Pat Wynn - Perfect Woman

And she liked a little bit of the smutty stuff with Wanda, too.

For me, it was like living in a brothel every day. Pat would drive across town in her little Triumph Stag and we'd get it on.

She introduced me to the delights of doggy style fucking. I'd never done it much before, but Pat insisted it was fun.

She'd kneel on the bed, with her knees almost on the edge, so her calves and feet were jutting out above the floor. Then I'd push my erection deep into her, and with one hand I'd stroke her glorious handfuls, and with the other I'd tweak her clit and stroke her labia.

And fuck, could she get wet down there!

The only thing I wasn't keen on in the doggy style fuck, was the fact that it was difficult, if not impossible to kiss her, well on the mouth, I mean. So I preferred her sitting on my cock as I sat in the easy chair.

She'd slide her quim onto my hard on, then I could stroke her puppies, and also play with the clit while kissing her and letting our tongues flick against each other. That was nice.

She was keen practitioner of the soixante-neuf position, which allowed me to lick around her lovely little brown anus, before diving into her cunt and between those thick labia, before driving for her clit.

She, in turn, fellated like a fucking professional, sucking me off and often swallowing my cum. She said it didn't taste bad, and was a nice way to bring me off. I had no arguments about it, I can tell you.

I also talked her into shaving down there. Now, this was around the time when Penthouse magazine courtesy of that filthy old fucker Guccione was showing us pink – well, more and more pink.

Pat didn't want to do it at first, but I explained it to her. "Look, darl, perverts like me around the world want to know what a woman's sex lips and her cunt look like, it's the way of the world – look at Wanda's pussy, shaved, but not naked. That's the way to go."

So she did – shave, that is, but NOT the Brazilian job that so many porno magazine women go for these days. She just trimmed it back till it was a nice dark brown stubble. And as far as I was concerned, it made cunnilingus all the more enjoyable, not that it hadn't been fun before, because she was so, oh how can I put it? Ripe!

But the one thing she preferred above all others was the tit fuck. She was hot for it!

Sometimes she'd wear a shiny, black satin bra and make me slip my cock beneath the bottom of the brassiere, and up between her massive mammaries. Fuck, it felt great!

And then I'd pump away, slithering and sliding between her big jugs, till the inevitable happened and I'd spunk over the boobs, and she unclip the bra and rub the gooey stuff into her breasts.

At other times, she'd drape a black, seamed stocking over her boobs, and also tying them around the pair of beauties so they sort of hoisted 'em. And then I'd drape the hard on onto the big balloons of flesh and wank away between the mounds till I shot my load.

Did I fuck her in the arse? Well, we did try it once, but she was so fuckin' tight there I thought my pecker would get stripped of its skin, so no, there wasn't any of that.

But the fuck sessions with Pat and Wanda! Wow.

Quite early on in the piece, Pat called me from a phone box in South Kensington. No mobiles in those days, remember?

"Get your ugly arse over to Hanger Lane, Ricko," she told me, "I'm picking up Wanda and we're coming over to fuck you to death."

I laughed. "What a lovely way to die," but I was in a tremor of excitement all the way back on the Central Line to home.

The girls – well, one girl, one woman – arrived 20 minutes after I'd got there. I was wearing my little PVC briefs, with the zip undone, and my old fella sticking up almost pointing to my chin. It was Pat's instruction that I ALWAYS open the door to her dressed – undressed, more like – in that fashion.

The two lovelies marched past me, and into the lounge. There they stepped out of their shirts and skirts but kept their high heels on. Bloody great big wedged, blocky things that were all the rage back in those days.

Pat was dressed in her black PVC outfit we'd showed her in for the Escort shoot, and Wanda was in her trademark outfit of quarter cup bra and crotchless panties – this time in a bright red colour.

There was a long, wooden coffee table in that Hanger Lane apartment, and Pat told me to lie on it, with my head just jutting out over the edge. Then she straddled the table, and sat on my cock. She was wet and ready for it – she always fuckin' WAS!

The next move was from her teenaged mate, who faced Pat and then sat on my face, wriggling and writhing her steamy and sopping wet snatch over my face. As I licked and worked away at her quim, I placed my hands up and stroked her wonderful titties.

Then Pat was driving up and down on my cock, and as she fucked me, she leant forward and Wanda edge forward a bit too, and they smashed their breasts together, and began to snog and smooch while one of 'em fucked me, and the other face sat me.

After a few minutes of this, Pat pressed Wanda's head down to her boobs and in a minute or two, she came on my cock as the shopgirl sucked on her nipples.

The next move was for Wanda to climb from my sex-smeared face and walk to where Pat was climbing off my cock, its foreskin pulled back down to the ring courtesy of her still-tight vagina.

