It's What You Wanted, Isn't It?

I suppose it must have been around noon when they appeared. Six of them. Five guys, one girl. You've figured it. The girl was Angie. The sun was hot on my skin, but everything inside and outside of me shivered. My brain instructed me to get outa there, pronto. I knew now. No need to know more.

My eye scoured the terrain frantically, realizing, too late, that there was no route I could take outa there where I would not be seen. The cliffs towered above me. The sea shimmered in the distance. In between, open terrain. I cursed inwardly. I could turn my back, listen not watch, but some force of origin I know not prevented this. Secure in my hideaway, see and not be seen, I watched.

The guys were younger than me, bronzed all over, golden California boys. Their dicks stood out prominently. Nicely formed. OhYes! I knew Angie's taste in dicks!

The blanket went down, then something I did not recognize. This --- some kind of cushion --- one of the California boys inserted beneath Angie's rump, raising her gleaming mound.

No time was wasted on preliminaries. Dick entered cunt and there was nothing slow about that fuck! Supported on his hands, California boy number one fucked my Angie as though there was no tomorrow, driving her groin into the cushion. Her body recoiled visibly on each thrust. Two others knelt beside her, proffering stiff dicks to hands that squeezed them, pumped them. Two knelt beside her head, alternately angling their cocks down into her mouth.

I knew I should look away, but I could not. My eyes were transfixed. Angie's body was bucking and weaving --- I knew it so well I could feel her come as California boy numero uno spewed his load into her cunt. Number two was already in place. A second dick resumed where the first left off. He didn't last long, and neither did Angie. A fat load spurting up inside her usually brought her off.

Number three was already in action, one and two beside Angie's head, dangling their limp members into her mouth. Four and five knelt by Angie's side, her hands working overtime on their erections.

And, the worst of it all, Angie was loving every second of it. Her groin responded to every thrust, her breasts recoiled in syncopation, her long, slender legs closed around muscular thighs, her heels drummed on butts, which puckered as they drove the thorn into her, deeper, harder, faster.

California boy five announced his orgasm audibly, and was immediately replaced by number one. Round they went again, and again, and still my eyes could not avert themselves from the scene. Horror, but fascination too, that this woman was the very same who so had enjoyed in the very same spot where she now lay, a long slow fuck with me, a fuck that suspended time. Nothing suspended now about time. The pace never flagged, dick followed dick each pounding into her as hard as the butt propelling it could thrust.

And as she had enjoyed that slow fuck --- nothing was feigned about that --- so now she was not feigning her delight at being fucked stupid by a gaggle of males whose combined IQ, I'm sure, did not add up to 100. (Well, ok, that's snotty. They were probably college kids enjoying a little extra-curricular activity.)

On and on it went and eventually it became clear to me how it would end. Five dicks, one cunt, no contest --- if it was Angie's. One by one, those dicks began to wilt. No matter how firmly Angie's fingers closed around them, how fast her hand pumped, how hard she sucked, life was absent.

I recall thinking 'Thank God'! But too soon. I should have known better. The California boys' dicks may have wilted, but they still had tongues, lips, mouths, which went to work on Angie's nipples, and on a cunt out of which spewed the seed of twenty loads. Her clit would be out and receptive --- Oh! I knew so well.

A golden boy straddled her head, his dick drooping down into her mouth. Another replaced him and I felt for him as Angie's body shook itself into yet another orgasm. He'd have the teeth marks on his cock for a week.

Slowly it dawned on me. The sun was still high. The California boys were young and full of vigor. One by one, their dicks began to attain again the state of grace. Round two was about to begin......

How many rounds there eventually were I could not say. Because I could no longer watch. Keeping as low as I could, I snuck out of there, and to hell with being seen. I raced through the scrub, and ran along the beach until my legs gave out and I fell in a heap on the sand.

I'm not even ashamed to recount that tears streamed down my cheeks.

Back in my pad in LA, I was too depressed even to hit Joe's and get wrecked. And, of course, the moment I closed my eyes, the images appeared.

They'd be back in the hotel room now, five Golden boys, bodies arranged in a pentagon, and Angie on-top. Mounting one and fucking him furiously to orgasm, then onto the next, and the next..... round after round. Until every dick was fucked flat.

Then she'd lie back and let them pamper her, five tongues exploring every crevice.........

Epilogue

I've been with Susan now for three months. It took two weeks of eating crow, but it was worth it. Eventually she agreed to a date, which ended chastely, and a second, which ended similarly, and then to a third, which yielded an hour or two of cuddles. She strung me out for four weeks before we got down to serious business.

Susan isn't bad at sex. She's just doesn't know much about it. I try always to make sure she comes first but it's not so easy. I'm sure she still simulates 'to get it over with' even though I've told her not to. She'll let me tongue her for a while but invariably moves down a hand and pushes my head away just when I'm shifting up a gear. I don't know whether it isn't doing much for her or whether she's inhibited about coming that way. I think the latter must be true because there's no doubt she's aroused. That's what her vagina tells me, at least. Yes! I'm sure that's it. Her body was aroused, but something in her head prevented her from going with it. I've tried to talk to her about it but she won't.

Women are really odd, don't you think?

One day, maybe a month or so into our relationship, she said,

"You'll have to be patient with me, Ron."

Presumably I was not being. I think it was after a longish fuck where I'd tried my damnedest to get her off, sensed she wasn't going to come no matter how long or hard I pumped into her, and ended up feeling selfish as I shot my load into her and rolled over onto my back. Like I told you, it's only really good for me when the woman gets as much out of it as I do.

