Time Machine Sexual Adventures

A voice comes out of the darkness. "You're late."

Then another voice with an east coast accent, "Where's the guy, Doll? The one with the big dick."

"He couldn't make it, flaked out at the last minute, but Ralphie will be his stand-in."

"Whoa, what are you talking about," I whispered.

"You have got to be a gallant knight and save this Damsel in distress," said Norma Jean, "And there's a hundred clams in it for you, cash."

And that is how I got roped into doing a stag film with Marilyn. S I said, you can find the old clip on any of a few porno sites. Lousy film quality, but that long thin pecker that MM sucks and fucks is my weenie. She also makes me perform cunnilingus. I get to do all this on a beautiful young starlit with a full bush of pubic hair. The whole thing is really old school.

I also got to fuck her in various positions, but my face is rarely visible. I'm not JFK, as many viewers of this old clip had surmised. I assumed Kennedy's dick was fatter, but Jackie's half-brother, Gore Vidal, said Jackie told him that Kennedy's cock was deformed, and he was a quick ejaculator with one ball decidedly hanging lower than the other. Well, who cares? I would be the first to say JFK was a beautiful man, and I'm not gay.

When we finished completing every sex act that two human beings could muster, I called it a night. Ok, my dick is skinny, but it's a good 8 inches, well 7 1/2 and I've never had any complaints about its performance. If you want to see me in action, the clip is still up on various porn sites. I think I'm repeating myself. I guess I'm proud of it.

Once my sexual chore was over, I slipped out the door without saying goodby. I hailed a passing taxi, and I found my way back to the Burbank Grocery where I'd left the Time Machine. I wheeled the Time Machine out of the barb wire storage cage where it sat surrounded by assorted grocery showcases. I pushed it clear, hopped into the seat, hit the purple return button, and was gone in a loud flash. Instantly I was back in my Hollywood apartment in 2021.

Believe me, after a two-hour fuck session with the Queen of Sex. I was beaten. Whoever the film editor was, I'm sure it took a lot longer to edit the pieces together than it took to film us. If our positions were not just right, the camera guy would make us go through the whole scene again.

If it hadn't been with sexy Norma Jean, there is no chance I could have kept regaining my erection. She would give me a quick blow job if I were having any problem getting erect. Her tight trigger finger around the base of my penis kept the blood from flowing out. I'm sure you know that's what keeps a cock erect.

MM was every man's wet dream. Our encounter was a battle of man versus woman, and it finished nearly a draw, but with the arrow pointing in the direction of the blond starlet. She still was thumbs up when my tired cock was pointing down, in fact, I believe she could have had another go round with several more guys.

So yes, I was exhausted. And, I was a mess. I even had to scrape the dried cum off my balls with a fine-tooth comb. That jizz, when dried, mixed with MM's pussy juice, is like Borden's white glue. Getting it off was no walk in the park. Having sex with Norma Jean was easy but recovering from it was not. That woman spewed sexual fluids like a dragon spits fire.

I ended up going into my kitchen and grabbing one of those green abrasive pot cleaners to get all the cum and pussy juice off my legs. After this adventure, I swore I was going to take off a few days. Being self-employed as a window cleaner was my good fortune because I could come and go. No one really cared if I was on time as long as I got the job done.

Of course, on occasion, I'd be cleaning the window in my tight short shorts when I'd get spotted by an observer. If she were horny, she'd get naked and lift the window. That was the cue, that it was time to take a break and join her. On occasion, the looker turned out to be an interested male. That was when I'd have to make a quick decision. These are the day-to-day problems when you have a big dick; sometimes I wish that were not the case, not really.

It took me about two weeks to recover my mojo. I started to plan my next trip to check on MM's progress. I figured a good time to arrive would be after the baseball guy got his divorce. That would put us in the spring of 1954.

By that time, Marilyn was a famous starlet. She and "Jolten Joe" had lived together for only eight months. By now, they were living apart and waiting for the lawyers to finalize the marriage. Before the split, they had rented a home in a fancy development in the Hollywood Hills. Built in 1938, it was called "Outpost Estates." The homes were walled and gated. The press described their domicile as of Mediterranean style. To me, they were really Spanish Colonial. The development was built overlooking Runyon Canyon and was the first expensive enclave constructed after the depression of 1929.

