Future of Porn

“I rarely take the bus anymore, but I remember perfectly the long rides north, the smell of the other passengers, the peculiar way boredom, road sickness and lust combine.”

I was in the middle of my fourth semester at U of T – the University of Toronto. Spring Break at last. For the first time in two years, I longed to get back home up north for a few days. The occasional trip home was an annoyance at first, something I had to do in order to please my parents. But now, the prospect of home-cooked meals, tranquility and catching up with family actually looked preferable to partying with friends on Queen Street West. Maturity, perhaps.

Maturity, or the fact I wasn’t with Karen anymore. It may have been a short relationship, but God was she something! I hoped a few days in Sudbury would help me get over the loss. Those last two months have been tough, images of her gorgeous body and the sound of her laughter flashing through my mind whenever I let it wander.

I still had 10 minutes to wait before boarding the bus, so I got out of the terminal to get a little fresh air. It was a fairly cool spring and a light rain was falling, but I didn’t mind. I watched people walk by in the night. A homeless guy pushing a small cart before him. Some Bay street type in an expensive suit with a short-skirted blond girl under his arm. Gosh, she looks so much like Karen! I closed my eyes, turned away and walked a few steps to the corner of the terminal.

I didn’t pay attention to the red car parked there at first, but then movement inside caught my eye. Feebly illuminated by the street light some distance away, I could see a couple kissing passionately. Good-looking guy, blond hair brushed back, broad shoulders under his Toronto Maple Leafs jacket. He was leaning over the woman on the passenger seat. Black hair cut short, swaying to the side as she moved her head. It took me a moment to realize the guy had a hand beneath her low-cut white t-shirt, massaging her left breast vigorously.

“Fuck, they’re really having a good time,” I whispered.

I flattened myself on the terminal wall, afraid they’d see me. I saw the passenger seat jerk back and the guy shifted his body so he was almost directly above his girlfriend. He then hiked up her t-shirt and I was treated to the sight of her beautiful, firm D-cups peeking out from under the bra that has been pushed up. She didn’t resist when he deftly undid the clasps and took the bra away, then sucked her right nipple, massaging the other with his hand.

His body now blocked the view I had of her magnificent tits, but her face was lovely to watch: head pulled back, eyes closed, she opened and closed her mouth in what I could imagine was dirty talk. My lustful mind made up the soundtrack by itself.

“Oh God yes, suck my tits baby. Fuck, you’re so good! Come on, suck me harder baby,” I fantasized.

Her right leg came up and I saw a flash of white cloth go down her thigh.

“Fuck, he’s pulling her panties from under her,” I thought.

I watched the other leg go up for a brief moment, then her panties gracefully flew to the driver’s seat. The woman’s month opened wide in a scream, I guessed in reaction to her boyfriend’s slipping his fingers into her. I could see his arm jerking rapidly between her legs for maybe a minute before her body went rigid, her hips pushing hard to get as much of those fingers in her as possible. I heard her muffled scream even through the rain as the orgasm boiled through her.

I turned away, breathing with difficulty, my hot cock painfully pushing against my jeans. I walk briskly into the terminal, intending to go down to the washroom to get rid of that hard-on in the most effective way possible. Then I saw the clock: 55 minutes past midnight. I’d missed the boarding announcement. I ran to where the waiting bus was, all the while struggling to conceal my raging hard-on. Completely out of breath, I stopped at the end of the short line of people still waiting to board. I closed my eyes and tried to control myself.

“Excuse me, is that the bus for Sudbury?” I turned automatically to the female voice behind me. “Yes, it’s just about to…” I looked directly into the green eyes of black-haired young woman, noticing in an instant the displaced hair, the beads of sweat on her brow, the “freshly fucked” glint in her eyes. “It’s just about to come. I mean, to leave!” I quickly turned away from her, feeling fire crawl along every inch of my face. Uncaring about my absolutely embarrassed state, my pole got back to full attention.

I put my bag in the baggage compartment of the bus and climbed on, all the while fearing she’d notice how aroused I was and realize I might have seen her get finger-fucked by her boyfriend. I headed for an empty seat near the back of the bus.

I collapsed in the seat, bending a little forward to keep my penis from making a pyramid in my jeans. I took deep breaths to get rid of the erection.

“Are you okay?”