"I know I'm not very sexy..." she'd continued.

"Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "You're sexy as hell!"

Holy Moses! Most males would kill for a glimpse of her emerging from the shower, fresh and naked, her long black hair hanging down her back, and that tantalizing tuft of hair adorning her pubis. Mind you, that was all I got. A glimpse, I mean. She still has not got used to me seeing her naked and if she thinks I'm staring, the party's over. Around goes the bath towel.

Strange. She surely did flirt with me way back when, showing off her shapely legs as she sat on my desk. When she's naked, though, it's a different story. Talk about hiding one's light under a bushel!

"I don't mean that," she'd continued, impatiently. "I know I look nice. Guys think because I look like that I must be .... well ... you know."

She meant horny but she usually had trouble getting words like that from between her lips. They got stuck.

"I guess I'm one of those women with low libido," she sighed.

"I like you just the way you are," I said, not entirely truthfully.

I'll be honest. The label did promise rather more than the goods delivered.

One thing I'll say, though. I'm more at peace with myself now. My ego has become disconnected from my dick. I can sleep with Susan without feeling bad if we haven't fucked and even though she often prefers me to stroke her neck rather than her tits.

I think we're making progress. For example, at first she even wore panties in bed! I weaned her off that and she seems fine with it, even lets me finger her occasionally. Next step is to get rid of the nightdress.

"But without it, I'll feel naked," she'd say.

Er, Yes! That would be the point! I managed to keep the utterance silent.

I'm sure that once we're both naked, cuddled up, with my dick pressed against her as our bodies entwine in a long goodnight embrace, her libido will pick up. It's there, I'm sure. Just dormant. I know for a fact that sometimes, when she says,

"I'm not in the mood tonight, Ron,"

her vagina's as wet as all hell. I've had my finger in it, wiggling around gently, for ten minutes. There seems to be a disconnect between what her body tells me and what her brain tells her.

Susan is a really nice girl, though. Smart, too. I'm hanging in there for the long haul. I'll make that connection. One small step at a time.

Hell! I'd better stop writing. You'll think I've turned into a wimp.

Angie? I'm sure you're curious.

The week after that revelation at Black's Beach I spent in utter torment. It was days before the images on the ceiling, or the back of my eyeballs, or wherever I looked, began to die away. But worse was the half of me that was begging her to call fighting the other half that prayed she would not.

I spent every evening at Joe's, my cell in easy reach. If Joe wondered about my state of mind he didn't ask. They don't, barmen. Good ones, that is. Joe just drew me perfect pints of Anchor Steam as he's done for years, muttered neutral comments and ignored my obvious state of internal turmoil.

Angie did not call and no-one showed up at Joe's, not even on Friday nights.

The adventure that had begun when Mandy slid onto the barstool next to mine, when she'd told me in the cab I looked like 'a good fuck', that had blossomed into an experience all males will envy but very few will emulate --- it was over.

I don't think she saw me that day at Black's. She was in a 'zone'. I recognized it. Maybe the guys saw me, but who would I be to them? One more gay guy looking for a hit?

I think, rather, that Angie had made a decision at breakfast that Friday, when I barred her way and got antsy. She sensed I was pushing in a direction she did not want to go, and that it would only get worse. Quit while you're winning. It's not a bad motto.

Angie wanted what I'd professed to want. Uncomplicated sex, lots of it, all the time. That's all she wanted from a man, and she made damn sure that's all she got. Maybe she'd been 'in love' and it had not worked out. Who knew? Maybe some guy had fallen in love with her and given her grief when she tried to get rid of him. I, for sure, was in love with her. You can't get that wrong. I didn't give her any grief about it because there was no way I could contact her. I wouldn't have, though, even if I could. It's not my style, chasing after a woman who doesn't want me, even if I do happen to be in love with her.

Anyway, I knew next to nothing about her except that she was an extraordinary beautiful woman, and that the goods were better, far, far better even, than a already very enticing label promised. She knew more ways to pursue and expand the pleasures of sex than I've had beers at Joe's. And that's a lot.

And as for me, the sight of her at Black's being fucked into the zone, and for all I know, to insensibility, brought me slowly to an understanding of myself. I'd thought I wanted 'sex for sex'. And I had it, of the most exquisite variety. Angie enjoyed being with me. We made great music together. Probably, I could still be doing what I had professed to want, as long as I was prepared to share her with five golden boys, and whoever else she got the itch to fuck, and spend the odd night with Mandy et al, 'Chantal' and 'Charlotte', Jeanette and Liz and whomsoever Angie lined up for me as the quid pro quo for her own adventures.

If what I'd said at the outset --- 'Sex for sex, that's all I want' --- had been true, I would have done this, wouldn't I? No mini-scene at breakfast about her calling me, not me her.

So this could not have been 'all I want'. I wanted something else, that Angie was either not willing or was not ready to entertain. That was the origin of her remark: 'Don't fall in love with me. You'll regret it'.

Actually, with hindsight, I don't. I needed to go through an experience like that to come to value things I'd never thought of as important. Like being around someone, hanging out, doing things, just having someone else care whether I lived or died.

No! I wouldn't turn back the clock, and even if a part of me is still 'in love' with Angie in a way that I could never be with Susan, perhaps I can come to 'love' Susan in a way I could never love Angie, whatever that means.

Women are truly weird, though, don't you agree?