It was a big home, 3,335 square feet, big enough for a large family, but that was never to be. MM, after various gynecological interventions, was unable to have any children, a problem that the "baseballer" found unacceptable. He was Italian and family-oriented. Strangely in his two previous marriages, there were no offspring. Maybe a foul ball once hit him in the "bird's nest?" The home was a two-story home with 18 rooms, including four bedrooms, four-and-a-half bathrooms. Joe once told a reporter,

"There were bathrooms I never pissed in."

There was a tower room, a living room with a wood-beamed ceiling, and access to an entertainment terrace. I set the controls to land right next to the living room. on the terrace. I made sure not to end up in the grotto-like pool. With the electronics of the Time Chair chair, I probably would have gotten electrocuted.

Now that Marilyn and I we're in no need of an introduction, having known each other intimately, I figured it would be like the meeting of old friends, maybe even lovers. I didn't want to interfere in her life. I knew she was divorcing her second hubby, the baseball guy. Figuring she might be horny, I decided it was time for another visit. I dropped in October of 1954.

I was going through some books on MM when I found this memorable quote. When asked what it felt like to be behind the camera for her unique and marvelous visage, Marylin responded,

"It's like being screwed by a thousand guys and you can't get pregnant."

Of course, when I pushed the door from the terrace open, Marilyn recognized me immediately,

"Well, hello, Mr. Skinny Dick, How did you get in here."

"I noticed the terrace door was open, so I came to say hello. I hope that's OK?"

"I haven't seen you in a long time, not since the night we did the Stag Movie. Where have you been, sweetmeat? Where'd you go? Did ya get lost in time? You never got paid for the stag film. I kept your hundred in my jewelry box so I wouldn't lose it. I knew you'd show up. I've been saving it for you since 1948."

"Thanks, Norma Jean."

"Oh, they don't call me that no more. Just use Marilyn."

"Sure."

"How's it hanging, Slim? I don't forget a good fuck, and your skinny long cock did a great job. That smile on my face in that black &white stag clip didn't come from acting lessons. It was a pure sexual joy."

"That's really nice of you to say."

"Yeah, Joe, my recent-to-be ex, was OK in the sack, but he never hit the right spots with that big salami of his. I don't think I've had a good fuck since 1947, but Jesu, I'll tell ya, you ain't gettin' out of her, lessen I get a piece of your sweet cock."

And she moved closer, and she started to unbutton my pants.

Well, one thing led to another, and she asked me,

"Pardon the expression, but would you like to start with a "Butt fuck." Excuse my French but I've been constipated from the rich food they serve at Chasen's. A good "BF" always has the effect of clearing me out. Naturally, I'll douche first.

Did I want to start the session with my skinny cock 8 inches up her ass? Wow, I hadn't thought of that. I haven't done anal since I was dating a Hollywood tranny back when ass was as common as key lime pie.

She left me for a few minutes to shower and get her ass clean. I popped in with her at the end of her shower off to wash off the time dust. I noted that the bathroom didn't smell great afterward, but I didn't mention it. Preparation for the tushy sex is a sensitive subject.

We were seated on the oversized white couch next to the terrace, nude, with only towels around us. We were kissing and making out when MM said, spreading a large towel over the couch seating surface.

"OK Ralph, don't you think it's time? "

That's the kind of invitation that doesn't go unanswered. MM got onto all fours on the couch. I got behind her. She had pre-lubed, so I got my dick at the right angle to skewer her. Helpful as always, MM reached back, grabbing my dick and adjusting the trajectory. The game was on!

I had my dick up MM's ass in two or three thrusts. I was having the time of my life. Her's was the most perfect ass I'd ever seen. We were having fun, a great time, and I was doing everything I could to keep from cuming too quickly in her lily-white tush. Every once in a while, I'd pull out to slow down so I wouldn't shoot my cum too quickly.

I'd slide my dick along the cleft between her gorgeous ass cheeks and then shove it back up the old kazzo, when bam, the fucking terrace door swung open. It was that ex-husband of her, the salami guy. He was an easy 6'2" with long muscular arms. With him swinging his fists, he scared the shit outta me. There he was, ranting and raving at me and holding a pile of divorce papers. I stopped fucking, and I pulled out in fear for my life. As my cock broke free of her luscious ass, he was right in front of me when my balls let go with a timely cum shot that hit him right below the waist.

