Funny thing, the Internet. Use it every day to research work, check the weather, read the news, catch up with friends. Shop.
And, when a sterile—if affectionate—marriage is ending, I use it to see what kind of other men might be out there. If I’m 44 and single again, what are my chances? I mean, I live in the Bay Area, across the water from San Francisco, so many of them are gay…will I end up unwillingly celibate?
Had enough of that for the past eight years, it’s one key reason we’re breaking up. (Sex every six weeks is just not enough for this hormonally-charged woman.)
So it all started with curiosity. All I planned to do was look at a few personals. Check out the men nearby. See some pictures, read some profiles. Thing is, to do that you have to give a little; fill out your own profile. In a spirit of what-the-hell, I do, and am cryptically frank. Have a little fun with it, but be honest.
Did you answer my ad? Did I answer yours? I don’t really remember, and it doesn’t matter. Your profile was so intriguing; it spoke of lively intelligence, a sense of humor, a wry ability to see your own foibles. And sex.
That’s how it started. Email that began with hints progressed to specifics. One day, at work, I don’t know what sparked it, I called you while the IT tech was poking around in my computer.
Ten days and two dates later, I’m at your apartment pulling on stockings and a g-string, a sheer lace bra you’ve spent outrageously on (and I love it), black spike heels. We’re on our way to a sex club; me, who’s had little enough sex in the past eight years to qualify for the priesthood…who’s had two group experiences in her life, in college, 20 years ago. Who’s been introduced by you in just the past week to Marvin, my battery-powered buddy, and to the explosive power of orgasm by anal stimulation.
I think you’re surprised (happily) by how quickly I learn. How open I am to trying these new things. I know you like my multiple multiple orgasms; you tell me there are few women like me, who come within seconds and come again seconds later.
Now we’re going to share these discoveries with a group of strangers.
I hate to admit to ever being nervous, and am doing my best to look my usual calm self. Walk slow, slink a little (in 3-inch heels that’s almost required), breathe. Look people right in the eye. Well, it’s so damn dark I’m searching for their eyes, but I think I still look dignified.
Your hand is on the small of my back, and it centers me; as long as I know you’re there, I’m not worried. I do look good; I know that from your eyes and your hands. The lace-top thigh-high stockings were your idea, and they are perfect; lace just shows when I sit down and the black lace skirt rides up my legs.
Still, a glass of wine helps calm me. I don’t know the protocol; if I look at someone, after a certain length of time will they think I want them to touch me? Do I want to touch them? It’s different; to be in what looks like a small, intimate bar, looking at sexy people, and for a change knowing that you could touch them later…see their skin, watch them wrestle, clench, come.
You point out a few to me; you already know my tastes. We join a couple at one of the tables, them looking for all the world like out-of-towners caught in the wrong spot—she even looks uncomfortable, suburban, a Tupperware mom (though sleek and pretty) who stumbled out of the plastics party into one where people wear rubber.
He mentions that they like to watch, and that once-hidden part of me you’ve uncovered (embraced, encouraged) almost immediately makes me want to kiss you, touch you in front of them. My black-stockinged leg is on your thigh, the shoe with the spike heel and ankle strap reaching out behind you. Shall we dance? Or just stand and sway against each other in rhythm here at the table?
More people have come in. Behind us, a sleek brunette in a red lace dress, matching thong showing through the lace, nice breasts held back by it just a little.
Hunky white guy—could be a cop; could be an athlete—has a blonde and a brunette leaning toward each other over him. You tell me later he always shows up with Barbie dolls, but this night he spent watching me.
And I like that. I’m finally able to let loose the exhibitionist that’s been there since I was a girl; the female creature who danced in front of mirrors, imagining a man watching from the other side. The woman who wears wrap skirts on windy days and never seems to have a hand free to stop the front from blowing open.
She’s been buried alive for so long that having clear fresh air to breathe is more intoxicating than the Meursault I’m drinking now.
We’re dancing—enough people on the floor that you don’t mind getting out there—and I’m feeling so free, so comfortable, and so sexy that I whisper in your ear “you can lift my skirt, if you want to…” and you do; black lace g-string, bare porcelain ass, tops of stockings on display for the room. Later someone tells me they were watching us dance; the whole room was watching us. Even just thinking about that now—writing about it—the tingling starts in my clitoris, warmth is spreading, I can feel my cunt get wet.
When we go upstairs—still early; only a few couples up here yet—I’m awkward again; what’s the routine? what do I do? trusting you to show me, and you do. You sit on a small trunk, angled into a corner, facing the hallway where everyone will enter the suite of darkened rooms filled with fresh-sheeted mattresses, draped cloth, different levels of play space from floor to ceiling. “Sit in front of me,” you say, and I do, and you pull my skirt up. My legs spread wide automatically, pussy aching for your touch. You’ve been teasing me all night; coming close, touching and pulling away, looking into my eyes with that wicked smile, so that when your fingers touch my clit through the sheer lace I moan and rub against you.
