand into her pants and began stroking her clit with the tip of my middle finger. It was awkward, but I wanted to jack her off there in the car and still be able to keep an eye on what's going on around us and keep her as clothed as possible in case we had to suddenly stop what we're doing. Her cunt was soaked. I could have easily added a third finger if we'd been in slightly more accommodating positions. I continued pumping my fingers in and out while rubbing her clit. Then I leaned in closer and whispered in her ear: "You're such a dirty little slut, letting someone finger fuck you in the middle of the workday," I said. "You like getting your wet pussy filled? You like feeling my fingers pumping in and out of your dripping cunt?" She let out this shuddering groan, kind of a descending staccato, and thrust her hips forward, coming there in the front seat of the car. I slowed down what I was doing with my fingers but didn't entirely stop, wanting to make sure she felt every bit of it until that post-orgasm sensitivity kicked in. She had two more small spasms. I carefully extricated my hands from her pants. The inside of the car felt sweltering. I gave her my handkerchief and she blotted with her throat and the back of her neck. I lowered the parking brake lever between us, then lifted my ass off my seat and began unbuckling my belt and unbuttoning my pants. "When I get back to my office, I'm probably going to look like I just had sex," she said. "Just smile a lot," I said. "Try not mischievous, not sheepish. And stop in the ladies room first to freshen up a bit." Did I really have to tell her that? "My pants are all wet," she said. "I mean, the crotch. There's a big wet spot." "I'm not surprised." "Sooo..." she looked at me and quickly looked away, out the windows, around the lot. It was mostly full, with cars on either side and in front of mine. "Do you have time for me to... reciprocate?" "Not when you put it like that," I said. "What do you mean?" "Just imagine me moaning, 'reciprocate... yeah, that's it, reciprocate' while your head is bobbing in my lap." "What should I say?" she said. "You need to say, 'I want to suck your hard cock until you shoot your hot cum in my slutty mouth and I can swallow your load.'" She said it, but with that nervous little laugh of hers. "You're going to have to do better than that." I said. She tried again; it really wasn't any different from the first time, only louder. She was reciting. I shook my head slowly at her, then pulled down the elastic of my shorts and took out my cock. She looked at it. "Again." She did much better. I took a handful of hair at the back of her head and slowly pulled her head down to my lap. She took my cock in her mouth and began to bob up and down on it. Maybe it was the awkwardness of the car and the limited space. Maybe she was just in a hurry, or just overeager, but I wasn't feeling it. Mostly she was just rapidly mouthing it, not really sucking or applying enough pressure. "Let me help you," I said. I pulled my shorts down a little further. "Lick my balls for a bit. Suck them." She started licking and sucking at my nuts while I jacked my cock. I would have preferred to be sucked off. To feel that inimitable sensation of a climax building from the work of an ardent mouth. But things rarely go the way you imagine them going when you're back in your room jerking off. Whatever. She was still going to take a mouthful of my hot cum here in this parking lot, and the thought of that got me quickly to the brink. She flicked the tip of her tongue quickly against my balls while I jerked my cock, the back of my hand brushing against her cheek. When I was just about there, I bent it down to her mouth and told her to suck. "I'm gonna shoot," I said. "Get ready." This time she actually sucked, taking my head between her lips and pulsing it gently while I spunked in her mouth, what felt like four or five good strong spurts of cream, though I had no idea how much there really was because she swallowed all of it. THE FIRST TIME She was backed up against the desk in my home office. Her pants were open, and I had one hand inside her underpants, running my middle finger up and down her clit, occasionally slipping it up into her very cunt. My other hand had a firm grip on her ass because she seemed unsteady. Her eyes were closed. "I shouldn't be doing this," she murmured. "You're not doing anything," I said. "Do you masturbate?" "Yeah," she breathed. "Do you think about situations that don't involve your husband when you do?" I asked. "Yeah," she made that nervous little laugh of hers. "Do you feel bad when you're done? After you've made yourself come?" "No," she said. "Well this is no different," I said quietly. "This is just like when you jack yourself off. You're just getting a little bit of help." "Uhh. Uhhh," her hands gripped the edge of the desk and she was bending back over it, and her breathing was promisingly erratic. "Do you think about other men fucking you?" I said. "Handsome strangers, or guys that you know? Probably several guys, right? Taking turns? They bend you over a desk just like this one and fuck you hard from behind. The first guys fucks you and fucks you until he comes inside this wet pussy of yours. Then another guy takes his place, slides his big hard cock into your cunt and fucks it. They make you come over and over again. Is that what you think about? Then they turn you over and hold you down while they fuck you all over again, shoot their cum up inside you? One big hard cock after another, making your pussy come and come?" She started coming, quaking under my