The 22 Year Old Virgin


Twenty-two.  Not 40.  But had I not intervened, he may have waited until he was forty.  I did my duty and rescued him from such a fate.

It was unseasonably cold that winter.  We’d actually had a smattering of snow, which is unusual in the deep South.  The roads were icy and I was sequestered at home…with my parents.  So the weekend after the winter storm, I was more than ready to get out and heat things up a bit.  My cousin invited me to visit him for a decadent weekend.  He was in his junior year of college at the University of South Carolina and there was always a party going on.  He had a wide variety of friends.  Men/women, gay/straight/bi, wild as hell and super nerdy.  He was a social butterfly who enjoyed them all.

I loved visiting him.  He always had a plan, an agenda, of what we would do for fun.  He was a small town boy with big city tastes.  He loved to live on the edge.  And I walked that ledge on the edge with him.  We started the weekend by going to a few parties on campus.  We both had a good time, but it wasn’t at the level of our typical shenanigans.  We were infamous for doing some crazy shit, like tip-toeing out of someone’s bedroom before their lover got home.  In fact, he was the same cousin who had taken my to the beach, where I had my first three-way.  Our stories were scandalous and I was slightly disappointed that the weekend began so tame.

Saturday was full of shopping, noshing on eclectic food and drinking.  I spent a copious amount of money on a sexy black cashmere sweater.  It was the perfect color for my milky complexion and I wore it with a micro-mini Pucci-print miniskirt and black thigh-high boots.  I was fierce.  We went to a few 18+ nightclubs, but nothing kept our attention.  It looked like the night was a wash, when we happened upon a party on the Horseshoe.  My cousin recognized one of his classmates, Tom.

Tom was a finance major, who was graduating that year and planned to continue on and get his MBA.  He wanted to intern with Barclay’s in London and eventually open his own consulting firm.  The man was smart, articulate and incredibly sexy.  Tall.  Dark.  Handsome. (And his feet were HUGE..just sayin’).  But he was a nerdy mess when it came to chatting up a girl. He could talk about the world of finance and currency exchanges, but flirty banter made him a blubbering mess.

And that’s when my agenda changed.  I had to have him. I was attracted to Tom in a different way.  He had this charm and innocence about him.  He was successful and if I am being real with you guys…he was a Kennedy.  Not related to the royals, but he had an air of aristocracy that made him seem like he was one of them.  I could tell there was a bad boy lurking  beneath the surface.  And it was my duty as an American citizen to find that beast and bring it out…you know the whole, “not what your country can do for you, but what YOU can “do” for your country” thing.  I took that seriously.

I sat next to him at the party and engaged him in conversation about European currency.  This was before the Euro and he had a vast knowledge on the subject.  My knowledge was basic, but enough to impress him that I had an interest (he seemed to pick up that I had a little bit of nerd lurking beneath my bad girl persona).  We talked for hours.  He was starting to become comfortable and sat a bit closer to me on the couch.

I peered into his big brown eyes, hoping to lure a kiss out of him, but he was still very nervous.  I realized that this project was going to take some time.  We parted ways that night with a long hug and quick peck on the cheek.  And that was okay.  It gave me something to do the next weekend.

We talked every day that week.  I could tell he was smitten with me.  We planned to meet again on Friday afternoon.  Both of us were finished with classes by 2:00 and it was less than an hour away.  I told my cousin I was coming up again for the weekend and he was happy to have me there again.  I told him not to plan much, as I was going to focus on Tom.  He understood, as he’d met someone new and was busy planning their agenda together.

Friday arrived and I showed up at his dorm in that sexy cashmere sweater and my best “good butt” jeans. He was visibly nervous, but I got him talking about something in his comfort zone and he began to relax.  We decided to try a new restaurant in the Vista.  We had an amazing meal and he was such the gentleman.  Honestly, it was a perfect date.  Part of me felt guilty for having such tawdry plans for him later.  He was such a good guy.

After dinner we stopped in at a few parties and talked with some of his friends.  He seemed more and more relaxed as the night went on.  We finally made it back to his dorm (his roommate was away for the weekend) around 11:30 that night.  We sat on his bed and talked some more.  Once again, I looked into his eyes, hopeful that he would kiss me, but not expecting him to make the first move.