I know there are people standing and watching us. When I open my eyes, I see them; studying, as if at a museum looking at a piece of art. Their watching is gasoline to my fire; the heat between my legs kicks up a notch, I can feel my clit swell between your fingers, my pussy gush warm liquid and beg to be filled. I spread my legs wider.
I’m on display and feeding off it. My heart quickens and your hands set off small sparks wherever they touch. A man remarks in wonder and you answer “she’s always like that…” and I hear both of you from a distance, caught up in a tsunami of sexuality, engulfed by orgasms that increase in size as you stroke me, dip your fingers into my tidal pool.
Carefully, sweetly, you pick me up and carry me into another room. There are other people in here—more have come upstairs while I’ve been twitching and moaning under your touch—and though it’s dark I can see bare skin, hear slick slippery sounds and caught breaths. You set me down, my cunt at your waist, and I pull off the sheer black top…unhook the delicate, beautiful black lace bra you’ve gotten me for this occasion. My nipples are knots; hard pink rocks of pleasure, centers of sensation. You rub them with your hands, pinch them, twist them, and reach between my legs into that dark wet hot throbbing place where your fingers are always welcome.
You know my g-spot; sometimes I imagine you picture it, as if on a map, know its dimensions to the millimeter. An explorer in a dark, exotic land flavored with heady vanilla and smoky spices. Your fingers are there, now, rubbing insistently, and my pussy clenches them. My whole body writhes, I raise my hips to draw you in deeper, throw my legs over your shoulders (I’m still wearing the 3-inch heels and the stockings) to draw you closer.
Then your tongue.
Oh, Jesus. When you fuck me with your tongue, I can’t think anymore. I’m dimly aware that we’re in a room with other people, doing much the same thing, but every ounce of me is focused on what you’re doing with your tongue, your lips, your fingers. Sucking on my clit, licking the lips that can’t kiss back, smearing my juice all over your face. The orgasms come in waves, too, until I can’t tell where one leaves off and the next begins.
But this is all still just the beginning.
There’s a couple on a mattress next to us, a slender woman with sweet little breasts, a smallish compact man, blonde and balding but cute. They’re watching us—so many people watching us tonight—as you kiss me, your face wet with my come. My pussy aches, hating emptiness. You know I’m just getting started.
So your hand takes up where your tongue left off.
Those fingers play the flute; when they play me I’m a baritone sax moaning in my lowest register. Fingertips on my clit slide into the wet, hot folds of flesh, then into me, and I’m fucking your fingers, riding your hand. I can feel your fingers deep inside my cunt, rubbing my g-spot. Pussy muscles clench and my juice is on your hands. Rubbing my clit against you; shoving myself harder onto your fingers, a deep resonant note rumbles up from inside me and out.
You—the voyeur—have been watching that couple watching us. She comes as I come; I hear her high note, a whispered gasp of a sigh, soprano to my contralto. You whisper in my ear again; “Touch her,” you say. “I think she’d like that.”
So I do.
First touch a little tentative; I’m still uncertain how to do things here, fearful of rejection. But I get a clear welcome when she turns to me and smiles, reaches out to touch my nipple.
You settle in behind me; we’re a man-woman-woman-man sandwich, girls in the middle exploring each other.
The only other time I touched a woman sexually it wasn’t my idea at all; a man I knew wanted to have two women, brought her along, not much my type, and I was stoned and drunk. That was 20 years ago.
This time, I’m having fun. Aware of every moment. Even now, as I write, I still feel her sweet hard nipples between my fingers—so much like mine; prominent, pink, insistent.
—and I bend to take one into my mouth.
Her sounds spur me. Gasps getting higher and higher as I roll her nipple around in my mouth with my tongue. Brush the other with the palm of my hand and feel her twist, squirm, hot with pleasure. She likes the attention.
I trail my hand down her soft, slender body. Her skin is silk, fine and smooth. Little innie navel and a flat tummy lead me to her shaved pussy, clit exposed, poking out and hard. His hand is there, too, but retreats as I approach.
I touch her clit softly, then do what I like best; a finger either side of it, into swollen hot wet labia, rubbing its base, slicking the folds. I hear those gasps go higher, louder. Her pussy is so wet; like mine, where your fingers are exploring again, reaching in for my g-spot as I reach in for hers.
God, I love this. Fucking your hand, my hips thrusting, legs wide open, and my hand inside another woman’s pussy, feeling her slippery cunt clench at the same time as mine. Nibbling her nipples, listening to her come.
Licking her skin soft as cream, tracing a line between her breasts, points A and B, to point C for clit, c for cunt, c for come and I know my ass is in the air, exposed, as I taste her pussy. First the tip of my tongue on that pleasure knot, flicking it, teasing it—she’s twisting, again, rubbing herself against my face.
Then my whole mouth. I wrap my lips around her clit and suck it softly. Hear her gasp; a birdsong. Lap at her with the surface of my tongue, lick her labia for the flavor—light, soft, like her skin. Curiosity gets the better of me and I can’t wait.
