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“I’ve never really whipped you,” I said. “Tonight is our first time with a
belt and I had a hard time, whipping your breasts. I don’t know,” I said,
looking down at my bare feet, buried in the green pile of the carpet.

Cathie raised up on her elbows, her red, welted breasts swinging from
side to side. “Look at me,” she demanded. I looked into her eyes.

“I make your fantasies come true, don’t I?” she asked.

“Yes,” I admitted. Cathie had never refused to do anything I wanted her
to do.

“Tonight,” she said. “Just tonight, I want my ass whipped like I’ve
fantasized about it being whipped all my life. My mother and father
always spanked me like you do it, just enough to sting. Since I was
eleven or twelve years old, I’ve dreamed about a big, cruel man tying
me down and beating my ass black and blue. It’s made me come a thousand
times since then. Tonight, Goss, I’m so horny, I want it to come true!
Tonight the pain is making me hornier, the worse it gets! Really! I almost
came when you were whipping my tits but I waited because I want to come
while my ass is being whipped, like in my fantasy.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

Turning her head away so her left cheek was against the pillow she said,
“You’re a cocksucker, Goss. You’re a lousy shit of a lover and I hate
your guts. You’ve never satisfied me, ever.”

Grasping the belt buckle in my palm, I wrapped a loop of the thin,
leather belt around my hand. When I stopped, there was about 24 inches of
belt hanging loose. I raised my right arm and swung down past Cathie’s
bare bottom. The thin strip of leather whistled through the air and
then cracked against the flesh of her ass. Cathie shrieked and a thin
welt bubbled up across the widest part of both of her buttocks. In fact,
I was pretending anger but the result was the same.

Cathie was crying freely but she said, “Yessss. That’s it, Goss.
Just like that. Whip my ass just like that.”

I raised my right arm and brought the belt down on a diagonal. crossing
the original stripe with a new welt. Cathie shrieked again but raised
her ass up higher into the air. Sidearm, I lifted and snapped the belt
directly across the underside of her buttocks.

“Yes! Yes!” she cried. tears spilling onto the pillow. “Again! Again!”

Levering my body from side to side, I cracked the belt down onto her fat
ass five or six more times. I was sweating like a pig. Her big bottom
had welts all over both cheeks.

I paused and she cried, “More. More, Goss.”

Deliberately, with all the strength in my right arm, I continued
to whip her ass. Although she thrashed violently from side to side,
Cathie never moved her hands out from under her body. In fact, as the
welts crisscrossed her big ass, she kept pushing it up, anticipating
each stroke.

The muscles of my arm were burning with fatigue after ten minutes and
I could see that Cathie’s lower back, bulging bottom and upper thighs
were displaying a violent red color. Her ass was a fiery red circle.

“Stop,” she croaked and I dropped the belt on the carpet.

“Piss on my ass,” she moaned.

I directed a long stream of urine down her backbone, over the red-striped
mounds of her buttocks, between her thighs, onto her cunt.

“Now fuck my bum,” Cathie said. “No lubrication. Just stick your cock
up my ass and fuck me.”

I moved onto her back, keeping my weight on my elbows and knees so I
wasn’t pressing onto her abused ass. I immediately had an erection and
I tried to burrow between her thighs, into her pussy.

“No, Goss” she said clearly. “Force your cock up my asshole and fuck me
until you come. Don’t worry about me, I’m already coming non-stop.”

As directed, I burrowed between her red ass cheeks until I felt the
circumcised head of my cock move though her anus.

“Oh, yeah,” said Cathie. “Now stick it all the way up my bum. Push it in.”
Her hind end was wiggling and pushing back at me. My cock, in spite of
a certain amount of friction, slid all the way up her ass.

“Now bumfuck me, Goss,” she said. “Just fuck me up my ass as fast and
as hard as you can do it.”

After awhile, the burning sensation left my poor cock and it was sliding
in and out of her ass at a leisurely pace.

“No, harder and faster,” Cathie demanded.

As my hips pistoned back and forth and my cock burned rapidly in and
out of her asshole, I began to feel an orgasm approaching.

“Come in my bum, Goss!” Cathie yelled suddenly. “Come! Up my fat bum!
Fill my big bum with your come, Goss. Give me a come enema in my bum.
I want to feel you coming in my bum!”

When I let go, it felt like a river flowing up her ass. I swear, I didn’t
stop pumping sperm into her asshole for thirty seconds. Then there was
another thirty seconds as my spasms continued.

“Oh, Goss, I’m so full of you,” said Cathie. “You can pee in me too,
if you have to. You can piss up my ass.”

I was so relaxed, it was several seconds before I realized I was urinating
in Cathie’s ass. I didn’t do anything consciously. I just lay on her
back with my cock up her ass, pissing into her. The urine just kept
coming and coming, flowing into her rectum.

“It’s perfect,” Cathie breathed. “Just like my fantasy. Pee in my bum,
lover. Keep peeing in my bum.”

After awhile, it just stopped. I was so relaxed, my flaccid cock popped
out of Cathie’s ass and I fell off her back, onto the couch cushions.
She twisted around and scrunched down until she could get my cock in
her mouth. She sucked on my limp cock for several minutes, her tongue
licking all over it.

I felt her lips slide the length of my cock and let it fall out of
her mouth.

“One more thing,” she said. “You have to pee in my mouth one last time,
Goss. Come on, let it go. I have to drain you.”

I felt her lips circle just below the head of my cock. The tip was barely
in her mouth. I pissed in her mouth and she swallowed. Another spurt of
urine squirted out of my cock and into her mouth and Cathie swallowed
it again.

I was amazed to feel my whole body continue to relax until I felt like
an insensate blob of clay. All I could feel was a long stream of urine,
apparently endless, pumping out of my cock and down Cathie’s throat.
She swallowed it all, then sucked the last gush of urine out of my cock.
Finally, she licked the last drops off the tip.

When she moved up and snuggled into my arms she said, “I have another
fantasy and it’s really gross. Do you want to hear it?”

“No,” I said, just before I fell asleep.

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copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2002

2

I can never describe the delight I feel when my man enters
me. The need, the itch, if you will, deep inside, is finally
scratched, stroked, but as satisfying as it is, it makes you burn
for more. Each stroke made me crazier; squirming with delight.
Anywhere he touched, my skin burned; the pleasure and desire
spiraling back to where our bodies joined. And when the climax
comes, the satisfaction of having his hardness inside kills the
itch, quenches the need. I feel my body clenching him, pulling
him deep, milking his cock to complete the whole process.
Groaning, calling my name, he collapsed on me, resting his
head on my belly. As though on cue, the baby pushed at his head,
my stomach suddenly distorting before my eyes. “You are some
kind of woman,” he whispered, ignoring the baby.
I smiled; my body finally relaxing. Twisting my hands into
his hair, we lay together; enjoying the way our bodies felt
against one another, the delight of flesh against flesh. The
baby even seemed to quiet down; accepting finally that Mommy had
a life, too. My back even felt good, laying against the hard
table. Closing my eyes; I drifted off to sleep, feeling content.

3

IN>Do they win the lottery and keep having kids?

The only “lottery” Joe is interested in, is the “baby-sweepstakes” that
Lynn has once a year, when they reenact her “lesson” in rape. Other than
that, Joe doesn’t gamble, and neither do the other two.

IN>(Actually, I would not worry about the lottery if I were Joe. He has
IN>already won big.)

Amen.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_

BTW, I'm going to try to save all of these comments, and put them in the
package when I send it to you. I'll remove all references to your name,
and to you, when I do. You can then edit it again, and put it out to the
net, as a comment on the story-line. I'm not sure if it should go to
a.s.s, or a.s.s.d. Probably to a.s.s, as it does kind of complete the story.