He brushed the hair from my face.  I could feel his hand shaking as he touched my face and pulled me towards him.  Despite his nervousness, the kiss was perfect.  And it went like a wildfire from there.  We were locked in a fit of passion.  The kissing was sensual and erotic.  I began to wonder why he was so unsure of himself.  He certainly seemed like he knew how to kiss a girl.

He pulled me onto his lap as his big strong hands massaged my back.  My black sweater had a plunging neckline and I felt like my breasts would spill out from how he passionately touched me.  I could feel his hardness through my moist jeans and I was eager to see him fully naked.  To take him all in and study his form.  Soon, I removed his shirt and he took off my sweater.  His hands trembled as he unfastened my lacy pink bra.  He looked at my bare breasts in awe before clumsily fondling one as he attempted to lick my nipples.  He eventually found his groove and before long, we stood before each other naked.

“I don’t know how to tell you this” he whispered nervously.  “I’m still a virgin.”

I already knew, but didn’t let on.  “You are?” I asked

“Yes.  Someone broke my heart my last year of high school and I’ve not had the nerve to ask anyone out here at college.  I have buried myself in studies and just put it out of my mind.  But I am ready.”

He walked towards me, held my face with both hands, looked into my eyes and said, “I want you.”

Let’s just pause for a minute and reflect, shall we?  1.  This man is gorgeous.  2.  He is a virgin.  3.  He wants me…ME.  4.  And he’s a Kennedy.  

I gently kissed his mouth and dropped to my knees, taking him into my mouth.  He was rock hard and almost lost his balance.  I asked him to sit down on the bed as I resumed my position.  I realized that he’d never experienced anything like this before.  I knew he may orgasm quickly, so I slowed my pace, allowing him to enjoy each and every second of the experience.  He closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure.  I didn’t allow him to finish, because I wanted him to direct how he wanted his first time to go.

He pulled me on top of him, as he fumbled with a condom.  I politely took it from him and had it on in less than a minute, with expert skill.  He wanted me on top.  I straddled him and slowly guided him inside me as he pulled my hips onto his.  He watched me ride his cock.  He looked into my eyes and then watched every move of my body on his, in amazement.

He came quickly and was most apologetic.  I assured him that it was okay.  He was ready to go again soon and we fucked all night long.  Him on top. Me on top again.  Him from behind.  More oral.  Showering together.  We finally went to sleep around 4:00 am and woke up and fucked more at 7:00 am.  We stayed in bed the entire day.  Exploring.  Feasting on each other.  Sharing our desires.  It was one of the best weekends of my life.

It rained for most of the weekend and when weren’t worshipping each other, we were intertwined in the sheets, watching it rain from his large dorm window.  We never got dressed or went out…We ordered pizza on Saturday and  Sunday.  We didn’t want to miss a moment together.  But eventually we had to untangle ourselves and get back to reality.

I left that evening a bit confused.  I’d been with virgins before and I enjoyed the role as a teacher. But this felt different.  I really liked this man.  He was everything I wanted in a boyfriend and the sex was amazing.  I remained in deep thought as I drove home in the rain.  The moment I arrived home, the phone rang.  It was him.  He wanted to make sure I made it safely.

We talked for hours that night and I think that was the first time I fell in love.  We stayed together as a blissfully happy couple until the summer.  He landed that internship at Barclays and headed out for a summer in London.  We tried to stay together despite the distance, but I was ready to move on.  I was not ready to find the One.  He could have certainly been the One.  But I was young and adventurous and we both decided to see other people.

Eleven years later, I was on a beach near Charleston, SC.  I heard someone call out “Tom?  Tom Kennedy? Is that you?  I haven’t seen you since USC!”  I looked up and saw Tom talking with the man who had called his name.  He was 20 feet away from where I was sitting with my family.  OMG.  He was still gorgeous.  He was married and had two beautiful children.  I was there with my husband and son.  I decided not to say anything and I made an excuse for us to change locations, because it would have been too much to see him again.

I prefer to remember him as he was during that rainy weekend in the winter of 1991.



(Photo, Pinterest)

The Man



Summer 2014.