I jerked my head at the voice coming from the window seat just beside me. A woman, gentle face, long brown curly hair, maybe 20 years old. I just blinked stupidly.

“Are you in pain or something?” she said, apparently trying to decide if I needed help or if I had psychiatric problems.

I struggled to answer in a normal voice, my ears informing me I failed miserably.

“Cramp. Just a cramp. It’s going away now, thanks.”

I made what I hoped was a reassuring smile and turned my head the other way… just in time to see my black-haired beauty sit down just across the aisle.

Her shapely legs were coming out from a short red skirt, the kind every guy knows can fly away with the lightest gust of wind. Her chest thrust forward as she tried to find a comfortable position on the seat and I could see her half-erected nipples pushing against the fabric of her t-shirt.

“Looks like she left her bra to her boyfriend,” I thought.

My eyes slipped down to the hem of her skirt, wondering if he kept the panties too. She was chatting a little with the old man sitting beside her. They were talking in low voices as everyone does on buses, but I could hear her introducing herself as Caroline.

“Caroline the Car Slut,” I thought.

Not very clever, but I liked the sound of it.

I forced myself to keep my eyes off her body and relax as the bus’ engine came alive. I took in the smell of the vehicule: diesel and perfume. I knew that over the next five hours, it would be replaced by the smell of sweat and that blue-green stuff they put in the toilet to keep it from stinking. Not looking forward to that. I took out my CD player from my jacket’s pocket, stealing a glance at Caroline the Car Slut in passing. She was reading a book, I couldn’t see the cover. Her nipples had softened, but her round tits still showed wonderfully well under the t-shirt.

I pushed the Play button and let Dave Matthews take over my mind…

“Oh I watch you there through the window and I stare at you You wear nothing but you, wear it so well Tied up and twisted, the way I’d like to be”

I fell asleep thinking about my ex-girlfriend Karen getting finger-fucked in a car by a hockey player, her blond curls jumping all over her face.

Then that dream came again, unbidden. There’s no escape from the memory of that day.

** My class had been cancelled, the teacher delayed by the heavy snowfall. That meant I had three hours to myself, so of course I planned to walk to Karen’s apartment and surprise her. She lives on the top floor of a two-floor building just west of Spadina Ave, with an exterior steel staircase going all the way up to her door. I hopped from one step to the next, being careful not to walk into the boot prints already there, so the fresh snow would muffle the noise.

I watched my dream-self halt at the top of the stairs, impulsively looking into Karen’s small living room through the window just next to the door. What I saw stopped me dead. I could see her crouched, naked body, white skin charged with the energy of hot sex, elbows on the couch, knees on the floor. And Martin McKay right behind, pushing his cock into her. Karen was pushing madly back, grinding her pussy against him, sending both her gorgeous tits and her honey-blond hair flying with the movement.

I stood there frozen in the snow, my brain refusing to acknowledge the significance of what I was seeing. Pot-belly, small-dick Martin was fucking my beautiful girlfriend, his hips pounding into her again and again, making her scream like crazy and the only thought I could formulate was “Shit, she’s so hot. She’s loving every second of it.” As I stood there by the window, I felt heat gather at my groin and the blood rush up my dick.

“They’re so fucking hot…”

Karen was turning, saying something. I pushed my ear to the glass to hear.

“… know what I want, do it to me. Do it, do it now!”

Martin pulled on her hips, forcing her to lay on her side with him. Still inside her, he lifted her left leg high and pounded some more at her pussy. I could see his thin cock go in and out of her juicehole at incredible speed.

“God, how can he not come?” I wondered.

Karen was still moaning and pleading with him, her voice now a shout.

“Ah, baby give it to me! Please, don’t make me wait no more. Oh that’s fucking… Please baby please.. FUCK MY ASS BABY!!!”

I was stunned. Karen never wanted to do that with me. Now she was begging another guy to push his dick into her asshole. I could feel my own cock twitching, gathering all my body heat to my crotch. I started to shiver.

Still holding her leg up, Martin suddenly slipped his cock out of her pussy and pushed his hips against her ass. Karen’s mouth closed shut and her head hit the floor hard, her whole body reacting to the invasion of her anus. Martin moved his hips slowly at first, then more rapidly, making Karen yell in delight continuously. She plunged her hand between her soaked pussy lips, matching with glistening fingers the movements in her ass. My eyes were glued to those fingers, massaging, stretching, rubbing her pussy.

