Dream On

"I didn't know you wanted one. I haven't started to drink this one; take it and I'll go get another."

"Thanks. While you're at it, why don't you take your clothes off so you can join me in the hot tub?"

Now that was an invitation I couldn't resist. Surprisingly though, when I came back out with my own beer a few minutes later, and as naked as the day I was born, I didn't have even a hint of an erection. I guess years of being a practicing nudist had conditioned me to not show physical signs of sexual arousal when nude in the presence of others and in social circumstances where sexual display is inappropriate.

Sammie was sitting in the spa, the swirling water making her breasts jiggle and dance. As I got in and sat on the bench opposite her I felt a fresh stirring in my loins. Thankfully, my awakening penis only twitched a little before I was seated and the bubbles from the water jets obscured Sammie's view of my genitals.

What about my social conditioning as a nudist? I was sitting armpit deep in swirling, bubbling water. Also, we were not surrounded by a group of other naked people; it was just the two of us. Besides, I could see Sammie's nipples were erect. She was turned on too.

We didn't get together immediately. We sipped our beers and talked. Eventually the talk became more and more suggestive and sexually orientated.

Sammie made the first move. She scooted to her right along the spa's bench until she was next to me and our thighs were touching. She turned toward me letting her right breast press against my arm and said, "Lang..."

When I turned to look at her she did not finish what she was about to say, but put her lips to mine for a long, open mouthed kiss. At the same time her left hand found its way to my lap and wrapped around my now fully erect organ.

When we broke our lip lock, Sammie said, "Damn you Lang. Ever since you got that hard-on when I gave you that thank you kiss for putting up the privacy fence I've been horny enough to screw half the guys on the football team."

I gently rolled her left nipple between my thumb and forefinger and said, "Well the football team isn't here, but if you need to get laid I'll be glad to do what I can to satisfy your need."

There was no more foreplay. Sammie stood, faced me, and lowered herself onto my up‑thrust penis. It slid into her hot, tight depths and bottomed out as the glans slid past her cervix into that little pocket at the end of a woman's vagina. For the next half hour she bounced, twisted, and gyrated. I don't know how many times she climaxed; I stopped counting after her fourth orgasm.

She was doing all of the vigorous work so I just sat there and relaxed. From time to time I played with her breasts, or teased her anus with a finger tip, but for the most part I remained passive. I knew that by doing that I'd last longer and give her a better chance to achieve satiation. Also, I knew that when I did cum it would be one hell of a powerful orgasm.

I was right. When I shot my wad I felt the release jolt my entire body. Sammie felt it too, and when she disengaged and stood, a long string of my cum leaked from her still open vagina and congealed in the hot water of the spa.

"Wow!" she said. "I've never had a man last so long before, and I've never ever cum so many times. That was wonderful."

I merely smiled and told her thank you.

Fantasy Four

Inka

Wednesdays are my favorite day to go sunbathing at the nude beach at Hippy Hollow not far from my home. This part of the lake front has never been officially designated as a nude beach, but as long as people behave and don't create problems for them, the park rangers and police leave us bare butted sun worshipers alone.

I like to go there on Wednesdays because the working stiffs are busy trying to make a living. Except for retirees like me, and a few stay at home housewives who are taking a break from whatever it is that fills most of their days, the beach is deserted and I can read, listen to classical music on my CD player and enjoy being butt naked under the clear blue Texas sky.

On one particular Wednesday I had found a secluded part of the beach where a little rise of ground shielded me from the cool wind blowing in off the lake, and where the ground was smooth enough that rocks would not poke me in the ribs as I lay there reading, sipping a Lone Star long-neck, and listening to music by Debussy. I had been there about an hour when a shadow fell across me and I heard a young woman's voice saying, "Hi Mr. I hate to disturb you, but there's no one else around. Can you put some sun screen on my back? There are a couple of spots that I just can't reach."

The owner of the voice was a gorgeous girl of about twenty years. She was tall, about 5'9", slender, with full, firm, un-sagging breasts (36C), and a nicely proportioned, beautifully shaped bottom. Her vulva wasn't shaved, but the hair was neatly trimmed so that she could wear a string bikini without any showing.