Earlier that year, I left the loveless relationship I’d been in for 10 years and moved on.  I loved the single life.  I enjoyed not having to “answer” to anyone about my whereabouts.  I liked having a bowl of cereal for dinner.  I liked my freedom, but I still craved connection.  I wanted a casual partnership, nothing too serious.  I wanted hot, unbelievable sex, when I wanted it.  So I joined a couple of online dating sites and suddenly found my dance card full.  It was quite a ride.

There was the ultra religious man who should have never ventured off of Christian Mingle to the other racier dating sites.  I was too fast for his blood, but we had a good time.  There was a psychiatrist with the social skills of an awkward tween.  There was a retired philosophy professor, old enough to be my grandfather, that made me cum more than anyone had in months.  There were a host of others.  Some of them noteworthy..many of them not.

And then there was Viktor.

He was fifteen years my junior.  Very tall.  Very handsome.  And very worldly despite his age.  He was of Serbian descent.  His family moved to the US prior to the turmoil of the nineties.  He was raised here, but had this European swagger.  He carried himself in a way that demanded respect and attention, yet he was kind and considerate.  He could blend in with a well-traveled CEO or dish with a seven year old about Star Wars.  His range was impressive.  I was fascinated with him.  He had more depth than the average fish in the sea.  He was different.

After talking for a couple of days, I invited him over.  I had a child-free weekend and I was curious to meet him in person.  Being the gentleman he was, he brought over a bottle of chilled Etienne Sauzet Chardonnay that was exquisite.  A man who brings that kind of wine on the inaugural meeting had some serious game and I found myself a bit nervous.  I noticed his impressive watch, as he opened the bottle in my kitchen.  To make small talk, I asked him about it.

“That’s a lovely watch you’re wearing.  I’ve not seen that style before.”  I nervously muttered.

He grinned as he poured me a glass.  “It’s not very common, especially around here.  It’s an Audemars Piguet Royal Oak Offshore.  I just got it as a gift to myself for getting into Harvard Business School.”

At this point, I thought…okay.  Here comes the bullshit.  He’s a con artist.  I mean who rattles off a five word brand for a wristwatch.  And who in the hell casually comments about getting into Harvard Business School.

But this was no bullshit. He was the real deal.

As we made our way to my leather sofa, he told me about his educational quest for an Ivy League graduate degree.  He had been accepted at several of the major business schools in the country (Dartmouth, Columbia, Yale…and yes, Harvard) but couldn’t decide where he wanted to go.  I’ll be crude, but the thought of all that made me wet.  Such intelligence.  Such drive and ambition.  He had old world class and I could barely wait to get this guy in bed. He was so refined.  So successful, that I knew he would know how to fuck me silly.

But that night, we simply talked.  We shared stories, experiences and a couple of bottles of wine (the bottles I had on hand were far less than impressive compared to what he brought) and we parted ways in the wee hours of the morning….without me even parting my legs.  DAMMIT.

I later realized that he was testing me.  He was asserting control.  He was so disciplined that he did not allow our evening to go beyond a hot passionate kiss.  He had me where he wanted me and that was…me wanting him badly.  I could barely plan my Fourth of July celebration, I was so distracted with this enigma of a man.  Again…a man fifteen years younger than me.

Early in the afternoon of July 4th, we began exchanging sexual banter via text.  He was always classy, but had a way of writing that only made me want to fuck him more.  I was a dripping mess by the time the evening rolled in.  He sent a text around 10:30 pm.

“What are your wearing?”

I was clever in my response…”Heels and a smile. You should come see for yourself.”

His response…”Oh I plan to. I will arrive in 30 minutes.  I expect to find you in nothing but heels.  And I will ensure you keep that smile.”

My switch was turned on.  I couldn’t wait for him to get there.  But was I really brazen enough to answer the door in nothing but heels?  I toiled over it for about 15 minutes when I realized that I was running out of time.  So I found a lovely, asset-flattering, low cut black dress, donned my highest “fuck me” stilettos and carefully applied my slut red lipstick (Ladies, you know the color…not berry red, not wear-to-the-office red….SLUT red.  There is a difference.)