The lovely little lass bent, kissed my naked-fleshed cock head, sucked on it slowly, then climbed aboard. In the meantime, Pat had arranged herself on my face and I was slurping and sucking away at her delicious, lubricious minge.

For this round of suck and fuck, Wanda pumped herself on me more slowly than Pat, but after a couple of minutes – and they were at it again, snogging away on top of me – she panted "Suck my nipples, Pat, suck 'em, PLEEEASE!" and as the 40-year-old (she'd had a birthday a month or two before) went to work on Wanda's thick, turgid nipples, the girl roared and soared to a noisy climax.

From here, they dragged me into the bedroom, and Pat announced: "You're such an old perve, Rick, and I know you love Wanda in these saucy little bras, so now you can come. But in a tit fuck!"

And Wanda pushed me onto my back, and arranged her big mammaries – they were 38s, she said, remember? – and started to slither and slide them up and down on my cunt-drenched cock shaft.

It took about three or four minutes for her to get me to the point of ejaculation and I must have telegraphed the fact that I was about to come, because just before I shot my load, Wanda took the root of my shaft, down by my scrotum, between her thumb and forefinger and lowered her mouth to my throbbing stiffy.

Splash – I shot the lot into her throat, fuck it was great!

After about an hour's rest, and another assault on my now dwindling stocks of Bacardi Gold, we went at it again, back on the coffee table, only this time Pat face sat me first, as Wanda sat on my rod, then they swapped places.

Wanda, of course, was an obvious target for my trusty Hasselblad. She posed for me for Penthouse magazine, and was one of the biggest hits in that publication. The mag gave her some fuckin' stupid name, and said she was Spanish and 20-years-old, instead of 18 and from Clapham Common. I guess they thought it was more "romantic".

I also did a series of shoots with Wanda for Mayfair but she never did some of the lesbian-style things that Pat was up for. In all the pictures I took of Pat licking the lovely little totty's pussy, you couldn't see who she was going down on.

So all in all, my Pat Wynn affair worked out very well. I got pictures of Pat and Wanda in various magazines, we all made some money, and the sex was fuckin' great.

But the affair ended, of course. They always do, don't they?

Pat went on to become a sort of agony aunt for some Paul Raymond publications – he called her "Aunty Jayne", from memory, although that's not what ended our passionate affair.

What did, I think, was the fact that she hooked into some older man, certainly a lot richer, and I understand he squired her around the fleshpots of Europe and kept her in the manner to which she'd become accustomed.

Still, I'll never forget the raging affair we had for a month or two back in 1979. I often think of her now – since that "Whatever happened to Pat Wynn" remark the other day – and I guess she'd be around 68-years-old, if she really was 40 in 1979.

Me, I migrated to Australia not long after my fling with the gorgeous Pat, couldn't stand the cold in the dreary winters and the "When the fuck's summer gonna arrive?" the rest of the time.

I'm in real estate now, selling places in Sydney and the only pictures

I take are of the properties I sell. Not that there's much call for them. I specialize in multi-million outfits – in the trade they laughingly refer to them as "Patterson's Palaces" – and we usually make DVDs to showcase their charms.

I'm also happily married. My wife has got big breasts and a penchant for wearing quarter-cup bras and crotchless panties. You guessed it, I married Wanda.

She's a wonderful woman, and she's even sexier now than she was back in 1979 because she's much more mature, and that's where my fetish lies, mature, sexy women with big boobs! She's also got a very high sex drive – thank goodness!

Some days, when I'm sitting in our Vaucluse home, watching some rugby league or a cricket test on the huge plasma screen TV in the lounge, I'll hear a cough and standing there in her skimpy little "Fuck me" outfit of quarter-cup bra and crotchless knickers will be Wanda, who's 46 now. Perfect – well, perfect for me.

Anyway, when I hear her cough, it's the signal that she wants sex – now!

We've got a little fetish, tell the truth, and before every fuck, I take a few pictures of her with my digital camera – everything's digital now, isn't it? – and we make a sort of log of what's happened.

Like the entry for yesterday: April 19, 2007: quarter-cup bra/crotchless fuck No 1025 (the log has only been going since I've had a digital camera, OK?).

"Cunnilingus to orgasm; missionary position fuck; came on titties. Duration of sex: 46 minutes."

Every now and then, Wanda will ask me: "Am I as good as Pat Wynn?"

And I'll say, "Course you are, darling, you're much more mature than when I met you, and you've got smashing tits".

And, of course, I'm lying. Well, not about the tits, but still it's a fib, right?

I mean Wanda's wonderful, but how could she be as good as Pat Wynn, I ask you.

Pat Wynn – My Perfect Woman.

I'd sell the story to Reader's Digest for their "My Most Unforgettable Character" feature, but I doubt that they'd print it!