I turn my tongue into your cock, your fingers, and explore inside her. Oh, God, she’s lifting her hips, offering herself to me, touching my hair and reaching for my nipples. I like the taste of her pussy and my tongue becomes insistent, probing. Pushing deeper inside that warm wet flesh, feeling her cunt muscles contract.
The two of you are watching; I know you’re loving this—it must be the ultimate in pleasure for a voyeur who likes my body, likes to watch, loves women.
I’m licking her and watching her reaction; bring my hand to that soft home, plunge my fingers into her and take a nipple in my mouth. She comes, now, and so do I—your hand is inside me again, your thumb at my anus, and it’s one of those white-hot orgasms, so intense I almost lose consciousness. I’m wrapped in her, in you, a soft flesh cocoon, coming coming coming
and as I top the crest and become aware of the world again, you say “turn and look behind you.”
There must be ten people, maybe more, lined up watching us. Intent. Focused. Can it be that they get as much hot pleasure out of my orgasms as I do? As your fingers, your mouth, your cock have given me in the past two weeks? At that thought—at the almost visible arousal around us—I come again, a hot human knot of exquisite feeling, making a sound I’ve never made before, a squeak, sound trying to make its way around the contracted muscles throbbing all over me.
You keep your hand inside me—I like that—as my heart slows (a little, not much) and I settle back in to our wonderful people-pile. Her breasts near my mouth; you behind and beside me; he just there beyond her, I can feel his skin when I touch her.
That was so incredible I want to share. Want her to have that same hot tsunami. So I turn to you and whisper, “make her come.”
You kiss me and slide down my body, grace and ease, and start kissing her body, kissing her clit, licking her cunt, as I tease her nipples again. They’re so hard and hot in my mouth. Now her gasps are louder, more exclamation than inhalation, now she’s bucking and I can feel her body tense and shudder. She’s a screamer—dancing on your tongue, fucking your face. And for the first time I feel his hand, I think; there are so many hands on me I’ve lost track. So I open my eyes and count, see who’s where, and his hand is inside me.
His touch is different from yours. More tentative, gentle, trying out a new pussy. The difference is a novelty in itself and his feathery fingers bring me right back to intense arousal; his fingertips on my clit, his fingers in my cunt rubbing gently. I hear her coming, and her orgasm is heightening mine, and I’m fucking his fingers, licking her nipples, moaning that baritone sax wail then squeaking again, coming all over until she and I moan and scream at the same time fuck me fuck me oh god yes please
another woman is coming, I can hear her, and then another, and the whole fucking room has an orgasm at the same time.
We all rest for a minute. I’m panting; your breath is hot in my ear. She’s gasping, but slower now. His hands are on me, then on her, still stroking.
It’s time for you to have as much fun as I have; you lie back, and I’m kissing you, touching your neck the way you like, running my tongue around your ear. Sticking it into your navel and licking my way down your belly to your cock, sleeping—but restive; as I wrap my lips around you, you harden, grow wider, longer, inside my mouth. Soon you fill my throat and I start sucking you slowly, deeply…going all the way to the base of your cock with my lips, its head in my throat, then slowly releasing you until I’m sucking the tip and licking that small slit with the tip of my tongue.
I love the feeling of your tool in my mouth—steel, when you’re this hard, but warm, throbbing with your heartbeat, twitching at my mouth, my tongue, my lips on you. You taste toasty; like fresh bread, warm wheat, clean flesh. I taste that first come, the few drops that squeeze out when you’re first hard.
And I hear your breathing get deeper, rhythmic. Your hand in my hair. My ass in the air. I’m bent over you, licking your balls, running my tongue down behind them to your anus, teasing you. Licking you and fingering you at the same time then sucking you again, then licking, then sucking until your hand works you into a frenzy and your breath gets faster and you moan, gasp, moan, twitch and I catch you just in time to taste your come in my mouth, shooting into the back of my throat, hot and sticky.
As he’s mounting her and they start fucking slow—but not for long—then faster, and faster, her gasping again. He comes; I have my hand on his ass, fingers teasing the space between his cheeks, and I feel him come; feel his ass tense, the muscles tighten, hard, fuck her fuck me hard, and he comes.
You’re not finished, though. You stand up behind me and pull my ass to you. Cock hard inside me; God, that feels good. Pussy tastes sweet, but nothing is as good as the feeling of your cock in my cunt, me slick with my own come, you hot and hard and wanting me. And as you fuck me from behind, you do what I’ve just learned to love; your thumb is on my ass, in my ass, turning the deep throaty moans of me into that funny squeak that’s just turned up. I’m coming, and the inside of my head is filled with white light—did someone just flip a switch? no, it’s only me—and I’m squeaking, coming in a quake that shakes my whole body.
I don’t know how long I lay there, after that. Time passed in my head; time passed in that room, but I’m sure it was only minutes before the man who’d signed us in first thing that night came through saying “ten minutes…ten minutes…” and I swayed to my feet. Stockings still up; shoes still on. Teetered to the bathroom, where even peeing was difficult; my cunt lips so swollen nothing would come out, still throbbing and twitching.
When I came back, our friends were leaving. “Will you be coming back here again?” he asked. probably…
Like maybe next week…