He arrived precisely 30 minutes from the time of our last text.  I peered out the window as he drove up in his shiny new BMW.  I hadn’t noticed it from before, but even the car was sexy.  He swaggered out of the front seat and tapped on the door.  My God he looked amazing.  Crisply pressed shirt.  Cuffed sleeves.  Khakis that displayed his taut ass.

I opened it slowly to add to the anticipation.  He looked so hot.  His thick dark hair was slightly disheveled, but he was immaculate.  He smelled divine.  Our eyes met as he walked in and closed it behind him, taking me in his arms, kissing me right there…pinning me to my front door.

“I thought I said, heels only.” he growled between his teeth.  “But this dress suits you”  He took my hand and led me to the couch.  Where he proceeded to open the champagne he brought.  He filled our glasses as he proposed a toast.

“To fireworks.”  And he grinned his mischievous smile.

“To fireworks.” I nodded.  And I drank the entire glass, as if it were a ‘last call’ shot back in my college days.

He pulled me over onto his lap.  I straddled him on the couch  He kissed me passionately, but with intention.  Everything he did was with purpose.  He knew just how to drive a woman mad with his lips.  He masterfully removed my bra, without taking off my dress.  He caressed my full breasts through the dress and then artfully pulled them out of my low-cut neckline.  I unbuttoned his shirt.  He embraced me and lifted my dress up as he grabbed my bare ass.  (I decided not to wear panties).  He squeezed my ass and his fingers found their way to my sweet spot.  I felt like I’d cum immediately.  I was so turned on my him.

He plunged his fingers deep into my sex, demanding an orgasm.  There was no turning back.  I came furiously for him as he watched the results of his handiwork.  I slid down from his lap and took his hard cock in my mouth.  I took him deep.  I loved sucking him, but I longed to feel him inside me.

Once again he took me by the hand and led me to a large armless accent chair. He sat down and motioned for me to ride his ample cock.  I began to straddle him when he turned me around to face away from him.  I positioned myself on him as he found my dripping wet hole.  He slid his hard shaft inside my wetness and pulled my hips down firmly.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

“It feels so fucking good.  I want more.” My God….I sounded so needy.

And without words or hesitation, he guided my rhythm.  He fucked me hard.  I came several times before I felt him become more rigid as he poured his seed inside me.  I loved how it felt as he filled me with his hot load.

We both sat there speechless for a bit, when he reached over and poured us some more champagne.  We finally found our voices as we reflected on our amazing scene.  We talked for a long time.  And while we were siting on the floor, he summoned me to him.  I could tell he was ready to fuck again.  He bent me down, face first to the floor as he took me again.  And again.

That was almost two years ago, and I can still remember the touch of his hand…the smell of his skin.  How he felt inside me. Viktor connects with me on a level that few have, or ever will.  We just get each other.  Even though we haven’t been together for quite a while, we stay in close touch.  There is a place that exists between us where we can be our real and flawed selves (although he has no flaws…in my eyes, he is perfect).  We have such depth together.  I get him.  He gets me.  And we are the best of friends…from  a distance.  He lives two states away and that distance is healthy.  I am in a relationship where I am very happy.  Viktor is unattached and adventurous and still has his wild oats to sow…working as a VP for a European bank, showing up in his tailored Anderson-Sheppard suits everyday.  He is living the dream.  I do hope he finds a woman worthy of him.

As for me, I have the memories of our time together that summer.  So I will close this jaunt down memory lane with the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me…courtesy of Viktor.


That is some serious swagger.  I even published his words on Pinterest…




View From the Top…

I’ve been a bad, bad girl.

For most of my life.  At least for the last 30 years.

There have been so many (so very many) tantalizing trysts in my past, that I find myself forgetting about some of them.  And then, all of the sudden, I am transported back to a different time and place.

Just like that.

During lunch today, I drove through downtown.  My city is rather small and the downtown area is less than impressive, although they do try to “revitalize” it about every ten years.  The sun was shining.  The air was crisp. it was a gorgeous fall day.  I breathed in the air and began to reminisce about some of the fun times I’d had downtown. Then my jaunt downtown turned into a trip down memory lane.