grip. I pressed the flat of my finger hard against her clit and held her ass tight to keep her from toppling over or sliding down and cracking the back of her head off the edge of the desk. I removed by hand from between her legs and tasted her juice on my fingers—more for her benefit, but I don't think she noticed. She was dazed: in a kind of post-orgasmic fug. Talking to her and jacking her through that orgasm had gotten me pretty excited. I thought about getting my cock out, pulling her pants down, turning her over the desk and just fucking her. But she was out of it—limp, a ragdoll—and it just struck me then that it might feel too much like fucking someone who was passed out drunk. "Why don't you sit down?" I said, trying to ease her away from the desk and toward my reading chair. This roused her slightly and she stood up on her own, looked at me kind of foggily, half-smiling, and then pushed her slacks and underpants down around her ankles. "I don't know," I said. "Remember, you said you shouldn't be doing this." She shrugged, though I didn't know if it was a "whatever" shrug or a "too late for that now" shrug. "Maybe I can..." a little laugh, looking back and forth at me and, I don't know, something else in the room that wasn't me. "Maybe you can what?" I said. "Maybe I can... pleasure you... orally?" "Maybe," I said. I stepped toward her and she dropped to her knees. "Do you eat cum, Jan?" "Sure," she murmured not at all convincingly, and she was looking at down at the floor. "Jan," I said, more sharply so she looked at me. "Do you eat cum? "I've thought about it a lot," she said. "Never had a guy come in your mouth?" She shook her head. How could that be, I wondered, but this certainly wasn't the time to ask, and I really didn't want to know the particulars anyway. I unzipped my jeans and showed her my cock. "I'll bet those guys you think about when you're masturbating do, huh? I'll bet you imagine them fucking and fucking you and then finishing in your hot, hungry mouth?" She slipped a hand down between her legs and started touching herself. "Yes," she said, so softly I could barely hear it. She was watching me slowly stroke my cock before her. "Spurting in your mouth," I whispered, leaning in. "All that hot cream... And you swallow it all down, don't you?" Black Book Diaries: 3 But she didn't answer because she'd already started sucking me. Black Book Diaries: 4 Kat was smack in the middle of the king-sized bed, on her knees between my parted legs, moving her mouth and fist up and down the shaft of my cock. I'd propped myself up against the headboard so I could have a good view of her sucking me. I like it when I'm standing and she's on her knees, too, but this was not a bad arrangement by any means. The way she sucked me, using both her mouth and hand, and how she did that little twist with her hand as it moved in concert with her lips, up and down, up and down... She just knew how to suck a cock, or suck MY cock, anyway. I mean, her blowjobs were so good that I fantasized about them probably more than anything else we did together when I was jerking off. And that's saying something, because the fucking was pretty memorable in my modest experience. In some ways they were almost too good, and yes, I know how asinine that sounds. But the thought of my cock in her mouth was often so long anticipated, and her technique was so effective, that I could barely last five minutes if we hadn't been together for a while and the first thing she did was start sucking me. I'd try to get her to slow down, go no-hands, tongue it, or soft-suck my balls for a bit, just so I could enjoy the experience a little longer. Or maybe just stroke it slowly; her small hand, her fingers with the nails bitten down and patchy with black polish, wrapped around my shaft while she kissed my neck or licked my ear, is an image so potent that I can barely finish writing this sentence because of the urge to use my own hand elsewhere. I didn't take her cocksucking for granted. In fact, until I met Kat, I wasn't sure that I'd ever get a decent blowjob again. I got spoiled very early as a sophomore in college by my roommate's girlfriend, who gave me my first proper blowjob. Until then, sad to say, I'd never been blown. My girlfriend from high school, who I continued to date during my freshman year of college, seemed to have a problematic relationship with my cock, if I recall correctly. Maybe "problematic" is not quite fair. The first time having intercourse for both of us was with each other, not long after graduating from high school. Neither one of us really knew very much about what we were doing, though she thought she did. In any case, we didn't have a very fulfilling time. She never took my cock in her mouth, that's for sure, and I seem to recall a couple of occasions where I had to ask her repeatedly (there may have been a tinge of pleading involved) to just jack the fucking thing off for me. Times were different then. Anyway, blowjobs, college roommate's girlfriend, spoiling: Jackie (her name) and I had known each other for well over a year because, like I said, she'd been dating my roommate through all of our freshman year and into our sophomore year. But something happened in that sophomore year, a spark, an interest on her part that I hadn't realized was there, and by Thanksgiving break, she was fucking both guys that lived in Room 711. Yeah, I know, you're not supposed to fuck your roommate's girlfriend. You're not really supposed to fuck anything of your roommate's: his girlfriend, his ex-girlfriend, his sister, his mom. But Jackie was sexy, smart, spirited, adventurous—all