As she reached orgasm, she pushed almost her whole delicate hand into her vagina and Martin’s hips pushed her hard from behind. Her body thrashed in ecstasy as her lover leg go of her leg to hold her hips with both hands. I heard him for the first time, releasing a low animal growl as he came, sending his load up her ass. **

I raised my eyelids, looking at the back of the seat in front of me, my heart beating hard. I passed my hand through my hair, discovering my brow was dripping with sweat. Then I realized my cock was almost fully erect, making a huge lump in my jeans! I slapped my hand hard on it to conceal it, gritting my teeth at the pain. I took a look to the right. The brown-haired woman was asleep in her seat, her breasts and uncovered belly rising in synch. Thank God, she didn’t see anything. Then I turned the other way.

My Car Slut was sleeping too. She was curled up sideways in her seat, facing my way. Her t-shirt had stretched to adjust to the new position and her deep v-neck had twisted toward her left breast, showing me up close quite a bit of that beautiful round tit I’ve seen from afar earlier. I could see almost half of her pale aureole, her nipple nearly escaping the confines of her clothing. The bus was dark and warm. I bit my lip.

“Okay, I want to do this.”

I stood up, carefully arranging my hard cock so it wouldn’t show too much. I went at the front to speak with the driver, a man in his forties with a huge moustache.

“Hey sir, do you mind turning the heat down at the back? It’s getting really hot in there.”

The man glanced at me for a moment before putting his eyes back on the road.

“Yeah, I’ve had problems with the heating system. Sure, I’ll turn it down.”

Emboldened, I made my move.

“Actually, would you mind sending us some cold air for a while, that would really feel good.”

He just nodded and his hand adjusted the controls. I mumbled heartfelt thanks and returned to my seat.

I sat sideways in my seat, looking at Caroline’s nipples react to the cold air now coming out of the floor vents. My cock returned to full hardness as I saw her shiver for a moment and her nipple hardened, gradually pushing against the fabric. I couldn’t believe how hard it seemed to get! It finally popped out, a beautiful pink thing begging to be licked and sucked. I shifted my position a bit so I could discreetly stroke my cock through my pants. She moaned softly and brought her hand to her breast, pushing softly against it with her open hand, lips half-closed. I started stroking hard at the base of my dick.

As I thought I was about to come in my jeans, something grabbed the tip of my dick! I cried aloud, waking half the bus.

Caroline came wide awake, automatically rearranging her t-shirt at the same time. Now bent in two to hide my hard-on, my face burning with shame, I looked at the woman sitting beside me. She held her hand in front of her mouth to keep her from laughing out loud. She looked at me sideways with mischief dancing in her eyes.

I slumped as low as I could, trying to disappear into the faded green bus seat. People were glancing at me wondering what happened, some with a small smile. I risked a glance at Caroline. She was picking up her book, apparently unaware of the thrill she just gave me. I felt a little better, but I wished I’d stop sweating and I wondered how come I my cock was still rock-hard.

“What the Hell is wrong with me?” I wondered.

Driver’s voice in the speaker system.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be arriving in North Bay in 10 minutes, where we’ll be stopping for 20 minutes. Thank you.”

I heard the noise of pen scratching on paper. That insane woman was writing something. Anger started to flare up within me and I looked at her, trying to find something to say that would put her to shame. But she was looking at me, holding a folded piece of paper with a crooked smile. Now completely confused, I took it and read.

“I want your big cock inside me. In the washroom at the bus stop. ”

I read the message twice more, acutely aware of my raging erection. I turned to her. She was looking at me lustily with large brown eyes. She had beautiful lips, the kind you want around your cock. My gaze dropped to her breasts, small and high under her short green top. Her left leg was resting on her right knee, but I could see her hand had disappeared beneath the edge of her low-cut jeans, gently fingering her pussy. I swallowed hard and made a small nod. She replied by wetting her lips with her tongue. I almost came right there.

I couldn’t believe my luck. The last ten minutes before the stop were pure torture. She continued fingering herself, absently looking at the lights outside.

The bus finally pulled in the parking lot of North Bay’s bus station. As people started to get up and gather their things, my lusty girl leaned toward me and grabbed at my crotch, pulling me to her.

She whispered in my hear. “No condom, no pussy.”