It was the summer of 1991.  I was working in a pharmacy while attending college.  I had more suitors than I could keep track of.  A few remnant boyfriends from high school.  A few older gents, some married, that I saw from time to time.  A handful of college guys that wanted more than a study date.  Life was good.  I could take my pick any day of the week. I was never without a date, if I wanted one.

And then there was Vernon.  Yes…his name was Vernon.  He sat next to me in my Microeconomics class.  He was attractive and smart…and a bit cocky.  He wore a tie to class each and every day…even in the hot Southern summer.  He dressed better than the professor.  He set his sights on me and was relentless in his pursuit.

I declined his offer to “study” together.  I declined his offer for coffee.  I declined his offer for lunch.  But he was not deterred.  He was a nice guy, and for me…that was the issue.  I didn’t want a “nice” guy.  I wanted the bad boy…or better yet, the bad man.  And Vernon wasn’t my type.  But finally, one day I decided to take him up on coffee.  I was shocked  because we really hit it off.  His anal-retentive ways blended well with my fly-by-the-seat of my g-string ways.  His uptight demeanor was a nice complement to my free-spirited attitude.

We went out on a few dates and he was the perfect gentleman.  (And always dressed like he was on his way to a corporate meeting)  Things progressed at a snail’s pace and I found myself becoming bored with him.  I had my “exit speech” planned and was about to let him down easy, when I saw a glimmer of hope.  He was driving and looked over at me with a devious smile.

“Let’s take a drive.” he said.  There was a confidence in his voice that was sexy.  He then pulled in behind a Sherwin Williams paint store.  He worked there.  We parked in a place that could not be seen from the road and he began kissing me.  His tie came off.  And then my shirt.  All of my clothes.  All of his clothes.  We fucked on the trunk of his car and he wasn’t that bad.  The guy had some chops.  I could tell I was more experienced than he, but I still had a good time.

We fucked often, usually in his car or on his car.  And then one evening, after dining downtown, we took a drive up a winding parking garage at the Bank of America building.  Although I enjoyed our time together, I was becoming bored with our typical routine.  He wanted us to stay in the car, since we were on top of the parking garage, in plain sight.  I decided to take control of the scenario and insisted we get out of the car.  We put a blanket down on the parking spot beside us.  I pulled his pants off and sucked him right there in the open.  I told him to lie down on the blanket.  I wanted to control him.  I felt the beast inside me clawing to come out.

Channeling my inner Domme, I mounted his cock and fucked him as if he were my sex slave.  I paid no mind to his needs. I rode him furiously.  Ramming my body with his body with each movement.  Harder and harder.  I was high on the adrenaline.  I was high on making him…the anal-retentive, uptight Vernon…my bitch.  I used him for my pleasure.  When I felt he was close to orgasm, I would stop.  I wasn’t finished with him and didn’t want him to cum until I was ready.  I honestly cannot even remember if he said anything, or protested when I made him wait.  But I didn’t care.  He was mine.  His cock was there for my pleasure.

My knees were getting sore, as the blanket had moved exposing my skin to the bare concrete.  I quickened my pace and we came together.  In the aftermath I noticed abrasions on both my knees from our intense session.  I didn’t care. The inner beast craved pleasure and nothing kept me from my goal.  Looking back, I was in a very dark place.  If ever I was a sadist, it was then.

We were quiet on the drive home.  The beast began to retreat and I morphed back into myself again.  We kissed goodnight.  After I got home, I took a shower and tended to my poor bruised knees.  I felt a sense of pride from my battle scars.  It represented a different version of me…one I’d yet to embrace.  I liked it.

The next day, Vernon wasn’t in class.  He never missed class.  NEVER.  I worried that something was wrong.  On a break between classes I used the phone in the library and called him.  There was no answer.  Later that day, I called his work and they told me he wasn’t there…he was in the hospital.  WHAT???  Had he been in a wreck on the way home?  What happened to Vernon?

His co-worker told me which hospital and I called his room.  Vernon answered.

“Hey.  What’s wrong?  Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m okay.  Just had a tear from last night.”

I was puzzled.  A tear?  What could he have “torn”?  After all, I was the one with the bloody knees.