IN>Frank,

IN>Well, the wait may not have been worth it, I’ll leave that up to
IN>you to decide, but here are my editorial comments on your wonderful
IN>”Bound for Fun” stories.

(Sound of a man releasing breath he’s held for days.) ;-}

IN>First , “BfF I”

IN>> MY GOD! For the first time, I realized just how far I had gone.
IN>> Not only had I came in the little girl, possibly (Probably)
IN>come in the little girl…
IN>…

No, came is right. Past tense of “cum” or come. As in “I came, I saw,
I knocked the girl up.” to misquote.

IN>> using the diaphragm to protect her daughter from pregnancy this
IN>> time. Oh well! At least ONCE, I had done it. Actually squirted
IN>> my seed in the little girl’s unprotected belly, that it. I
IN>that is
IN>…

I already found and corrected that one.

IN>> and Mr. Jones attend to things, OK?”
IN>> “Okay Momma. If you say so.” Dutifully, lay back on the
IN>Dutifully, she…
IN>> bed, and let me open her up, to her mother’s administrations.
IN>Did you mean ministrations?
IN>…

OOOPS! You’re right.

IN>> stimulation, of having her mother poking around in her, and me
IN>> from the thought of this incredible sexy, kinky woman actually
IN>> squirting my sperm in her own daughter womb, while making the kid
IN>daughter’s womb…

OOPS again.

IN>And then, “BfF II”

IN>> huh? Frank looked almost like a nerd, but even though some would
IN>> consider him “over the hill” he still had the best imagination of
IN>> the lot of us, when it came to ingenious torture. Especially the
IN>> kind that hurt, but didn’t damage. Fred was a guy you’d expect
IN>Is this a Hitchcock-like cameo, Mr. McCoy?
IN>…

Weeeelll. . . somewhat. Not exactly, but somewhat. The description is
close, but not completely true. Especially, I DO NOT go for torture.
even bondage, is not really my bag.

IN>> something. It wasn’t real, until that final blow. Now seeing
IN>> the knife sticking in her belly, while she reeled from the deadly
IN>> blow, it finally got home to her. This wasn’t a game, and it was
IN>How do you reel from a blow when you are tied down?
IN>…

You’re right. It was her mind that reeled, not her body.

IN>> couldn’t. Any force over about two ounces, caused the blade to
IN>> vanish into the sheath. It was an amazingly effective illusion,
IN>> especially when combined with fake blood canisters, but not worth
IN>Doesn’t the blade vanish into the handle?

Right again!. My mind slipped.

IN>I hope these comments are of some value to you,
IN>and of course, they are all from a friendly source, and not meant to be
IN>barbed, even if they seem that way when viewed on a CRT.

BARBED???!!! Heck, those are FRIENDLY comments. I even welcome barbed ones,
if they show mistakes in what I was trying to get across.

IN>I hope to hear from you soon!

I’ll try to edit in these changes, and the others we discussed sometime this
week, and send you the final disk. I’ll also send along another story that’s
been sitting for almost a year, waiting to be completed, but neither Tammy or
I seem to want to finish it, so we wrapped it up, and left it where it ended.
It ends fairly nicely, but it was originally planned to be twice as long. If
we ever do finish it, it’ll have to be “Chapter 2″.

IN>I have seen all of the material I posted (finally)

I saw your second post, just the other day.

IN>and have sent out some stuff to folks who missed part 1 of 4, etc.

Thanks.

IN>I will be posting more from your first disk soon.

Could you send me another copy of the list of files I sent you?
I forgot which, and I don’t want to duplicate.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_

“Put this under there too. Its small, but I think he’ll like it.”

“What is it?” She asked, curious.

He chuckled. “It’s sort of a gag. It’s a snow globe. A Middle
Eastern snow globe. Filled with sand, a few lumps of coal and
some sticks for the arms.”

She smiled. “That is a gag. Which of course means, he’ll love
it.”

“And this is for you. I hope you like it.” he handed her a box.
Looking at him for permission to open it, he nodded.

She ripped off the paper, letting it fall to the floor. In her
hand was a jewelry box, intricately and carefully carved.

“I bought this when I was in Saudi. Out in one of the small
towns, and older man was selling these. They were made of olive
wood. Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” she said as she turned it in her hand, “A
work of art. Thank you sweetheart!” She placed it under the
tree then turned to him.

They curled up on the couch together, looking at the tree. He
told her about some of the things he’d seen, what he missed. She
curled up against him, just happy he was home, feeling the
warmth of his body against hers, until she too, dropped off.
****

Surrounded by tissue and Christmas paper at dawn, after
watching Michael open all his gifts, Sean stood up. “Sweetheart,
I need to go. I have another promise I need to keep.” She looked
up at him, seeing the determination in his face.

“You and your promises. It’s Christmas morning. Can’t it wait?”
she smiled at him, already aware of the answer.

“You know I wouldn’t leave if it could.” She stood up and
wrapped her arms around him once more.

“I love you.” She whispered into his ear before giving him a
kiss.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” And he stepped out the door. It
was bright morning, the snow glittered in the sunshine when she
heard a knock on the door.

“Maybe it’s one of Daddy’s friends.” She said, then called
out, “Just a minute.”

She opened the door and saw some sort of ranking officer
standing there, looking abashed.

“Sorry, ma’am to bother you on Christmas like this. May I come
in?”

“Certainly.” She stepped aside allowing him in.

“Is Sean in some sort of trouble? He shouldn’t've been here
last night, should’ve he?”

The man looked startled.

“Ma’am, is your husband Sean McConnell? Social Security number
554-67-9891?”

“Yeeeessss. What is this about…?”

“I’m sorry, I’m lieutenant Prentice. I’m sorry to do this, but
Sean was hit during a cleanup mission.”

She twittered in relief. “Oh, is that all?!” she laughed. “I
know. I saw the scar on his shoulder last night.”

The lieutenant grew pale.

“Mrs. McConnell, This was yesterday– in Iraq. He was shot by
a sniper in the left shoulder, in the back. They did everything
they could for him. I’m sorry.”

She looked at him in shock. This couldn’t be happening. Sean
was here!

Then she realized, he hadn’t said he’d be back this morning. In
her ecstasy in seeing him, she hadn’t noticed.

He wouldn’t be back.

“But, but…Lieutenant. Sean brought us gifts back. They’re
here. He was here.” She looked over her shoulder at the gifts
still sitting beneath the Christmas tree. “He promised to come
back!” she cried out, then stopped short. She fell to the
lieutenant’s shoulder, crying.

“He always kept his promises.”

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2003

If you’re too young to vote, go away. Otherwise, stick around
and enjoy yourself. For better or worse, the work is mine, so
please don’t snitch it. Comments are grovelled for. This WAS
going to be my secret santa story…but well, you’ll see why I
changed my mind.

She was too old to believe in Santa Claus.

At least that is what she kept telling herself. Ever feel like
you wish you could just step off the merry go around? The view
is always the same, some horse’s ass in front of you. Nothing
changes.

But then she found out she wasn’t on the Merry-go-round at all.
It was the rollercoaster; and at the moment, she was staring
down the track of a 300 foot drop.

He didn’t leave her much, not that it mattered since it all fit
in the 2 bedroom apartment. Some furniture and Michael. She
smiled. He was precocious for a 6 year old. It was probably the
last year he would believe in Santa, and she found that it made
her sad, sadder in fact than his father leaving them.

She looked at him, sleeping in Sean’s old recliner, curled up
in his Bob the Builder pajamas. He had an old baby blanket
wrapped around his legs, his mischievous eyes hidden behind
drooping eyelids.

“Will Santa bring Daddy’s presents?” he murmured sleepily.

She mentally sighed, cursing the circumstances that made him
need to ask.