She then pretty much pushed me into the alley.

I made my way to the bus station with other passengers as the driver unloaded the luggage of those getting off in North Bay. At the time, it was a large waiting room with a few rows of plastic seats, some lockers, a convenience store and of course, the doors to the washrooms.

I entered the convenience store area right away, not wanting to keep my “date” waiting. I looked at the rows of chips, chocolate bars and motion sickness pills, but couldn’t see any damned rubbers. “No…” Yes, there they were, behind the counter. I had to ask the thin old lady at the cashier for them.

I could see my date staring at me from the waiting area, sipping some coffee. I rapidly took my place in line with other passengers waiting to pay for their purchases, right behind Caroline. I was so close I could smell her. A hint of perfume and the sweet smell of sex. My cock started twitching again, pointing right at her ass and pussy. I wondered once more if she was naked under that skirt.

Relieved to be the last one in line, I hoped my tone of voice would be just right so that other passengers wouldn’t hear me, but loud enough so that the clerk wouldn’t have me repeat. “A box of Lifestyles,” I said, proud of the perfect control I had over my voice. She almost yelled the reply “Plain or lubricated?”, looking at me with a sly smile. Shit, she was enjoying this. “Lubed”, I said with the face of someone admitting defeat, as I heard a few muffled giggles somewhere behind me. She handed me the box. “10,34 $. Have fun.”

Well, I got the damned things and I was sure as Hell going to put them to good use. I put the box in my jacket’s pocket and looked at where the object of my lust was sitting earlier. All that was left was an empty paper cup. I headed for the washroom doors, thankful that they were at the end of a short corridor, so not too many people could see me take the wrong way. I gently knocked on the women’s door.

The door opened a crack and I saw my date’s face, great dark eyes shining with excitement. “It’s clear” she said, grabbing my belt and pulling me playfully inside.

Walking backwards, she pulled me forward until her denim-clad butt hit the sink. With devilish skill, she got my belt buckle undone and popped a button open. I quickly glanced to look around: a couple of sinks along a large mirror, three toilet booths. I was panicked at the idea someone could come in.

“Hey, not here, let’s get in a booth.”

I heard my zipper come down. “Right here, Tom. You fuck me right here.”

I felt she had hit me on the head with a hammer. “How the fuck to you know my name?!?”

My train of thought was cut off when she opened my jeans wide and sent her hand fishing for my eager cock.

“Oh Tom, this is very nice… Very nice indeed.” She pulled it from my underwear, running her cool hand up along its length, then down again to squeeze my balls. I gasped.

“Oh, is it sensitive? Yeah, it had a busy night, dreaming about fucking that girl with the black hair. You really want to slip your cock between those big tits, don’t you Tom?”

The thought actually hadn’t occurred to me, but thinking about having my penis slide between her breasts made me moan aloud, encouraged by the palm of the hand rubbing pre-cum all over my cock. I closed my eyes.

The stroking stopped abruptly. Perhaps she saw the door open!! I opened my eyes and looked that way, but it was still closed. Relieved, I looked at my mystery girl. She had let go of my sex and now had her back to me, elbows on the sink. She had lowered both her jeans and her pink panties. Her butt was beautifully tight and round. Her wet pussy was in full view between her thighs.

“So?” She was looking at me in the mirror with an innocent look, shaking her butt playfully.

I couldn’t say anything. I quickly pulled a condom from the box and slipped it over my cock.

“Good boy.” She flashed me a crooked smile and opened her legs wider.

I stepped forward and aimed the head of my shaft at her welcoming pussy and pushed gently. It slipped in easily, her lips pressing against the thin latex.

“Oh yesss…” she purred. “I want more!”

I backed up a little bit then pushed forward in a smooth motion. She moaned and pushed back with her hips as I slowly slipped my entire pole in her, my balls finally pushing against the back of her thighs. I clenched my jaw shut to keep me from crying out loud. My cock felt pressure on all sides on its entire length. The feeling was awesome.

Casting a nervous look at the door, I pulled out about halfway. She whimpered and I pushed it back in, a bit faster than the first time. I did it again and when I heard her say “Oh yesss!”, I increased the tempo. I was soon fucking her pussy fast and furious, her juices running down my balls. I was about to come.

