Talking It Through

Been offline for a bit since making my debut in the Summer Story competition. Got a compliment or two for my entries there, so here is a late one for the September competition, to keep me in the running ...

When I started discussing porn with my wife, she said the most erotic film she had seen was The Sheltering Sky.

In this, I vaguely remember, John Malkovich expires romantically on a desert holiday, leaving Debra Winger to earn her ticket home in the nookie tent of a gorgeous young sheikh who is entranced by her pale skin.

There is quite a lot of sex suggested but not a lot seen close up. The camera looks away at the shimmering of sand and sky and whistles an Arabic tune just when you want it to zoom in and say yeah baby. Gist of the plot seemed to be that poor old Debra had no choice but to submit to a good eating out, a long way from home, where nobody she knew would ever get to know about it. And it was so good she wasn't sure she wanted to go home when she finally did get the chance. Typical female fantasy.

So I hesitated before I tried to tell the missis about the appeal of Hairy Cunt Gets Fucked.

The way she liked porn best, to start with, was second hand. She liked me to look at it and write to her about it. It turned her on, she said, to know what turned me on, even if she didn't want to see it personally.

I started out at Xhamster. You know it? Xhamster is an absolutely enormous collection of porn clips - most of them, you would guess, and you would almost certainly be right, conceived, filmed and uploaded, by men. It is 90 percent 100 percent filth - huge tits, gallons of jizz and piss, endless sagas of incest, arse- fucking and humiliation. Each to his own, and all that, but some of it could make you embarrassed to be there.

However, fair enough, it is free. The idea is to lure you into webcam rooms which want your credit card number. But if you keep shutting them down every time they pop up, you can get all you want of anything you ever wondered about and quite a lot you probably never even thought of before. And here and there in it all are touches of wit and style, which I like to think are what I am after.

At the beginning, though, I must admit to succumbing to the base appeal of Hairy Cunt Gets Fucked, which roughly sums up Xhamster's entire output but in this case was the actual title of an amateur clip. Let's face it, for most of us, at least on the male side, porn does need to get a little bit crude and explicit and animal at times, to do its job. I'm all for some nice scenery and a bit of dialogue along the way but I do want to cut to the chase eventually. And sometimes, immediately is even better.

It delivered what it said on the tin, so to speak. The production, or at least the reproduction, was abysmal, and the dialogue non-existent. But the girl was fit and willing and it turned me on that she was running the filming herself. She kept nipping over to her keyboard during the intervals and was clearly watching the screen while she performed, to make sure the camera was getting what it needed. In short, she wanted us to see her hairy cunt get fucked, plain and simple. It was a revelation to me, I have to admit, that girls had got that far into the spirit of pure porn.

I wrote all this down for my lady, with a bit of philosophising about the primal urges this sort of stuff is catering to. She laughed when she read it. But she was intrigued enough to take a look. And it wasn't long, of course, before she'd got her pants off. I think she felt a little bit shamefaced about it after and although she relaxed into the game eventually, she generally preferred something a touch classier. "A bit too HCGF" became her shorthand for the kind of thing she would rather I kept to myself.

From my side, I contributed "a bit too SS" to our private language, meaning anything that made me yawn before I got a hard-on. And with these guidelines in operation, we found our way to a happy new phase in our love life. We discovered the Flexible Girls - Duljeta and her pals, look em up - who are cute, cheerful and clearly quite serious gymnasts. They appear to thoroughly enjoy showing off their ability to bend and stretch into inventive new positions, for each other and for their lucky boyfriend, and the revelation for my lady was that porn stars can be fit and funny and rather sweet. She wouldn't mind getting her own tongue into those chicks, I'm pretty sure.

Sofia Valentine was another discovery, for us both - a handsome Dutch girl who suits the fetish look and keeps herself in shape for it. She delivers full-on porn but looks great doing it. You can find her in the video-on-demand section of the Literotica site, I see, and from experience, I recommend paying a small fee to see her that way rather than dodging through the sleaze of the free sites. We owe it to the Flexigirls to find them that way, too, we decided, so Xhamster has done them a favour at least. For all I know, being given away free there was part of their plan. I am getting old, I realise, and naive in comparison with the world which has grown up since I did.