“Of course, sweetheart. Santa knows Daddy is far away.”

The milk and cookies were placed strategically next to the
stocking hung on the fake mantel.

She turned off all the lights but the Christmas tree, and sat
on the couch. She missed him. Sean would have loved to help him
put out the reindeer food, as he had done since Michael was two,
when he promised to help him feed the reindeer. Sean always kept
his promises.

She pulled up the afghan around her legs and felt the tension
sing through her system.
I’m doing the best I can without you, Sean. She sniffled, and
finally gave in to a bout of self pity.
**************
She felt warm. Safe. Secure. She didn’t want to wake up, she
knew it had to be a dream. The last months had punctured any
feeling of security she had had. She felt the hand brush the
hair off her cheek, slide down her shoulder, her arm, her hip
and back up. A warm touch slipped inside the gap of her flannel
nightgown. Rough fingers caressed her breast and she turned into
touch, not wanting it to end. The hand moved, from one breast to
the other, as she felt the second hand tracing lines up her
thighs to her quickly moistening center.

“Sean,” she cried quietly when the fingers stoked her core.
Her body trembled with need, and a desire so strong, she thought
she was going insane imagining her husband was there.

It was then she awoke and opened her eyes. The hand on her
breast left and clasped over her mouth.

“Shhhh. You don’t want to wake Michael.” He smiled down at her.
Her eyes widened and she nodded. He removed his hand, only to
replace it with his lips.

He kissed her hungrily, desperately and she returned the
feelings. Her hands peeled off his tan camouflage shirt quickly.

“I hope you brought his Christmas gift. He thinks Santa is
going to drop it off for you.” She whispered cheekily, before
attacking the belt of his pants. “I don’t care how you are here.
I don’t even care if you’re a figment of my imagination anymore.
…End of the part1. To be continued..

_She was gone._

He shook his head — all their years together — a tear slowly wended its way down his
cheek, as he began to pack her things.

The blue dress she wore to their daughter Denise’s wedding. He remembered how happy
she was, how she felt in his arms as they danced around the room. The material was soft,
clingy, sensual; like her. It floated around them, reminding him of their own wedding
day, when her veil floated around them as he swept her in his arms. He sighed softly,
inhaling her lingering scent.

Maybe this was a bad idea. It was too soon, too raw a wound to clean out now. He
didn’t want to lose what he had left of her. He closed the half filled box and headed out
the door.

He found himself walking. Not quite aimlessly, but meandering nonetheless. He ended
up in the city park, a grand old place. He walked the avenue of ancient oaks that soared
above him in an arch. The squirrels tittered at his feet, playing some sort of squirrel
soccer with a nut. He smiled slightly, remembering how she would always throw them
the saltines she invariably kept in her oversized purse.

They met in this park, near the large central fountain. It was right after the war. He had
come home, feeling lucky but feeling so very tired. She made him want to celebrate, to
_Live_. Her dark sparkling eyes, always so full of fun. She used to chase him around the
fountain until he reversed gears and would catch her. She would rock in his arms,
slightly out of breath, her breasts against his chest, as she tiptoed up to sneak a kiss.

It was as he was wandering that he bumped into her; Sandy, Denise’s best friend.

“Mr. Allard, I’m so sorry. I heard. It was so sudden. She was too young. I’ll miss her”
She said empathetically, her hand on his arm. He was unsure whether it helped or made
him angry.

“Thank you,” he said forcing a slight smile. “It was quick; she didn’t suffer much.” _Kid,
what did she know?_ She fell into step with him.

“This place,” he shook his head, “it was so special. Did you know, Laura and I met here?
I proposed to her, at the fountain.” He chuckled slightly. “I was never so scared. I shook
so bad, I actually dropped the ring in the fountain.” Sandy smiled at him. “I could see
you doing that. I bet Mrs. Allard just laughed.”

He nodded, smiling in memory, “We both jumped in, running our hands around looking
for it. She was so wet….” His voice trailed off, realizing to whom he was speaking.

Sandy reached out for his hand, squeezing it. “It’s okay. It’s important to remember her
that way. I’m not exactly the little kid you remember,” she pointed out softly.

And to his chagrin he noticed her obvious warmth and personality. A body young enough
to remember its soft curves but old enough to understand them. _She had to be what?_ He
thought to himself idly, _29? Yes, must be since Denise was._ With dusk quickly
approaching, it had begun to rain softly and he observed her nipples harden as the cold
water soaked her thin peasant blouse before shaking himself out of his reverie.

Sandy smiled at him, softly, empathetically. She took the hand she held in hers, and
placed it over her breast. “It’s okay.” She murmured softly. His fingers trembled, first to
pull back, then to rest over her breast. _So soft._ He shivered in memory, remembering
when Laura had given him her virginity. A very private moment, one he didn’t list when
he explained why the park was so special. Laura felt so soft under his hands, his fingers
pleading as his mouth couldn’t do. And she gave, God, did she give.

They ran through the rain, ran into the hemlock stand. The thick branches gave them
cover from peering eyes and the falling rain. He leaned low and kissed her softly, putting
all his boiling emotion into it. His hand caressed her face, memorizing each detail, the
soft slope of her jaw, the curve of her neck.

She leaned into the kiss, pressing her firm breasts into him, her arms wrapped around his
neck, open and giving. She showed him with her body, reminded him he was alive. Her
leg went up to link into his. Their lips parted, their noses touching when suddenly they
lost their balance and she landed on top of him. They laughed out loud, and she rubbed
his bottom, making the minor pain glow into something more substantial. They rolled in
the soft loamy dirt and dried needles that made their temporary bed as satiny as expensive
sheets. They smelled the damp spring rain, as their heavy breaths curled over their heads.

He pressed into her, kissing her, but suddenly shy. _What next? Should I? Can I?_ So
tender of her, even now adoring her. Her hands told him though, pressing his shoulders so
his lips were within reach of her chest. His lips covered a chilled nipple through her thin
shirt, warming it with his tongue. Emboldened by her shifting sighs, he laved the
opposite one with the same attention. Her body writhed beneath his, her hips pressing up
to meet his.

“Please.”

It was only a whisper. He heard it though, rejoiced in it. She would be his. He continued
to trail down her soft stomach. Her skirt was bunched up, and he could see her exposed
thighs. He gently knelt between her legs, kissing the inside of her thighs. Her hands
reached for his hair, pulling him closer. He nuzzled at her core, feeling the dampness on
her panties that had nothing to do with the rain. Her hands reached down to help him,
peeling them downward, down with her stockings. He sighed at the sight of her. The
scent of aroused woman, spring rain and hemlock would always make him remember.

He flicked his tongue on the outer ridges, enjoying her moans and squirms. He breathed
in her scent before nuzzling her core. Her body silently shuddered in response, and he felt
her lips spasm quickly. So silent, so different from the girls he’d met in Europe. They
had to announce to the world. Her orgasm was silent, just for him. His tongue fluttered
over her clitoris, lengthening her joy, until she whimpered low and he felt her pull upon
him, pulling him down.

He knelt up, trembling, wanting everything to be right for her. He pressed his head
against her opening, rubbing it softly against her wetness, before pressing slowly into her.

His body was shaking with the amount of concentration to retain his control. Slowly he
pressed into her warmth. Never had it felt like this. So warm, so tight. He pressed in
fully, before sliding back out just as slowly. Her moan of desire stirred him, and he
pressed back in. Slowly he built up the tempo, until he got lost in her, lost all control.
And then with her soft sighs, he too had his release.

As he came down, he opened his eyes. Sandy was beneath him, smiling softly. He was
stunned, even a bit embarrassed. It seemed so real, but it wasn’t Laura. _Laura…my
Laura…She’s gone. _

He collapsed onto her waiting, soft body, and wept, Sandy’s arms wrapped around him.
**************************

To be followed shortly by a mirror story, “Return” from Sandy’s point of view.

