I’ll call it a vagina and probe it by the book. I’ll call it a cunt and tongue deep till I’m buried. Call it a vulva, it’s a fruit, a peach. A muff: I’ll be young and grateful and eager to please. And pussy, oh pussy: you’ll make me into a green-eyed cat.
She’d shaved it bare, making it like she likes it the best. She’d worn nothing under her skirt, and she’d boarded a bus to be fondled. Then she got home, and she was pressing it into my hip, an insistent mound of flesh, her eyes unfocused with lust. In these situations you quickly discover that beneath that skirt she’s not wearing underwear. I got rid of the skirt and got her down on the bed. She squirmed like a woman possessed by demons, but I held her still until the demon leapt from her into my tongue. Continue reading Licking Pussy–That is All: the result of The Bus Experiment
We were at a large party out in the countryside with several dozen people, and midnight was gone. Music blasted from loudspeakers, and waiters moved everywhere with generous varieties of booze. We had escaped across the lawn from the noise (booze in hand) to chat with a few friends. My wife and I don’t often stay out late together, but if we make it past midnight everything is possible. Also, if my wife has more than three cocktails, everything is probable. 
The world is always at a distance, and what happens out there can often seem like a strange performance through a plate of glass, less real than the thoughts that fire through our minds. Separation is the modern condition, and I find that it’s only in sex that the world and my mind collapse into one another and become unified.
There’s something about catching the eye of a beautiful woman across a crowded room – 
Is it odd that 90% of my sexual fantasies involve my wife? That seems like some kind of unnamed disorder to me. Not that you can’t fit a lot of bodies into the non-wife 10% (and sometimes they won’t fit), but seeing her so sexually uninhibited just makes me more sexually uninhibited (and there’s probably a psychological name for that too). I walk down the street shooting molecules off my skin, and the women grin, knowing what I’m up to. Everywhere I look I see happy endings.
I heard my wife come in. I even heard the zip of her dress as her clothes fell to the floor. I was listening closely. I knew she had come in from 
So my wife has turned out to be an exhibitionist
When I got