Anyway, we've had some great sex in the company of these and other favourites. My lady loves it, and so do I, when I get between her legs and start licking in return for her describing what is going on. The dirtier she does it, the more tongue she gets, until she fills my mouth with sugar and spice and then I lay her down and use her sopping pussy as hard as I want, because it's all my turn.

You like the sound of that, girls? I have reason to believe you probably do.

It was about two years ago that I ran into a spot of bother involving, how shall I put it, a misunderstanding over the paperwork required for a little import-export venture which I had got into with a friend elsewhere in Europe. I would tell you more, and name the country, but you might be able to guess who I am, and I owe it to my lady and her friends to keep this story anonymous.

It wasn't too bad. My lawyers were confident they could get me back home in the end, which they did. And I was in a clean and easy-going prison, with the freedom to call home on a regular basis. My incarceration got noticed by my local press but I hadn't done anything particularly shameful and being a jailbird did my reputation as a bit of a Jack the Lad no harm. You would be surprised at some of the letters I got.

Sympathy for my condition also helped to get me the best whack-off of my life, as I am about to tell you. But as I have learned, one way and another, there are a lot of dirty urges concealed under nice clean underwear in respectable suburban England, just waiting for an excuse to cut loose.

I phoned home one night and it turned out it was my wife's turn to host Book Club - a monthly get-together of the girls, for wine, nibbles, a little bit of literary discussion and a lot of gossip about men, sex and anyone who isn't there. I've been there, as a drop-in visitor, and I always find groups of women on a night out sexy. They dress up for each other and then sit around, bosoms on show, dresses riding up their thighs, smelling nice, lips glossy, expensive fabrics rustling as they move. They touch each others hands and arms as they talk and serve the drinks and it would not be hard, I have thought, for the mutual admiration and affection to go a bit further, half-joking, half-experimental, during a hug in the kitchen or the porch. They taste each other's lipstick, they feel where the elastic is waiting to be lifted ... if you like womanliness, from whatever angle, you can imagine it developing.

Only in my dirty male mind, you might say. But stick around.

She was giggling when she said "hello darling" and I could hear shrieks of laughter behind her. I said I could tell she was missing me from the sounds of heartbreak.

"The girls came round," she said, "and we've had a few drinks, as you can probably tell, and ... ooh, my word!"

She broke off and I could hear the kind of rhythmic clapping that normally goes with somebody undressing.

"Well, you know Marilyn?" she said. "You know how she tends to wear very tight trousers? Well, she came in this pair you ought to see, clearly no knickers, and Frances asked if she'd ever heard the phrase Smuggling The YoYo. Have you heard it?"

I said I knew what it meant.

"Anyway," she said, "we got into this competition where we took turns at going into the bedroom and dressing up to show off our yoyos and I think Frances has just won it, wearing Marilyn's trousers. She sat down on one of the big cushions, with her knees up, and Shirley just yodelled and dived for it. And since then, it's all got a bit out of hand. Listen, I've got an idea. Call me back in five minutes."

My allowance for the call was half an hour. I counted 300 seconds, while a bored prison officer read his newspaper and glanced at his watch, then got her back on the line.

She said: "I think your dreams have just come true. I don't know what came over me but I told the girls about our little film nights. And they want to play, just for you. Shirley's got the camera out and she says you're the director. What do we do, maestro?"

I was wondering what I could say in front of the PO when I heard her shout: "Tits out, everyone. The director says he wants tits out."

I asked her how much she had had and she said "enough".

"Oh," she said. "Karen's gone first. Only because she wants to show off her nipples. You should see them. They're like big chocolates. Oh. Mmmm ... "

She was gone for a few seconds and when she came back, her voice had thickened in a way I recognised.

She said: "They even taste a bit chocolatey. Oh, now I've said that, everybody wants a taste. There's a queue to suck Karen's tits."

I heard somebody ask if I had my cock in my hand and she asked me and I said Yes, although I couldn't do it.

She told them all I was ready and after that, it got less giggly and more sultry. I could hear some oohs and aahs in the background and my wife was cooing to somebody close to her.