Copyright Dryad 2002 (gbbjg@yahoo.com) http://www.asstr.org/~Dryad

It was the annual “Hen Roost” as her husband liked to call it. Her and her two good friends would go out for the night, drinking, carousing, and male bashing. Of course, it was easy to do when he used terms like that.

She ordered a coke to start with, wanting to be sharp for the beginning festivities. Betsy was the first one in. It figured, since she was closer, and not having any kids, she’d find it easier to escape.

“Betsy! Over here!” she called out.

“Deni!” Betsy rushed over and threw her arms around her friend, then proceeded to drop a large shopping bag and her coat to her seat.

“Holy shit, Den! How much weight did you lose?” Deni did a little pirouette.

“You like? Twenty five pounds; yoga, and power walking,” she replied as they both slid into the booth.

“So, where’s Ella?” Betsy flagged down a waitress.

“I imagine she’ll be here shortly. Her kids go to bed later than mine…and she has a lot further to travel. You spending the night here like last year?”

“Hell, yeah. Too fricken far to travel back tonight. Too bad you can’t stay. Ella said she probably will.”

“Actually, I am. Ethan arranged it!” Deni grinned.

“Woohoo! Oh! There’s Ella.” Betsy cried out. “Hey Ella!” Deni laughed at how half the bar looked over at them. Ella laughed too through her blush.

“I can’t believe you did that!” She dumped her belongings down and looked at her two friends. “So…What’d I miss?” She plopped down into the booth next to Betsy as the waitress came by.

“Hi ladies. Will you be starting a tab tonight?”

The women chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Lots of talking tonight!”

“Great then. What will we start with?”

“Husband bashing for the first course?” Deni grinned.

“Oooh. I’m up for some of that!” the waitress replied, “but I have to take your drink orders.”

“I’ll have a mudslide please,” Betsy chimed in.

“Sombero please…and the more Kahlua the better.” Was Ella’s addition.

“I swear, I’m gonna call you girls the Kahlua sisters. I’d like a Tequila Sunrise please?” Deni finished as the waitress smiled and left with their order.

“Let’s go through the pictures first, before we’re too sloshed to recognize who’s who.” Deni said while she pulled her bag up to the table, digging for her collection.

“Good idea. I didn’t bring many this year. You always bring enough for the two of us.” Betsy nudged Deni.

Ella sighed as she pulled hers out. “The girls got into the pictures just before I left…so they aren’t all here…” she shuffled through, “Here is Molly’s school pictures.” She smiled.

“Pig tails, Ella? God, that’s old-fashioned! Oh wait.” Deni chuckled, “Look at Lizzie’s school picture.”

They all laughed when they saw Lizzie had braided pigtails as well. “Probably the only time I did that all year too.”

“Oh, aren’t they darling!” Betsy commented.

Ella snorted. Deni shuffled through the pictures. “Really? Take a look at this one.”

Betsy gasped when she saw the same “darling” covered with… “What IS that?”

Deni laughed. “Oh, they decided to get into the cubby where I store all the holiday stuff? That was Easter egg dye. They thought they’d use it like makeup. You should have seen the floor when I found them.” She shook her head, “it took me ages, and there are still green stains on the floor.”

“THAT is why I don’t have children. Well, that and I can’t. But it’s why we never adopted. I have enough trouble cleaning up after the dogs.” She handed the picture to Ella.

She laughed, “I recognize that. Only mine was Christy getting into my makeup.”

Pulling another picture from the pile, Betsy asked, “Was this your vacation?”

Deni nodded. ” If you can call a weekend a vacation, yes. But it was nice. The weather was gorgeous. Couldn’t've asked for better.”

The waitress showed up with the drinks, taking a moment to laugh at Lizzie covered with egg dye. “Just holler when you need more, it looks like a long night!” She grinned as she moved away.

“Now for the proof of point pictures, ladies.” Ella flipped one on top of the pile. “Remember how I said the house looked? And neither of you would believe how bad it was?”

Betsy gulped and Deni laughed. “Looks like the girls’ rooms after a long, rainy weekend.”

“So, Bets, where’re your pictures?”

“Don’t have many…just one of the dogs, one of the new garden, and one of Daren when he got sunburned.” She shuffled through the pile and pulled out the pictures she mentioned.

…End of the part1. To be continued..

Dear friends and readers,
This is different from many of the stories you’ve seen me write. It is more or less true (names and places have been changed to protect …well, ME). I had my first real boyfriend when I was 14, and a sophomore in high school. I began my diary. Told it more than just my dating quandaries, but filled with all sorts of teenage angst and melodramatics. (and looking back, I could be incredibly melodramatic). The diary ended about a month before my wedding, so I guess you really could call this the Dating Diary.
Why post my pathetic diary? Easy. While I realize many of us write in fantasy, I’m tired of 14/16 year olds thinking like 30 year olds. Realism Folks! And what’s more real than an actual diary? In some respects the writing sucks. I have changed nothing but actual names. Thought about elaborating, but then, you’d get my near 30 year brain in places it doesn’t belong. This is what it is.
The basics, however, still apply. This is my work, (for better or worse) is copyrighted by me, and no posting without my prior permission. Celeste’s blow job principle is still in action guys. This may or may not include adult situations, so if you’re not allowed to watch a nc-17 movie, scram. All others enjoy (or not *shrug *).
*************************************************************************
Dating Diary 1989 Part 1
By Dryad

Dear Diary, 1/2/89
Happy New Year! 12/30 I went to a party at Lianne’s house. I talked with Josh some and played pictionary. Then freeze tag (joke; it was freezing out!) with Amanda, Beth, Mike, Seth and me. I talked with Seth for a while. Then Mike dumped men’s cologne down my neck…and it burned my skin! I had fun anyway.

Linc hired someone new. Her name is Dianne Chandler. Mom use to know her. She’s really interested in Palms, Zodiac, and thinks like that-cool!. I really must go to bed now. I finished the first chapter in my book. I’m not going to do my report for Foreign Policy-I’m going to drop it if I can. If not, I’ll fail it. It’s not an important class anyway. G’night!

Dear Diary, 1/8/89
Today is Sunday. I went to work today and yesterday. Not much is going on. I’m trying out for the play tomorrow. (wish me luck!) I’m going to fail FP. Its all right though. I didn’t want to (well, I WANTED to, I just didn’t care) because I’m not handing in my report. [Dryad note: this class was mostly seniors; and the teacher in his infinite wisdom wanted a 15 page paper, when all the other semester long social science classes were asking for 3-5 page papers. Retreat was the better part of valour] So unless I drop out well, ..

I read the Scarlet Letter- I got a 10 out of 10 (I think) on my test. Tuesday’s a half-day, so I’m working. I haven’t done anymore on my story. If I make auditions-call-backs are on Wednesday. In French-the teacher told us there’s a trip to Quebec and we would stay with host families. I’m trying to talk my parents into it-hah! I’ll never see Quebec! It’s $350. Now Mom and dad say I might not be able to get my car-because they don’t want it added to their insurance. “I have to be 18 to have my own”. Says their insurance company. I’m tired. Night!

Dear Diary, 1/16/89
Well, I finally did convince my parents, but decided not to go. $350 is a lot of money. Anyway, I got called back Wed, but I didn’t make it. I’m surprised, because I was told I did a good job- by many people-oh well! I still have my period- what a pain.

I got a letter from Alicia today. It was neat. My life is dead-boring, that is, I need a vacation-mom laid into dad about not taking a vacation for 4 years! What a bummer. Gotta go!