At every step of the way, it had been either Tim or Frank doing things To Me and me cooperating and reacting and, thus, able to kid myself that r was not REALLY responsible for what was going on.

So, as I said, for the first little in my life, I was about to do something lewd of my own free will, stripping away any pretense of non-responsibility, and I didn’t want any help.

Not only was I about to deliberately bare my entire body to this man”s eager gaze, and do it with “malice aforethought” (one of his favorite phrases), but I was simultaneously admitting to myself and to Tim that I was/am a strongly sexed woman with a mind that works in exotic, erotic ways. All of this I HAD to do by myself!

But, having made that resolution, I certainly wasn’t calm about either my decision or my plan.

Tim, without argument, put his hands behind his back.

One more nervous kiss and then I stepped away from him and looked at him for a few seconds: his hands were pulled behind him almost exaggeratedly. On his face was a half-smile which, if I’d been the least bit paranoid, I’d have interpreted as indicating he was trying hard not to laugh at me.

It is indicative of our understanding of each other that, despite my nervousness, I knew his smile was one of gentle, loving encouragement .

I turned my back to Tim, to reach beneath the robe and, hot-faced, pull my panties down my legs and off, stuffing them into a pocket of the robe. (Tim told me later that was his only disappointment for the day, and gave me a short, loving lecture on how exciting it can be watching a woman undress, gracefully or not) .

I was scared as I turned to face Tim, more scared than I -could remember being for a long, long Time. Nonetheless, my hands nervously gripped the opening of the robe, gathering the courage to take that final step. As I hesitated, Tim gently asked, “Hands behind the back…?” I nodded and told him, shakily, “Tim .. only because I want to do this myself — for you.” Still smiling, he nodded his head in understanding.

There was no sense delaying any longer; I could feel my resolve draining away so, before the nerve deserted me entirely, I slowly pulled the robe open.

Tim’s eyes had left mine to stare at my hands and, from there, to my garishly-appointed but mostly naked body as I pulled the robe wide behind me, unconsciously (and unintentionally) creating a dark background for my pale form. I watched his face and was gratified to see his eyes grow round in admiration and scan up and down me, from toes to face, as if he were trying to lock me into his memory, every little detail.

Tim’s admiration, his murmured, “Beautiful, Just beautiful!” gave me the courage I needed to completely pull the robe off and almost coyly hold it hanging from one upraised finger, to slowly, deliberately turn, stopping at 2-or-3 points in my slow-motion pirouette so that he could drink in the sight of me from every angle, knowing full well that the tight elastic at the top of the stockings exaggerated the thrust and curve of my bare buttocks.

And Tim? Still softly repeating, “Beautiful, just beautiful. I love it!”

No one but Tim had never called me beautiful before.

I completed my turn and hastened the few steps to Tim, in great relief throwing my arms around him, raising my face to his and being rewarded with another long, lovely kiss. Finally, our kiss broke and he told me, “Thank you, darling; I know what that cost you and I appreciate it more than you know.

“But .. I’m fast running out of self-control, so I think you’d better get dressed, if you’re going to.” I gave him another kiss, then started to pull away, causing him to add, “Just let me have one more look?” Of course and, a few feet away from him, I struck a proudly-embarrassed pose for him until he almost imperceptibly nodded his head and said, “Thank you.”

Then I grasped the robe to my front protectively, and started to walk the long distance across the floor to my bedroom. Almost there, a funny thought struck me and I stopped, turned my head, and said, “I’m holding the robe on the wrong side of me, aren’t I?”

In a smiling, pseudo-nonchalant tone, Tim said, “Uh .. don’t worry about it on MY account…”

It was the perfect, right thing to say, and lightened my heart as I disappeared into the bedroom to get dressed.

* * *

In case you’re curious, yes, Tim”s hands stayed firmly behind his back from the little they were first placed there at my request until I entered the bedroom.

Frankly, that kind of bothered me, and I softly chided Tim later, “You know, you didn’t have to KEEP them back there: I Just had to take the robe off without help. You could have .. touched me .. once I’d done that.”

“No,” he corrected me, “I couldn’t. I knew it was, for whatever reason, important to you to do that by yourself, but I couldn’t tell when it STOPPED being important, and I didn’t want to run the risk of scaring you and spoiling it for both of us.” That, and a few other things of a similar nature, taught me Tim”s Law: “When in doubt, don”t!” It was important, months and months later, when our life together began, to know that any kind of negative reaction or vague verbal reservation about something would almost undoubtedly keep that something from happening.

