Christina’s Search for True Love

I must have dated slightly over ten different men, and none -- not even one -- was a keeper. Several of them I dated a few times, especially one named Troy. But I simply wanted more from a man than NASCAR, hunting, and sports. Ted had been cultured; we used to have wonderful, and exciting conversations.

In contrast to Ted however, Troy had a lot to offer in the eros department. He could drive me to sexual places I had never been before. The first time he took me, he had actually seduced me. Most men I dated before him had treated me as a sure thing; their treatment bordered on contempt. I did not care.

In contrast, Troy treated me as a vulnerable, delicate woman he actually cared about. This made a difference for the sexual pleasure I received from the relationship. And I'm the type of girl that if I let a man enjoy my most intimate spots, it's a relationship. Usually it's superficial, but it's still a relationship.

For Troy, his own pleasure was tied to my pleasure, so he made an effort to please me, and he got me good and wet. He did this first by oral foreplay, actually using conversation to turn me on. We discussed all our previous sexual encounters, and since mine were pathetically few, he had me tell him some of my fantasies. But I had no sexual fantasies. That may sound strange, but I had never indulged in sexual fantasies, unless you consider wanting Ted to have desired me more. Troy did not consider this a fantasy.

Troy then asked if I had erotic dreams. I told him of a recurring nightmare I used to have, when I was a teenager. I never forgot it. I must have had the dream a dozen times, if I had it even once. I dreamed I was at high school, stark naked. Everyone else was dressed. I was hiding and in fear of being discovered.

"How did you get to be naked?" Troy asked.

"That part was not in the dream. I just was naked. Dreams do not have to make any sense, you know," I replied. Troy nodded.

He asked me to continue. "Another time," I said, "I was naked in a forest. I was walking around in the forest, unaware that I was naked. You have to remember Troy, this is just a dream. I have no control over dreams."

"I know," Troy said, "Please continue."

"Well, as I said I was walking around, looking for something, I don't know what. I came across three students my age, all men, and I did not know them. They wore T shirts and shorts. They did not comment on my being naked, but they were very friendly. We got to talking, and gradually one got behind me and two were in front of me, and I felt kind of trapped, like I would not be able to get away."

"When did you realize you were naked?" Troy asked.

"Just then I realized it. When I realized I was trapped, a moment later I realized I was naked. One of the men began to undress."

"What happened next?" I could tell the tension was killing Troy.

"This is embarrassing," I said.

"Tell me," Troy said. There was real command in his voice. The power of his voice seemed like the distillation of pure masculinity just then. I found it irresistible.

"Well if you must know, I suddenly realized I was about to be gang raped, and in fact, I wanted to be," I said and as Troy began to speak I held my hand up to stop him. I knew I was blushing with shame. I quickly added, "Troy, this was just a dream. I was a virgin when I had this recurring dream. I have absolutely no desire -- none—to have a gangbang. I trust you, which is why I told you this dream."

"Come on, you sexy wench, get up and follow me," Troy said.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"For a walk in the woods, of course. It's so nice your house abuts the woods. It's perfect," he said. There was a small woods behind my house. It was surrounded on all sides by the homes of my neighbors. The woods had some gigantic rocks and it was probably too expensive to have been developed into homes, so it was left to nature, happily.

"Troy, I'm naked. I cannot leave the house naked. That's crazy!" I complained.

"You can, and you will," Troy said, and there was that voice, with its distillation of testosterone that I found so sexy, and worst of all, so compelling.

I followed him. All I was wearing were sneakers. Troy had let me put on sneakers. In the woods there is a large stone, which is smooth, as the rains of the millennia must have smoothed its surface. We climbed up on it. We sat on the top, something two children would have loved to do. But I am a 42-year-old naked medical doctor, not a little girl!

Troy had me lie down on the rock, and he spread my legs, pulled down his shorts and his briefs, and he entered me, just like that. "It's not a gangbang, my love, but it will have to do."

"You're doing just fine," I managed to say, before degenerating into a moaning machine. As Troy pumped in and out of me out there in nature, in the woods behind my house but nevertheless close to the homes of my neighbors, I was constantly worried about discovery.