Dear Diary, 1/20/89
Life is okay. I got a 70 on my English exam. Then, I got an 80 for the marking period. So I got a 78 for the semester. A big doozy though, I got a 17 out of 70 on my algebra test. Booo! I’m getting a 64 in that class.

Anyway, I now have $1052.46 in the bank. Yay! I’m proud of myself. I went shopping and bought a magenta cardigan sweater, a pink 10 button shirt, and 2 bathing suits. (and some earrings) One bathing suit is all black with a black and turquoise twisted belt. It comes up on the hip cut out on the back and has a crisscross shape in the front. So it is low cut. The other is higher cut on the hip, and straight on the top. The sides are cut out and the back is the same. It is green and gold. About an inch in the front and 3 in the back along the bottom seam is plain black. The earrings are gold and look like filigree. Lianne was surprised at the prices (the bathing suits I got on clearance for $5 each. And she paid $36 for one of hers!) I better go to bed now, I have to go to work to pay for all this in the morning!

Dear Diary, 1/29/89
It is Sunday. My exams were so-so. I got a 93 on my CPR exam.; an 82 on my chemistry. I don’t know what I got on my French, and I got a 57 on my Algebra. Boohoo. I skipped my foreign policy exam.

I nearly got sick in work yesterday, so my check will be tiny. (I only worked 2 3/4 hrs) I came home and slept. (and slept and slept). Got some new clothes on Monday, a pair of lime green gypsy pants and a peach print button shirt. I cleaned out my clothes (it’s about time) I got 2 large garbage bags of clothes to get rid of!

Lianne and I had a long talk on the phone; an hour. I did some cross stitch; a dove. It came out okay. Psychology is going to be interesting. I watched this new show called “dolphin cove”. It takes the place of “high mountain rangers”. But it’s still a decent show.

I am trying to become a better part of society. ( I would say better myself, but to a certain extent, I was happy with myself, just not with what everyone thought of me.) new clothes, new personality, (to an extent)

Josh is starting to bother me. He hurt me. They made up this word in English class; my name and “gross”. I wanted to calmly stand up, walk over to his seat, slap him in the face and coolly walk out. And if he brings that word up again, I will (leave that is). I don’t know if I could, but my dignity can only stand so much. Maybe instead I stand up and tell everyone who is laughing that if they can only get their laughs from other peoples expense, then they have no feelings and that it’s would be a wonder that they world is around if people like them ruled the world. THEN walk out. I’m tired of making up arguments with people who aren’t there. G’night.

Dear Diary, 1/31/89
Today I sent out my income tax paper. I am soooo sore from aerobics yesterday; OUCH! I had a French quiz, which I think I did okay on. I am starting to copy over my English notebook which is turning out as an enormous task. (I’m up to the 3rd part out of 8 and they are the easiest. Oh, well. I’ll get it caught up by the end of February. I hope. Oh, well, not much else, goodnight.

Dear Diary, 2/15/89
I’m so sorry I haven’t written in so long. I have sent Alicia a letter. I got an 80 in English, and 82 in Chemistry, and 88 (?) in CPR, a 70 in Gym (he gives 70’s to everyone.) a 74 in French, (raised my grade 12 points!) Algebra a 64, and I failed foreign policy, of course.

We have a student teacher in French. She’s really sweet. I have started to work on the party scene of the Competition! [Dryad note: our area held play competitions between schools; this particular year, we did "Desire Under the Elms" by Eugene o' Neil] Also, I have been assigned, (yippee!) to property mistress! (Double yippee!) for “12 Angry Women” which I hear isn’t going to well. (Oh, well)

Oh, yes! We have a new employee at Linc’s! Gorgeous 17-year-old Mark and he is THE most conceited arrogant, pompous ass you have ever met! He says a woman’s place is in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant, a woman is the same thing as a slave and he said 15 year olds are babies. AUGH! Asked if he thought he was God’s gift to women…he answered. “No, I know I am.” Male chauvinist pig! Now he calls me “diapers” He said he’s going to give me a box of pampers wrapped in a ribbon. I told Cole and he said I should have answered him, “Why are you expecting to get me pregnant?” What a fantastic comeback!

I told Mark I don’t get mad, I get even. Now, his most precious thing (next to himself of course) is his car. He told me if I touch it he’d break my face; ah well, it’d be worth it. I could sue for any serious damage. So far here’s the list I have
· Disconnect the battery cables
· Write on his windshield with lipstick
· Let the air out of his tires
· Turn his lights on when he gets to work (it would kill the battery)
· Put sugar in his gas tank
· Lock his keys in his car
· Put rocks in his gas tank
· Put a potato in his exhaust
· Toilet paper it, then wet it down
· Rewire his starter [dryad note: yes, I can do that!]
· Take off the distributor cap
· Put peanut butter on the fan belts
· Put water in the gas tank
· Put shaving cream on his locks
· Make him “lose” his keys.

No permanent damage though, so that leaves out a few. Not bad. Gotta do homework now.
P.S. Chris worships Mark-Disgusting!

[Dryad note: Part 2 Should be more interesting!]

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2003

Why post my pathetic diary? Easy. While I realize many of us
write in fantasy, I’m tired of 14/16 year olds thinking like 30
year olds. Realism Folks! And what’s more real than an actual
diary? In some respects the writing sucks. I have changed
nothing but actual names. Thought about elaborating, but then,
you’d get my near 30 year brain in places it doesn’t belong.
This is what it is.
The basics, however, still apply. This is my work, (for better
or worse) is copyrighted by me, and no posting without my prior
permission. Celeste’s blow job principle is still in action
guys. This may or may not include adult situations, so if you’re
not allowed to watch a nc-17 movie, scram. All other enjoy (or
not *shrug *).
**************************************************************
Dating Diary 1988 part 3
By Dryad

Dear Diary, 12/5/88
Mom called my doctor, and he wants me to go to a gynecologist.
My luck-there’s no female gynecologists!
Players is starting a Christmas game. Its called Secret Santa.
For the week of the 12-16th you give the person a present each
day-you receive one too, from a different person. After school
Friday, there’s a meeting. Each person who was in it guesses who
his/her secret santa is-if you’re wrong, you make an idiot of
yourself; but nothing happens if you are right.
So far only 3 people have signed up for it. I figure this out
to help narrow it down a little (yes, I joined into doing it!)

Dear Diary, 12/13/88
I’m sorry I’ve neglected you but, well, you know how it is.
Today has been a day of ups and downs. First, I know I failed my
English test (vocab and myth) and I got an 88 on my Grammar
test! Then in chemistry, the teacher only gave us the problem
part of the test, which was a snap. Then I got a warning in
Algebra. I didn’t even get my gift from secret santa (yesterday
I got a little thing of lip gloss-children’s lipgloss!) I’ll get
back to that later.
On the bus on the way home, Jason smacked me on the forehead
once and hide in the seat so I didn’t see him, then he’d do it
again. I always believed 3 strikes and your out, so I got up out
of my seat; He turned around and went to go in the back and I
grabbed a handful of hair and pulled back-hard. We got into a
scuffle which I got the better of. That was pretty cowardly-
hitting from the back then hitting a girl? Most ungentlemanly
like. That could be taken as a good or a bad. I now reinforced
that I’m not to be reckoned with and made Jason look like a
fool, so he’ll probably want revenge. Mom found out and said I
should have told the bus driver-I was in the second seat, and
the bus driver saw!
I told mom he started it, he did it more than once, and I got
sick of it, and I’d be damned if he was gonna hit me again! So
much for my fight, he doesn’t deserve the ink I’m writing with.
I am being mean to Sandra, my secret santa person. I created a
riddle to help her guess who I am. Monday I gave her a candy
cane wreath. Today I gave her a pin that said “of course God
made man first–As a rough draft!” She thinks women are superior
to men. I’ve gotta go now, its past my bedtime.