He whispered into the phone so the patient in the other bed couldn’t hear him, “You fucked me too hard last night.   You split me and I am in so much pain, I can’t pee.  They have me on pain medicine.  They are sending me home soon and said I will be okay in a couple of days.  But we can’t do that again”

I didn’t know what to say. I was shocked and embarrassed.  I apologized and then tried to relive the evening in my mind.  As I reviewed it, I remembered hearing him moan.  I remembered hearing him beg me to stop. I was so consumed with lust.  So consumed with my pleasure, that I didn’t care.

Our relationship fizzled immediately afterwards.  I think he was a bit “gun-shy” after that incident.  I felt terrible.  I would never want to put anyone in the hospital.  I resolved to never venture into “Domme-mode” ever again.  Then, a few weeks later…a fellow classmate and I were chatting, when she said, “He’s such an asshole.  Plays like he is all about business, like he’s a nice guy.  He is all about who he can screw.”

I was surprised that anyone would ever say anything like that about the super straight, squeaky clean Vernon, I knew.  She went on to say, “He pretends to be so nice, but treats women like shit. He begged me to go out with him and about 3 dates into it, he got forceful with me.  When I broke up with him, he talked about me terribly.  Such a jerk.”

And just like that…I no longer felt bad for injuring him.

In fact, I laughed out loud.  And today, as I drove past that parking garage, I laughed again.  Poor Vernon.

Wonder if he still wears a tie everyday?

on top



The Weirdos,The Creeps and The Rejects

Summer 1994

When you work as an escort, you meet all different types of men.  If you think about it…what type of man pays to have sex with someone?  In my experience, I found that they fell into many different categories.

The Travelers…these men logged more miles in the sky than a Blue Angel.  They were away from the drudgery of their day-to-day lives for extended periods of time.  Travelers commonly worked in sales or management.  They were usually bold in their requests and most of them tipped well, as their expense accounts were as big as their egos.  A typical evening would begin with conversation and would quickly morph into…”I want you on your knees, sucking my cock.  Look me in the eyes while you do it.”  I like a person who knows what they want…

The Nervous Novices…it took every ounce of nerve for them to make the call to the agency.  They don’t really know how to express what they want.  Most of these men are wounded by society, past relationships or their own pitiful opinion of themselves.  For me, these were some of the most challenging clients to predict.  I recall having dinner with a very shy young man who just wanted someone to talk to.  He told me about his life with abusive parents.  He needed someone to listen.  Another client only wanted me to hold him…him fully dressed, me completely nude.  Another one didn’t know how to ask for anything other than missionary style sex.  So I finally asked him…”is this what you really want, or is there something you’re not sharing with me.  Tell me how you want to fuck me and we can make that happen, this is your hour.”  He was a nervous wreck, but turns out…all he wanted was for me to straddle his face while he licked me.  And if memory serves…for a nervous novice…he was pretty damned good at eating pussy.

The Hedonists….I only had a few of these creatures.  But it was party all the time for this group.  Mostly middle-aged and wealthy, these gentlemen liked having instant gratification.  For me, these were usually house (mansion) calls. They wanted to display their opulent lifestyle and decadent ways to those of us hired to serve them.  They wanted to have whatever they desired…they wanted it brought to them, immediately….they wanted lots of it….and afterwards, it was time for the next plaything to arrive.  I recall making a visit to one of these hedonists, seeing 3 other working girls leave with wads of cash in hand…as I was arriving.  And as I left, another escort drove up.  There was nothing remarkable or memorable about the visits…other than their impressive Rolex collection, or the imported marble in the bathroom.  But the return on investment for the minimum time and effort…was always spot on.

The Weirdos, The Creeps and The Rejects…These are the ones I hoped I’d forget.  These are the unfortunates out there who HAVE to pay for sex.  There is no other option.  The weirdos usually request off-the-wall things.  I had one who wanted me to cry when he fucked me.  I couldn’t do it, so I left and had another girl take my place.  She would do anything.  Another fellow asked me to use pliers to torture his nipples as I sat naked on his chest.  It was a stretch for a young 21 year old, but I managed to do it.  He thanked me a million times and tipped me for the experience. (Note, when he called the agency another time and asked for me to come back, I made sure I was “booked” and couldn’t make it).  The Rejects are the assholes of this category.  They are angry at the world.  Angry at women.  Angry at anyone who has ever done them wrong.  They want to take it out on whomever is in front of them.  The sex bordered on violent and they always tried to argue about money.  One even tried to argue about wearing a condom. I won that battle, but he was a real jerk.  Before leaving his hotel room, I dipped his electric razor in the toilet where I’d just peed and put it back on the sink.  I hope it jolted his sorry ass when he plugged it in.