For some strange reason, it comforts me to know that, for all his experience, Tim needs my encouragement and approval, even now.

* * *

This, too, happened, and it happened because I gave Tim the encouragement he needed.

It was another day, a day that had started when Tim arrived to find me in short dress, thigh-high hose and panties (plus heels, of course).

While the details of the preliminaries are foggy in both our minds, we can recall no coyness or resistance on my part as he removed my bikinis and placed me, half-reclining, in the corner of the couch, curled up on the floor between my wide-spread legs, and began kissing my still-shod instep, his tongue and lips trailing delightfully hot, wet kisses up my leg, behind my knee, up my thigh, his hands following along behind as, finally, his lips barely touched my wide-open pubic mound…

“TIM!” The way I said it, and my hand touching his head, stopped him before he could go any farther. Without moving, he looked up at me in puzzlement.

Dear God! You have no idea how lewd and exciting it is to look down your exposed body at your naked lovenest and see a man’s eyes peering over it at you, unless it”s actually happened to you. I had once had a discussion with Tim about his use of the word “obscene,” especially when he’d modify it as “deliciously obscene” or “beautifully obscene.” To me, the word and the adjectives were contradictory, and I told him so. Patiently, he explained his concept to me — perhaps best typified by a sign he had made and which now hangs on our bedroom wall:

“SEX 1S DIRTY….

BUT ONLY WHEN IT’S

DONE RIGHT!”

! accepted his explanation .. but I can’t say I really understood it until I saw his mouth full of my pubic bush and his beautiful eyes (as beautiful as his hands) staring at me up the length of my body over his box lunch (another rude description he passed on to me).

My cunt ached for wanting him at that moment, but I had stopped him. Why? So I could say, “Tim .. this time, I want to tell you .. ‘Yes!’ Yes, dearest, YES!!”

With no hesitation, and only the briefest, muttered “Thank you,” Tim consumed me, spearing me open with his tongue and rampaging through my wet slit, driving me repeatedly into one orgasm after another, his glorious hands roaming over my body, my abdomen, my thighs, my buttocks — while his lips and tongue thrilled me.

Finally, I collapsed again into a near-faint, and Tim got up to sit beside me, to kiss me and hold me and .. cherish .. me.

After I got my breath back, I got up and got us some coffee, and we sat together, sipping and talking. Besides various unrestrained endearments, our talk was mostly on the language of sex, and I discovered Tim liked women who talked about sex at sexy moments in unabashedly sexy terms. “It saves time,” he said, “and is both more precise and more exciting.”

Tim told me of the woman he’d once known who, in everyday life, had a very conservative vocabulary but, once she “got a stiff dick in her” went wild, screaming such things as “Fuck me, oh, fuck me, you bastard! God, I love your cock! FUCK ME!”

Tim likes little touches like that (and said, parenthetically, that he loved my loud verbal response to his lovemaking, which pleased me. I CAN be silent when I come but, he’s right: it’s more fun if you can make noise).

This all led to the point where, with no more coaxing than his fingers toying with my pubic hair and his gentle request for me to do so, I unashamedly requested, “Tim .. would you .. eat me .. eat my .. cunt again?”

“There’s nothing in the world,” he replied with a smile as he slid off the couch to my feet, “that I”d rather do right now.”

He ate my cunt, alright — BOY!, did he eat my cunt! And, this time, he threw in something new: about the time I was wildly excited and thought I could go no higher without exploding, Tim did .. something .. that made me go absolutely crazy! Suddenly, from the waist down, I was afire, it felt as if his tongue had filled me completely, while I could still feel it on my clit!

! screamed and came, screamed and came, over and over, “OH TIM .. Oh! What are you DOING?!? I .. love .. it. OOOOHH!” again and again and ….

! finally collapsed again, more sexually spent than I”d ever been in my life, capable of doing no more than laying there, my legs lewdly sprawled, my cunt twitching in utter, absolute delight …

* * *

“What DID you do?!?” I asked later, after I’d reluctantly pulled myself back to the real world.

“For lack of a better name,” he told me, “I call it the ‘feminine blow job.’ What you do is get a gal excited, then lock your mouth over her vaginal opening and .. blow her up, blow in as hard as you can, with as much air as she’ll hold; hold the pressure for a moment, then suck it all out, creating a vacuum. That’s all.”