Dear Diary, 12/25/88
Its Christmas! I have gotten a color TV (!) a skirt from Sasha,
3 pairs of socks from Lianne, powder and a Sachet from Chan, I
got perfume, a mini piano, bubble bath from my secret Santa (who
turned out to be Lindsey) sheets and a unicorn blanket from Mr.
and Mrs. Castle, a book about winter gardening and a sachet
holder from Kim and Al. A shirt and a purse from Aunt Edith and
Uncle Maurice. Perfume and pantyhose from Grandma. The last 3
books to Anne of Green Gables from mom and dad. A scientific
calculator and a Reba tape from Katie; more socks, 3 essential
oils (strawberry, violet and rose) a Bellamy Bros. Tape (which I
already had) Peanuts, Macadamia nuts a whole set of different
colored pens. My TV is really great. It has push buttons and is
a 13″. This is just this morning, though we still have this
afternoon. Katie got a synthesizer for her big xmas present.
Actually, its pretty neat-it plays things like fireworks,
popcorn, iceblocks.

Dear Diary, 12/29/88
Its Thursday. The week is going by so fast-I am starting to
write a new book-between Rainbow Valley and Rilla of Ingleside.
I am trying something new; I write a chapter, correct it until I
feel it’s perfect, then go on to the next chapter. I got a raise
in work. I bought Reba’s new tape-sounds pretty good. Paid mom
back and put the money in the bank.-my next check I pay mom for
the tape put half in the bank, school clothes and “Further
Chronicles of Avonlea”. I got that stupid rash back (Yuck!)
I talked with Josh today at the music store. He introduced me
to his father. (saying about Aunt Laura, since his mom went to
school with her-which reminds me, I still have to send a thank
you letter…oh shoot!)
I now have $936 (or something to that extent) in the bank. Or
was it $948? I don’t know and I’m too lazy to look it up! “Rilla
of Ingleside” was soooooo extremely pathetic! Walter gets killed
in the First WW. Jem comes back with a limp, Carl (Meredith)
lost an eye. Rill at first was a spoiled brat, but then she
“adopts a war baby”. The mother had died and she became a much
better person for it. (let me tell you!) Diary, its too bad you
can’t read, this is like the best book I have ever read (and I
have read more books than anyone could imagine!) All my plants
are dying-yes, I’m a murderess-I never could keep a plant alive
in my room-except that stupid cactus which always comes back! I
really must go to bed now!

To be Continued
in
Dating Diaries, 1989

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2003

Work in Progress

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2003

Dryad
******************************************************************************

“Oh, God, I’m horny!” she thought to herself. She began looking through the chat room for
fresh meat. This one was too far away, this one wanted a submissive…She started humming an
old song, “Where have all the good men gone…” she giggled to herself. She teased this one,
cajoled that one, was frankly a little cyber cock tease, hoping to entice someone within her
range.

She knew what she wanted. A hunger this deep was not going to be quenched with a single man,
no matter how incredible he was. She felt herself crawling her mental walls, shrieking in
need. “For all the supposedly horny men in here, you’d think I could find a few that wanted
a good time!” She felt herself getting even wetter, and knew she’d have to clean her chair
once more after she got offline. She squirmed, finding a few friends interested, but timing
just wasn’t there. She moaned audibly, looking for some sort of relief beyond her humming toy.

“Where do you live? How old are you? Are you married? What do you like?”
She felt like she was interviewing for a position; then she smirked to herself, in reality
she was, her ass, her mouth or her pussy.

She got quite a gang going, even others looking for her, wanting a full report of the
activities in repayment. She made dates with a few, setting up one for that evening that
might lead to something more group oriented another night. With time and a public meeting
place, (She was horny not stupid) she got offline.

She squirmed. After all, she didn’t know these men. She wanted to dress sexy, accessible,
but not so sexy or accessible as to invite danger if the man wasn’t all he was cracked up
to be. She wore a just above the knee miniskirt, one she often wore to work. No nylons,
they’d get in the way, and she hadn’t worn underwear unless necessary for a number of
years now. She wore a soft sweater, one that would tease her skin, and possibly their
hands. No makeup, so perfume, so careful to think of their positions, as some were married,
and who wanted to get snagged on a simple thing like a perfume? She pulled her long coat
over her outfit, fluffed her long hair, grabbed her keys, and headed out the door.

The first meeting. They were to meet at a local college. She was there a few minutes
early, between anticipation and location; it was much closer to her. She sat outside,
waiting to see who came up to her. Students milled around her, some catching rides
from friends and parents. She looked at the time, realizing he was late. If it was one
thing she couldn’t stand, it was someone who was late. But, to be fair, perhaps he had
a problem finding it, or traffic, or parking. So she waited.

A half hour after the designated time, she got up and drove the short distance home.
His loss. While she was still violently horny, and getting hornier by the second, she had
to laugh at her new lesson…some men were all talk, and couldn’t follow up.

“God, I need something…and its not getting any better!” She gets back online, and starts
over, picking up where she leaves off. One who had spoken of meeting, but had been too
late, catching her after the other. Nothing really stood out about him; he was another
in a sea of human sexuality. But he was close, really close. Her mind went offline, and
her libido took over, asking him to meet her at a McDonalds.

She shivered in anticipation, unable to keep her fingers out of her pussy on the way there.
It felt so decadent, so crazy to meet a total stranger for sex. She pulled up, looking for
a blue foreign car. She was a few minutes early, but he was closer to the place than she was.
She saw one, but saw two men in it. It wasn’t exactly the model she’d been told, but she’d
never been good at cars. Perhaps seeing how she was playing online had made him bring a
friend. She saw them look at her, and wondered why they didn’t come over. They looked
uncouth, scraggly. She shuddered for a moment, wondering what she’d gotten into. When
they didn’t come over, she got out of her car, and walked up to theirs.

“Are you here to meet someone?”

“Yes, we are.” The one in the driver seat replied.

“Do you mind if I ask who?” she was still hoping.

“Oh, just his brother.” He jerked a finger at his passenger and he smiled with his tobacco
stained teeth. “You have a blind date?”

“Yeah, is it that obvious?” she smiled, being polite, too relieved to mind anymore.

…End of the part1. To be continued..

I’ll be waiting with “baited breath”, like the cat who ate cheese, and sat by
the mousehole.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_

P.S. Do you mind if I save this letter, except for your name, and use it
and my response to answer any future flames/criticism? It helps not
to have to do it twice.
P.P.S. I got the scanner, and recovered part-2. Story follows this post.
PLEASE don't get squicked, until you've finished the whole story.
THEN feel free to let me have it with both barrels. ;-}

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

IN> Frank,

IN>1. Using my last letter to respond to other critics, some
IN>probably not as friendly. I re-read the letter, and it is fine, except
IN>for my personal identity, which you should please safeguard totally, and
IN>the first paragraph. The first paragraph is not only irrelevant to the
IN>story, but also is pretty identifiable as written by me. To those who
IN>know me, that may be true of the whole thing, but they would not be able
IN>to prove anything, so go ahead.

I’ll remove the first paragraph, and anything else that points to you.

IN>2. Have not yet had time to go over “BfF I” in the detail I
IN>promised, to send you the minor typos, etc. Hope to do so today,
IN>if not, tomorrow.

I’ll wait on both stories for your criticism.

IN>3. “Bound for Fun II” – the blistering literary criticism! ;=}

IN>Anyway, I liked “BfF II” It certainly
IN>did not squick me. It dealt well with the trust issues, and the whole
IN>fascination with violence and torture as “fun” when in the real world
IN> 1) they actually go on, and
IN> 2) they are __NO fun.

Amen.

