It's All About Pussy

It's all about pussy, actually. If you deny that, you don't understand anything about men and women or marriage, or at least you are kidding yourself to the extent that you may just get yourself emotionally castrated some day. Men want pussy and woman want to traffic in it, exchange goods and services for a chance at it, to keeping men craving this genital cavity. Lesbians love pussy and heterosexual males spend all their free time either thinking about it or romancing it.

I wanted it, like most guys, but the irony was when I finally got one on a regular basis, when I had talked an owner of one into marrying me, then I ended up wanting to give it to someone else. Wife-Sharing the magazine called it, and it wasn't so much that I wanted to give her pussy away, but I did harken to see someone else penetrating its puffy little folds, even became obsessed with wanting to watch that happen.

I've spent my whole life pursuing them, begging for their attention, dreaming about them, and I caught more than my share. At least that's what guys who weren't getting any said.

When I met and married my wife, Claire, we had a great sex life for two years: twice a day, everyday, and four times on weekends. No shit. She wanted to fuck at all hours and many times a day, which was more than fine with me.

Then a friend of mine, two years into my marriage, went with us on a road trip and before it was over, before we even got out of California, she wanted to fuck him and I had the hots to see her do it.

I guess it mainly started when I was driving and caught them fooling around in the back seat on the way to Oregon. They were "resting" back there and I glanced in the mirror, only to be surprised at their audacity, their shameless disregard for what could be seen in a rearview mirror.

I think she had her hand in his pants, and he had one of his under the leg of her short shorts and a finger under the edge of her panties. It ended up that I surprised myself and told them it was all right if they'd let me watch. It shocked the shit out of both of them, but I also think it excited her tremendously to think of fucking him in front of me, her husband, like the attractiveness of the forbidden. It's the exhibitionist thing, you know. Women--many authorities maintain--have more than a bit of showoff in them, and I think they have a good point. Men too, but they don't have vaginas.

Think of bikinis and low-cut blouses, tight skirts, short shorts, and low-on-the-hip jeans. A woman will show a good portion of her tits, then impale you on a spike for looking at her chest. She''ll show an inch of her ass crack, then rip your eyes out for staring at her butt.

My wife must have had the exhibitionist gene because she wanted me to catch them, it seems, since they were right behind me fucking with each other's sexual parts, and they each knew the purpose of a rearview mirror, which I adjusted so I could see better, almost driving off the road a few times.

I watched them for twenty minutes as I drove before I even said anything. "What are you doing back there?" I asked. They didn't even stop right away, just whispered back and forth with a lot of giggling and shit. "If you're trying to fuck my wife, you should at least wait until I leave the car or it gets darker outside," I said.

"We're not doing nothing," she replied. That's the key, when they use a double negative to deny they're fooling around with someone else, especially when you can see them doing it in the rearview mirror, it means they were doing whatever they are denying. "You playing with that pussy, or just hoping to?" I asked.

"You can have a little yourself," she stated flippantly, "if you find us a place to stay tonight."

"So you're planning on fucking us both?" I asked over my shoulder, then looking straight at their flushed faces in the mirror.

"I'm so horny from this car ride," she said, "that I may have you stop and pick up a few extra guys to help you both satisfy me tonight."

"We don't need no stinking help," I said, "but it looks like your friend there is two laps ahead of me already."

We found a nearly empty motel that was built before the Model A, and I pulled in with a steadily increasing heart rate. We weren't choosy, however, cause not one of us planned on doing much sleeping, maybe in shifts. I had real ambitions for my wife, especially when she'd got a head start on me already. "Your finger wet back there?" I asked. "You going to eat that, or just play with your food?" I quipped.

Once registered and moved in, Claire fucked Jake and then offered her pussy to me, her husband. I've got to admit, it was one damn hot night. We screwed her on the bed, in the shower, a few times on the floor, and more than once standing up. The weather was cool, but the temperature in the bed was white hot. When she finished with him the first time, Jake rolled over and passed out, then I took his place, screwing her through sloppy seconds that I didn't mind a bit. It was the thirds, fourths, fifths, and even sixths (the raw and a little sensitive sixths) that made this a trip I'll never forget.

She likes to be on top, and I let her, because it takes less energy to just lay there and let her bounce up and down. When Jake woke up she aroused his interest again with a little tongue work on his sticky and shriveled manhood, and within minutes it was stirring to life. I just sat back and watched as she filled that limp little thing with energy as Jake's interest began to grow and his organ stood right up, and she held on to that soldier with one hand while the other cupped his balls and her lips and tongue did magic that got him moaning before he was at full mast.

She sucked Jake, he came, she swallowed, licked him clean, then kissed the tip and came to me. "Could I interest you in a bit of oral attention?" she cooed.

"If I'm not exhausted and asleep, I'm interested," I said, crawling up and sitting at the head of the bed. She made a big deal out of getting in just the right position between my knees, like a professional of anything would do, looking down at her prize, then taking hold of my very engorged organ and placing her mouth over the tip, swabbing her tongue around the knob, and sucking me to orgasm. When I came, she once again made sure she got all the ejaculate I had, taking spurt after spurt between her lips, licking any residue that landed on her cheek or chin, and grinning like a cat while eating a very delicious canary.

"Damn you do that good," I said.

"And I plan to practice and get even better," she said as she kissed and licked my shrinking dick.

I didn't realize it would be such a turn on to see her fucking someone else, or sucking on their erect penis, but they really were exciting activities to watch. It shouldn't be surprising, however, because we get a kick out of watching others do all sorts of things on fields, courts, tracks, and in pools. We like spectating: sports, plays, and even sex. So I surely shouldn't be surprised that I liked watching my wife fucking other guys, sucking them off, or letting them eat her pussy.

That's another thing we can't do without. It's not that it tastes so good, although sometimes it really does, but you get addicted to the smell and taste and look. I have and I even developed an addiction to watching other people do it, even to my wife of twenty years. I like to touch them, admire them, and (yes) taste them.

Maybe the best thing I ever got to watch was one of her lady friends do oral wonders on her splayed pussy lips one afternoon in November. It was Saturday afternoon when I expected to watch football, but Wanda came over to see Claire and when it got quiet in the bedroom I went to see what was up, discovering them engaged, so to speak, in some very intimate activity on our bed.

My wife was sitting up near the head, nude, with her legs spread wide and her friend stretched out on her stomach between my wife's creamy thighs. I just sat down and watched. Claire winked at me, then looked back at the head of her girlfriend, which was centered directly in front of my wife's bald little pubic mound. Wanda moaned slightly as she sucked and licked her way up and down my woman's sex, nibbling and kissing, and at the same time Claire made similar sounds while her friend went down on her puffy pussy for about an hour of very compelling sexual oral intercourse.

When she finished, Wanda raised up and kissed Claire, thanking her for offering up a tasty afternoon treat, and Claire kissed her back for treating her as a gourmet meal. I kissed Claire and I tasted the musky flavor of sex on my wife's lips.

"I did her first," she explained with a satiated sigh. "I really love the taste of pussy in the afternoon," she said.

I'm telling you it's all about pussy. I think wars were fought over poontang, quim, muff, pussy, honey-pot, box, jelly roll, snatch, twat, cunt, vagina, or whatever else you want to call it. More than a few killings began with a dispute over somebody trying to get some of what isn't his, or some of what he thinks is his but someone disputes that claim. As a matter of fact, you really can't deny that everything in life is essentially all about pussy, one way or another. So if there is a God, then he or she created one hell of a captivating body part to keep us occupied and entertained throughout our otherwise pedestrian lives.