That is, I was constantly worried during the first few minutes of that glorious fuck. After those first few minutes of worry, I entered my dream, and I was finally being fucked, naked, in the woods. But this was no dream! This was a real man, with a real cock, pummeling me. He was using me for his own sexual pleasure, as a sex toy, and I was loving it.

I was in my dream now, and Troy was the first man fucking me, and then he became the second man fucking me, and then he became the third, and I was loving it and -- oh my goodness, suddenly it washed over me, a wonderful, splendidly intense orgasm. My body shook and vibrated. I actually said, "Oh my God Troy, this is wonderful. Thank you, lover. Thank you!"

And I meant it. I actually hoped to have my childhood nightmare again, now that I had this ending to it. But alas, I never did.

Troy and I dated for a couple of weeks. He was so good for me sexually, I was reluctant to admit to myself that there was no love there, and there was never going to be any. He had already revealed the limits of my knowledge of hunting, NASCAR, and sports, and he had no knowledge of literature, film, art, architecture, etc., and no interest in politics, or most anything intellectual.

So, I dumped him. He was bitter. I guess he had really liked me. I had known he liked having sex with me, but I guess he felt more than just sexual attraction. Perhaps he had felt a lot more. But I did not. I enjoyed the sex with Troy. I can honestly say it was the best sex of my life up to that point. But sex is not enough for a woman. Well, perhaps I cannot speak for all women. It was not enough for me. I need more than just sex to stay with a man.

I dated other men subsequent to Troy. There seemed to be no limit to the number of men who wanted to lay me, especially due to my new reputation of being dynamite in the sack, and willing to do whatever a man wanted from me, or for me to do. This was largely true, I'm not particularly proud to admit, but I was eager to please, and I followed the wishes of all of my lovers, no matter how bizarre.

During this period, which lasted for several months, I was behaving as if I were, what we called in high school, a slut. And I was not just a slut: I learned later that I am what is called a submissive. Sexually I was under the man's control, and I would do whatever he wanted. I should add, "within reason," but there was no need. Mostly the men just wanted all the sex they could get, and nothing else. It was just as Mary had predicted.

None of the men I dated after Troy worked out, either, although I had a lot of quite enjoyable sexual encounters. I showed each and every one of those men a good time, and often a wild time in the sack. My blowjob skills became the legend of the county. I could have made money giving lessons to other women, but that is not behavior befitting a woman with a medical practice!

My sex with Troy on the rock in the woods behind my home was perhaps my most memorable experience. But it was not the most outrageous. A man named Carl could not get enough of me. He wanted to do it in every position imaginable. The problem was, his imagination was limited. I told him of the Kamasutra, and he became obsessed. I bought an illustrated copy of it, and we tried quite a few of the positions in it. It was fun, until he found an image of a woman being "spit roasted."

Carl and I dated a few times, and he could not get the idea of a spit roast out of his mind. I told him to forget about it; I was not into threesomes. Eventually though, he found a way to access my submissive nature. It turns out if I am very, very drunk, he could access my submissive nature. He got me very, very drunk. It was planned. He had taken the precaution to have a friend on standby. He blindfolded me, and he placed me on all fours.

I heard footsteps coming into the room. I started to cry out, but right then Carl put his cock in my mouth to shut me up. It worked. I stopped worrying and concentrated on giving a good blowjob. I took pride in my blowjobs. But then I felt another cock poking around my anus.

I did not scream. At this point I knew what was happening. I dropped the cock in my mouth and I said, "No. No way. Carl, we have discussed this. I am not doing two men at once."

Carl said, in a commanding, masculine voice, "Yes, Christina, you are."

I melted. It was the booze, his voice, and the sexual ambiance. I don't know, but I just caved. All I said was, "Oh." Then I added, since the cock was at my anus, "No! Not there."

The cock behind me moved to my pussy, and I relaxed. I took the original cock into my mouth. The second cock entered me, finding a warm and wet pussy welcoming it. I was spit roasted, right then becoming -- at least in my own mind -- the biggest slut in the county. And if you factor in my age, I was without doubt the oldest major slut in the county!

But if I were honest with myself, I would have had to admit: being spit roasted turned me on immensely.

