Confessions of a Slut Ch. 19

Well, this is the finale. I could tell other stories. There was the young marine who fucked me six times one day, thus becoming the hardest man I ever knew. Another man and I jacked each other off on a crowded dance floor. (I wrapped my panties around his penis to catch his sperm and then dropped the panties into a potted plant.) I have never had sex in an airplane bathroom but I did in a train bathroom, and on the steps of the United States capital building and on top of a pyramid of Egypt and another in Guatemala.

I'm not an exhibitionist but I liked it when a good friend watched me have sex. (See Chapter Thirteen). And I enjoy watching people if they don't know I'm watching. I don't do gangbangs, but I've often begun a night by having sex with one man and ending it with sex with another -- and once I had sex with three men in one night, a story that I told in Chapter Five) The best sex I ever had?. Probably Noi, the Thai masseuse and my only lesbian relationship. (See Chapter Eleven.)

I used to be an alcoholic and a few times -- fortunately not many -- I woke up in the morning naked with a man beside me and no recollection of having had sex with him. And once in the back seat of a car two men took turns fucking me while I laid there drunk and semi-conscious. It wasn't fun.

I'm sixty-six years old now and have been happily married for fourteen years. I married the wonderful man I talked about in the last chapter. His poor wife died after being crippled for many years with multiple sclerosis and, after a decent interval, we got married.

Being happily married, however, does not mean that I am monogamous. In my married years I've had sex with forty new partners, as well as repeat engagements with about ten old partners. That brings my lifetime total up to one hundred and seventy five men, more or less. I'd like to get to two hundred, but I don't think I'll make it. The sands of time are running out.

My husband doesn't ask about my sex life outside marriage, nor do I tell him. My extra-curricular sex hasn't hurt my marriage. It's like tennis. I like to do it -- and it's good for me. My first episode of "unfaithfulness" occurred only a month after our marriage. An old friend was in town and suggested we get together. I didn't hesitate to accept his offer.

My sex life outside marriage is facilitated by my career. I'm a financial management consultant. I work out of my home in Kansas City and I make frequent long business trips. I am on the road three months of every year. In addition to acquiring frequent flyer miles I meet a man now and then and go to bed with him. And I occasionally divert from my business travel for a weekend with an old friend -- Abe the Titty Fucker for example (see Chapter Eight) who, unfortunately, died two years ago. I'm pretty sure that his last sexual emission was on me -- although I would deny that our sex had anything to do with his death.

If you've read my stories you know that until the age of thirty five my sex life was about as exciting as reruns of the Brady Bunch. I regret wasting those early years with my misguided philosophy of monogamous commitment. Some people are suited to monogamy; I am not.

Fortunately, after long years of seeing myself as Ms. Plain Jane, the boring accountant, I acquired some self-esteem and confidence and, combined with a body that is still in excellent condition, I attract men, often younger than me, with some regularity. Not that it's easy for a woman my age. I often feel that I am invisible. Men look right through me, uninterested and indifferent. .

Well, this is supposed to be a sex story, not a lament, so I'll I tell you about the last man -- except for my husband -- that I had sex with.

It was in Washington, D.C. and at a dinner party hosted by a friend. I was paired at the dinner table with a pleasant and attentive man a few years younger than me. He was married -- but his wife was in a different city and to my mind it isn't adultery if the spouse is a thousand miles away. There is always the delicate question of how to hook up as the party winds down. It was even more complicated in this case because we came in separate cars. But a man talking to you at the end of the party most likely has sex on his mind and the direct approach is best. Most married men are guilt-ridden sheep and they need to be led to bed. "Do you want to go back to my place for a drink?" I asked him.

His mouth plopped open. This was a man who stuck pretty close to home. "Uhh....yes....uhh. I would like that."

He followed me to my hotel in his car; and we took the elevator to my room. He was nervous; I like married men who are nervous; it shows that they are mostly faithful to their wives -- and I like mostly faithful men. Mostly, I said. I'm not a home-wrecker, just a single woman who needs a man to cuddle me -- and make me go off like the Fourth of July.

This sheepish man turned into a tiger. I was standing at the bar pouring him a drink when he came up behind me, put his hands on either side of my waist and said, "I don't really need another drink."

I gave him just a little bit of a butt-wiggle to feel what was already a rising penis beneath the fabric of his Brooks Brothers gray flannel trousers -- and then I gave him a lot more of a butt-wiggle when his arms circled me. He kissed my neck and his hand moved up to one of my breasts. I like loose-fitting bras that allow my breasts to bounce up and down and permit easy access to a hand searching for a hard, pink nipple. His hand felt his way down the front of my blouse to said nipple -- and now against my butt cheeks was a penis that was stiff as the proverbial board. A hard man is good to find.

His hand left my breast and found its way downward to the triangle between my legs. I was wearing loose fitting slacks and he through the fabric he felt the slit where my clitoris resided and gave me a most pleasant and exciting massage with his middle finger. At the same time he kissed my neck and ears -- I love having my ears kissed -- and I pressed my butt harder and harder against his groin.

We turned to face each other, his hand now inside my pants, working a finger beneath my panties and into my vagina. I unzipped him and groped for his penis, pulled it out of his pants, and cupped my hand around his balls while he thrust his finger deep within me. Oh, wow! This was getting good. We were still fully clothed and already I was hunching back and forth on my way to a climax. I would have, right there, standing with him kissing my ears and with his middle finger inside me and his thumb on my clitoris -- but he motioned me toward the sofa. I edged that way -- not taking my hand off his balls. I didn't want him to get away.

When he selected the sofa rather than the bedroom I knew he was not going to spend the night. Even in the age of cellular telephones married men have a horror of not being in their hotel rooms when their wife calls at 3 a.m.

We didn't do anything fancy on the sofa. I turned the lights down, and my man of the evening stripped off my clothes, lingering over my large breasts. He blurted out that his wife was flat-chested. I didn't mind the reference to the wife. I don't worry about such things.

I took his clothes off and as he stood over me and I was about to give his very, very hard dick a little suck, but he said, "Can't wait." And he mounted me. He didn't last long. A couple of spasmodic jerks and sperm was oozing out of him and I was sticky wet. He caught his breath and then gave me a few more strokes with his semi-hard penis and I enjoyed a satisfying climax to a pleasant evening with no harm done to either his wife or my husband. My conscience is clear.

I wish he had stayed the night -- but I came before he went.

That's all, folks.