"I'd be honored to rub sun screen on your back. Spread your towel next to mine and lie down. Perhaps when I finish with your back you'll rub some of the lotion on my back too. I've already been here without protection longer than I should."

"Deal!" With that she spread her beach towel and knelt down on it. "Why don't I put the sun block on your back first?"

I flipped over onto my belly and told her, "That sounds like a good idea. Go to it."

A splash of cold hit me between the shoulder blades. It was immediately followed by a pair of warm, strong hands that were obviously skilled at the task they were performing.

She did not merely spread the sun screen across my tired, old back, but kneaded the underlying muscles. The massage was deep, thorough, and wonderfully relaxing. As she finished, I told her, "Young lady, you have the touch of an angel. That was exactly what this old man needed. You give a massage like a trained professional."

"Thanks. I guess that in a way I am. I'm a nurse at the county hospital. This is my day off. I work on the geriatric ward and have gotten to know how much men your age appreciate a good back rub."

"Well, thanks. I may be old enough to be your grand pa, but I'm not so old that I don't appreciate the attention of a young, pretty woman. Now, let's see if I can give as well as I got. Give me the lotion and lie down."

I did not splash the sun block directly on her back as she had mine, but poured it into the palm of my left hand, and after transferring half to my right hand began spreading it across her firmly muscled back. Only after there was a smooth film of lotion from the nape of her neck to the tip of her tailbone did I begin the deep, kneading massage. I started with the back of her neck, across her shoulders, down each side of her backbone, and across her lower back and hips. It was the kind of massage I had given hundreds of times during my own career as a military medic.

"Ummmm, that feels good. You've done that a few times too, haven't you?"

"Yes. I was a military corpsman and have done this more times than I care to think about. However, none of my patients were as lovely as you. By the way, we still haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Lang Hardon." I was careful to pronounce my family name so the final vowel consonant combination sounded like "un" rather than "on". That's important when Lang is pronounced as "Long", which is the correct pronunciation of my first name.

"I'm glad to meet you Lang. I'm Inka Goldschmied."

I was still massaging the sun tan lotion into Inka's back, and was now concentrating on the lower back where I knew that she, like all ward and OR nurses, she had frequent back aches as a result of improper lifting. As I kneaded the muscles, she relaxed, sighed, and said, "God, Lang, you're good at that. Those muscles have been killing me for days now."

"I'm not surprised, Inka. It took me years after I retired before my sacroiliac stopped hurting every day. It's just something that goes with working the wards or the OR. Would you like me to do the backs of your thighs and knees too? I always had pains in them when I was a medic."

"Umm, yes. Please."

I put more lotion on my hands an started at Inka's left knee, massaging deeply as I moved up her thigh toward her buttocks. Her right leg got the same treatment.

On each thigh, as I approached her pubic region, I paid special attention to her inner thigh, slowing the massage and letting it remain firm, but less forceful. When the edge of my hand brushed lightly across her vulva, I paid no attention to it. I didn't want her to realize that the touch was deliberate.

From the upper thigh I moved my hands to the gluteal muscles of her buttocks. Here again I used firm, deep strokes that were at the same time gentle and sensuous. If she was aware that as I massaged her buttocks and inner thigh I was causing her labia major to spread apart and then close, giving me fleeting glimpses of her vagina, she didn't do anything to discourage me from continuing. In fact, she spread her thighs a bit further apart so that I soon had an almost full time view of her labia minor, vagina, and clitoris. At first the tissue of those most secret female parts was merely pink, and while moist, were essentially dry. As I continued my massage, however, Inka began to lubricate. Her vulva became distinctly wet, and made little sucking, snapping sounds as the labia pulled apart and then closed again in tempo with my rubbing of her thighs and buttocks. Inka was getting turned on. So was I. I removed my hands from Inka's butt and said, "Finished."

Inka rolled over and sat up. "Darn, Lang. That was feeling so good. Why did you stop?" Then she glanced at my crotch, took a deep breath and said, "Oh! That's why. I see your name is descriptive."

"I'm sorry, but seeing your gorgeous vulva opening and closing so invitingly while I rubbed your thighs and buttocks gave the little devil a life of his own. I hope you're not offended by it."