The next day I dumped Carl. I did not need more of these surprise experiences. Oh yes, and in case you are wondering who the second man was, it was Kevin again. That night I was spit roasted twice, with each man getting a blowjob, and each man enjoying a good fuck. And yes, I did cum while being spit roasted. Both times. And yes, Carl took pictures, with his camera on a timed remote. And yes, most of my lovers from that period got to see the pictures. After I dumped Carl, he took revenge by showing them to his friends.

I was shamed, humiliated, and horrified. Men I did not know stared at me in the street. No doubt they had seen Carl's pictures of me. Mary told me her male friends masturbated while looking at the pictures of me. This disgusted me. I got nauseated.

There's a lot of porn out there. Anyone can easily get a picture of a woman taking two cocks at once. But to have a picture of a woman in your small town doing it, with men you know, well, that's special, I guess. And if that woman is a doctor, a doctor you can go to when you're sick, well that is very special.

I lived in a small town. I'm a doctor. To have such pictures circulating is humiliating. But on a level deep down, which embarrassed me, and I am ashamed to admit, it turned me on. It turned me on something fierce to imagine grown men masturbating to pictures of me being spit roasted.

To be honest, I too masturbated to the memory of being spit roasted, and when Carl finally gave me copies of the pictures, I used the pictures to increase my masturbatory pleasures.

But I was done with this nonsense. I was frustrated. I wanted Ted. More precisely, I wanted a heterosexual, sex-crazed version of Ted who wanted to fuck my brains out. No such man, or more precisely no such single, unattached, man between the ages of 37 and 52, existed in the county. Nor, I discovered, did such a (single, unattached) man exist in the tri county area. Trust me, I know.

Instead all I got was Kevins, Carls, and more Kevins. I never even got another Troy. The sex was nice, even at times it was very nice, but without a meaningful relationship, it felt empty. As such it was ultimately not satisfying for me. I gave up. I stopped dating. I began to sink into a depression. It got bad.

Mary took me to a shrink, but this was a small town, and all the shrink did was to tell me I had to find Jesus. Letting Jesus into my life would solve my problems; that will be $200, please. I wanted to ask him if Jesus was a good fuck, and if so how did he know that, but I knew enough not to do that. I just never went back.

I did wonder if the shrink too had seen the spit roast pictures. There was something in the way he looked at me during our session. It was creepy.

In fairness, maybe the shrink was right. But letting Jesus into my life was just not an option for me. I knew my life would be better, calmer and perhaps happier if I had faith, but I just did not. Faith is not something one can obtain through force of will. For me, I knew it was simply never going to happen. That venue was out.

Mary is a saint. She drove me to Chicago. It's a long drive. She then turned around and promised to look in on my Mom every day while I was in Chicago. Going to Chicago was the right thing for me to do. The second day there, I met Mike.

I was waiting for a bus, and so was Mike. I asked him directions, and it turned out I was waiting for the wrong bus. My blouse gaped a bit, and I saw Mike steal some looks at my bra. I smiled inwardly, not letting him know I had caught him. I was wearing a sexy, lace bra, and I hoped he liked what he saw.

Mike took pity on my touristy ignorance, and he requested a Lyft car, and took me to my destination. He got out with me, and I asked if I could buy him a coffee as a way of thanks? Actually, I just wanted to be around him some more. He accepted, and we had a wonderful conversation that lasted over an hour. We made a date for dinner that very night.

Mike is 50. At least, that's the age he claims he is. But he's Ted. What I mean is that he's Ted in terms of education, culture, and interests, but he's not Ted, in the sense that unlike Ted, Mike is into women, and most important of all, he's into me. Boy, is he into me. Mike is exactly what I was looking for; he is what I wanted. He is what I needed.

On our first date, I got a kiss goodnight. It was clear he wanted more, but I was tired of being such an easy lay, such a slut. I was now quite experienced in the dating scene. I had come (and cum) a long way since my first date with Kevin. So, I gave him a really long, open mouth kiss goodnight, and did not stop his hands from exploring my body over my clothes. I made it obvious his kiss and his hands had turned me on. But then I said goodnight.

Our second date was the very next night. That time I invited him into my hotel room. We had a wonderful intellectual discussion. We had a big debate over Mondrian. I liked his work and I tried to explain why. Mike parried all my explanations. The debate ended in passionate kissing and a lot more of his groping over my clothes. My top came off and then my bra, and I got wonderful complements on my boobs. But I was good, and I stayed dressed below the waist.

