Origins Pt. 01

This story involves non-traditional sex between people who are not married. If this topic offends you, please don't torture yourself by reading something that you may find offensive.

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I often wonder how my sexual preferences evolved to what they are today, but on reflection some of these experiences may have been a precursor if not a determinant.

I had been divorced from my first wife for several years was finishing up my advanced degree. Since I grew up a working man, it was easy for my childhood friends to help me with some lucrative summer jobs as a construction worker, welder, logger or railroad brakeman. This plus my income from my instructorship at a large Big Ten university offered me a comfortable bachelor existence. Not that my material desires were that great, but there was little in the way of those things that I could not provide. They were all used, of course, but I had a few shotguns and pistols, a F250 pickup, a motorcycle, and a Jon boat and trailer. Plus, I could afford to hang out at the local working-class bars drink, play pool, and flirt with the cashiers, hairdressers and line workers to my heart's desire.

Also, the university had a great gym, and the bulk of my days were spent teaching, studying and working out—often for hours a day. I was very fit, and this enhanced my social life which was already more than I could have hoped for.

Like nearly all my blue-collar buddies I had married in my teens. To this migrant from Southern Appalachia to a Yankee industrial center, she seemed an absolute vision. A beautiful, virginal spitfire, wild to be initiated into the sexual mysteries. Unfortunately, our mutual attraction originated from sex, and more sex but little else. Although I was working so hard at construction during the day while taking undergraduate courses at night, I didn't usually focus on my "true secret feelings" for her. But when I did, I recognized that I didn't even admire her that much—either physically or mentally. Earlier, my youthful sexual attraction to her was so broad and indiscriminate that it blotted everything out, especially when it came to her most prominent physical feature. I never really considered it, but over time, I came to realize that I was an ass man. She had great breasts which she was inordinately proud of; however, her butt, like a lot of big breasted women, was flat and unathletic. Believe me, I loved to play with those things, but her ass hardly moved me. It would have been different if I loved her, but as we grew apart, my disdain for her turned what sex we had into fulfilling perfunctory sexual needs and nothing more. Worse, as I became relatively more sophisticated from my studies, I came to realize that our conversations seldom went beyond her harridan of a mother and the next sweater buying opportunity. Even the hottest couple will eventually fuck out.

It would be hard to make up how unpleasant was the divorce, but as they say, "this too will pass." It did pass, and I chose to stay in school, live on my teaching assistant stipend and pay alimony—if you can believe it. Barely being able to afford a few beers on a Saturday night, I found myself being invited to graduate student potlucks which led to me making a wide circle of friends. Many of whom were female and were interested in sampling my athletic body. At the time, I weighed 175, was 6 feet, with a 44-inch chest, and 30-inch waist. I had always been a committed athlete even if not wildly successful from a varsity sport perspective. I had lettered in a couple of sports in high school, but certainly received no tenders. Not that I had opportunities to fill my time otherwise, I ran about an hour per day and worked out with weights about an hour or more beyond.

So, over the next few years, I acquired a lot of friends with benefits as they would say today, and even when these women moved on to more serious relationships, I often stayed on good terms with them--playing for their second or third team. I had ridden a few benches in my day. But add a few of these acquisitions up every year over a few years, and you can end up with a delightful and varied circle of sexual partners who like you as a person, but still mainly come to you for sex and some emotional comfort.

So, this is the background for this story.

Since I was now an instructor, I was often invited to faculty parties. These could be stultifying until the alcohol and dope took hold. However once people were sufficiently juiced, these gatherings invariably became ripe for sexual opportunities. The lecherous senior faculty were known to pursue starry-eyed graduate students while leaving their wives abandoned. These former starry-eyed graduate students were aware of the dynamic and were often looking for revenge against their philandering husbands. Many of these disaffected women were not much older than I, and usually ready for some intense sexual encounters. If you can find it, being on the receiving end of a revenge fuck may be the hottest thing going.