the things I considered my high-school girlfriend (who I was still "going with" at the time) to NOT be. And she was willing. Willing in a way that only years later did I realize I failed to fully appreciate. Ain't that always the way? I was the one walking around knotted up with conflicts about the whole thing, which ultimately torpedoed one of the most exciting, romantic, and sexually satisfying relationships I would have for a long time. I felt guilty, I felt this, I felt that. It was all further complicated by the fact that I, um, think I was in love with her. But there was never any attempt, on either of our parts, to extricate ourselves from our current relationships and try something exclusive. So I think I probably also felt a little bit of resentment that Jackie continued to be, for all intents and purposes, my roommate's girlfriend. Opportunities for Jackie and me were not plentiful, which ultimately made them all the more memorable. The logistics of dorms, roommates, and keeping the whole thing a secret, made it all fairly complicated and not a little frustrating. Sometimes weeks would go by before our respective roommates would both go home for a weekend, finally allowing us to spend an entire Saturday in her narrow single bed, fucking until we just couldn't do it anymore. And she was great, too; she never had enough, never seemed to get sore (or if she did, didn't mention it or let it slow her down). Me, I was shooting blanks by the end of those marathons. By the fourth or fifth time, I didn't even try to come anymore; we would just fuck until I told her I had to stop. It might have been only the second or third time we'd had an opportunity to be alone together. We were making out on her bed; she was lying on top of me, naked except for a pair of gym shorts. I was kissing her and fondling her little round tits, my cock throbbing inside my pants, straining up against her belly. Matter-of-factly, she slid down the length of me and opened my pants, pulled down the zipper. I expected her to shuck her gym shorts and just climb atop me, slide my cock right inside her as she'd done on previous occasions. But instead, to my surprise, she took my cock into her mouth and began to suck me off. Like I said, she spoiled me forever. I just assumed, at that tender age of 19, that when a girl took your cock in her mouth, this is what it would feel like—this velvety envelopment, with just the right amount of pressure and contact. I couldn't believe how good it felt. I couldn't believe that she was doing it with what seemed like... pleasure. She couldn't have been at it for more than five minutes before that need to come was barreling down on me. "I'm going to come," I said with some urgency. "Hey, Jackie, hey!" She took my cock from her mouth and looked at me. "I said I'm going to come. Okay?" "I heard you," she said. "It's okay. I've had this kind of sex before, you know." Well, no, I didn't know, though I should have. I was just trying to be considerate. She dipped her head and took my dick between her lips again. She bobbed on it quickly, knowing I was close, then kind of muscled her tongue against the underside of my cockhead and with that, I couldn't hold back any longer and began pumping my load into her mouth. * Anyway, back to Kat, and her cocksucking. Her cocksucking was the reason we always fucked first. Not that I didn't like her sucking me off, because I did. But that was usually part of the second or third round (if we had the time and privacy for something more than a quick one). She'd have my cock in her mouth alright 'cause that always got her wet, fucking me with her mouth like that, but I had no problems pinning her back and spreading her legs and getting my meat inside her, or taking her from behind. We usually started that way, but I knew that her absolute favorite is to be on top. That's the best way to make her come for the first time. She liked to ride it. But like I said, we always started some other way first, that really warmed her up and got things rolling. When I fucked her from behind, she didn't like to be on her hands and knees, she liked to be lying flat on her stomach. She wanted my full weight on her back and I would pin her wrists down, her arms outstretched, and fuck her flat against the bed. It wasn't the greatest angle for me, but it was still okay because I could fuck her longer. Then we'd flip and I'd tell her to ride it. Ride my cock, I'd say. Ride that fucking cock. Like I said, she really liked to fuck that way, she seemed to be able to concentrate and control things, a better agreement between body and mind, I guess. And her eyes would close tight and she would just be pounding down on my cuntslick shaft while I held her hips, and I just rode it out, rode it out until I knew she was getting close, and then I'd say a few things that usually pushed her over that edge. Come on my cock, I'd say. Come while my cock is filling that sweet wet cunt of yours, I'd say. Come all over my fucking cock, I'd say. She'd start to jackhammer atop my cock like she was trying to blast me through the mattress. The box springs groaned and the headboard beat a rapid tattoo against the wall like the whole bed was some infernal machine. Then suddenly she'd make a full stop and come, grimacing, making a face like someone straining to unscrew a stuck jar lid and grunting from the effort, bending low over me, her hair curtaining my head, her spasming cunt clenching and unclenching my hard cock buried to the hilt inside her. It was beautiful, watching her come. "Cunt," strategically proffered, would be the