After Mike left that night, I lay in bed reliving Mike's praise of my boobs. Soon my fingers disappeared down there, and I imagined they were Mike's fingers. Before I knew it my/Mike's fingers gave me an orgasm. I slept well that night.

Our third date was again the very next night. Three dates in three days. On our third date, he took me back to my hotel. I again invited him in. I had bought Ted's favorite Scotch so that I could offer him some. By now he knew all my history, my times with Ted, and I had even confessed to him my promiscuous times right after the divorce.

He even knew about my reputation as the best damn cute little cocksucker in the county. Hell, in the tri country area. (Mary had told me that was now my reputation. No wonder I was so popular! "And she ass fucks, too!")

I wanted to be completely honest with Mike. I wanted no bad surprises later.

I noticed Mike got an erection as I told him about Kevin and the others. At one point he said, "You're making me jealous. Tell me again about how you removed your panty hose?"

"How about I show you?" I proposed. Mike nodded, and I slowly peeled off my hose, one leg after the other, just as I had done with Kevin.

"Wow," Mike said. "Well, keep going, beautiful. I'm all eyes over here." I kept going.

"I think you're more than just eyes, from the looks of things," I said, staring right at his crotch. Mike then tackled me onto the bed, and while I giggled he finished undressing me. I kissed any part of his body that was near my mouth.

Mike fucked my brains out. He spent the night and took me twice more the next morning. I showed off my fellatio skills, and he could not believe my talent. I said to him, "Well, Mike, after all, I'm the best in the county, you know."

I got him so hard from my blowjob after he took me in our two wakeup fucks, that he fucked me a third time that morning. I was so happy. Somehow great sex has a way of removing the fear of giving oneself to a man. I think it was the sex that let me realize I was falling in love. This was a head over heels fall. It was scary: I was hoping Mike felt the same way. I have trouble telling, with men.

There were some problems. First, he lives in Chicago, and I live far away in a small town, and I am trapped there, too. It's not just due to my thriving medical practice, which I confess has improved since the spit roasting pictures hit the streets. I could move to Chicago and work in an ER room, and even make a better income. ER rooms always have vacancies: they're hard jobs. No, it was also due to Mom. Her demented state required my daily presence nearby.

Another problem stems from Mike himself. You see, he has a perversion. He likes his women to be exhibitionists. At the time, I had no idea if I were compatible with exhibitionism. I had already told him about the spit roast pictures circulating in my small town. He asked how I felt about it.

"I have mixed feelings," I said.

"How so?" Mike asked.

"Well, I am humiliated. Any woman would be. But I am sort of a public figure in town, being a medical doctor. Men look at me strangely. They even make up maladies to have an excuse to see me in my office, and they leer at me, while I ask what their symptoms are. Usually they claim something that forces me to inspect their penis, and of course it is erect and ready to go when I do inspect it. I suppose they are hoping for a blowjob."

"And?" Mike prompted me to continue.

"It's too shameful, Mike. I cannot," I said.

"It turns you on, doesn't it?" Mike asked. Seeing my reluctance, he continued, "Perhaps just a little bit? Does it arouse you a little to think of so many men fantasizing about you?"

I blushed, and looked at my feet. It was enough of an answer for Mike. He did not push for more.

Changing the subject, I told him about the adult bookstore incident, and I asked him if that qualified as exhibitionism?

"Okay, let's review," Mike said. "First you knew you were being watched when you removed your panties?" I nodded. "And that inspired you to strip naked?" I blushed, but I nodded again.

"So all told, the girl, and your friend Mary, saw you naked, humping the young man right there in the glory hole booth?" he asked.

I was embarrassed. "You have to understand, I was crazy with lust. I did not know what I was doing!"

"And when they saw you, you did not care? You did not -- at a minimum -- close the door to the little room?"

"That's right," I said, sheepishly.

"And then you forgot you were naked, and dripping cum you walked to the front to make your purchases?" Mike asked, continuing.

"Yes," I said, now completely ashamed and humiliated. I sat there, looking at my feet.