To my surprise and delight, Inka threw her arms around my neck, pressed her breast to my chest, and her lips to mine. Her kiss was hot and open mouthed. Then, her right hand wrapped around my erect penis and pushed the foreskin down, and then pulled it back over the glans again. While we played tongue tag, she slowly, deliberately jacked me off.

Reluctantly, I broke our kiss. "Inka, if you keep that up you're going to get splashed."

"Oh. That would be a waste. Put it in me, Lang. Put it in me and fuck me."

"Inka, Inka, you're young enough to be my granddaughter. Are you sure that's what you want?

"Um, yesssss grandpa! Do it, do your horny granddaughter."

The prospect of role playing with this beautiful girl was too much for me to resist. I lay down on my back and told her to climb on.

She didn't have to be told twice. To my surprise, however, she mounted me facing toward my feet. Then she leaned back against me and said, "I like it this way. When you thrust into me your cock will rub my G-spot."

The position wasn't what I had expected, but she was hot, wet, and tight, and my hands were free to play with her breasts and, or her pussy so I kissed the back of her neck and told her to have fun.

She had fun, and so did I. I have had sex with many women, but her vagina was like none other that I have ever been in. As she slid up and down the length of my turgid member her pelvic muscles contracted and relaxed rhythmically, tightening on the down stroke, relaxing on the up stroke. Moreover, I could actually feel the swollen mass of her G-spot in the anterior wall of her vagina.

Each time she slid down my tool, the bulge of her G-spot rubbed forcefully against my frenulum, that little string of flesh that connects a man's foreskin to the head of his penis. The effect was electric. I had to do some strenuous mental gymnastics to keep from cumming before she had her orgasm.

Thankfully, Inka didn't take long to reach her climax. I was playing with her left nipple with my left hand, and was strumming her clit with the fingers of my right when suddenly she went rigid, began to shudder and moan, and flooded my hand and balls with squirt after squirt of hot fluid.

Inka's orgasm shocked us both.

"Oh my God, Lang. I'm sorry. That's the first time I ever pissed during an orgasm."

I brought my wet hand up to where we could see it and said, "Inka, you didn't piss. You ejaculated. That's Skeen Gland fluid. You had a G-spot orgasm."

"You mean?"

"Yes, my dear. You're one of those fortunate women who can have the ultimate orgasm, and can ejaculate like a man. If your ejaculation feels anything like what I feel when I cum, you know why men enjoy sex so much."

"But why haven't I ever cum like that before?"

"Perhaps it was because we were role playing. The idea of getting it on with your grandpa provided the psychological stimulus to push you to a new level of eroticism."

"Thank you, gramps."

Fantasy Five

Amanda

I know many, if not most, people consider water sports either immoral, or abnormal, or both, but for some of us golden showers are a wonderful adjunct to our otherwise jaded sex lives. I was delighted, therefore, to learn that Amanda enjoyed this aspect of male‑female sexuality as much as I do.

I met Amanda quite by accident while attending a writer's workshop. The coffee bar was crowded between break-out sessions so we wound up standing next to one another at one of the elevated cocktail tables. After introducing ourselves and making the obligatory small talk about the conference program, we began discussing our own writing interests. She, like I, writes erotica under a nom de plume and does so quite successfully. I would tell you her pen name, but I've already told you her real first name, and since she also writes mainstream fiction under her own name, I don't want to give you an opportunity to associate the two. That could be ruinous to her mainstream writing career.

As it turned out, we were both signed up to attend the same break-out session at 1:00 PM. Since it was already 12:50 we finished our coffee and went to the conference room where the session was to be held. We were early and had the room to ourselves until others began arriving about five minutes later. During those few minutes we continued the conversation we had begun at the coffee bar.

Amanda likes to research the sexual scenes she writes about by living them herself. The most difficult part involved in that type of research is finding a compatible person with whom to be intimate, and one who is circumspect enough that he, or she, will not tell others about their sometimes quite kinky sexual activities.

I was intrigued. I had never deliberately experimented in that manner. Instead, I depend on my fertile imagination to provide me with the explicit detail in my stories. Don't get me wrong, I've had my share of sexual activity with a variety of people, but it has always been spontaneous and with no agenda other than to both get and give as much sexual pleasure as the situation permitted.