"Yikes!" He shouted. He was trying to wipe the juicy cum off his crotch. He was as surprised as I was and none too pleased. The baseball guy called that shot a foul and started screaming at me.

"What did you do, you pervert. Do you think I'm gay? I've got your dunk all over my pants. I'll have to throw them out. That stinky shit does not wash out."

It seems the court date for finalizing the divorce was the next morning. Salami guy was unsure if he wanted to give up the best poontang in the world and go back to choking the chicken. His mouth let go with a burst of profanities that would have gotten him thrown out of any baseball game I ever heard of—all the while, waving his big cummy fist at me.

"You fucking cunt," he shouted at MM, "we separated for a few months. I come over here tonight to ask you to forget the divorce and get us back on track with our lives and marriage. What do I find? You and some gay boy, scoping out your poop shute with his worthless skinny dick."

I felt the need to defend myself,

"My dick is not worthless. Just the shaft is skinny. The cock's head is wider."

"You shut the fuck up," he snarled at me.

"If you wanted a real cock, Marilyn, I could' bust your ass open with this fat pepperoni."

The baseball guy took out his huge prick and started to chase me around the couch, hitting me on my naked behind several times using his giant dick as if it was some truncheon.

This guy knew how to run the bases better than I did. All hell broke out. I kept ahead, but he kept catching up and battering me with his wang. The chase ended when a cop, called by a neighbor, jumped between us, grabbed me by the arm, and pushed me out on the terrace.

Realizing by the grace of God I'd managed to get out of the place alive, I headed for the Time Chair. On the plus side, I'd fucked Marilyn in the ass, an unforgettable event. On the negative side, I'd fucked up her possible reunion with the bat boy. Oh well, ya can't win em all.

I was still nude when I got back into the poltroon and slammed the purple return button just before the lawn sprinklers were gurgling and set to go off and fry the Time Machine..

ZAP-kaboom-white light- I was back in 2021 as fast as an electron can circumnavigate a hydrogen nucleus. That's when I remembered I'd never collected the hundred Marilyn was holding for me.

I spent the next few weeks mulling over the damage I'd done to MM's marriage reunion. Then I became irate that the baseball champ had deprived me of a few extra minutes of extra ass fucking. I mean, I'd lost a real "fuckeroo" of an evening with a sex goddess. I started wishing I'd had a bit more time with that ass, and maybe I would have gotten it in her quim as well. Excuse me if I dwell on the target of my desires.

By the time forty days had passed, I was ready to go again. A break was what I needed. I decided once more to travel through time and try to meet up with MM. I knew her reported demise was ahead, and I wanted to have sex with her while she was still alive. Fucking a corpse, necrophilia, is not my idea of a fabulous date.

For quite a while, I felt I was responsible for MM's breakup. From what I'd read of the "Yankee Clipper," I thought "Jolt-in Joe" was a nice guy. Maybe if we'd met under better circumstances, he might have shared a few baseball stories with me. Joe was certainly a better match for Marilyn than I could offer. Supposedly the divorce centered around his desire to have children, a wish he never achieved.

It was assumed the problem was MM's snatch, defenestrated countless times by back-alley butchers. But maybe it was Joseppi's banana that lacked the seeds? I'd read that Joe had fathered a son back in 1941 with his first wife. That kid turned out to be a dope addict and homeless bum. A big disappointment to Joseppi, but that was all in his future, I had no intention of spilling the beans. With Marilyn, Joe could have adopted. No?

Of course, it passed through my mind, maybe if Joe and I were friends we might have shared Marilyn. A sort of ménage à trios deal. But I really didn't see a future, or a past in that idea. But I knew MM needed full-time surveillance and I would have been happy to comply.

But old Joe was an old cock, as they say, in my absence, about five years had passed Joe still had a hard-on. MM had hooked up with the matzo ball guy who was a big-time scribbler. He was a bit of an ass, making MM feel she was a dummy, which she wasn't. I know because when we had our stag film episode, in the middle of blowing me, Marilyn stopped and asked,

"Ralphie, excuse me if I'm indiscreet, but have you ever sucked a Jewish prick? Hollywood film guys seem to have no foreskin."

"No, I haven't," I answered. How much did I have to admit to?

"They don't, which makes those dicks very slippery things," she remarked, "A thick foreskin gives you something to sink your teeth into."