tipping point, the trigger. Being two people who were more verbal than visual, maybe even more verbal than tactile, "cunt" was the word that signaled the deepness of where we were, the most primal of states, the full-on animal abandon. What is it about that? I don't know. Even after all these years, I have no clearer idea about why words are still more evocative to me than any visual display, or any visual memory. When I draw on the past for a bit of erotic stimulation, it's always the well-timed (and often unexpected) bit of dirty talk that galvanizes my lust, that focuses it, and makes me slide rapidly down that rail to release, repeating in my head like a tape loop. The recollection of the sex is not to be undervalued, not with any of them. But there are those several marked moments: the spontaneous, unselfconscious trills and grace notes of utter license and immersion. These aren't unique bits of eloquence. Rather, raw and salty bursts produced by the depth of the uninhibited moments. Alexis, a long, willowy tempest of a woman whom I fucked and fought with for more than ten years panting "fuck me, fuck me like a whore," while I was already pounding away atop her. Cally, who always wanted me to pump my load between her tits, stroking my cock as I knelt over her, and saying, "C'mon, shoot it." Or "Fuck me until you come all over me." And, the most potent of all, one time after I'd come impressively on her chest and she was rubbing my semen all over her big, soft tits, "Mmm, that was a big load." And Kat, the most verbal of them all: sliding into the front seat of my car, her hand going to my crotch as her lips came in touch with mine and then saying "Do you want me to suck you? I'll suck you." Or naked atop a motel room bed, her tiny hand stroking my cock while her tongue rolled around mine, saying "I want you to come in my mouth." Or Jackie, the very last time we were together (though I didn't know it would be the last time), after riding my cock one late July afternoon, both of us dripping sweat, rolling off me and saying "Now do me from behind and come on my back." "Is that what you like?" I said. "I like a lot of things," she said, getting on all fours and propping up her tight little ass, "but that's what I want right now." Right now. That's what I want right now. While I was "doing her" from behind, I saw us reflected in the mirror above a bureau across from the bed. Saw us fucking. Saw her wavy blond hair spread across her back and over her shoulders. I grabbed a handful of it and pulled gently and she gasped, moaned. I watched myself fucking her, so perfectly lustful and uncomplicated, and thought "remember this. Remember this view, remember this experience, remember this moment." I backed my cock out of her pussy, nestled it in the crack of her ass, and came. Shot my load up her tan, smooth, curved back. She moaned like she was the one coming, and said, just above a whisper, "It's so hot." I thought she was talking about my cum, but now I can't say for sure. * The lust was uncomplicated, but the situations never were because they were all clandestine, which is a weasely way of saying they were adulterous. I don't know if that was a conscious decision on my part, but it was certainly the pattern. I was not, however, always the pursuer or initiator in these relationships. It may just be that married women—sorry, married people—were the most logical and desirous partners for a secret sexual relationship. The danger, the adventure, the forbidden quality, and the adrenaline that those aspects engendered... those are potent and addictive things. The feeling of someone desiring you in that way, craving you and your attention, is so unlike the above-board relationship; you're placing yourself completely in the other person's hands in a way, and vice versa. You're surrendering yourself to the other person, and in doing so giving them your complete trust, inviting them to create a secret world with you, one in which you can be whomever you want, and act however you will, with some amount of confidence that he won't betray you. Because by betraying you, he betrays himself as well. In this very secret, two-person universe, you're special in a way you'll never be anywhere else. At least, that's the way it feels. The true narrative of affairs can never be fully explained or understood. All the emotions, outside influences, motivations, extenuating circumstances... they're all too complex, overlapping, and interlacing. But they have their reasons and, I'll hazard, their own certain logic. To the observer, the outsider, and, especially, the moralist, there's just a cheapness to it all that can't be dispelled. But I can't worry about that. However these relationships ended or, in most cases, simply stopped, they're still raw and powerful swatches of memory, moments of feeling intensely alive. Intensely alive. In the five years that Kat and I carried on, it seemed that every moment was highly charged, even (or sometimes especially) the spells between times we saw each other, which could sometimes be weeks. But in those weeks, the excitement, the erotic anticipation of finally getting together again, made the intervening moments of life vivid. All we wanted to do was fuck each other. The necessity of that made things all the more dangerous. Those times when we could only manage to see each other in public settings like a restaurant or a bar or a coffee shop—when we couldn't manage the logistics of a motel room, or one or the other's house being temporarily empty—led to a lot of risky behavior, but it was almost like it was beyond our control. Fingering