When Amanda suggested that we get together in her hotel room that evening at 7:00 o'clock, I accepted. I suspected that she felt that because I too needed to protect my true identity, I would keep my mouth shut about anything we did. I also suspected that the details of our tryst would soon show up in one of her stories. I was right on both counts.

Promptly at seven I knocked on Amanda's door. I had with me a bottle of 2001 Cote du Rhone wine and a bouquet of pinks and for-get-me-not's, a habit I had developed during the years I lived in Germany.

Amanda was delighted with both, and invited me in. She then called room service and ordered dinner for us. While waiting for our food to arrive, she excused herself and went into the bathroom. She was still there when the room-service clerk delivered our meals, and asked me to let him in. She did not emerge from the bathroom until after the waiter had set our table; collected his tip, and left. When she did emerge she was wearing only a see through black negligee.

Amanda is almost my age, but she still has the physical beauty of a woman in her mid‑thirties. Although I suspected that her long sojourn in the bathroom was a prelude to such a display, I was still delighted to see how truly beautiful her body was. She could no longer pass the pencil test, but her breasts were still firm and far from pendulous. The hair over her mons was trimmed close and her labia major were bare and smooth. Her upper arms and thighs were well toned showing that she was a devotee of regular physical activity.

Dinner was delicious, although I must say that I was so distracted by the sight of Amanda's bountiful bosom through the sheer material of her negligee that I could have eaten cardboard without noticing it.

After eating, we sat next to one another on the couch, drank the wine I had brought, and talked about our writing.

It did not take long for Amanda to bring up the reason she had invited me to her room, although I must say that she did so in such a subtle manner that it was difficult to tell that she was working on a predetermined agenda. I'll not bore you with the preliminary dialog, but will pick up the conversation at the point where she broached the subject.

"Lang, darling, have you ever indulged in water sports?"

"My dear, that term is a bit nebulous. Do you mean, have I indulged in such things as water polo, or water skiing, or do you mean; have I indulged in golden showers and other sexually oriented acts involving urine? If the former, no I haven't. I am not athletically inclined. If the latter; then yes, but not extensively. It is difficult to find discreet and willing partners with whom to indulge in the activity."

"You don't beat around the bush, do you!"

"No. It's a waste of time and leads to confusion. I prefer to come straight to the point, unless I feel the person I'm talking to would be offended by my being blunt."

"Okay. I'll buy that. And with that said, would you like to get wet with me?"

"Sure, but I'd like to lead up to it slowly. I like having intercourse too, but I don't like to jump a woman the moment we are both naked and I have an erection. It's more pleasant to go slowly and let the tension build."

"My, you are a romantic."

"No. I'm a sensualist. I like to see, feel, smell, hear, and taste all that gives me pleasure."

"Everything?"

"Naturally, there are some pleasurable things and activities that do not lend themselves to being explored with all five senses, but to the extent possible and reasonable, yes."

"Does that apply to sex?"

"For me, yes. Without the use of all five senses to the fullest extent, the sensations of sex become, at best, two dimensional."

"Do you eat pussy?"

"With gusto."

"How about scat?"

"No. I know that some people are turned on by the smell, taste, and feel of feces, but to me there is nothing sexually stimulating about it. I also do not care for anal intercourse, although I have tried it, and will indulge my partner if she insists on it."

"Do you want to spend the night with me?"

"Only a celibate would turn down an opportunity to do so."

At that, Amanda kissed me. It was an open mouthed, tongue probing kiss.

I'm not sure how she managed it, but before that kiss ended, Amanda was totally nude, and was busily removing my clothing. I didn't help her, but neither did I do anything to make her task more difficult. I was too busy exploring her body with my hands.

During the ensuing forty-five minutes we kissed, fondled one another's genitals, went down on one another, and in general prepared our selves for the consummation of our passion.

In the middle of a particularly hot kiss Amanda broke away and said, "OH! Damn I almost pissed myself. Come darling, it's time."

She grabbed me by the hand and led me into the bathroom where she got into the bathtub, and held her hand out in invitation for me to join her. "Hurry, I can't hold it any longer."