This party was about one month into the semester. It was a pleasant fall evening, and the sexual tension was humming. I was homing in on Dorothy Monahan who was married to a rather serious-minded post-doc with sexual identity issues. Dorothy wasn't particularly attractive in the conventional sense, but she put out an intense sexual vibe, and the butt on her tight slender frame was cute as hell. A few years ago at an earlier summer party, she asked me to take her for a ride on my motorcycle. Just as soon as we got up to some serious RPM, she shoved her pubic bone up against my tailbone and got off a couple of times. I thought that this was the beginning of a hot night, but when we got back to the party, she thanked me and went back to the party leaving me with some major blue balls.

Not necessarily feeling that she owed me, but certainly thinking that the door might still be open, I joined her in a small group where she was holding forth on some arcane theoretical issue of the day. She briefly acknowledged my presence and quickly introduced me while essentially ordering me to get her and her nearest colleague, Sharon, another drink. My first smartass reaction was to tell her to get her own fucking drink, but I was still in pursuit mode, and Sharon was looking at me with something like bemused interest.

I filled their drink orders but when I returned, Dorothy was in a corner in deep discussion with her advisor who had a possessive hand on her butt. Didn't look like this was to be my night. However, Sharon was an interesting package. She was married to a very wealthy Saudi who had to leave his graduate work in petroleum studies to attend to some urgent family business. He wasn't expected back to school this year, and Sharon was continuing her schoolwork alone. She was probably over dressed for this gathering, but her substantial wealth coupled with her Ivy League undergrad degree allowed her to pull it off. I immediately noticed that she wasn't trussing her small, but perky, breasts with a bra, and her tight skirt really framed her ass. Not the most beautiful woman I had ever encountered, but still very sexy, and way out of my league, but she was smiling, smiling. Intriguing.

I gave her the drink and gulped Dorothy's. Not going to let free alcohol go to waste. She immediately seemed to be toying with me. I had spent the summer out west logging with some friends of my high school buddies, and was dressed in cowboy boots, jeans and a tight T-shirt. She grabbed my bicep and asked me, "so you are the logger I have been hearing so much about."

"At your service ma'am."

"Really?"

This surprised me at bit, but I played along with the schtick, "Absolutely, if you want a 100-foot Ponderosa pine with a 4-foot butt felled, limbed and bucked I am your man."

"So, you buck big timber?" This was moving quickly, and I was wondering if she had some game going with Dorothy who I was still hoping for. After all, what were the percentages of going to bed tonight with this out of reach socialite while Dorothy may still be in play. I excused myself to visit the head, and when I returned, Sharon had drifted off.

Just as well, I mingled a bit while keeping my eye on Dorothy who was disengaged from her advisor, cruising the partiers and getting very drunk. I didn't know Sharon's alcohol capacity, but she appeared to be feeling no pain. She sidled up to me put her arm around my waist, and with her other pulled my head down to whisper in my ear, "Could you give me a ride home?"

Given our minimal contact, this surprised me a bit, but opportunist that I was, I readily agreed without question. Sharon asked to visit the bathroom first and meet me at the front door. I moved to the bar to say my goodbyes and grab a short one for the road, and just as I turned, Dorothy literally latched onto my forearm, and demanded, "Where is my drink, big boy?"

There was no doubt from her drunken, playful look what the real question was. Looks like she hadn't forgotten our earlier encounter after all, but unfortunately, I was now committed to taking Sharon home. The very faint vestige of long past southern gentility trickling through me was wavering, but my grandmother spoke decisively, "I am giving Sharon a ride home."

"A ride, or a ride, ride."

"Hard to say, we just met, plus gentlemen don't speak about such matters. Do you want to come along, and we can drop her on the way?"

As she hotly turned on her heel, she said through gritted teeth, "You're pretty sure of yourself."

She was on the other side of the room before I could muster a witty reply, so I just met Sharon and escorted her to my workingman's pickup—replete with a bench seat, stick on the floor, cab clearance lights and a tow package for hauling a bike trailer. "Do you expect me to ride in that?"