Kat in a booth at a TGI Friday's, between the waitress's visits: recalling it gets me hard as a rock, and it wasn't even me who got off that time, it was her. The television droning, the customers, the bustle of lunch service, while I carefully pumped two fingers in and out of her warm, wet cunt until she came, swallowing her gasps, her hand clamping on to my wrist and holding my hand fast, my fingers buried, her pussy throbbing. Another time, an hour stolen one afternoon when we met for a quick drink just to see each other: we sat at the bar, the place wasn't busy. The bathrooms were downstairs in this place, and before I paid our tab, I excused myself to the men's room. When I came out, Kat was waiting outside the door, in the little basement hallway. She kissed me and grabbed my cock through my trousers. I thought she wanted to drag me into the men's or ladies' room to fuck or suck me, and I wasn't so sure how good of an idea that was. Instead, she unzipped me right there, wrestled my cock out and began stroking it. With her other hand, she lifted the hem of her dress up over her stomach and told me to hold it. Then she pulled the waistband of her panties away from her belly. "I want you to shoot your load in my panties," she whispered. "I want to feel your hot cream on my pussy." This may rank as one of the hottest impromptu moments I've ever had the privilege to being party to. Just her words, her suggestion, was so fucking exciting, it didn't take very long for her to jerk the cum out of me, bending my cock down and milking it into the front of her underpants while we both looked down, watching it: her tiny hand stroking my length, the engorged head of my cock pulsing spurts of warm semen against the soft mound of her belly, the cum oozing down over her slit and into the crotch of her underwear. Small wonder that our interludes of separation were stimulating periods of life in their own right. I tore through life, each day rich with anticipation. Kat left me a compilation reel of erotically charged memories. She was an introvert, shy and bookish, which is maybe why the secret world that we created was such an uninhibited place for her. If you met her, you'd be hard pressed to imagine this was the same woman who would tell me to fuck her mouth, or fuck her in the ass, or that she wanted to eat my cum. She lay crosswise on the motel bed, on her back, hung her head over the edge, and told me to slide my cock straight down her throat. "It's called a straight shot," she said. "Just fuck my throat and shoot your cum straight down it." And I fucked her throat, cautiously at first, but less so as she writhed on the bed, her fingers working her clit. As I came, I held my cock still and deep, felt the muscles of her throat spasming around the head, milking out my spurting semen until her body bowed from her own orgasm. I pulled my cockhead back to give her air and she gasped mightily, thrashing and coming, tears running from her eyes. Kat sucked me off in my car, as I drove. She sucked me off in the stairwell of a parking garage one afternoon: no warning, no plan. We were walking down the steps from where we'd parked our cars when meeting for coffee and on the second floor landing she just stopped, squatted in front of me, matter-of-factly took out my cock and sucked it. Stroked and sucked until I filled her mouth with spunk. She sucked me off one morning in a library where we conspired to meet. She'd brought two of her kids with her, and when they were settled in the children's section at a table looking at books, she found me lurking back in the stacks. We talked in whispers, kissed; I squeezed her small breasts through her shirt, dying to get my mouth on them. When she felt the hardness of my cock pressing up against her, she unzipped me, pulled it out, and bent over and took it in her mouth. As soon as she finished swallowing my load she stood up, gave me a quick, cum-flavored kiss on the lips, popped a piece of gum in her mouth, and disappeared. Kat told me she wanted to watch me jack off. I told her she could, as long as she did the same. She lay on her back on the motel room and spread her legs. I knelt between them, and we both began masturbating. I told her how I thought about all the things we'd done. All the things she'd said to me that turned me on and got me off. She stared, rapt, at my hand vigorously pumping my erect dick as she worked her clit with one hand and fingered herself with the other. I was edging, waiting for her. "I really want to put that thing in my mouth," she breathed. "I want to put this thing in that sweet fucking cunt," I said, and with that, she started coming. I picked up the pace and then joined her, spurting my creamy seed on her belly. She scooped up a dollop of it with two fingers and smeared it on her lips, then licked them. * Sometimes the desire to go back in time and live these precise moments over again is so strong it almost convinces me that I can actually do that, turn back the clock, go back in time and have that stolen afternoon once more. The excitement, the intensity of anticipation and sensation and pleasure, the liberating experience of feeling, even just for a few moments, of being entirely in the present. There's a freedom to it: freedom from time, freedom from the conditions of existence, freedom from death. It's an illusion, of course, but the momentary feeling isn't. Yeah, I know how this sounds, the selfishness and hedonism of it all. But everyone develops different views, evolves different perceptions. For some people, sex is just fun and feels good. It has its compartment.