IN>Now, the literary hard part for me, is that I must tell you that you
IN>did not pull the wool over the reader’s eyes. This reader, at least.
IN>Jones is clearly too careful of Lynn’s feelings, her peripheral
IN>circulation, etc. etc. for him to actually be planning to kill her
IN>This plot reminds me of the movie “The Sting” I thought that
IN>was a fantastic movie, because it was all about a sting operation, and
IN>audience member thinks he is in on it, but in the end, gets totally
IN>taken in himself, and actually gasps when it appears that one of the good
IN>guys kills the other. Again, at least this viewer.

IN>I do not read a lot of the NC stories, except the Parker works,
IN>and so I am not too good at telling you what a NC perpetrator must “think
IN>like” in a story, but one thing is that he must be totally
IN>uncaring about the victim, except regarding leaving clues.
IN>Clues don’t really have to do with
IN>the victim, just protecting himself, but at least that as close as he gets
IN>to giving a damn about the victim. Jones is way too careful.
IN>He is also clearly too nice a guy. I really don’t know
IN>how to remedy this from the dramatic
IN>viewpoint in the story. That he is careful is okay,
IN> but that he is careful of the girl’s
IN>feelings and comfort is not. I don’t know how to get across his care,
IN>and maybe carefully and intentionally mislead the innocent reader, with
IN>statements
IN>that when read quickly look like the self-centered detail worries of a
IN>schmuck trying to cover the clues, but on rereading after the surprise
IN>ending actually may be interpreted to see that he was looking out for
IN>her all along. A difficult task,
IN>but the only way I can see to get the desired effect and leave it in 1st
IN>person.

The idea was never to pull the wool over the reader’s eyes. The Idea was
to see if you could convince the reader that “Joe” was good enough and
convincing enough to pull the wool over Lynn’s eyes. Since you don’t point
…End of the part3. To be continued..

As I said, the Palace is a good place for orgies. I’ll skip the require-
ments for getting in, except to say that you need a clean test report from your
doctor, dated within a week.
This Saturday, my wife and I had gone to the Palace, after getting young
Lisa to babysit our 18 month old. We had arrived earlier in the evening, and
now I was heading towards the bar in the second lounge. I needed a break as
much as a glass of OJ. I’d just come in from the pool, after helping a man
fuck his wife. She’d wanted a fuck-sandwich, so I pumped her pussy while he
filled her butt. She was a very sweet gal named Diane, and we’d all enjoyed
it. My wife was off somewhere, getting her thrills, which we’d share later
tonight after we returned home. The OJ was good, and I watched the show on
stage. A pair of girls were 69′ing each other while two guys pumped them.
These were not pros, but average guests, showing off for the crowd. People were
clapping and making approving noises as the foursome switched around into a
variety of positions. The men announced their orgasms and came inside their
ladies, and the girls continued to lick and suck each other’s pussies for a
while. The men sat back and watched. When they were done, the foursome stood
and held hands, bowing to the audience. They were glistening with sweat from
the hot lights, and their exertions. The girls’ faces were shiny with love
juices, making their smiles even sexier.
I was going to wander into the back, near the group rooms, to see if I
could find someone I knew, or someone new. As I passed a naked young lady who
was sitting on a sofa in the lounge, she put her hand on my thigh and stopped
me. Without a word she took my semi-hard cock in her mouth and began to suck
it. Sitting next to her was her husband, fucking a big-titted woman of about
forty. The gal sucking my cock was rubbing the older woman’s clit as she and
her husband fucked. On stage, several people were setting up for another show.
All around us, people were entering, leaving, or talking. Some were slowly
masturbating themselves or their partners. At one table, a woman was stroking
her partner’s cock under the table, while fingering the pussy to her right,
and carrying on a conversation with a woman across from her.
The gal sucking me was doing a great job, obviously having her fun with
my shaft. She would suck it down her throat, then lick the underside and even
lick my balls. She slid up the shaft and held the head in her mouth, swirling
her tounge around it and flicking the sensitive head and area just below. Then
down her throat again. She did this with unabashed enthusiasm, as if to show
me that she really loved to suck cock.
On stage, a lovely young redhead came out and sat down on a thick carpet,
spreading her legs to the audience. She began to masturbate, and after a few
moments, five men walked on stage and stood around her. The men began to
masturbate, offering her their cocks one at a time. The redhead liked to suck
too, and she took a huge cock down to the base, making the audience applaud
quietly.
The gal sucking me had me aroused and near orgasm, and watching the stage
show, I felt a surging deep inside. I looked down and the gal was sloppily
licking my shaft with her tounge, and rubbing it all over her face. She sucked
the head and then looked up at me, mouthing the words “come in my face”. I
couldn’t hold back. She had the head in her mouth, just as my sperm gushed out
…End of the part1. To be continued..

So how would you construct a sevensome, (septet?), Eleanor?

By the way, are you aware of the implications of writing Hmmmmmm on
this board?

Higgs …. Peter

26-May-86 19:08:26

Dear Smug Elly-
Actually, I WAS thinking of two men and one women.
It takes 2 men to cope with a woman, you see. they can lend each
other the emotional support that is needed so much when dealing with
you female types.
Peanut Butter huggs
Harley

26-May-86 21:52:29

shade baby blue eyes>

Oh!

Just *emotional* support?

Oreo Hugggs,
Eleanor

Dear Peter,

I’m pretty much unaware of the implications of everything.

A septet? Depends on who wants the septet, I think. If *I* were going
to have a septet, it would have to be six men and me. Does that sound
a bit greedy? Anyway, they would be my age or older (40+) and they
would all madly adore me. And then…..and then…..

Hey Peter. In Tibet they have polyandry! A woman often marries all of
the brothers in a family. Sound great to me. One to earn a good
living; one to do the yard work; one to keep house; one to take care of
the kids; one to run errands; and one to do the bookwork. Wow! *I*
would have to spend those days reading or strolling in the well-kept
garden.

You may not hear from me for a while. I’m checking OAG for flights to
Lhasa!

Huggggs,
Eleanor

Oh Don’t go, Eleanor! If you leave us all seven of us will miss you
terribly!

Huggs..Peter

Gosh Peter!!!!!

You left out one tiny detail —————————->

DETAIL——–> WHICH SEVEN ???????

Hug, hug, hug, hug, hug, hug, hug!
Eleanor

28-May-86 00:16:59

Me, Me, Me, Me, Me, Me and Me

Higgs from all of us …. Peter

28-May-86 15:47:14

Actually, Elly dear, two men are needed so that one can hold the
member of the gentle gender down so the other can do something other
than screw for abit.
with milk, (chocolate, of course)
Harley t/

My experience with ‘groups’ was always with small ones; two girls and
me, or two girls and two guys. Generally sex occurred in pairs with an
occasional real threesome. It would seem to me that for larger real
GROUP sex in every sense of the term, some tendency towards bisexuality
becomes a prerequisite. I guess I haven’t got those tendencies. For me
to have sex with another male even in the room, I have to know him
pretty well!
w.w.

Dear William

I agree. I’d have a problem in having to deal with other males in a
group sex situation. Perhaps my group sex fantasies are really harem
fantasies – other men just don’t come into them!

Peter

oooh! oooh! oooh! oooh! oooh! oooh! oooh!

Gosh, Peter. I didn’t know you did windows, too!