So as much I as enjoyed my time as an escort, there were a handful of clients that were real assholes.  I quickly learned to spot them ahead of time and could usually manufacture a reason to leave and ask for a replacement. Because readers, I may have been working as a call girl, but I was no one’s whore and I refused to be treated as one. Best to just get out of that situation and try my hand (mouth, body) at (on) something (someone) else.


Photo from the movie Belle Du Jour, 1968


The Minute Man

The year was 1988.  It was early autumn and football season was in full swing.

A certain football player on my high school team took a strong liking to me.  His name was Chuck.  He was  a tall, well-built, All-American guy.  The kind of guy your find in the yearbook voted, “Most Likely to Succeed” or “Best Athlete”.

Students looked up to him.  Some even idolized him.

Teachers respected him.

And he did nothing for me.  I think he was too “squeaky clean” in appearance to appeal to my decadent tastes.  But he was persistent.  Relentless, in fact.  I finally agreed to go out with him.  I was a sophomore and he was a senior. My friends thought I was crazy for not jumping at the chance to be on his arm.  But I really had no interest.

We went out on a couple of dates.  He mainly talked about himself.  About football.  About his oldest brother…who played football for Georgia Tech.  He knew nothing of me.  He had no clue who he was talking to.  I listened and wondered if my time with him would earn me popularity points in the social hierarchy of high school.

By the third date, he began to make his move.  I could see it coming a mile away.  I guess he was accustomed to the typical high school girl, who was naive to his game.  But I had years of experience on this joker.  I felt like a kitten playing with a ball of string.

He had his arm dangled around me, in an attempt to feel my breast.  I excused myself to the bathroom before he attempted his rudimentary grope.  Foiled….

Then when I came back from the bathroom (we were at his brother’s house watching a movie) he rested his hand on my leg.  I recall that I almost laughed out loud.  Let’s face it, by this time in my life…I’d already had relationships with much older, sophisticated men.  He eased his hand up towards my groin, when I grabbed it and said, “what are your doing?”

He was shocked that I’d stopped him.  He gave me this long explanation of how he was so attracted to beautiful I was…how he could have anyone and he wanted me…blah, blah, blah.  How we should take this next step. How we were meant to be together.

I snickered to myself and pondered my dilemma.  Do I let this bumbling novice have his way with me, or do I give him a run for his money?  I decided to play with him a bit.  I acted so innocent.  So scared.  He reassured me it would be okay.  He told me it may hurt, but that I would like it.

And then I got pissed…because I realized that he’d said these things to countless girls before.  Innocent girls.  Defenseless girls who didn’t know any better.  And he happened to pick the wrong girl this time.  I began kissing him and straddled his lap.  He was a bit surprised.  I know he thought he’d won the battle.  I began stroking his cock with my hand, through his jeans.  He took it out and I proceeded to give him the best hand job of his young little life. And right before he came, I stopped.

“I am sorry.  I can’t do this.  I shouldn’t be doing this.  This is wrong.”

He was a befuddled mess.  “What?  What do you mean you can’t do this?  You made me this way.  You need to finish what you started.”

And at this point, instead of finishing my handiwork….I gave the pompous bastard a piece of my mind.

“No.  I won’t be one of the girls you take advantage of.  Now take me home.”

He tried to be forceful, but I stood my ground and asked his brother to drive me.  His brother was surprised to see me ready to leave so soon, but took me home, nonetheless.

The next day at school, a defeated Chuck tried to walk tall and brag to his friends of his conquests.  He said we’d had sex all night.  And that he was my first, etc.  I knew it was coming…I’d seen it so many times before.

But I was ready.

My friends seemed impressed when word spread of our tryst.  They wanted details.  And here’s where I got my revenge…here’s where I vindicated the others who had been advantaged before me.