"Yes, that is, if you are going with me." She shrugged her shoulders, smiled that odd smile and moved to the door.

"Are you going to help me get in?"

The heavy work truck had a modest lift in it to help navigate mountain roads, but no running boards, so it was hard for someone in high heels to get in. When I boosted her up, her skirt road higher, and I got both a glimpse and scent of her pussy. She wasn't wearing any panties, and I was immediately ready to fuck right there in the driveway. I went from being mildly disappointed about missing my opportunity with that bitch Dorothy to really interested in getting Sharon home as quick as possible.

Home was a chic loft apartment not far from campus. Once we were seated on the couch with some wine from a corked bottle and some jazz on the stereo, she melted into my arms as they say, and we quickly started making out. Her pussy was making sucking sounds on my fingers, and my cock was painfully hard, so I certainly didn't resist when she pulled me toward the bedroom.

Unfortunately, entering the bedroom was like a return to the 9^th grade. And although we were quickly naked and she was clearly excited from all the making out, she wouldn't let me enter her nor did she offer to get me off with her hand or mouth. As wet as she was, she had already had a few minor orgasms. And, with all the buildup, I was hot, and more than a little frustrated. What the hell? But, then, the graduate student overrode the hillbilly. She didn't owe me anything, and it was my own fault for allowing myself to be lured into this ridiculous tease. And as she was quick to point out, "I am married."

But now it was late, and I was tired. And, I didn't relish dressing and then driving in my drunken state to the working-class end of town. There local cops, eager to fill up their weakly arrest quotas, preyed on lonely, blasted pipe fitters dragging their sorry asses home from the bar closings. "And here is a DWI to add to your misery, Bud. "

After I suppressed my first impulse to strangle her, I asked, "Look, it's late. Do you mind if I sleep here, tonight?" She seemed puzzled by the question, gave me a hug, and as I rolled over to sleep, snuggled her hot, naked pussy against my bare ass. It had been a long day and night for me, and horny as I was, I fell quickly and soundly asleep.

...

The big loft window in the bedroom didn't have a curtain, and the morning sun was revving up a mildly throbbing headache. However, I was quickly distracted from my mild headache and nausea by that same hot pussy humping my leg while her slender little hand gave my morning wood a reach around. I guess someone went to divorce court over night. What was it with this woman?

The frustration of the night before coupled with my usual morning excitement led to a fast, hard ejaculation of some quantity on her sheets, eliciting a slight moan of disappointment. I was still angry from the tease from the night before, and started to roll away, but she immediately straddled my knees, cupped my balls and began sucking my cock with a vengeance. The headache, the increasingly hot sun in my face, and my spent cock, all encouraged me to just jump up take a healthy piss and get the hell out of there. But that lasted for less than a minute, and soon I was rising to the occasion. She climbed on my cock and fucked herself to a moderate orgasm. With some minor exertion, I was able to fire again—although I noticed this had to be the loosest pussy that I had ever encountered.

After all these exertions in the heat of the morning, I needed a shower, and after a quick one, I dressed and found Sharon drinking coffee in the kitchen—sitting on the edge of a wooden chair, buck naked and dripping cum unto the tile floor. With that same sardonic expression, she asked me, "How do you take it?" I had just cum twice, so I found this more interesting than titillating—but it was an image. Mainly, I just wanted to get loose from this crazy woman, plus I just assumed that she wanted me gone and out of her life as soon as possible, anyway.

"Cream and Sugar is fine."

"Would you like some breakfast?"

"No thanks. I'm still a little hungover, plus I need to run some errands."

This being Sunday morning in bible belt country, my excuse rang a little hollow since even most 24-hour diners were closed at that moment. She seemed mildly disappointed, but I wanted to be gone, so I engaged in some light departmental gossip, finished my drink, thanked her and left.

Well, it had not been your usual Saturday night, but that is what adventures are for—difference. Little did I know that then that this was the start of a remarkably different period in my life that affects me to this day.