Hugggs X 7 !
Eleanor

< b l u s h >

Hugggs,
Eleanor

ROGER

CONTACT WITH THE OTHER MEN WAS LIMITED IN MOST INSTANCES TO NON-SEXUAL
MASSAGE THE FEMALES INVOLVED WERE ADEQUATE TO DEAL WITH THE SEXUAL ASPECTS

Jill held up one of my favorite albums and I nodded. Pete held up
another and we all agreed that we liked Chris’s taste in music. Chris
returned, and she was wearing sweat pants and an exercise top that left
her flat stomach bare. Chris put on some music and said she’d fix some
snacks. As she left the room, she turned down the dimmer on the lights.
Jill and Pete were slow dancing in front of the fireplace, and I turned
to Jeff. We kissed again, and both of us felt the heat burning in the
other. We kissed and kissed for a long time, his hands and tongue
making me so hot that I was sure my pants were visibly wet. Chis made a
loud noise in the kitchen breaking up some ice, and we parted our kiss,
looking at Jill and Pete. They were locked in a deep kiss like we had
been, with Pete’s hands on Jill’s ass, pulling her against him. Jill
was also trying to wrap herself around Pete, her hands on the back of
his head. Chris announced the snacks were ready, and Pete disentangled
from Jill to help her bring out the food and some drinks. She sat down,
and started telling some jokes that she’d heard, most of them a bit
raunchy. Jeff mentioned that Chris had a hidden talent, and she blushed
and gave him a “not again” look. Jeff badgered Chris into showing us.
She took the stem from the cherry in my coke, and popped it in her
mouth. A few seconds later, it came out with the stem nicely knotted in
the middle. Jill and I both tried it (Chris said it was pretty simple),
and we couldn’t do it.

Pete made a rude suggestion, something about trying it with a larger
object, and we all laughed. “Speaking of larger objects Pete…” Chris
said, making her stare obvious. Pete wasn’t displaying much of a bulge,
but Chris’s eyes said there was some very decent “equipment” there.
“Are you going to show it off?” Pete blushed a bit, and I’m sure Jill
felt her pussy moisten as I did. We all urged him to show us (it must
have been the liquor from earlier), and he finally said okay. Pete
stood up, and Chris dimmed the lights dramatically. Pete unzipped about
half way, and Jill suddenly leaned forward, taking over the job. Jill
did a good job of erotically lowering his zipper, and rubbing her hand
over his crotch. I could see his bulge forming against his shorts.
Jill was going to reach in through his zipper, but Pete put her hands on
his belt. Jill pulled it loose, moving her face close to his manhood.
Jill’s hands slid his pants down to the floor, and we could see a huge
bulge in his jockey shorts. Slowly Jill pulled them down, and when his
dick sprang free, I could hear Jill’s gasp over mine.

Pete had a huge prick, and the head was perfectly circumcised. Jill
stared at it, watching it grow even more. I could see her tremble as
she put her hand around it and lifted it, then ran her tongue down the
underside of it. Pete sighed loudly. “Oh God! I’m in heaven!” Jill
said. She kept kissing and licking it, and Pete wasn’t going to stop
her. “Eleven and three-quarters inches.” Chris said. “I measured it
the first time I saw it.” She added proudly. I looked down at Jeff’s
crotch and saw his bulge. No one had to tell me, so I unfastened his
pants and took him out of his shorts. No monster like Pete had, but one
of the most beautiful cocks I’d ever seen! Jeff was about seven inches
long, and just the right diameter. I leaned over and licked the drop of
his semen that dribbled from the tip. Then I just had to have him in my
mouth. I liked his warm, rubbery head, and then started sucking him
into my eager mouth. Jeff moaned softly and I felt his hips rise. His
dick was warm and firm and just the right size. After several long
strokes on him, I then remembered that Chris was watching. I looked up
at her and wow!! Chris was sitting back, one hand down her sweat pants,
frigging herself while she watched us. Her other hand had pushed her
top up, showing us her large nippled breasts and she pinched a nipple in
her fingers. I looked over at Jill, and Pete was undressing her, she
was down to her bra and panties. “What the hell” I thought, and I
pulled Jeff’s pants off, and then his shirt. He undressed me carefully,
kissing my breasts as he pulled off my blouse. The low lights, the
alcohol, and the gentle way everyone moved had an effect, and we were
all soon naked in the living room.

All but Chris. She just sat and watched us, and her being dressed
excited me even more. Jeff slid down to the floor and began licking my
pussy. He knew his way around a pussy, his tongue finding my sensitive
places and making me crazy with the way he teased me higher and higher.
Jill went straight for Pete’s dick, and I watched. Pete sat on the love
seat (appropriate no?), with Jill sitting down facing him. I watched,
and Jill slowly tried to stuff his meat in her tight pussy, taking him
an inch at a time. Her soft, white round ass spread over Pete’s lap,
…End of the part3. To be continued..

I’ll be waiting with “baited breath”, like the cat who ate cheese, and sat by
the mousehole.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_

P.S. Do you mind if I save this letter, except for your name, and use it
and my response to answer any future flames/criticism? It helps not
to have to do it twice.
P.P.S. I got the scanner, and recovered part-2. Story follows this post.
PLEASE don't get squicked, until you've finished the whole story.
THEN feel free to let me have it with both barrels. ;-}

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

IN> Frank,

IN>1. Using my last letter to respond to other critics, some
IN>probably not as friendly. I re-read the letter, and it is fine, except
IN>for my personal identity, which you should please safeguard totally, and
IN>the first paragraph. The first paragraph is not only irrelevant to the
IN>story, but also is pretty identifiable as written by me. To those who
IN>know me, that may be true of the whole thing, but they would not be able
IN>to prove anything, so go ahead.

I’ll remove the first paragraph, and anything else that points to you.

IN>2. Have not yet had time to go over “BfF I” in the detail I
IN>promised, to send you the minor typos, etc. Hope to do so today,
IN>if not, tomorrow.

I’ll wait on both stories for your criticism.

IN>3. “Bound for Fun II” – the blistering literary criticism! ;=}

IN>Anyway, I liked “BfF II” It certainly
IN>did not squick me. It dealt well with the trust issues, and the whole
IN>fascination with violence and torture as “fun” when in the real world
IN> 1) they actually go on, and
IN> 2) they are __NO fun.

Amen.

IN>Now, the literary hard part for me, is that I must tell you that you
IN>did not pull the wool over the reader’s eyes. This reader, at least.
IN>Jones is clearly too careful of Lynn’s feelings, her peripheral
IN>circulation, etc. etc. for him to actually be planning to kill her
IN>This plot reminds me of the movie “The Sting” I thought that
IN>was a fantastic movie, because it was all about a sting operation, and
IN>audience member thinks he is in on it, but in the end, gets totally
IN>taken in himself, and actually gasps when it appears that one of the good
IN>guys kills the other. Again, at least this viewer.

IN>I do not read a lot of the NC stories, except the Parker works,
IN>and so I am not too good at telling you what a NC perpetrator must “think
IN>like” in a story, but one thing is that he must be totally
IN>uncaring about the victim, except regarding leaving clues.
IN>Clues don’t really have to do with
IN>the victim, just protecting himself, but at least that as close as he gets
IN>to giving a damn about the victim. Jones is way too careful.
IN>He is also clearly too nice a guy. I really don’t know
IN>how to remedy this from the dramatic
IN>viewpoint in the story. That he is careful is okay,
IN> but that he is careful of the girl’s
IN>feelings and comfort is not. I don’t know how to get across his care,
IN>and maybe carefully and intentionally mislead the innocent reader, with
IN>statements
IN>that when read quickly look like the self-centered detail worries of a
IN>schmuck trying to cover the clues, but on rereading after the surprise
IN>ending actually may be interpreted to see that he was looking out for
IN>her all along. A difficult task,
IN>but the only way I can see to get the desired effect and leave it in 1st
IN>person.

The idea was never to pull the wool over the reader’s eyes. The Idea was
to see if you could convince the reader that “Joe” was good enough and
convincing enough to pull the wool over Lynn’s eyes. Since you don’t point
…End of the part3. To be continued..

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