I thought to myself. This woman is quite intelligent. If that comment is not a sign of her observation powers, I don't know what is.

The significance of that statement was that MM was not an antisemite. She studied and became a Jew to marry Miller. When she said, as she has been often quoted on leaving Southern California,

"Now I won't have to suck any more Jewish pricks,"

Marylin was referring to her unwritten contractual requirement to service the movie studio bosses on her knees, most of whom were Jewish. This brings to mind the question: Did her hubby, Arty the Scribbler, no longer get any blow jobs, or did occasionally get lucky when they moved east?

Of course, as a humble time traveler, I had no intention of screwing up her third marriage. Still, when that relationship fell to ashes, I dusted off Ye Olde Time Traveler Poltroon and got ready to make one last visit to the most fantastic piece of ass the world had ever seen.

I tested the time machine by turning it on. After a brief flicker of the control panel, the display went dead. It didn't take long to figure out that the two 12 volt batteries had finally run dry on the small trickle charger. This electrical problem necessitated a trip to the battery store, where I purchased the largest capacitor they had. Two car batteries with 800 amps each. Jeez, those batteries were heavy fuckers to lug. They used to put a band on the top of the batteries to make them easy to carry. I guess the battery factory was saving 75 cents by omitting the plastic band.

I had to lug them one at a time with both arms, wedging the stiff, heavy black battery box against my chest, listening to the acid inside swish with my every step. But, fortunately, the new batteries did the trick. The Time Traveler Chair fired up like a Tin Lizzie. After letting it warm up and checking the various circuit displays, I took a shower to prepare.

Oh yeah, knowing MM liked a neatly groomed dick, I gave the old one eye a few pubic snips and passed the razor over the above and below so the dickey bird would pass muster. I didn't want to travel back in time, hoping for a good sex romp and be refused because my pubic hair was deranged. I made a quick trip to the garage to find a tie-dyed t-shirt, so I'd fit into the 1962 Hollywood scene.

Ready to travel, I set the controls and locator. MM was living outside Hollywood at the time. Hollywood loved to claim it was the film capital, maybe it was in 1920-40, but by now, the tinsel town was pretty sleazy. It was then, as it is even today, a mess. I obtained the detailed telemetry, GPS data, from some public library maps. I plotted the machine to land at Marilyn's home at 12305 Fifth Helena Drive in Brentwood. It was a crazy name, but that was it. I checked more than once, thinking 'Fifth' was part of the street number.

I intended to time my landing somewhere after her separation and before her death, I figured around mid-January 1962. At the last moment, I changed the setting to August 4th, 1962. the day of her death. Maybe there was some way I could save her. With all the precise coordinates in place, I hit the red launch button. With a flash and a sonic-boom, I passed back through time and landed in the backyard garden area of her home in Brentwood.

It was a Spanish-style home, surrounded by rich greenery, trees, bushes, and a nice size swimming pool. I arrived at 7:30 PM, not wanting to disturb her dinner, and my luck was holding, MM was alone. When I knocked on the door connecting the backyard to the main house, she saw me through the window and ran to embrace me. She seemed very happy and was grabbing my dick right away, asking if it was still the same skinny long cock she'd loved in the past.

"I am so horny with being separated after all this divorse shit. I only get laid once a week, not enough," she complained while squeezing and jerking my Johnson.

I warned her not to jerk me too much, or I'd be unfit to fuck if she made me cum,

"I won't make you shoot the goo, sweetie, until your dick is in my cunt."

MM laughed, but laid off the jerking and held me gently. She explained that she'd divorced the novelist. Why?

"Well, hon, he was horrible to live with, always criticizing me and making me feel inadequate. He hardly ever wanted to fuck me."

To keep her sanity, which was intricately tied to her sexuality, she'd shacked up with an old boyfriend.

"If I don't get laid at least four times a week, she said, "I get terribly moody, and the next thing I turn to is pills and booze."

Sex was the only thing that lifted her spirits. At the same time, she told me,

"The Salami guy, Joe, is still fascinated with my pussy, and whenever he gets horny, he shows up begging for a fuck. I feel so sorry for the schlepper that I give in. Once he blows his rocks, he jumps out of bed, and he's off, outta here. It's like turning off the lights of the Christmas tree. I never even get off."

Even after their divorce and her subsequent marriage, the "Yankee Clipper" still needed a glove on his bat and ball.