“I couldn’t tell,” I told him, “but I love it!!”

“Then you shall have it again one of these days,” Tim told me, “and it’ll be my pleasure.”

It’s just as well neither of us knew how long it would be before he could keep that promise.

-0-

RANDOM SHOTS - VII

Guest Editorial

I don’t think this is exactly what they have in mind in the Creative Writing course I’m taking in junior college, but Tim and Jill asked for something from me for their book, so I’ll give it a try. The flattery alone is worth the agony of creation.

Let’s see, Rule #1 Is, “Always start with something that will grab your reader”s attention.” How”s this: I’m hung like a horse.

I’m proud of it now but, up until about a year ago, when I was 19 and just a few months out of high school, that physiological fact was a source of great embarrassment and discomfort to me.

Having a widowed mother who”s a prude, and three older, married sisters who are Moral Majority arch-conservatives is NOT the background for the creation of a stud. I went through high school afraid of girls. I’m not bad-looking, but I was unbearably shy and, with the conditioning laid on me by my mother and sisters, treated girls so gently that I never once got laid. Really, never got kissed too terribly well, either.

Every girl’s friend, but lover for none.

Yet, from about the time I hit age eleven, my cock kept getting bigger and bigger; worse was the fact that the guys figured anyone hung like me must be getting plenty of ass from SOMEPLACE (the smart money said I was keeping a string of frustrated housewives happy).

What was actually happening was that I was flogging my dong 2, 3, 4 times a day; I was getting plenty of Hand, but no Pussy.

There were two reasons why I pounded my pud so much. First, of course, was because it felt good. More practically, I made sure to pop my rocks before I left for school in the morning because, if I didn’t, I’d look at some little teenage twat and, suddenly, Old Faithful would come up, impossible to hide, very uncomfortable .. and very embarrassing.

This also made me avoid the locker room scene at school, because of the ribbing from the rest of the guys: I ended up in the band instead of on the football team, the dramatics club in place of basketball or track (or, God forbid!, wrestling).

Junior College showed no signs of being better, and I might well have turned gay — I had a couple of offers that I managed to turn aside — if I hadn’t joined a local community theatre group, a fine hiding-and-gathering place for eccentrics.

That’s where I met Tim and Jill.

We all took to each other immediately. Tim”s funny and friendly, Jill is both, plus damn good-looking. They obviously liked me, making me feel always welcome to hang around them and tag along after them, even to things that had nothing to do with our drama group.

Very important, too, was their free-and-easy ability to joke and talk about sex: open, warm and, even in my precarious emotional situation, non-threatening. Our post-rehearsal group coffee klatches became something to be looked forward to, especially after a short time when, somehow, it became the norm for Jill and I to sit side-by-side with Tim across the table from us, and I slowly got used to Jill’s touching me on the arm to make a point, and the pressure of her thigh against mine.

Never once did either of them, for all their openness about sex, make any allusions to what I “must” be up to … or to the king-size erections I could no longer hide around Jill when she sat next to me.

Need I add that, when we were in the same car, it was all three of us in the front seat, with Jill between Tim and me? Besides putting Jill close to me, the hump In the floor caused an awful lot of beautiful leg to be exposed to my hungry gaze — hard-on or no hard-on.

All of this culminated, after a couple of months, in an invitation to Sunday brunch at their place, the first time I’d ever been there .

* * *

I got my first jolt when I walked into their livingroom. Hanging on the well, amidst other, smaller, more modest photos, was a 20″ x 26″ color shot of Jill in a way I’d never even thought to visualize her (I idolized her too damn much to populate my very wet dreams with her): laying on her side on the couch, her lower arm bent so she could prop up her head on her hand, smiling into the camera. She had a long, pretty scarf that draped over her breasts, just barely hiding them, a scarf that came back up over her hips to also barely conceal her pubic area. It was immediately obvious that, other than that scarf, she was wearing nothing but a pair of high heels (she also, it should be noted for accuracy’ s sake, was wearing a pair of pantyhose, but the scarf also hid the elastic waistband of them) and an ankle bracelet, without which she never appears.