"What we're missing here, my darling, is your magic tongue," she murmured down the phone. But guess what? We've got a volunteer to take your place. I can't tell you who. But she's between my legs now, breathing through my panties and waiting to start."

Up to this point, I wasn't quite sure she wasn't making it all up for my benefit. But then another voice came on the line. It was Marilyn, who's a hell of a flirt and always did make clear she had a soft spot for me.

"Hi sweetheart," she cooed. "Guess what I'm wearing, while Frances has got my trousers?"

I said I hoped it was something that did her yoyo justice.

"Oh yes," she said. "I've got your wife's tiniest knickers on and ... ooh ... it feels like I've got some interest. What are you doing, you filthy bitch?"

Then I heard her say: "That's right, get them off her. Yeah. Oh yeah. Oh my. We've got your wife's yoyo nude. Wow, it's such a plumptious yummy thing. We wish we had you here, sweetheart, but somebody else is going to have to eat it for you. I think we know who's going to volunteer but at the moment the chief lickbitch has got her tongue in me. It's why I'm holding onto the phone. Whoever gives you the commentary gets the head, isn't that right, sweetheart?"

She held the phone so I could hear what certainly sounded like the wet sounds of a pussy being pleasured open.

Next on the line, I recognised Shirley's voice, saying: "We've all got pussy fever, darling. I've got sticky fingers and I'm not the only one. Tell us about your cock."

I said it was so full I was almost bursting but all I had to give it to was a prison towel. I kept my voice steady and the warder clearly didn't follow the English. He kept reading while I moved surreptitously in my chair, massaging my prick against my pants. I was already leaking into them.

"Such a shame," said Shirley. "Your wife is all hot, too, and you're a thousand miles away. Can we help in any way?"

I said: "Put her back on. And tell her I need HCGF. She'll know."

For a minute after that, all I got was the sound-effects from the room ...

"There ... yes ... why Miss Shirley, you're gorgeous with your clothes off ... oh, honey! ... mmm ... oh, yes please ..."

When my wife came back on, she said: "How are you liking the Phone Fuck Sluts?"

I said: "I'm loving you all."

"Listen to me closely, darling," she said. "I've got a friend behind me and she wants me to tell you everything she does. She's teasing my pussy with her tongue and my ass with her fingers, ah, teasing, teasing ... aah. That was a bit more than a tease. I shouldn't like it so much but as long as you're still there, it's okay?"

I said it was more than okay. I asked who was touching her.

She said: "It's Karen. She's got two fingers in me now and I'm melting onto them. I need to turn around and feel her beautiful breasts. Is that okay honey? I'm squeezing her nipple now, and it's getting hard, like a little clit. And I've told the other girls where to find the toys. They're coming out now. How long have we got?"

I said I had another 10 minutes for the phone call. But I wasn't sure I could wait that long. I needed to get back to my room.

"I understand, darling," she said. "Girls, we've got to move it along. My man needs his money shot. Are we ready? Oh, Marilyn. You fucking beautiful dirty bitch. Is that good? Are you enjoying that, honey? Can you take some more of it? Oh yes. Oh God."

For a few seconds, there was only her breathing. Then, at last, she said it to me for the first time ...

"I'm watching her hairy cunt get fucked darling. I'm watching her hairy cunt get fucked, with the big ebony dildo. And mine is about to explode, honey. Oh fuck. I'll tell you the rest later, I promise."

Back in my cell, I dropped my pants, grabbed a towel and fucked my fist until I came in great gushes, with that amazing phone call still playing in my head. It could hardly have been more explosive if I had been there in that room with the scent of pussy everywhere. And over the weeks that followed, I drained myself again and again to the memory.

Now, back home, I sometimes wonder if I imagined it. If I didn't, how much of it happened and how much was a game for my benefit? Was there a film? My wife puts a finger on my lips if I try to ask her about it and if she prefers it that way, I certainly owe her the favour. And when I see the girls from the Book Club, I owe it to them, too, to say nothing. Some of them were not even part of the event, whatever the truth of it, and I do not know how many of them even know about it. When they are round at ours, however, I make sure they all get the best wine available. And sometimes, when I pour it, I think I catch half a wink. For now, that will do me fine.