My friend Shelley, “Tell me what happened.  This is big news. How was it?”

I reluctantly said, “Well, it all happened so fast.  I don’t know how to describe it.”

Shelley was experienced so that didn’t satisfy her at all.  “Tell me more…I want details…all of them.”

I looked down and said, “Well…it only lasted about two minutes.  I thought it would be longer, since he’s older, but it went by really fast.  All I could think of was The Minute Men we just studied about in history.”

She cackled with laughter.  Before lunchtime word had spread of his less-than-stellar performance.  He was furious but knew it was of his own doing.  After all, he was the one who said we’d had sex.  I simply expounded on the story.

Ironically, the name stuck with him.  I recall the homecoming game that year.  When they announced the seniors on the football team, the called his name…”here’s number 24, Chuck Connor, the Minute Man.”

Guess this time, I was the one who scored the two-point conversion.


(Photo from Pinterest)

A Working Lunch

There are some foreboding sayings that infer that one shouldn’t fool around at work.
“Don’t put your meat where you make your bread” or “Don’t get your honey, where you make your money.”

Personally, I never pay attention to anything that begins with the word “Don’t”….to me that word does nothing more than present a challenge…something for me to rebel against.

Needless to say, I didn’t heed the warning. Not only did I have an affair with a co-worker, I had multiple trysts while traveling for work.

Such a bad girl.  

While working as a healthcare consultant, I met a charming executive director of the facility I was auditing. His name was Kyle. He was a couple of years older than me, in a loveless marriage like myself. And he was incredibly sexy. We had so many different sessions.  He was always ready for a good time and knew how I liked to be handled.

I recall driving back from the southern part of the state when out of the blue…my phone rang.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Driving.” I said

“How close are you to Macon?”

“About 40 minutes” I answered.

“Pull down your panties and rub your clit.”


“Do it.  I want you hungry for me.  Meet me at the Applebee’s.  I am at the bar.”

I couldn’t get there fast enough.  I did as he told me…I found that I loved masturbating while driving.  I came quickly despite the traffic around me.  And before I knew it, Applebees was on the horizon.

He was sitting at the bar and hadn’t noticed me come in.  I walked up behind him and said, “Is this seat taken?”

He turned and smirked at me, “It is now.”

Before I knew it, we had already downed a couple of drinks.  Not being accustomed to drinking in the MIDDLE OF A WORKDAY, I felt a little tipsy.  I got up to excuse myself to the bathroom, when he whispered, “stay in there and wait for me.”

WHAT????  In the bathroom?

I walked into the bathroom and it was empty.  Whew.  I did what I needed to do and moved to the last stall.  It was a little bigger than the other one.  I heard the main door open.  My heart stopped, waiting for him to come into the stall.  But it wasn’t him.  Someone went into the stall next to mine.

Then I heard the door open again.

It was him.  OH SHIT…there’s someone else in here, and he’s here.  IN THE WOMEN’S BATHROOM!!!

He quietly walked into my stall and neither of us said anything.  I was so nervous.  I’d had sex in a public place before, but it was an abandoned public place…and I was 17 years old then…not a professional having an affair with a co-worker.

We waited for the other person to leave and he began seducing  me right there in the stall.  He sat me down on the toilet, facing his cock and I sucked him hard.  He took my panties off and hiked up my skirt.  He sat on the seat and I straddled him.  I held onto the rails on each side of the stall and lowered my wet pussy on his rock hard dick.  It was so steamy and hot.  I moaned as he pushed me down harder.  He held onto my ass and spread me open to get deeper. We would quiet ourselves as women came in and out.  But we never stopped…he stayed inside me the entire time.  We fucked for what seemed like hours and came together.

By the time we emerged from the confines of the stall, we were both drenched in sweat.  My hair was wet and stuck to my face.  He was a disheveled mess.  And then we walked out of the bathroom.


As we opened the door, we noticed that there was a waitstaff meeting going on right in front of us at the bar.  I felt my face flush with embarrassment.  I could tell by the way they looked at us, that they knew.

But there was no shame in our game.  We sat back down in our seats and ordered another round of drinks at the bar.

That’s how you do it.  Like a boss.