Jill’s greeting to me was just a “Hi!” around the door from the kitchen, so my second jolt didn’t come until Tim and I, after he showed me his really great livingroom photo gallery of Jill and other ladies, a number of whom I knew, at least by sight, some of them surprising hell out of me by being there in such leg-revealing shots (but my eyes, whenever I thought Tim wasn’t looking, sliding back to that big, friendly color shot of my hostess), sat down to lunch, and his wife started bringing in food from the kitchen.

The second jolt was not as immediate or such an Instant Impact sort of thing, but it was no less intense for being a bit more subtle (although “subtle,” in this case, is a matter of degree and very much open to debate) .

Jill was wearing black hose and black, very high heels with a white dress trimmed in black. The dress, although hemmed about one inch above the knee, might have been described as “modest” except for one thing: it was very soft and very thin, thin enough so that it took me less then a minute to realize that the ONLY thing she was wearing beneath it was a black garterbelt (something I’d seen on girls in magazines, but NEVER in Real Life)! I could even faintly see the dark shadow of her pussy! As for her cute, tidy little breasts, there was no hiding the nipples — which, again, as I learned only later, she’d rouged heavily so that they WOULD show.

I wish I could tell you what we had for lunch, but all I can remember is the way Jill’s body looked on her frequent trips back to the kitchen, her rock-hard nipples staring across the table at me the rest of the time!

The conversation was free-wheeling, and my sexual excitement was such that I was almost drunk. My jeans were super-tight because, even for me, I was super-hard.

The only thing I remember in the way of conversation out of that meal was Jill talking about the big photo in the livingroom:

“Tim took several, similar shots and let me pick the one to blow up and hang. Originally, I was going to pick one without the scarf and hose, but we decided some of our houseguests might have a tough time handling that.”

The next thing I recall, we were back in the livingroom, this time Tim in a chair facing the couch, me on one end of the couch, Jill on the other. I was having no success attempting to hide my hard-on, and Jill was making no attempt at all to conceal her legs .. or the rest of her body. In fact, I realized with shock, if I turned my head just so .. I could see her naked upper thighs and the top fringe of her pussy under the pulled-higher-than -normal hem of her dress!

I felt delirious, just like I had a bad fever. I’m afraid I wasn”t holding up my end of the conversation very well: I was so busy trying (without seeming obvious) to see up Jill’s dress (for some reason, it seemed to get easier) that it totally went by me when Tim asked, “Do you enjoy blowjobs?”

“Huh?” Brilliant.

“Do you enjoy it when a women sucks you off?”

Shock .. but, still, answer your elders, even though you’re blushing, sweating, and stammering. “Uh . . I . . don’t know.”

An arched eyebrow. “You mean that, with equipment like that, you’ve never met a girl who wanted to go down on you and take you in her mouth?”

“Uh .. no.”

From Jill: “”How foolish of them. I’D certainly like to!” My head turned in her direction as she’d started speaking, and I don’t know which shocked me more, her words … or the fact that, while my attention had, a moment before, been turned to Tim, she’d pulled her skirt all the way up to her waist, spread her lovely, stocking-bisected thighs apart and now, with it pointed right at me, was casually stroking the hair of her pussy!

I stared at this in wonder, excitement, and great confusion .. my head snapped around to look at Tim, who was smiling (just adding to my confusion: husbands aren”t supposed to act this way), then back to Jill, who wasn”t exactly acting like a pillar of the community, either, especially as she insouciantly slid one finger into her slot. Finally, I blurted, “WHAT”S GOING ON??”

“Simple,” said Jill, “you’re being seduced.”

I turned to Tim, wordless.

“Chris,” he said, “we both believe in doing whatever makes us and our special friends feel good. Jill loves to suck cock” — the shock of those words used in relation to the sweet, innocent-looking woman I, for all practical purposes, adore is indescribable — “and she’s wanted to wrap her lips around your joint ever since the first time she saw it bulging in your pants.”

“There”ve been times, Chris,” the subject of our discussion, now busily sliding a finger in and out of her vagina, said, “that I’ve wanted to eat you so bad that my jaws have ached.”

I stared back and forth, like a judge at a tennis match, in ever-growing confusion. Finally, I had to ask Tim, “Doesn’t that BOTHER you?”

“Nope,” he said. “I love Jill very much and want her to have whatever she wants. Frankly, I get turned on watching her get a tonsil-bath.”